Persistent in Finding Trouble

Unnoticed by Tyr and the others, Chief Instructor Ryder watched Tyr's departing back, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“A strange fighting style, but highly effective. Is this another bizarre creation cooked up by that fellow Lanier?”

Ryder, of course, would never believe that such an eccentric fighting style had been developed by Tyr, an eight-year-old child.

Ivelina, hailing from the Aglaia family, fought more like a mage, so it was naturally impossible for her to have researched physical combat.

That left only Lanier as the culprit. After all, swordsmanship itself was a form of physical combat.

“Intriguing.”

Ryder could easily tell that while Tyr's magic power surpassed that of Letitia and the other two, Letitia's group definitely had the upper hand physically, having arrived here earlier.

Under normal circumstances, Tyr would have done well to even tie with any single one of them.

Yet now, using that bizarre fighting style, Tyr was single-handedly suppressing all three of them.

Tyr, of course, had no idea his entire display had been observed. By now, he had followed Letitia and the other two to the drill grounds.

Due to their earlier scuffle, the four of them were the last to arrive.

Fortunately, although they arrived late, they weren't actually tardy.

In the Sword Prison, being late for any training session resulted in painful punishments they would never forget.

Stepping onto the drill grounds, Tyr saw a woman standing in the center of the training field. She had a gorgeous face, a voluptuous figure, and wore a swordsman's attire.

In her hand was a wooden sword, and the tight-fitting swordsman's garb accentuated her striking curves.

She was Tina Warren, the swordsmanship instructor for all the reserves in the Sword Prison.

“Since everyone is here, let's warm up by running ten laps around the drill grounds,” Tina said, sweeping her gaze over the neatly lined-up reserves.

Ten laps? Tyr glanced around. This drill grounds was far larger than the sports fields from his college days in his previous life.

However, he wasn't surprised by the warm-up laps. Whether it was practicing martial arts in his previous life or learning swordsmanship from Lanier in this one, the very first requirement was always building good physical endurance.

For high-level Transcendents, training physical endurance was largely useless. With the support of magic power, running out of stamina was virtually impossible in most situations.

But for low- and mid-level Transcendents, physical endurance was still crucial.

After all, you couldn't just jump from the First Circle to the Sixth Circle instantly; you still had to train step-by-step.

Regardless of how long it took, during this interim period where stamina was still a factor, one had to find ways to build physical strength.

“Begin.”

Tina clapped her hands, signaling for everyone to start.

At her command, the reserves began jogging around the drill grounds.

As they ran, Silas kept drifting closer and closer to Tyr.

Glancing at the figure closing in on him, Tyr didn't even need to think to know this guy was up to no good.

Sigh. You could always count on bratty kids to be exceptionally persistent when it came to mischief.

Tyr continued running his own pace, acting as though he hadn't noticed Silas at all.

After about five laps, Silas thought he saw an opening. He suddenly stuck his leg out, trying to trip Tyr.

But the moment his foot shot out, a sharp, sudden pain flared in his ankle.

“Ah!”

Silas looked down in shock. Tyr hadn't been tripped at all; instead, Tyr had stepped directly onto his ankle.

“Oh, sorry,” Tyr apologized with zero sincerity, then turned and kept running forward.

Silas's face twisted in pain. He squatted down, rubbing his ankle with both hands.

“Silas, are you okay?” Letitia quickly ran over in concern upon hearing his cry of pain.

“I'm fine. I'll make him pay for this!” Silas gritted his teeth, channeling magic power to reduce the swelling in his ankle.

In a world without magic power, an injury like this would require at least a week or two of rest.

But under the nourishment of Silas's magic power, his ankle quickly recovered.

Standing up, he glared venomously at Tyr's back and had no choice but to resume running.

The little clash between Tyr and Silas naturally didn't escape the notice of Swordsmanship Instructor Tina, but she did nothing, nor did she step in to stop them.

The higher-ups of the Callis family hadn't gathered the reserves in the Sword Prison for unified training just to raise delicate flowers in a greenhouse.

During their time in the Sword Prison, as long as they didn't kill or permanently cripple someone, the instructors would never intervene.

Provocations, fights, or even bullying—they simply watched from a distance.

For if they couldn't even resolve these minor issues on their own, they would have no right to inherit the position of Grand Duke of Callis, let alone lead the Callis family to stand at the peak of the world.

In a way, the Callis family's method of raising heirs was much like cultivating Gu. They gathered all the descendants together, and the sole surviving “Gu King” would become the next Grand Duke of Callis.

It was brutal.

But since they were born to enjoy the wealth and power brought by the Callis family, they naturally had to shoulder the responsibilities bestowed by the Callis bloodline.

Tyr was the first to finish the ten laps. He slowly paced around the training field to cool down.

After a long run, it was best not to rest immediately, but to walk slowly to relax and stretch the lower limbs.

Seeing this, Tina nodded in approval. It seemed that although this new reserve was the last to arrive, he had already undergone training from his parents back home.

The son of Marquis Lanier? Having this level of discipline was hardly surprising.

As an instructor in the Sword Prison, Tina was naturally well aware of their identities.

And because his father was Lanier, Tyr naturally drew more attention.

In a society ruled by nobles, bloodline was naturally the mainstream measure of worth.

The children of the strong were expected to be strong, and the children of geniuses were expected to be geniuses.

Lanier had shone brilliantly in the previous Grand Election, so as his son, Tyr naturally couldn't afford to be mediocre.

“Get up, all of you, and go grab a sword over there.”

Once the last reserve finished running, Tina lightly kicked the kids sprawling on the ground, gesturing for everyone to retrieve a sword from the weapon rack.

The swords here were wooden practice swords crafted from black wood. Tyr weighed one in his hand; it was far heavier than a normal wooden sword, almost approaching the weight of an actual iron sword.

“Everyone, take your stances. Today's first exercise will still be gripping the sword.”

“As a swordsman, if you can't even hold onto your own weapon, you are nothing but a lamb to the slaughter.”

As Tina spoke, she snapped her fingers. Large stones tied with ropes flew over, hanging themselves from the tips of Tyr's and the other children's swords.