In the days since the last meeting with the Order, Arthur Arkland had been lamenting, but also dutifully giving a deep thought, about Magister Sorath's words. As usual, whenever he has free time after dinner, he would retreat to a study room that the siblings' late father had passed on to his only son as his own, staring absent-mindedly at the deceased patriarch's watercolor portrait and consuming his box of Lucky Star, hoping that a flash of wisdom would come from somewhere. Smoking has become his habit when he has a lot on his mind, one stick of fag after another, until the room reeks with the stench of tobacco.
Spread on his desk is the four files of the related personnel where in one of them, he could see a portrait of himself with an expression that he wasn't sure why his sister would make fun of it so often. As for the others, there was Robin's, smiling slightly at the camera; the white-haired Person of Interest, Meteos Roguerider, looking solemn despite his overall childish façade; and finally, Go-Daguva-Zeba, one of the rare instances where he wears anything remotely formal.
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Behind the Ancient Ministry is the 'secret department,' but behind them even more is the Order where Arthur and some others' true affiliation stood. As the hidden pillar that supported the great tree called the Holy Empire like a root from the depths of the earth, the Order is an organization that emphasizes close cooperation between its members. However, even when he was newly inducted, Arthur had already predicted that Daguva would be the source of a disruption in the Order's inner workings. The stag-beetle demi-human's borderline monstrous raw power had led him to not respect anyone weaker than him, Arthur included, and he behaves like a wet-behind-the-ears brat most of the time, alienating his fellow members with his occasional brazenness. Yet, the powerful Magisters sitting at the top of the hierarchy are keen on keeping him within the fold for their own reasons. Fortunately, they are powerful enough that Daguva considers them worthy of respect. Before this, everyone seemed to obey the leadership's words without question, and even Arthur himself was half-concerned that his voicing of long-held grievances to Magister Sorath back then would be seen as challenging the Magisters' authority.
Surprisingly they took it well and even 'allowed' Arthur a task to see if he could change this unruly member's ways. Even though he didn't like it that much and wondered what possessed him to say that back then, in hindsight, of course he should be the one who will be responsible for anything he said in front of the Magisters.
'But most importantly... the Person of Interest's presence seems like a force that draws and binds the three of us individuals together...'
In any case, Magister Sorath had already provided a clue as to how Arthur should approach this situation, now that he had seen Daguva's hidden depths came to light: it turns out that he is fond of children in his own delinquent-like way. The Person of Interest, initially a target of surveillance, now was being considered as an ally to the Order and the goals they pursue. His part is on how he should capitalize on this fact without letting everyone down, nor without pushing Daguva too hard that he will feel threatened and lash out.
That moment, a noise from the study's door drew Arthur from his brooding, revealing a head of green hair poking inside. Morgan, the dearest twin sister of his was already donning her sleepwear and her face was covered with what appeared to be slices of fresh cucumber. A mischievous smile dancing on her lips gave Arthur a sense of foreboding as to what is her intention in visiting the study, carrying a large wooden bowl with her.
"Brother!"
Quickly shelving the files he was inspecting, Arthur set aside his cigarette into the ashtray and coolly greeted his sister.
"...Morgan... Shouldn't you be in bed? You have work tomorrow."
"Hehehe..." Morgan giggled adorably in response, "It seems to have gotten chilly tonight, so I'm about to make myself a glass of hot chocolate first... but Brother, what's with the long face? Did something happen at work?"
After studying her sister's face for a moment, Arthur harrumphed and decided to be partially honest with her, "Something is always happening at work, that's just how the Ancient Ministry is."
"Eeeh... but Brother, your expression now is worse than your usual face. At this rate, my friends will be scared of going to our house even more!" Morgan lamented.
"Then stop making things difficult for me and let me have my peace. I'll figure out my problems eventually, now go take some rest, it's already near midnight."
"Fiiiine... by the way, Brother... this is for you."
Morgan walked closer to the desk and placed the wooden bowl that she had been carrying. Arthur's initial confusion, marked by his furrowed eyebrows, turned into a stunned surprise after he saw what was inside.
It was a water-filled bowl, where a small soft-shelled turtle was attempting to climb to escape.
Arthur stared, "What is this?"
"Oh, whoops," his sister, momentarily flustered, quickly caught the squirming creature before it could escape. "I caught the critter myself! It was wandering in the backyard, maybe from the river through the canal." Then Morgan's smile returned. "Brother... since you still haven't found a wife yet, if you ever get lonely or discouraged, it can cheer you up."
He didn't want to ask why his sister was out in the backyard at night, but her teasing ticked him off enough that he quickly snatched the bowl from her and stood up with an irate expression.
"Mocking me, are you?"
"Sheesh, take it easy," Morgan pouted and turned to leave. "Brother, you always smoke when you're thinking about serious things, but you've been smoking too much lately! Why don't you cook a turtle soup for your health if you'd like...? Before you turned into a shell of a man."
"Such impudence..." Arthur watched his sister saunter away with a mix of exasperation and affection. His little sister's random attempts to lighten his mood were actually effective at times. It's just that Arthur wouldn't let it show to Morgan's face, knowing that she would never live it down for who knows how long. With Morgan out of his sight, the older twin placed the wooden bowl back on top of the table and pondered again as he stared at the creature that his sister had caught.
Now, back to thinking about Daguva's issues, Arthur picked up the still-burning cigarette in the ashtray and stared at it for a moment before resuming his smoking, making sure that he savors this one bit to the fullest. The turtle in the bowl peered out again, its eyes seeming to regard the bird beastman with curiosity.
----------------------------------------
April 20, 1615 Central Calendar, 09:30
Leiden, Enysfal Province
For centuries, the Holy Milishial Empire has known peace with roots stretching back to the Unification of the Middle Lands, an era preceding even the creation of the Central Calendar. As such, headlines depicting faraway battlefields such as “Mu Demands Apology to Leifor Over the Border Skirmish” or “Parpaldia Empire Invades the North” hardly stir any concern within the hearts of ordinary citizens. These mere headlines, drifting on the periphery of their lives, hold little relevance and evoke no more than a passing thought. As long as it didn’t threaten their lives, they don’t see a reason to grieve over the thousand souls lost on foreign shores separated by vast oceans.
In a world far removed from the chaos of conflict, seasons seem to come and go quietly, and life goes on with an obvious grip of monotony. Even amidst the kaleidoscope of colors in a place like Leiden, the inhabitants engage in their daily routines with a sense of predictable rhythm. At the break of dawn, as the sun peaked over the distant hills, the townsfolk awakened to the gentle melodies of seagulls and the distant chime of temple bells. Shopkeepers eagerly flung open their shutters and offered their merchandise to any passersby. Fishermen cast their nets into the shimmering azure waters. Men and women exchanged pleasantries and engaged in light banter. Meanwhile, visitors from other towns flocked to the tourist attractions, seeking respite from the pressures of their own mundane lives. Artists perched on easels, their skilled hands breathing life into canvases, capturing the essence of Leiden’s charm on canvases, immortalizing the vibrancy that seemed to bloom with every passing hour.
These weary adults often found themselves longing for much brighter days, where they frolicked like wildflowers in open fields, rivers, and the shoreline; when the responsibilities of life had yet to transform into bondage that chained them and their hearts still brimming with the innocent joy of youth.
For some fortunate souls, though, parenthood became the ultimate source of joy and fulfillment. The notion of nurturing a new life and witnessing it bloom held an irresistible allure—a promise to break the chains of monotony and bring them into a more colorful world filled with laughter. Among those were none other than Roderick and Meteora Roguerider, the parents of one. Just as the empty nest syndrome threatened to cast a gloom upon their lives, with their only son prematurely taking flight from the nest they had so lovingly built, destiny unveiled a jaw-dropping revelation. After more than a decade since their last bundle of joy graced their lives, Meteora’s second pregnancy nearly caused them to faint in disbelief.
Roderick had closed his civil engineering consulting firm for today and told his employees to take a day off. As for himself, he and his wife were preparing to embark on a trip to the district capital to conduct a medical check-up as Meteora entered her sixth week of pregnancy. After he finished putting Meteora’s bag in the trunk of his car, he turned just in time to see his beautiful wife, wearing a cloak above her dress, stepped out of the Roguerider residence’s threshold.
“Meteora, be careful!” Roderick frantically walked to his wife and reached for her hand. “The steps can be slippery…!”
Giggling, Meteora replied, “Oh, silly Rod, you fret too much! I’ve been walking down these steps for years, you know.”
“I know, Dear, but with the little one on the way, I can’t help but be extra cautious, come, let me help you.”
Roderick held the door open for her, guiding her with a gentle hand. Once Meteora was settled comfortably inside, he closed the door and made his way to the driver’s seat. Glancing at the rearview mirror, his gaze traveled to the sight of his weary yet radiant wife. Her hands lovingly caressed her belly, which seemed to be more slightly pronounced around this time compared to her previous pregnancy with Meteos. Roderick, who likes to peer over scholarly journals in his spare time, had read that women who’ve been pregnant before often start showing earlier than first-time moms because their abdominal muscles have been stretched by their first pregnancy, so it must be a normal thing, he thought.
“Are you ready, Dear?” Roderick asked with a smile before starting the car.
“Mm,” Meteora nodded. “Hey… Rod?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t believe we’re going to be parents again. It feels like a dream!”
“…Indeed it is. Our family is growing again, Meteora. To think that Meteos will be an older brother, I, too, still can’t believe it.”
Both of them laughed.
Gently rubbing her belly, Meteora wondered aloud, “I wonder… if it will be a boy or a girl this time?”
“Haha… As long as our child is healthy, it doesn’t matter. But first, we need to ensure everything is going smoothly with the check-up today, right?”
“Ah, I couldn’t ask for a more loving husband. Thank you, Roderick, let us go.”
The car quietly left the Roguerider residence and headed into the district capital.
…………
After a 30-minute drive, the couple arrived at the district capital called Maum, an urban center sitting at the southern end of a valley in an inland hilly region northwest of Leiden. Despite its mostly traditional architecture and quaint appearance, being positioned on the national road leading to the provincial capital of Forrad and housing an ancient castle that served as the seat of the local nobility, Maum boasted a remarkable array of infrastructure, including a reasonably-equipped hospital where Meteora would undergo her first of a series of prenatal visits.
There, after conducting the initial tests, the two were led into the examination room once again by the obstetrician in charge to be explained about a new procedure that was absent when Meteora gave birth to Meteos in this very same hospital fourteen years ago.
“…at the sixth week of pregnancy, your baby’s major organs and systems are beginning to form. But most importantly, the cardiac activity in your baby’s developing heart is also accompanied by the beginning of mana generation. At present, we have a device capable of detecting your baby’s mana signature to determine its growth,” the obstetrician in charge explained.
Having randomly read that once, Roderick straightened his back in reflex with slightly widened eyes, responding, “Ah…! Are we talking about a specialized mana detector for medical use, Your Excellency?”
“I see that you are well-informed, Mister Roguerider,” the doctor commended. “Indeed. We have a unit already in operation in this hospital, and with your consent, we will proceed immediately to the OMD test.”
Technology, including in the field of medicine, has marched on in the decade since Meteos’ birth fourteen years ago. This included the development of the OMD or the “obstetric mana detector,” a specialized instrument that evolved from the mana detector to check the development and presentation of a fetus inside the womb. It takes advantage of the fact that a 6-week-old fetus is already beginning to generate mana indicating that it is alive, thus has a signature visible to a more focused detector. The Roguerider couple, who had the privilege of being served by the earliest model of the device, stared in wonder at its futuristic look as they entered the dedicated examination room.
A white cylindrical device made of metal, it was as thick as a grown man’s height, lying horizontally within the room. And in the middle, there was a circular opening where a bed can be slid inside. This is the current incarnation of the OMD, totally unrecognizable from a mana detector which is just an antenna.
“Mrs. Roguerider, please lay down there to begin the procedure.”
“…Umm, do I have to take off my clothes, Your Excellency?” Meteora shyly raised her hand.
“What?” the doctor shook his head in amusement, “No, no, you don’t have to, just lie in there, please, and we’re good to go.”
As instructed, Meteora was helped by an anxious Roderick to lie down on the bed, while the medical technician started the device with a pleasant hum emanating from the OMD. On the side where the doctor and Roderick stood, there was a screen used to see the fetus’ mana signature. While the device is preparing, Roderick took the time to ask about this device to the doctor standing beside him.
“Your Excellency, if this device is still a mana detector, how is it different from the ordinary mana detector?”
“Are you familiar with how a mana detector works?”
“Actually, I think I do. It detects things by forming something called a detection field, right? Usually it takes the form of an invisible dome where magic signatures of everything inside it can be detected, at least that’s what I can tell.”
“That’s good enough explanation for a layman’s level,” the medical technician remarked, impressed with Roderick’s explanation.
This brought Roderick a sense of relief. He knew that as a civil engineer, mana detector is not his field of specialty, but he felt the need to keep up with his son somehow.
“Sir, we’re good to go,” the medical technician announced. With a nod from the doctor, the operation began. The interior of the device glowed with a bright bluish light.
“Inside this device,” the technician began, “there are magic circuit arrays specifically arranged to detect the small mana signatures emitted by the developing fetus. Unlike a regular detector like what you had just described, this machine employs a more focused approach.”
He then pointed to the circular opening. “When a pregnant mother lies down on the bed and enters the machine, the machine generates a narrow beam of ‘detection field,’ or a ‘detection ray,’ as we call it, that is directed towards her abdomen. This beam is carefully calibrated to interact with the mana signature as small as a fetus, allowing us to determine, for example, if it is alive or not.”
While the detection process itself was more precise, the transmission of information to the screen followed a familiar pattern, much like a regular mana detector. However, this ‘detection ray’ had an incredibly limited range of less than one and a half meters, making it suitable only for situations like this.
As the screen flickered to life, displaying the fetus’ mana signature, the technician was about to report to the doctor when he witnessed something astonishing. “Now, we can see that your baby is properly developing and—oh, oh my! Your Excellency, look at this!”
The technician’s exclamation caught the two’s attention. With a slight alarm, they hurriedly approached the screen with pounding hearts.
“What is it? What do you see?” Roderick’s voice trembled with anticipation.
Eyes widened with awe, the technician pointed at the screen. “It seems that… Mrs. Roguerider is not carrying just one baby. Two… three… four…! I’ve counted four light spots!”
The words hung in the air for a moment before the revelation sank in.
Quadruplets. Four precious lives are growing within Meteora’s womb.
----------------------------------------
April 21, 1615 Central Calendar, 11:49
MOASEC Aerial System Development Facility, San Redentore District, Runepolis
‘Four…’
As usual, the facility was filled with the noises of machinery and the chattering of engineers, but Meteos’ mind was clouded by a different kind of turmoil. It was a kind of foreboding that not even seeing the majesty of the newly-born Heavenly Vessel that he helped to orchestrate could alleviate. Even as he went up the ladder and inspected the still-bare cockpit section of its airframe, he couldn’t help but think of that certain number over and over again. The news from home that arrived yesterday, revealing that his mother was pregnant with four, had shaken him to the core. Kagaseo, the God of the Stars that he had met in his dream had indeed guaranteed his mother’s safety during childbirth, but Meteos still felt cheated by this fact.
In conclusion, even when granting boons, Kagaseo still tested him.
“Hmph. How delightful.”
Lost in his thoughts, Meteos’ mind was drifting between the world of aeronautics and the impending expansion of his family. The image of his parents’ joy upon hearing the news of the quadruplets warmed his heart, playing inside his mind like a bittersweet melody. He knew they would love and cherish each of their children, but he couldn’t shake off the sense of uncertainty and fear that crept into his thoughts. Maybe this is a test of faith to see if he will keep praying or something. It’s not like there’s something he can do about it.
When the break time came, Meteos was found sitting in the cafeteria, glumly staring at his meal unlike his usual self. Before his two friends grew even more concerned with his attitude that did not suit a reaction to happy news, Meteos gave a clarification to his current state of mind, “You know… at most, I was prepared for two, but four? It feels… overwhelming.”
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“…Uh, but think about it, Meteos!” Walman exclaimed in an attempt to cheer his friend. “Four little brothers or sisters! It’s like having a whole team of siblings, don’t you think?”
Robin chimed in, “Yeah, Meteos, it’s bad manners to not rejoice at your own family’s happiness. But… I can understand where your anxiety comes from.”
From the others’ perspective, Meteora’s pregnancy this time can be said to contain a very high risk. Because first, she was already in her late 30s, and second, it was a quadruplet pregnancy. For Meteos, being afraid when destiny was literally standing by his side on this matter was indeed absurd, but damn if his mortal soul doesn’t feel agonized over it.
“Still, I wish I could do more for my mother besides wishing for her successful delivery. I want to be there to at least ease her struggle with my presence. Maybe seeing her with my own eyes will ease my anxiety, too, even if it’s for a brief while.”
“Hmm, if that’s the case, then this summer vacation should be a good time for you two to return to your hometown,” Robin raised an eyebrow and stated as if it was obvious.
“…But as I recall, you are keen on enrolling us, your students, in the annual exam this August. Are you sure you are okay with passing that opportunity?”
“Nah, kid. It just doesn’t sit right with me to deny my dear apprentice a chance for filial piety,” Robin waved off her student’s concern. “There are many ways I can come up to adapt to circumstances. For example… hmm… this: ‘You do have the potential, but as your teacher, I have decided that you need some more additional training before I deem you two eligible for entering the exam.’ How’s that? Good enough, right?”
Seeing their teacher playfully wiggling her eyebrows in the assurance of her own awesomeness, the two boys snorted in good nature. Like an old proverb, the wise adapt themselves to circumstances, as water shapes itself into the vessel that contains it. In the first place, Robin thought it was more ideal for Meteos and Walman, who aimed an advance in rank, to enter the exam hosted by the Imperial Board of Magical Arts Supervision when they are 17 years old, but did not oppose if they wish to try it earlier. But then again, the two’s success in the exam will lead to Robin’s own advancement in rank, so it’s rather understandable if she would want it to happen sooner.
“That’s well said, Miss Robin. Besides, Meteos still has many drawings stashed in his house that he can check by returning,” Walman added, giving another point.
“See? There’s that as well.”
“Alright, you two have convinced me,” Meteos couldn’t help but chuckle. “I will go visit my mother, but at the same time not let up in my contributions to the Ancient Ministry’s progress, like passing over two mountains in a single gallop. But still… I need to vent this feeling of unease until that time comes. Should I visit the Training Ground after my shift?”
Robin laughed and tapped the table in approval, “Practicing is always good! Just don’t get too overboard with it, okay?”
Meteos nodded again. Learning how to fight is easy, but having composure is not. Throughout this second life, unpleasant news hardly fazes him, so why should Meteos Roguerider lose his composure at clearly happy news? Absurd, indeed.
“Right. While it’s a shame I can’t be there, I’m looking forward to this weekend. Don’t you too, Walman?”
“Why, yes. Of course I am!”
Feeling a grinning Walman clapping his back, he felt a surge of gratitude enveloping him. With the support of his friends and the belief in himself, the uncertainty and fear began to transform into excitement and anticipation for his expanding family.
“Haha. Let’s not make dear Teacher disappointed, shall we?”
“Aw, you’re so considerate.”
…………
14:30
MOASEC Training Ground
Meteos made true of his word not long after he returned from his shift. To chase away the tempest of frustration that was brewing in his mind, he sought solace in the Training Ground where he is free to imagine his anxiety as a target that can be struck with his fists. With each inhaling and exhaling of a deep breath, he tried to let go of his concerns, centering himself amidst the chaos of his thoughts. Then, his eyes snapped open and Meteos began to run through the basic movements of a certain style.
Drill. Chop. Cross. Blast. Crush.
Letting his frustrations melt away, his fist moved as if he was wielding a spear; aggressive, linear, and explosive. Bursting strength in a flash, every movement generated a distinctive sound of thumping as his clothes rubbed against him and his footsteps echoed in the silent clearing.
Born in the chaos of the ancient battlefields, this style has only five fists and twelve forms. It does not appear to be difficult to practice, but it is not very easy to attain its complete skill. An elf can practice the hands for many years, and practice the legs for many years, then they understood the fists. But humans live a fraction of their lifetimes. They are fragile, yet intense. In order to become proficient in this art, they must practice all year round, no matter what, and practice arduously, strengthen their body, and fill it with power. Value quality, not quantity. Simplicity, not complexity.
For a style invented by an elf, it was brutal.
Drill!
It has the shape of water’s flowing motion, whirling and eddying endlessly. It can dodge and evade. It can rule and smash. It can knock down and it can flick up. It can rise and it can fall.
Chop!
Like a metal axe that can split an arrow, as metal destroys wood. It chops downward, and it chops to the front. Blocking and intercepting the incoming posture. It can attack and it can defend.
Cross!
It is like a spring. Scaling and plowing postures to defend the front of the chest, neutralizing an incoming fist’s advance. It can break the path of the enemy’s retreat. Outer flicking can press. Inner cover can press. If the enemy’s stepping is flawed, then one can leap into the center gate into his face. If one comes to a fissure then step to the side gate and advance.
Blast!
Exploding outward as fire rides the wind’s power. Shooting up towards the front. Break the enemy and break his fist.
Crush!
Piercing like an arrow. The outgoing hand is like a sharp arrow issuing forth. The forward fist has the energy of pulling a bow. In issuing, the fist goes out to the middle and suddenly goes up. It appears to go up and suddenly sinks down. Up, middle, down, to and fro, the directions are not fixed. In attacking there is yet a penetrating defense. In defending there is yet solid attacking. Out of one attack, there should be ten thousand ideas for defense. The forward fist defends and also contains attack.
With each blow, he imagined his invisible adversary being ground bit by bit. The more he felt his stress drain away from his being, the more Meteos feels the burst of his power, until when he was completely relaxed, it created the strongest explosive force.
Drill. Chop. Cross. Blast. Crush.
For now, he shall punch his way through the imbalance inside his mind until the heavens allow him to visit Kagaseo again, and by then, there will be no doubts.
…………
“Hey. Flamberge here. If you want to see something interesting, you can come to a place to enjoy the cool winds after enjoying two cups of wine. Don’t hesitate to do some stretching if you want.”
And so, the two individuals concerned absconded from their public duties with the upper management’s tacit approval and found themselves perching at one of the trees surrounding the clearing in the Training Ground. Earlier, a little bird has been so kind in informing Byleth and Ashmodai that their surveillance target has been deviating from his usual weekday routine of work-rest-study-rest, necessitating them to make ‘slight’ adjustments. As the de facto team leader for the assignment given by Magister Sorath, Arthur decided to make the most of this opportunity by ‘accidentally’ running across him while practicing.
“Those moves are the foundation of Shieshimu, the Formthought Style. What do you think of his performance?”
“Huh. Intriguing.”
“………I see.”
“So, what do you want to do now? Come and ‘greet’ him just like that?” asked Daguva incredulously to his partner. He was expecting the birdbrain to cook up some convoluted shit, but the answer he gave before coming here was quite straightforward.
Giving him a side glance in acknowledgment of his words, Arthur was silent for a moment.
“No need for an overly complicated plot this time. That will be the decision.”
“Oh? Alright. Gigizasogu (very well).”
Arthur descended from the tree and approached the boy who was seemingly engrossed in his practice. As he drew nearer, Meteos noticed his presence and stopped, muttering something under his breath before turning toward him with a cordial smile.
“Mister Arkland? Fancy seeing you here! …and apparently Mister Daguva, too,” he exclaimed, looking past Arthur to see the other man somersaulted from his perch and land on the grassy terrain, waving lazily to him with a smirk. The bird beastman gave him a nod in return.
“Young Roguerider. Nice to meet you too. I see you have been practicing.”
“Yes. Actually, I wasn’t expecting us to run into each other again so soon. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here, sir.”
Arthur observed his junior closely, noting the faint furrow in his brow and the slight tension in his stance. Unlike the previous few times when they saw each other, this time he could see that this child carries a burden on his shoulders.
“…I was about to do light sparring with Daguva, but then we saw you. Forgive us for being intrusive, but we couldn’t help but stop and watch you practice your moves.”
His half-honest words brought a bashful laugh from Meteos. “I see… but I merely cycle through the basics, though.”
The verdette narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “Why so self-deprecating? You performed those moves flawlessly, what is there to be ashamed of?”
From Arthur’s perspective, this kind of attitude that is displayed when someone is really good at what they do is not humility. It’s called annoying. When one boasts about something, it is natural that they must also be able to back it up with their deeds. But this? Had it been someone else, he won’t hesitate to shove his boot to his face when he does that. Fortunately, he is still a boy.
Averting his stare, Meteos answered, “No, I mean… there’s something that has been weighing on my mind. It made me struggle to concentrate on practicing the more advanced moves.”
“Oh. Now that’s more like it. What happened? Did someone at the Ancient Ministry bully you?”
“No, nothing of that sort. I’m just ashamed of myself for not being able to rejoice on a happy day. Actually…”
Arthur and Daguva listened as Meteos confided to them about the turmoil in his mind. When reminiscing about the past, Meteos found Arthur to be a good listener, albeit a bit awkward when interacting with people. But maybe his suggestion to this might just be what the reincarnator needs at the moment.
“…I see. Hmm… If you don’t mind, as a senior, I can give you some pointers so that we can help each other. You can also think of me as an embodiment of your anxiety, so that by striking me, it may put your mind at ease. What say you, Roguerider?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Good, shall we start, then?”
“Sir, you are more than a decade my senior. Please be considerate.”
“You hear that, Arkland! Be kind to the kiddo,” Daguva snickered with a patronizing tone.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur stepped forward as the wordplay with the younger Meteos indicated that they agree to a spar, with Daguva as their spectator. Settling on a position several steps from each other, Meteos was the first to take a stance. With a swift movement, he bent his knees low and level with his right foot in the front, then brought his clenched fists in a similar positioning. Before they began, Arthur proceeded to give his junior some introduction about his style.
“Personally, I dabbled in Roshiiga, a style based on swordplay. Single reverse palm is a single blade!” In a flash, the verdette adjusted his stance and delivered a quick reverse palm strike using his right hand. “Double reverse palm is a double blade, the feet are out and in.”
He withdrew his hand and spun on his feet, showing his footwork, before facing Meteos, settling with his style’s signature stance. He kept his spine straight, with relaxed shoulders and elbows kept down, while his arms are curved and knees are bent. The younger of the two inwardly smiled; Arthur Arkland was known for his good looks and his Roshiiga, but ultimately, the former is better than the latter. In addition, he also hampered his own physique by becoming a chain smoker. It’s not without reason why in this world, Robin is able to dominate almost every single bout with Arthur.
‘Alright, Arthur Arkland, your wake-up call is nigh…’
“There are sixty-four transformations, and attacks… they come out of NOWHERE!”
‘Here he comes!’
Arthur spun on his feet, followed by a low-aiming reverse palm strike. With widened eyes, Meteos somersaulted over the older man’s shoulders to avoid the blow, then brought his right elbow upward to block the follow-up attacks. Seizing an opportunity, Meteos ducked before delivering a roundhouse kick which was parried by Arthur’s palm, but as soon as his left foot touched the ground, Meteos quickly followed that strike with a backward elbow strike, spinning to face his opponent when he felt it connect with Arthur’s guarding arm that was chained into a palm strike. The momentum was used by Meteos to launch a front kick, then a jumping roundhouse kick that forced Arthur to retreat and open the distance between them.
‘This child is light on his feet, and his moves are already like Robin’s.’
Just like his teacher, Meteos’ fighting style is complicated, seamlessly incorporating multiple styles and chaining his strikes one after another with efficiency. As the two faced each other again, taking into account the younger fighter’s movements so far, Arthur formulated that he should try to get close and aim for his head if he wanted to gain an upper hand.
This time, Meteos went on the offensive. With a series of wild clawing movements, he lunged forward, switching to the eagle wing-mimicking fist the moment Arthur parried his attack. In response, Arthur backstepped and spun to deliver a downward strike. And seeing it blocked, he then stepped to close the distance and aimed at Meteos’ head with his right palm, but he narrowly avoided it and pushed his second attempt with his left palm. It was then that Meteos grabbed Arthur’s thumb and twisted it with a surprising amount of force, forcing him to backflip.
“Hrng!”
After recovering, Arthur brought his right fist around their connected hands and swiped at Meteos’ from outside to break free from his grip. But when he launched another right-hand strike at the opponent’s head, Meteos leaned to the side and struck the opening in Arthur’s abdomen with a series of backhands. Looking down, Arthur saw Meteos’ fingers briefly touching his stomach after that attack, chaining it with a powerful palm strike that sent him back several steps. The first thing he saw after recovering from that blow was that Meteos’ stance changed again, with his fingers forming a signature position that he could recognize as Robin’s Gaudoro, the Eagle Claw Style.
“Woooh! Nice!” Daguva hollered.
At this point, the intensity of the spar had peaked and adrenaline surged through both fighter’s veins. However, Arthur began to feel the effects of his habit creeping in. A dull ache settled in his chest, and his breathing became slightly labored. Gathering his remaining energy, Arthur relaxed his stance, with his face flushed with exertion. With a raised hand, he signaled for a pause, to which Meteos complied by doing the same.
“………”
“That’s… excellent,” Arthur panted, trying to catch his breath. “Truly, Robin has taught you well.” Too well, even.
Meteos, still brimming with energy, nodded with understanding. He could see the strain on Arthur’s face and the exhaustion in his movements. Lowering his readied fists, he took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling the tension dissipate.
“Thank you for your consideration, sir!” he replied respectfully. “Your affinity in Roshiiga makes me exert myself, and I already feel better within twenty moves!”
Arthur managed a tired smile, appreciating the younger fighter’s graciousness. “So, Roguerider, what do you think?”
“I must ask something, is it really necessary to aim for my head, sir?”
“…It is what it is, Roguerider. Roshiiga is underhanded. Beware,” boasted Arthur in an attempt to save the last of his dignity. But inside, he was ashamed, ‘Darn it… to think a child can force me on the backfoot like this…’
With his lamentation, Arthur unconsciously brought his hand and rubbed his chest.
“I see. Then it will be certainly challenging in facing the practitioner of one, but each challenge leads to a higher peak. I am looking forward to seeing how high the peaks will get.”
“Heh. This will be interesting.”
Meteos earnestly hoped that this time, his senior will be able to quit his habit before it was too late. Arthur Arkland was a good and intelligent man, but all that potential was gone without a trace when he touched opium. What a shell of a man the previous timeline’s version of Arthur had become.
The bird beastman turned his attention to Daguva, who had been observing the spar. “What do you think? Good enough for you?”
A toothy grin was his answer. “Dammit, the kid’s got some moves! I’m definitely looking forward to going all-out against him someday. It’ll be a thrilling fight!”
Hearing that sent chills down Arthur’s spine as he glanced back at Meteos, who grinned back at him sheepishly. “As long as you remember that he is still fourteen… Besides, Roguerider still has a long way to go in his training and development. Interested in giving him some pointers as well?”
“Eeh… I don’t really know many fancy moves, all I need is to throw my opponents to the ground, so…” Daguva shrugged.
Meteos chuckled, hiding a tinge of intrigue that surfaced within him. A strange choice of fighting style for someone with a slim build similar to Arthur. Something is suspicious here.
“Ah, you are a wrestler, Mister Daguva?” Meteos quickly shifted his expression and played along.
“That’s right. I can’t recall when the last time I lose to someone! Hahahaha!”
Arthur interjected, “That’s enough. You may show him sometime in the future, but for now, I have seen enough. There are other matters we must attend to after this.”
“Alright, alright. I suppose we’ve had our fill of entertainment for the day. Keep up the good work, kid. Maybe we’ll cross paths again in the future.”
“Yes, I’m still looking forward to that discussion, sirs,” Meteos nodded.
With their farewells exchanged, Arthur and Daguva quickly disappeared from wherever they came from. For Agents Byleth and Ashmodai, their first move in getting closer to the Person of Interest could be called a success. And for Meteos, he hoped that his green-haired senior would take the hint and get better, even if it was to preserve his own pride.
The two sides intended to get close to each other and fulfill their own veiled agendas. With the Person of Interest now on the Order’s radar, they continue to dance around each other, drawing closer with each step until the two can firmly join hands to achieve their shared goal together.
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19:00
Arkland Residence, Daybreak Town, Junis District
It had been a long day at work, filled with meetings, paperwork, and a touch of intense barehanded combat. The weight of responsibilities pressed heavily upon his shoulders, any hope of slacking off was already a distant dream. However, he could still take a rest in his father’s—no, his study room. As he entered, the first thing he noticed is that his twin sister, Morgan, was there, neatly arranging the books on the shelf. Seeing her being so diligent brought a small smile to his weary face.
After schooling his expression and rapping the door, Arthur announced his arrival.
“I’m home.”
“Hm? Aah, Brother, you’re home!”
Morgan abruptly turned, rushing toward him with open arms, a bright smile on her face, ready to envelop him in a bone-crushing hug. However, the elder brother, feeling mischievous in that moment, swiftly ducked and spun on his feet, evading her embrace and marched into the room victoriously.
“Yeah, no, not this time,” Arthur said with a flat tone as he turned toward the desk, but flashing a victorious smirk once his face was out of Morgan’s line of vision. He really enjoyed the brief respite from his burdens, seeing Morgan’s dumbfounded expression after he sat down on the chair. His twin sister’s arms hung mid-air for a moment before she recovered and pouted.
“Hmf, you’re such a jerk. What’s wrong with giving hugs?”
“…You wouldn’t want to. I sparred today, so I’m a bit sweaty.”
Morgan rolled her eyes and pointed at him dramatically. “Fine. But don’t think you can avoid me forever!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Arthur relented. “By the way, I see you have been cleaning this room.”
“Yeah, I thought I’d help clean up a bit. You know how much Dad loved this room, and I want to keep it just as he left it.”
Nodding, Arthur watched as Morgan continued to carefully organize the books on the shelf. The room seemed to brighten with her presence, and it reminded him of their father’s fondness for this space. As he absentmindedly reached for his cigarette box, he paused, the Person of Interest’s words from the earlier bout echoed again in his mind.
“…each challenge leads to a higher peak…”
What felt like an eternity had passed as he contemplated those words. When he felt stressed out from life, nicotine was his way to alleviate the pressure that seemed to follow him everywhere. It had offered a temporary reprieve, a fleeting sense of calm amidst the brewing storm. Now he had become dependent on it, using it as a crutch to find solace in the act of lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. And look what it had brought him, his pride was almost crushed by an ambitious child. He once hoped that Roguerider will continue to amuse them adults, but not quite in the form of this self-deprecating amusement.
At that moment, his mind wandered to Daguva again. That stag beetle demi-human also did the same, but he never suffered from its effects. He wanted to cry foul toward fate, but was slammed by the fact that he was a special case of a sentient being.
Eventually, Arthur closed the lid of his cigarette box and took a deep breath, realizing that it was time to make a change for the sake of himself.
“Morgan,” Arthur called out. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Of course, Brother. What do you need?” Morgan turned at him curiously.
The elder twin tossed the Lucky Star box to his sister, who turned indignant upon seeing the thing she had reflexively caught. “What!? Brother, do you want me to smoke!?”
“No. When you come out of this room, I want you to throw that away for me. From now on, I’m quitting smoking.”
“………”
Morgan stared at her brother, “Really? You’re not some stranger who impersonates my brother, are you?”
“You scolded me when I smoke, so you are going to scold me when I quit smoking as well? Why must you make things difficult for me?” Arthur facepalmed.
Morgan blushed. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean it.”
“…Never mind, just do it. Also, what about Hubert, have you fed him today?”
As a side note, the siblings decided to adopt the turtle that Morgan had found the other day as their pet. And Arthur, who had surprisingly grown fond of the creature, named it… Hubert.
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Currently Publicly Available Information
TRAINING GROUND
[https://img.wattpad.com/22e70f2ed715463f3498214698ce24248e2c71af/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f303661364f4272734955387138513d3d2d313336323831313838392e313737323037633832353762316261303734393731363536353036342e706e67]
A designated location for the citizens of the Holy Milishial Empire to hone their magical abilities within the boundaries of the law. Governed by the Law of Magical Arts Supervision, these establishments are crucial in ensuring the safe and responsible practice of magic throughout the realm.
Generally, Training Grounds can be categorized into two: the outdoor Training Ground, which usually takes the form of a clearing in the middle of a forested area, and the indoor Training Ground, which also sometimes doubles as a fighting arena for martial arts competitions. While Training Grounds generally follow a similar layout, the more prominent ones often add their own uniqueness.