Jerome left the tower with the other blanks as they all raced into the jungle before them. Many of them split into groups and went different ways, while some stuck with him. One, in particular, Hedon was waiting for the right opportunity to attack him.
Jerome could feel his murderous gaze from behind him. He’d dealt with kids long enough to know that they could hold a grudge. This kid however was stronger than him. He wasn’t too sure he could get away unscathed if he exchanged blows with Hedon again.
What a pain! he thought with a sigh and changed direction. To his left, he could smell a body of water up ahead and went towards it — which was weird as he didn’t know when his sense of smell grew stronger. Now he could smell water? And by the looks of it, he was still a ways away from it. If a fight was inevitable he might as well set the stage. He increased his pace, hopping from tree to tree with intermittent acrobatics in between as he pushed himself further toward the body of water.
A few breaths later he landed at the shore of a lake. The lake was large, and the sloppy shore was filled with grasses. He quickly found a high enough tree close by to climb and wait for Hedon. There was no way back from this. Even if he didn’t want to fight, he would be forced to. He had embarrassed the kid and now there were going to be consequences. It was best to suck it up and accept that the bad blood between them would only grow.
He sat on the tree branch and cycled. Consciously sucking in the essence in the air with every breath he took to fill his core and strengthen his limbs. He needed all the help he could get, no matter how small. Shortly after, the teenager arrived with a crowd of people. Jerome opened his eyes and looked around at the audience the Alvric had gathered. This was a public humiliation. Jerome clenched his fist as anger rose in him.
It was on. Oh, it was on. He wasn’t going to let some petty kid publicly disgrace him. And all for what? His petty ego?
“Get down here and fight me!” Hedon thundered. “I’ll teach you—”
“Why should I get down? I’m not the one spoiling for a fight, am I?” Jerome countered.
Hedon gnashed his teeth in anger. He quickly pulled a long sword out of a storage bag of his own and ran towards Jerome. Jerome pulled his spear from his back and extended it as Hedon launched himself upwards at him. He jumped off the tree and met Hedon halfway with a vertical slash of his spear, while Hedon performed a horizontal sweep with his sword.
The two weapons clashed with a loud metallic bang that shook both sacred artists and they were both pushed away from each other. As they landed on their feet, they rushed in again, swiping and stabbing and parrying each other’s blows. It was like a dance with no clear winner.
Jerome knew he didn’t have the advantage in strength, speed, or agility so he attacked low. The knees, feet, ankle, every little opening he got, he used his spear which had better reach to poke at his opponent. Like an annoying gnat, but he never drew blood. He spun his spear to parry attack after attack and slashed downwards at his opponent who used the vambrace on his left arm to block the attack and stabbed at him.
Jerome spun sideways away from the sword that soon came at him in a wide arc. He quickly spun his spear to knock off the attack and in the same fluid motion, he used the butt of his spear to slash at the ground, kicking up dirt into Hedon’s eyes.
Hedon reacted fast. He shot backward and launched himself at Jerome to slash diagonally. Jerome spun his spear to parry the attack but this time, the attack carried too much weight. Jerome’s spear was knocked away and Hedon’s blade slashed at his left bicep cutting into the leather and drawing blood.
There was so much blood pouring out of his arm but oddly enough, he didn’t feel pain. What he felt was anger, rage that was threatening to consume him. His body worked hard to heal his injuries, but he just stood there and stared daggers at Hedon.
Hedon stood opposite him pointing his blade at Jerome. His expression was one of glee. He had regained his arrogant demeanor.
“Pick up your spear. We’re not done yet,” he spoke loudly, sounding heroic and charismatic. The other Blanks who were watching the fight from a distance were all excited. Some of them implored Hedon to teach Jerome a lesson.
Jerome’s face was red with rage. All hesitation and morals were gone from his heart now. Deep down in his heart, the urge to tear this teenage boy apart reared its head, the urge to drink his blood and feast on his flesh. To rip out his heart and bite into it like a beast. He felt like sinking his teeth into the teenager’s neck just to hear him scream in pain and fear.
Jerome tried to calm down as best as he could. He wondered where such urges were coming from. He was never someone who enjoyed the suffering of others. But for some reason, he liked those urges. Goosebumps rose to his skin. He shivered, shut his eyes, and took in deep breaths, but the anger wouldn’t go away. He pushed for clarity in his mind, but it was like his emotions had come alive and was fighting him for control.
Jerome looked at his left arm covered in bright red liquid. His blood had stopped flowing at this moment. He wiped off the blood on his hand with the skirt of his armor and walked up to his spear. He knew Hedon wouldn’t attack until he was ready. The teenager wanted to make Jerome lose face while looking heroic and fair to establish his dominance amongst the younger generation. Apparently, he saw Jerome as an equal now—but not a threat. Anyone who saw their first fight would know Jerome wasn’t a pushover.
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So, he took his time to wrestle his emotions under control, picking up his spear to face his opponent. The moment Jerome moved, he went blind with rage.
~~~
Rihal was a few miles away in one of the towers built around the mountain range, watching the events play out in the mountains through specially crafted artifacts. Some of the Blanks who came for Pilgrims’ Keep came with guardians to make sure things didn’t go too awry. They moved from tower to tower, out of sight, and away from the view of the participating Blanks so as not to give them the idea they were being watched.
All the guardians were usually Spirit Realm experts, so flying high in the sky was the normal way to move. Rihal thought back to Jerome’s question and smiled. Was the kid comparing him to the head guard? Was it because he hadn’t seen him fly? Rihal chuckled and faced the magical screen on the wall in front of him. Another of Vorthe’s magical wonders he usually took for granted. That is until Jerome came into his life and started asking strange questions.
The screen covered the entire wall — made it disappear really, and left a scene of a lakeshore in its place. The lake was a few miles east of his current tower. A nice place to relax and take a cool bath — if there were no predators around.
He wasn’t the only one in this tower. There were many other Spirit Realm experts here like himself and not all of them brought Blanks to participate in Pilgrims’ Keep. Some were here for the bets. To them these kids were entertainment. It didn’t matter who lived and who died as long as they got entertained.
“Do you think he can win against the Alvric, Rihal?” someone asked Rihal from the room full of Spirit Realm artists.
“My opinions don’t matter, Dunn. I’ll let my coin do the talking for me,” he said, shaking a pouch that materialized in his hand. There was no jingle of coins sounding from the pouch but they both didn’t need such evidence since the pouch was a storage bag.
“My kind of man,” Dunn laughed.
Rihal smiled. Dunn was one of the only experts in his Realm that could call him by name due to the close ties the Royal Family had with his Clan. He was from one of the Great Houses — House Itakar. A powerful House that defended the Kingdom in the North of Vorthe.
House Itakar had sworn loyalty to Vorthe millennia ago and had even sealed it with a marriage between their adopted daughter who was a princess from the Protectorate of Pathuma, Vorthe’s next-door neighbor to the northwest.
Members of House Itakar were ice wielders. Since they hailed from the frozen north of the Western Continent, it was a given. Dunn was also an ice wielder. But his attitude and bearing were in direct contrast to the attribute of essence he wielded; he was hot-headed but wielded the cold.
“If the odds are good I’m willing to place a thousand mids on him,” Rihal said with a smile. Was he sure Jerome could win? No. And a thousand mid-grade crystal coins were a little too much — and very tempting to a sacred artist who was just here to entertain himself.
Dunn smiled, a little dazed. “I’ll give you three-to-one,” he said. A thousand mids was no small amount. It was enough to help him avoid spending saved funds to buy a special artifact or two for his lady friends and Rihal knew this.
“Not so sure about the Alvric?” Rihal chuckled.
Dunn thought it through again. “Five-to-one. I’m not going higher than that.”
“Agreed. Five-to-one,” Rihal replied and turned to the person behind him. “Did you hear that, Head Guard?”
“Loud and clear, Lord Rihal,” the head guard said with a nod.
Dunn chuckled. “You sure are crazy, Rihal. Aren’t you putting too much on the line for the runt?”
“When I take your 5,000 mids, I hope you don’t complain, Dunn.”
“Ah! Funny enough, I felt like I was taking candy from a baby. You just made it easier to spend your money lavishly with a free conscience. One doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
They both chuckled and turned their attention to a specific spot where a group of Blanks had congregated in a semi-circle around a lake, observing two Blanks fight it out — Jerome and Hedon. They were all paying attention to the fight as they watched Jerome get better and better at tackling and countering Hedon’s moves.
These were all expert sacred artists, and they could discern a potentially powerful warrior when they saw one. Jerome had been growing throughout the fight, demonstrating an impressive ability to anticipate and counter Hedon’s move.
Hedon, on the other hand, relied solely on his superior strength and speed to fight. He showcased his strength, regaining some of his lost reputation. He fought well but he didn’t win, and neither did he lose.
Everything changed when Jerome bled. Rihal could sense that something bad was about to happen. He didn’t know where it came from and the feeling was fleeting. He looked around him and saw that everyone was concentrating on the fight, withholding their opinion, so he didn’t think much of it.
“Ready to lose a thousand mids, Rihal,” Dunn said, his face glued to the projection of the scene on the wall in front of them. Rihal didn’t answer him. He suddenly felt at a loss as he didn’t know what to do about that feeling that came and went like it was never there.
Jerome attacked.
Chairs scraped the floor, some tumbling over as many of the experts stood up in astonishment. Rihal stood up too. What they were seeing was beyond their comprehension. Many of the experts stole glances at Rihal but saw that he was just as bewildered as they were, which made them all the more confused.
What’s happening, Rihal thought to himself, he’s never moved like that before. No, no, no, no. He shouldn’t be able to move like that! He shook his head in frustration.