"Very well, boy. What we're going to train today is what I believe to be your main problem,"
said Ekaterina, holding back the answer for a moment, observing the boy's reaction.
When he finally showed signs of anxiety, she continued:
"The basics."
She paused briefly, then explained firmly:
"I say this because your spells are good — honestly, far above average compared to what we know here in Svarog. That, I have no doubt about. But what's the point of casting them if, every time you do, you nearly pass out? Or, as I've noticed, show no understanding at all of your own physical limits — or of the creature's you're trying to take down."
Her gaze hardened.
"Imagine if you take down an enemy… and there's another hidden in the shadows, waiting for the moment you let your guard down. Or worse: waiting to see you weakened."
Ekaterina's voice maintained its usual harsh tone, but there was something beneath it — a genuine concern, hidden between sharp words.
Nikolai understood exactly what she meant. He knew — with almost instinctive precision — how much energy he still had. That had never been the problem. What he lacked was the control to manage that energy, the discernment to know how much to unleash on the enemy — enough to bring it down, but not so much that he completely drained himself.
He felt like an awkward giant: too strong for simple tasks, overdoing everything due to a lack of balance and wisdom. That, he acknowledged, was his greatest weakness. And it had taken only two missions for Ekaterina to clearly see it.
"For that reason, we're going to need to train both you and your magic a lot. We need to refine it and shape it in the most practical and economical way possible. And for that, there's no better place than the training grounds. So, follow me."
Nikolai was surprised — it was the first time he had heard of a specific place to train that wasn't his own practice room. Excitement rose instantly, almost childlike… but was soon replaced by confusion as they left the tower toward what seemed to be nothing but an empty space.
Days in Svarog were like so many others in the North: gray, heavy skies, always promising rain — a promise that never came. The cold air dampened the stones, and the open field seemed to breathe along with the tower.
This time, however, Nikolai wasn't just anywhere. Ekaterina had taken him to a distant training field, much larger than he had imagined. It was hidden by being on the opposite side of the entrance to the lower levels — and at the same time, completely empty, as if no one had the slightest interest in using that space.
"This place is huge…" he murmured, eyes scanning the vastness. "But… how isn't it destroyed at night?"
His thoughts were already drifting off when SMACK! A sharp slap landed on his head.
"Ow! Sorry, I got distracted."
"Then try to focus on what I'm saying,") she replied, arms crossed. ("Do you see that pillar?"
Nikolai followed her finger. At the center of the field stood a stone column adorned with runes that faintly glowed, like embers under ash.
"That one?"
"Yes," Ekaterina replied with the calm of someone repeating the obvious. "It's a protection rune. During the day, it absorbs energy from the light and from the tower's magical currents. At night, it releases that energy in the form of a dome, creating a barrier that keeps most creatures away. It's a continuous cycle: it absorbs, protects, recharges. The leader of Svarog only needs to reinforce it a few times a year."
Nikolai was mesmerized. It was almost like a shield of light, but with absurd efficiency: stronger and less magically costly than anything he had ever seen.
"So that's why this place survives the night…"
"Exactly," Ekaterina nodded, but quickly narrowed her eyes. "But it's not free, and you spacing out doesn't pay the rent I had to cover to get us access to this space. So, if you keep drifting off into thought, we'll be wasting time — and coins."
Nikolai swallowed hard, a little embarrassed. He still didn't quite understand how things worked in Svarog, but he recognized one truth: Ekaterina was making an effort to help him. The least he could do was listen attentively. He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and nodded, ready to absorb every word.
"Very well," she said. "Let's go back to the beginning, to see what you really understood from what I said."
"Okay…" Nikolai took a deep breath, trying to sound confident. "I have a serious problem with my fundamentals. So I need to learn the basics."
"Exactly," Ekaterina made a sweeping gesture, pointing to the Svarog tower rising behind them. "Look at this colossus. It's solid, imposing; it's been here long before me and will still be standing long after you. But it's not strong just because it wants to be. It's strong because its structure was built to endure centuries."
She traced the shape of the tower with her hand.
"Look: it narrows, allowing the weight of the upper floors to be distributed to the lower ones, reducing pressure as it goes up. Even the fiercest winds up top are gradually withstood thanks to this narrowing — which exposes less and less of the structure to the risk of collapse. All of this ensures that the tower is tall… and at the same time, enduring."
Then she raised a finger.
"Now, think with me: that building didn't start with the roof. Nor with an inverted taper."
Nikolai remained silent, swallowing hard.
"Today, your magic is exactly that: a tower built from the top down," her voice was sharp. "You use spells that shine, that destroy, but they have no base to stand on. It's like us, blue bear tamers: capable of casting spells even a white wouldn't reach… but if we miscalculate, we faint or kill ourselves in the process."
She gave a slight sigh.
"The fear of killing ourselves with spells taught us, from early on, to extract the most out of weak spells: to refine every spark, to stretch every drop of vigor. Only then can we survive fights that last hours, days… entire wars. And, even better, that teaches us to understand our limits — something essential to use more complex spells without dying in the attempt."
What Ekaterina said made too much sense to ignore. Every word struck like a hammer on Nikolai's conscience.
He had always blindly trusted the spells in the book, believing that summoning that power was enough to rid himself of any danger. But for the first time, he forced himself to imagine: what if the arrow hadn't nearly ripped off the Leshiy's arm? What if the monster had dodged?
The scene returned to his mind like a waking nightmare. He saw himself again in that moment — the creature roaring, eyes burning with hatred, the staff coming down. If his arrow had missed, the fight wouldn't have just been harder… it might have been impossible. And worse, his energy reserve had been drained in a single shot. All it would've taken was a second attack from the enemy, and he'd have been an easy, defenseless target, waiting for death like a fool.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how irresponsible he'd been. He'd abused his own power as if it were infinite, as if there were no consequences, as if the price would never be charged. But each spell was a coin tossed in the air — and he'd been spending like a reckless gambler, betting without thinking of what he could lose.
The Northern cold seemed to pierce his skin, sending chills down his neck. He felt small before Ekaterina and the truth echoing in his chest: it wasn't enough to be powerful. One had to be wise first.
"I think… I think I understand," his voice came out lower than he'd liked.
"Good," Ekaterina cast a spell Nikolai didn't recognize, and a wooden dummy emerged from the ground fifty meters away. "Then prove it. I want you to hit that target with the least amount of energy possible."
Nikolai nodded, confident. He raised his bow, focused, and fired. The arrow glowed… and vanished before even reaching the target. The very air seemed to mock him.
"Tsk…" He clenched his teeth.
He tried again. And again. And failed every time. It was like trying to tame a river to flow gently through his fingers. He had always relied on using everything — pouring out the maximum amount of energy and letting brute force do the work. Now, however, each weak shot demanded reasoning, precision… and a self-control he simply didn't have.
Ekaterina sighed, tired.
"Very well. You'll be here for a while," she turned and adjusted her hood. "I'm going to get something to drink. Want anything?"
"No, thank you," Nikolai's voice trembled with frustration.
When he was alone, he let the bow drop. He felt like an idiot. Everything he'd done until now had been meaningless. Even in simulations, he had never thought about what he'd do if he passed out. In a real battlefield, he would have been killed — and dragged Ashen down with him.
Suddenly, a light bite on his leg brought him back. He looked down.
"Damn it, Ashen…" The bear stared at him with those firm eyes, almost as if saying, without words: get up. Don't give up.
Nikolai took a deep breath, ran a hand through his companion's thick fur, and raised the bow again.
"You're right. Sorry. I can't let this shake me. We're here to learn. Let's start over."
The cold wind swept through the training field. And, for the first time, Nikolai didn't want to take down the target with power — he wanted to master himself.
"Very well… I think I finally understand what I need to do," Nikolai muttered, breathless.
Sweat ran down his face as if he'd just come out of a real fight, revealing the many hours of accumulated failure. At first, he had thought to use the simple trial-and-error tactic: shoot, feel the enemy, and trust his instincts. But he quickly realized that wouldn't work against a moving opponent. He was doomed to fail. He needed to find a pattern — a reliable method.
Ekaterina, sitting on an ice chair she had carelessly shaped, arched her brows as she watched him persist. Mishka, her ancient blue bear, let out a mental grumble, her deep voice echoing in the tamer's mind:
"Look at that, he figured out quicker than you did that it wouldn't work."
Ekaterina smirked.
"Maybe so… but it's still too early to tell if he'll make it."
Mishka didn't hold back:
"Friend, why do you believe in this boy so much? He does seem powerful, sure, but we've seen so many like him… and almost all of them fell. Is he really different?"
Ekaterina answered out loud, as she always did when talking to her bear. To anyone watching, it would seem like a woman talking to herself.
"Honestly, I don't know yet. But that old woman saw something in him. And when a Sobolev sees something… the least I can do is believe."
Mishka grumbled again, but didn't push it. Even she knew that when Marya's name came up, everything became wrapped in shadows and riddles.
"Look," said the bear, with an almost amused tone. "He got up again."
Ekaterina's eyes fixed on the boy. This time, the arrow flew straight, precise, embedding itself in the target fifty meters away. He hadn't just hit it — he had understood.
Ekaterina believed that magic had to be felt — a living current that could be measured through instinct and practice. That's how she used her illusions, her false sounds, her blinding flashes: feel, adjust, release. Easy to say, but extremely hard to do. It required training, repetition, and above all, clarity about what one was trying to achieve. The secret was in this key: chasing the feeling, sharpening instinct until nothing went unnoticed.
Yes, the task was hard — but for Ekaterina, it was the only possible way to teach what she was trying to pass on to Nikolai.
What Ekaterina hadn't realized was that Nikolai had reached a completely different answer than hers. While she trusted her senses and instinct… he trusted numbers.
"Well… if magic isn't infinite, then it must have a clear limit. I know exactly how much I have. Maybe I can quantify it — assign values to creatures, adjust distance in numbers, and refine my expenditure using fixed rules."
The idea sparked like a flame and spiraled inside his mind. Nikolai was beginning to realize that his sense of space wasn't useless — just misapplied. As he came to better understand how magic functioned, he began to believe he could bring logic to a field governed almost entirely by instinct.
To him, instinct was something built over time — but he believed he could shorten that process by applying a more defined method. Slowly, a theory began to form: to apply logic and structure to his own power, treating magic as if it were a set of numbers on a market ledger. In a way, he already did this instinctively. His idea now, however, was different: to shoot while estimating, in exact numbers, how much energy he was spending. He wanted to use his magic systematically, methodically — almost scientifically.
"If every meter costs 0.03% of my energy to sustain an arrow… then at fifty meters, I'll need at least one and a half percent. No more, no less."
It was raw math, dry reasoning — but it gave him an invisible ruler to measure his shots. The complexity of the calculations, however, increased as he added new variables: number of enemies, target speed, number of arrows conjured.
If Ekaterina understood what he was doing, she would've found it unthinkable. She didn't calculate anything — she simply felt the space around her, shaped magic like a living fabric, and when she fired arrows, she had to picture all enemies simultaneously. It was a mental effort that demanded refined instinct and years of practice. She simply wouldn't understand how someone could reduce all that to numbers and data.
Nikolai, on the other hand, was walking precisely that unusual path. To him, there was no need to feel magic as an extension of his own skin. It was enough to predict where the enemy would be and release the exact calculated amount of energy. No embellishments, no distractions — just precision and economy in its purest form.
Ekaterina, watching from afar, couldn't understand what was happening. The boy wasn't just learning to use magic sparingly. He was, without realizing it, creating a new method — something she had never seen. It seemed crude… but with each arrow fired, he visibly improved, at a pace anyone could see with the naked eye.
"Are you seeing this?" murmured Mishka, stunned, unable to grasp what she was witnessing, though she recognized its terrifying efficiency.
"Yes… but I don't know how to explain what he's doing," replied Ekaterina, equally intrigued.
When he finally felt he had reached an acceptable breakthrough, Nikolai raised his head — sweat pouring as if he had just come through a battle. Then he shouted:
"Ekaterina! Create multiple targets. I want them to attack me at high speed!"
A smile formed on her face. She was shocked by her inability to understand what the boy was aiming for, but curiosity consumed her.
"No problem. How many enemies? And at what distance?"
"Six enemies. Any distance you like."
The confidence in Nikolai's voice boomed like unexpected thunder. Ekaterina grew anxious; Mishka, on the other hand, growled with irritation inside her mind:
"What does this boy think he is? One small achievement and he already believes he's figured it all out? How could Marya have seen something in him?"
Ekaterina didn't respond to the bear's provocation with anger. She simply murmured:
"Calm down, Mishka. Let's see what he's created."
She herself was torn. She knew this could easily be nothing more than youthful arrogance. After all, it had taken her years to learn how to modulate her power efficiently. Her goal that day was simply to show the boy that even the simplest spells, when used properly, could be just as complex as intermediate or advanced ones — and that there was a vast gap between using magic and perfecting it. To feel the space, to shape magic as something alive, to refine every nuance… all of that was a process that took years, sometimes decades. And that boy believed he had discovered something in a single day?
Still, behind the skepticism, something burned within her: the desire to be surprised.
"Whenever you're ready!" she shouted.
"Now!" Nikolai bellowed.
Immediately, six silhouettes emerged, springing out of nowhere, running in different directions — some from the front, others from behind — all fast, ravenous, like true predators.
Ekaterina watched with anticipation… even a touch of pity. To her, it seemed obvious that the boy had no way out — she had made sure not to go easy on him.
Nikolai turned, assessed the angles, and for a moment… froze.
"See that? The arrogant one froze."
But then, in a sudden movement, Nikolai raised his bow. His eyes sparkled. He calculated. Weighed. Measured the impossible in fractions of a second.
The closest target: ten meters. The farthest: one hundred and twenty. Different speeds. Collision paths.
And just as the first shadow was about to reach him, he fired — the first arrow. The energy rose, cutting through the air in an upward arc, then fragmented. As the first target fell, Nikolai's movement seemed almost slow, but surgical: no exaggerated gestures, no hesitation.
One breath — one fallen target.
The arrows hit exactly where they needed to, as if they had been programmed. Minimal movement. Minimal magic used. No panic. Just pure calculation.
Ekaterina's eyes widened. The arrows seemed almost powerless — slower, heavier, and… wrong. That's what she thought for a single second. Until she realized the truth.
"That son of a bitch is aiming where the enemies will be…" she whispered, stunned.
And, one by one, the illusory targets were pierced. Clean punctures. Perfect falls. Not a single arrow wasted.
Mishka, the old blue bear, roared in her mind — not in criticism, but in pure desperation:
"This is impossible… How did he do that?! How can someone do this with so many enemies?!"
Ekaterina felt her mouth go dry. Her eyes turned to the boy, drawing his bow once more, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he hadn't just done something extraordinary.
She took a deep breath, and for the first time admitted aloud, almost to herself:
"I think… that old woman really does know something. Maybe we need to speed up the pace of this training…"