Oliver hung his head shamefully, as Volguard held up his messy sheet. He was still embarrassed of his writing, and for good reason. He'd spent enough time in classes to know what good writing looked like, and he'd seen enough of the other students reading the chalkboard to know that he was slower than the rest. He'd been putting in extra effort in this regard, but he still hadn't caught up.
"I expect matters were much worse before you came here," Volguard said. "I must express my admiration for you for getting better so quickly, but this still is simply not good enough. For a noble, much less an intellectual. It would do your reputation a great disservice if you went into exam season with your subjects in such a state. What have your other Professors said?"
He'd only had his mathematics professor and the medical professor, both of whom he'd managed to avoid writing too much for.
"Nothing much, as of yet," Oliver said meekly. He knew he'd be in for it when they finally found out. It was a pretty tragic state of affairs.
Volguard sighed. "I suppose I ought to do things differently," he mused. "You have an inherent knack for strategy, it would seem. Perhaps it's worth focusing on the more academic side of things."
"The academic side?" Oliver repeated. "Is the strategy itself not the academic side?"
"Well, in part," Volguard agreed, "but the presentation of the findings to the general intellectual body, that's the academic side. A man can come up with a genius idea and never have it be appreciated by the masses because he is unable to present it to the masses.
As such, we have standardized forms of presentation that are learned within the Academy, so that there isn't such a big gap that needs to be closed between scholars presenting different findings."
"Like speaking the same language, I suppose," Oliver said idly, leaning back in his chair.
Volguard's eyes lit up at the comparison, and he pointed with an excited finger. "That's exactly it! Exactly right!
The Syndran intellectuals have made all sorts of discoveries on their ancient burial mounds in recent times, but for the written language barrier between our two countries, we've yet to decipher quite what all of it means… It doesn't help that the Yarmdon are sandwiched firmly between our two countries, preventing the sort of intellectual trade that we seek…"
He coughed into his hand when he'd realized that he'd gotten off topic. "But for you, young Patrick, it means getting your writing under control, making it more presentable, learning the standard forms of presentation. It will require a great deal of effort, but it will do much for you in the future."
"Like what?" Oliver asked, before hurriedly correcting himself. "I'm not disagreeing, Professor, I just genuinely can't see a future in which I'd need to be able to write that well."
"Say to a peasant 'you ought to learn how to swing a sword' and he'd probably tell you that it wouldn't do any good for filling his belly," Volguard said. "But when the day comes that the Yarmdon fall upon them, that need to know how to defend themselves becomes a desperate want…"
That example hit far too close to home for Oliver, close enough that it made memories begin to flash through his head. Not just of the defence of Solgrim, but of the attack on his own village.
"The mighty, young Patrick, can do all sorts of things. The question is not 'why should I learn that' but just what can I do with it once I have learned it? They might sound the same, but the premise is different.
The mighty would never turn down the chance to become great at a skill that others value, even if they doubt its current usage, they would trust in the fact that it will no doubt prove useful in the future. I am sure you have experienced the same, no? Since you become competent with the sword, it is now a valid and overwhelming option whenever you're presented with trouble.
Your academics can serve much the same usage," Volguard told him.
The Professor seemed to understand that he was ranting, but it was hard to tell a man off for being passionate, and Volguard was one of the few teachers that genuinely seemed to care.
"The whole world is a battlefield, young Patrick. The sword is not the only weapon. If it is all you have, then I fear, when the time finally comes for peace, you will seek the sword simply to prove your worth again," Volguard said, trailing off as he noticed the time on the hourglass behind them. "Now, it would seem that the appointed time for your meeting with Princess Asabel has arrived.
Do think on what I have said, I would hate to see your talents wasted."
Oliver twisted his head round, recoiling in shock as he saw the same clock. He'd lost track of time for a moment there, and he hurried to his feet, thanking the Professor for his time. Volguard waved him away impatiently, urging him to think on what he had said, and Oliver intended to, though he guiltily knew that it would likely not be at the top of his list of things to think about. Not now.
"It's here," Verdant said, passing him a note as they ascended the stairs of the Yellow Castle once again. "Nebular's list of ingredients that he requires from us." It was the sort of crumpled messy note that one would expect from an alchemist. From the yellow stains on it, it looked like it had been stained with tea several times over before it had been reduced to the list that it currently was.
Oliver flicked it open with his freehand, as his other hand rested on the sword at his hip. He'd brought all his retainers with him this time. Jorah, Karesh and Kaya marched nervously behind the two of them. Jorah managed to keep a straight face, but the other two could not have looked more nervous if they'd tried.
At even the slightest amount of noise, they'd flinch heavily and their hands were reaching for their sword.