A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He wished that he'd shared the same thing. There were more than a few elements of his training that he wasn't sure how to improve more than his current state.

He nodded to them, satisfied that the deal had concluded, and then proceeded to jog to his next lesson.

…

…

The Medical Professor was not pleased to see him again so soon. The last trickle of students had just arrived by the time he got in, and the girls turned their heads in surprise at his arrival. He saw more than one of them blush, as he met their eyes. An odd reaction, but a reaction that he ignored.

"You should be resting," the man said gruffly.

"I have already missed three years of education, professor. I don't think I can't afford to skip any more," Oliver said, doing his best to appear humble.

The man grunted. "The wounds on your back?"

"Bandaged, and they've stopped bleeding. I expect they will be fine soon enough," Oliver said.

"Unlikely, with the way that you've been pushing yourself," the professor said. "Sit. It's time to begin."

Class that day was not another lecture, as Oliver had expected. Instead, the professor led them to the Green Castle, where he was surprised to find a rather active hospital. There were several wards in it, with everything from the goriest of injuries, to patients that seemed as though they were perfectly fine.

Oliver guessed from the chatter of the girls as they walked that it was not uncommon for them to visit the hospital, and get the practical experience that they required. Apparently, the Academy's hospital was rather famed for its excellence. Some people had even travelled a great distance just for a simple consultation there.

The professor set them to work stitching minor wounds on a recently ambushed squadron of soldiers. The girls' fingers moved deftly, and their stitches were neat. It was clear that they'd done this sort of work before. The soldiers made amiable conversation as they worked, hiding flirtatious remarks behind the stiff and ceremonial respect the Serving Class were meant to show to nobility.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The professor hadn't trusted Oliver with a needle and thread yet. Instead, he paired him with a girl, and tasked her with explaining what she was doing as she worked. She went about the duty with grim determination, as though she was digging a grave. She didn't smile at him even once.

"You don't want to pinch the skin too tightly, or it will heal in a rigid scar," she said seriously, as she went about her work. The soldier grinned at her. They had him on a light anaesthetic, and the man was clearly enjoying himself. "Do you want to do the next few?" She asked. It seemed a pleasant enough request, but her voice was stiff and rigid.

She'd already stitched the majority of a thigh wound, and there were only a few stitches left to do.

"Sure," he said, reaching for the needle that she was holding. She pulled it away from him as he reached.

"'Sure' isn't cutting it. If you make a mess, you'll cause the patient unnecessary pain. Only do it if you think you can do a respectable job at it," she said. The professor overheard their conversation as he passed, and he nodded his approval.

Oliver found he couldn't condemn her attitude either. Her seriousness had him half hoping that it was out of mere respect for the profession, rather than a particular loathing towards having to teach him.

"As you say, I'll do a careful job at it," Oliver said. He hadn't stitched anything before, but he figured at the very least he could give it his best effort. The girl still didn't seem satisfied by that, but she gave him the needle with a begrudging expression.

Oliver started his stitches, finding himself glancing at the soldier as the needle made its first entry. The man hardly noticed it had happened. Whatever they'd given him, it was more than enough to get him comfortable. The man actually grinned as Oliver met his gaze. Oliver found himself grinning back.

A slap on the back of his head brought his attention back to his task. "Don't be an idiot. Stitch him," the girl said. She sounded harsh, but if anything, he was relieved to hear the slightest bit of emotion in her voice.

He delivered two stitches, before she sighed and took the needle from him. "Your stitches are looping. You need to be neater," she chided. The professor happened to pass as she said that.

"You let him have a go?" He asked. The girl nodded, and pointed to Oliver's section. The professor grunted, almost smiling. "Well, I'll be damned… To see the son of Dominus working his hand at stitching…"

He made no comment on their quality, and simply walked away.

"The professor likes you," the girl said, unable to hide her jealousy. "And he doesn't like anyone. How did you manage it?"

"A winning smile and natural charm?" Oliver said with his best smile, wondering if he could elicit one from the girl in return. She gave him a disgusted look in reply, and went back to finishing the stitching.

…

…

His next lecture was in archery. Another outdoor event, despite the cold. Naturally, as Oliver chose his seven classes, he'd heavily leaned towards the more combat-oriented of them. Amongst swordsmanship – which he'd now been banned from, and needed to replace with something else – he'd chosen archery, universal close combat training, and physical enhancement.

After his time with Heathclaw, he wasn't expecting much out of either of them.

A stern tall woman lectured at the front of the class, a bow slung over her shoulder. In her black-boiled leather, she looked like a panther had taken human form. The way she walked, with each foot placed down carefully, the epitome of balance, it was clear that she was a hunter of some sort.

'Nila would have liked her,' Oliver thought as she spoke. He'd been given a training bow, and a quiver with some arrows.