“You must be Jerome,” the kid with the mohawk hairstyle said.
“…”
“You’re famous, you know? Heard you meditated for nine days at Mhen Agrh’ur.”
Jerome said nothing, still waiting to see what was about to happen. Was this how it happened in movies with the bad guys? The bully was getting irritated as he never expected that he would not get a reaction out of Jerome.
“What did you do, sleep off or something?” he said. The crowd of Blanks burst out laughing.
“And what does this have to do with you?” Jerome asked and the entire hall went silent for a moment.
“Did he just talk back to Hedon Alvric?” someone whispered.
“This brat’s got guts, but he’s stupid if he thinks he can depend on the Royal family against the heir of the Alvric clan.”
The murmurs in the hall didn’t escape Jerome’s ears. He was right to think this guy, a bully. Hedon Alvric, the heir of a Great Clan? What was he doing here bullying a kid? Jerome scoffed at himself. The boy was no more than a teenager. He was nothing but a rich, spoiled brat.
The kid across from him had his face split by a broad grin. He looked like he welcomed the direction of their conversation. Jerome had a lot to be wary about. But he was also here to represent the Royal Family. He looked around to see if there were any other Blanks spotting the sun crest with an eye at its center, but no, he was the only one. Somehow it felt like this was done intentionally.
Every other House came with multiple disciples except his House. He would have words with Rihal after all of this was over. Something didn’t sit right with him about it all. Now that he thought about it, Rihal had deflected when he asked about other apprentices besides the librarian.
~~~
Hedon Alvric gazed at Jerome, sporting a broad grin on his face. While he wouldn’t say he anticipated this outcome, it was undeniably a welcome development. This was his chance to prove that the Royal family was just a bunch of weaklings and to establish himself in the hearts of the young generation. They had sent just one disciple to Pilgrims’ Keep this year. What a joke! He was going to chew the cur up and spit out his bones. All was right in war.
“Everyone knows you broke through to the Essence-Forming Realm after nine days in Mhen Agrh’ur,” Hedon said. “That being the case, your foundation must not be solid. I’m here to offer you a chance to seek protection under me during Pilgrims’ Keep.”
He tried to look serious but couldn’t keep the grin off his face. But there was no need to try so hard. Not for one so tiny as this. The boy looked like one of those made-up dolls they sold in the marketplace. Clean and cute with long, black, and shiny hair held by a string below his neck and reaching down to his back. His face also looked like a girl’s. Hedon chuckled to himself. He was going to have a lot of fun with this ‘girl’.
“What a farce,” the little boy responded, then shut his eyes not paying attention anymore.
What did he just say? Hedon became enraged. He never expected that the little brat in front of him wouldn’t pay him any mind. Or that he would dare to close his eyes in front of him as if he was no threat at all.
“You dare to snub me!” Hedon thundered. “I won’t embarrass you today because of the Royal family. Hand over that spear of yours and I’ll look away just this once.” He pointed at the butt of the contracted spear jutting out from behind Jerome’s right shoulder.
Hedon made sure to put a lot of bite in his words. He stood imposingly and cocked his head to the side with his chin up to give off an air of superiority. He knew he was in charge here. He was going to show this little brat not to disrespect his betters. The brainless brat opened his eyes to look at him once more. Then he did the unthinkable: he lifted his left brow as if to say, ‘Or what?’ and looked like he was giving him a condescending look.
Hedon nearly went mad with rage. His facial muscles ticked as he stood there boiling over. He felt insulted. No one except his father had ever looked at him that way — not even the older Alvrics in their estate. This little cunt in front of him was clearly looking down on him! Did he think he would get away with this just because he was a disciple of the Royal Family? He reached out with quick reflexes to grab Jerome’s neck, but his hand was smacked away just as quickly.
The little cunt looked him dead in the eyes with no emotion. This one was no pushover. Hedon swore to himself to wipe that defiance out of him this day. This was good. It was a good way to start the day.
~~~
Jerome watched as the teenager reached out to grab his neck and slapped the hand away. He threw a punch next but the teenager might as well have been moving in slow motion. Jerome dodged to his right as he punched him in the ribs in one fluid move. Staggering backward, Hedon instantly lost his cool. His face twisted in rage as he launched himself forward, attacking with both fists. He was fast. Not as fast as Rihal but faster than Jerome.
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They both exchanged several blows in a few breaths of time and Hedon had the upper hand. He kept cornering Jerome and launching his fists into his sides and face. Jerome kept defending, dodging when he could and blocking blows when he couldn’t dodge. He struck some blows himself but didn’t manage to get the kid to back off.
He wasn’t perturbed anyway. The kid was still not able to take the spear away from him. Hedon would have to work to get it and Jerome would be damned if he gave up his only weapon. The Alvric teenager wanted him to be dependent on him when they left the tower. And that was never going to happen. Even if it meant he fought dirty. He wasn’t going to be anybody’s dog.
Jerome punched him in the face — a lucky shot. Hedon staggered backward but quickly shot toward him again. He had underestimated his opponent and embarrassed himself in the process. Now he wanted to do everything in his power to regain his stand without seeming like he was bullying the weak. But he wasn’t thinking straight, Jerome knew. He also knew that the Alvric heir knew now that he had more fight in him than the average dog.
Jerome was on the back foot for the better part of the fight but never lost his cool. The only other person he’d ever fought against was Rihal whose momentum was impossible to break. Compared to Rihal, the teenager in front of him was a child. He soon found a rhythm in the way Hedon attacked and could barely keep up. He parried blow after blow, dodged, and punched out with grace that should surpass a twelve-year-old kid.
Hedon made a feint with his right hand and clipped him in the jaw with his left. He laughed, enjoying the thrill of catching his opponent off guard. But Jerome was observing and learning. Hedon broke his own rhythm once in a while with his feints. He moved like the wind but still favored his right leg. Jerome staggered three steps backward and Hedon rushed him, but Jerome used his momentum to do a backward flip and kicked Hedon’s arm away, and then in the face with his other leg. He spun around while still in a handstand, legs spread wide as he went for Hedon’s leg.
Hedon quickly withdrew giving Jerome the chance to get up, but he came in hot again. He made a feint for the third time, but Jerome caught his arm and used it to swing on top of him. Jerome used that momentum — and with his legs clamped onto Hedon’s temples — to launch him, head-first into the wall.
~~~
The impact was loud. The wall cracked and Hedon saw stars. He couldn’t believe he would be bested by a baby Blank who wasn’t even a season old. He could not have this. He could not leave a fight in such a state. He tried getting up but his head was whirling around like he had drunk his father’s favorite ale all night without pause.
His father.
Nolan Alvric would have his head if he heard his son lost to a mere disciple, a baby Blank at that. A child who wasn’t even thirteen summers old. Just as his eyes cleared and he wanted to attack again, a guard appeared in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder, restricting his core. He gave the brat a death glare that promised everlasting torture. Hedon was going to drag out that torture so he would know his place… and so no one else gets any ideas.
“No fighting in the Keep. You’ll both be punished for breaking the rules,” The head guard said as he hovered in the air.
~~~
“He’ll come after you during Pilgrims’ Keep. Do not show him weakness,” Rihal told Jerome as he unsealed his core.
His core was sealed for a fourth of the day as punishment for breaking the rules of the keep. Of course, Jerome knew those weren’t really rules. The guards just used that as an excuse to get on top of the situation, and for that he was grateful. But why wouldn’t they? They were guards of the Royal Family after all.
They sat inside a tiny room on the first floor of the Keep. It was neat and almost bare. Probably the room of a low-level guard. Jerome’s mind went back to the flying head guard. That was the most awesome thing he had ever seen. The man was hovering in the air without wings or strings. That was some Superman shit and he couldn’t wait to try it. Wait, could… he turned to Rihal with an inquisitive look.
“Can you do that, Rihal?” he asked curiously.
He felt Rihal raise an eyebrow at him behind his blindfold. Huh? Now that he thought about it the blindfold was on the moment they came into the clearing where they met the guard that greeted them. When did he put it on?
“Do what?” his master asked and Jerome smiled mischievously.
“Fly.”
Rihal snorted and threw him a small pouch. “What is this?” Jerome asked.
“Look inside,” Rihal said, smiling.
Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. Jerome opened the pouch and took a peek, gasping in surprise at what he saw.
“How is this possible?!” he exclaimed with his eyes like saucers peering into the pouch. “How does it work?!”
~~~
You are in for a surprise, Rihal thought. Maybe he’ll get to see those eyes of his disciple’s nearly pop out in shock this time around. Rihal smiled. Then he threw the pouch at Jerome.
Rihal was elated. The look on Jerome’s face was golden. He only got to have fun once in a while and this — he observed Jerome once again — was definitely going to be fun when he used it against the little devil. He brought out a memory crystal and captured the scene, all the while schooling his expression so as to appear nonchalant.
“Probably the same way my storage ring works,” he said, holding up his left hand and looking at the black ring on his index finger. He had never concerned himself with the job of artificers. Without them, carrying things around would be nearly impossible. Perhaps they would find new ways to do so but that was not his job. They produced wonders like the storage rings and bags and that was all that mattered.
“It’s called a storage bag. Make good use of the resources inside it,” he said.
The boy kept his gaze on the inside of the pouch as though searching for something he lost. He dipped his hand into the bag and it was swallowed up, as if by a black hole in the air.
“It’s so big on the inside,” he muttered, “like space was compressed or…folded to fit inside it. How does gravity affect this?”
Space? Compressed? Folded? Gravity? Did he hit his head or something? Rihal knew Jerome was stranger than most but it seemed he was getting stranger as he grew up. What was in those books he was given to read anyway? He knew Jerome had spent most of his evenings in the library pouring over the texts. Those books had been carefully selected so as not to give him too much information. He had thought they would be too much for the little child but apparently, Jerome was a scribe in the body of an urchin. The little devil. Tch!
“Ahem,” Rihal coughed loud enough to pull Jerome out of his reverie. “You should get going.”
He nodded absently and took out a map of the mountain range as he walked out of the tower. The map was a very detailed one. Made by one of the best Cartographers in Farryn. It would help the boy better than any weapon he could wield. Rihal watched him go, hopeful that he could triumph above whatever challenge the mountains brought him.