Will of the Battlefield

The chatter of the trio was still continuing when the office door was knocked on. It was Hawk.

"About time," said Max as he waggled his way towards Hawk and opened the door.

"My head was spinning, thanks, Hawk." He said to Hawk, who held a tray in his hands, on top of which were three empty cups and a tea kettle.

"It’s my duty, sir," said Hawk as he filled Max’s cup from the kettle and walked towards the table, placing two cups, one for John and the other for Thane.

John delicately grabbed the cup and lifted it up. He inspected it, not because he was suspicious but because of his artistic nature.

The cups looked expensive. They were small at the bottom, widened in the middle, and slightly narrowed at the top.

They were more like eggs, gold in colour with intricate patterns on them, a baroque set.

He lifted up the kettle to pour. It was poured as if it were a quiet spell being cast, slow, deliberate, and reverent.

Steam curled upward in pale, ghost-like tendrils, carrying with it a fragrance both gentle and ancient, as if the leaves of the tea had once grown in some forgotten valley where sunlight lingered longer than elsewhere.

Its colour shone a deep amber touched with gold, like the last dusk resting upon a still lake.

He took a sip, slurping softly.

"Ahh! Excellent," he exclaimed with a deep breath. "What a wonderful tea. When it first met the lips, it was soft, deceptively so.

Then beneath that gentleness lay a richness that unfolded in layers.

There was the warmth of soil after rain, the faint sweetness of roses hidden deep in forest glades, and a whisper of something older, akin to memory itself."

Thane was looking at him with his mouth agape. He looked at Max with a side-eye, who was also flabbergasted.

He was the one who brought that tea and knew excellently well that it was moderate at best.

However, John had yet to stop. He continued, "It filled my mouth not merely with flavour, but with a quiet comfort, as though it had erased my burdens of long roads and heavy thoughts.

Each sip seems to linger, unhurried, leaving behind a trace of calm resolve, like the steady courage of those who walk on despite the shadow."

He stopped and finally set the cup down and mumbled, loud enough to be heard, "There still remains upon my tongue a subtle taste, like the final note of a song sung beside a fire under starlit skies."

And he looked above.

Thane, Max, and Hawk followed him and looked above.

"What the hell are you looking at, uncle?" asked Max.

"Nothing," he sighed.

Max looked at Hawk. "You mixed something in that tea?"

"Nothing other than honey," Hawk replied.

Max asked again, "You mixed something in the honey?"

"Nothing that I recall," Hawk replied.

Thane spoke, "Max, your uncle is strange. He molested that damn tea, you know that."

John shook his head. "The art of having tea is simp..."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, uncle. Goddamnit, you are more cheesy than I am," Max stopped him before he could share the supplementary information.

John simpered, as if he had successfully accomplished what he intended. John then looked at Thane.

He was making silly gestures to Max. The sly smile of John turned into a genuine one.

Earlier, he regretted what he said to Thane about his town. He should not have let a kid like Thane know about it.

Unlike Max, who was brought up facing schemes, hardship, and solitude, Thane was a pampered child, a brute with innocence.

He spoke all that to somehow divert his mind, and he was successful.

"Alright, alright, my bad. Back to the topic, boys," said John as he clapped twice.

Max, who was a bit away, came closer.

"The exams for aspirants are divided into two types. One for those with martial might such as you."

He raised his brows and looked at Thane. "Second for guys who prefer fighting with the brain over the body, like my handsome nephew."

Thane scowled. He was getting sick of hearing that.

"Now again, each type must face three trials. 10 marks for each, and only someone with at least 15 marks will be picked, with toppers selected for top academies."

He again turned his face towards the young lord of the Ironforge clan. "The three trials for you are:

1. Body Trial: This will test your endurance, stamina, pain tolerance, and raw power.

2. Combat Trial: As it sounds, you’ll have to spar. 1v1 or 3v3, or maybe both.

3. Survival Trial: You will be given a flag that you have to protect and plant in a certain place. The faster you do it, the higher marks you’ll get."

Max and Thane subconsciously looked at each other. Thane was confident in his body, but so were other aspirants.

"Your trials now," John said as he glanced at Max. "The three trials for future strategists are:

1. Academic Trial: They’ll ask about all classical to modern strategies, logistics, and wars. Keep in mind, the questions can be related to the other seven states.

2. Command Trial: You’ll be given a complex situation on a board, a losing war. You’ll have to give the best results. If winning is not possible, then keep the sacrifices minimal.

3. Combat Trial: A direct 1v1 with other aspirants. Same position, equal troops, and even terrain. The best strategist wins."

Max sighed. "I’m fucked."