Chapter 11
Good evening, Starshine, the earth says 'Hello!'
The train to Xerkes Academy hummed steadily through the picturesque landscapes, its rhythmic motion a soothing backdrop to Adom's contemplative mood. He gazed out the window, watching the blur of greens and browns, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. The excitement of returning to the academy was mingled with a sense of anticipation for what lay ahead.
As the train wound its way through the hills, the door to his cabin slid open, and a boy about Adom's age peeked in. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the empty space opposite Adom.
Adom looked up, his eyes meeting those of the newcomer. Something about the boy seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen him before. "No, it's not. Please, have a seat," Adom replied, gesturing to the chair.
The boy settled into the seat with a grateful nod. "Thanks. These trains can get crowded," he said, stowing his big bag overhead.
Adom studied him as he settled in. There was an air of eagerness about him, a youthful enthusiasm that was infectious. "Heading to Mandrake?" Adom inquired, breaking the ice.
"Yes, I am," the boy responded, his eyes lighting up. "I'm going there to prepare for the Xerkes entrance exam. I've heard it's pretty tough, but I'm determined to make it."
Adom's interest piqued. "Xerkes, huh? I'm actually a student there. Just returning after a brief leave."
The boy's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? That's amazing! I've read so much about the academy. It's like a dream for someone like me." He extended his hand, "I'm Leon, by the way."
Adom shook his hand, a sense of familiarity settling in. "Nice to meet you, Leon. I'm Adom. Adom Sylla."
The moment Adom's name left his lips, Leon's expression shifted from friendly curiosity to outright excitement. "Adom Sylla? The Adom Sylla? The one who survived Shadowfade Syndrome?"
Adom, taken aback by Leon's reaction, chuckled uneasily. "Yeah, that's me. But how did you know about that?"
Leon's enthusiasm was palpable. "My father's a doctor in the royal court of Santagal. He keeps up with medical news, especially rare cases. Your story spread quite quickly, you know. It's incredible – they're calling you 'The Boy Who Lived.' You're like a celebrity in certain circles."
Adom was taken aback. "Did news about that spread already?"
Leon leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "It's more than just news, Senior. It's hope. Shadowfade Syndrome has always been a death sentence. Your survival, it changes everything. People are talking about it, wondering if it could lead to new treatments, maybe even a cure."
Adom pondered Leon's words, he knew the wider implications of his recovery. It wasn't just about him anymore; his experience represented a beacon of hope for many others. The enormity of it was both humbling and overwhelming. Adom had a slight hope the blood hermes took from him could really have some answers for the cure, For all he knew, only death could heal it, literally.
Curious, Adom asked Leon about his father's name. "Dr. James Cain," Leon replied with a hint of pride. At the mention of that name, Adom's mind clicked. Dr. James Cain - a respected figure in the medical community. But more importantly, the boy sitting before him, chubby and radiating an aura of amiable innocence, was destined for greatness. In the future that Adom knew, Leon would grow up to be a towering figure in the world of sorcery – a formidable sorcerer and the founder of the Order of the Knights, a faction that played a crucial role in shaping the magical and political landscape.
The contrast between the Leon of the future and the boy sitting across from him was stark. In Adom's memories, Leon Cain was a lean, imposing figure, his presence commanding respect and awe. His reputation as a master sorcerer was built on a foundation of unparalleled skill and a strategic mind that had turned the tide in many crucial battles. He was known as a man of principle, a leader whose actions were guided by a deep sense of justice and commitment to the greater good.
Yet here he was, in the present, unburdened by the weight of his future legacy. The jovial, easy-going teenager with a slightly round face and an infectious smile seemed a world apart from the stern, battle-hardened leader Adom remembered. It was almost difficult to reconcile the two images – the boy and the man he would become.
Adom chuckled nervously, his mind racing with the implications of this encounter. He had known the news of his cure would eventually spread, but he had underestimated the speed of its travel. It was no surprise that Dr. Cain, being at the forefront of magical medical research, would be abreast of such developments. But to think that his son, Leon, would be sitting right here with him, was an unexpected twist of fate.
"So, your father is Dr. James Cain," Adom said, trying to keep his voice casual. "I've heard of his work. He's quite respected in the medical community."
Leon beamed with pride. "Yeah, he's pretty awesome. Always busy with his research and helping patients. I've learned a lot from him. He's one of the reasons I want to become a sorcerer. He always encouraged me to follow my dreams."
As the train rolled on, their conversation meandered through various topics – from their favorite subjects at school to their hobbies. Adom found Leon's company surprisingly comfortable. There was an earnestness about him, a genuine curiosity and enthusiasm for life that was refreshing.
"So, what's your favorite weapon, Leon?" Adom inquired, leaning back in his seat, wanting to confirm something.
Unsurprisingly, Leon's eyes lit up at the question. "Oh, the lance, definitely. There's something about its reach and versatility that appeals to me," he said, his hands gesturing as if holding the weapon.
Adom nodded, "A lance, huh? That's quite a choice. It requires skill and precision."
"Yeah," Leon agreed, his enthusiasm palpable. "I've been practicing with a wooden one at home. My dad says it's too early, but I just love the feel of it."
Adom smiled, there was no doubt about it, this was the guy, one of the greatest heroes of his generation. "Well, keep at it. Who knows, you might become pretty good at it one day. The Golden Lance...'"
The words slipped out before Adom could stop them. It was the nickname Leon would earn in the future – a title that signified his prowess and valor.
Leon blinked, surprised, then laughed heartily. "The Golden Lance? Wow, that sounds amazing! Thanks, Adom. That's quite a compliment."
Adom, realizing his slip, chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, it just seemed to fit you. You have that air of determination."
Leon's cheeks reddened slightly, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "I'll have to live up to that now, won't I? Golden Lance, huh?"
The train journey to Mandrake had been filled with conversation and shared snacks, creating a bond of camaraderie between Adom and Leon. As they stepped off the train, Leon struggled with his hefty luggage, the numerous suitcases and the oversized bag making his progress cumbersome.
Adom, noticing Leon's predicament, couldn't help but smile. "Need a hand with that?" he offered, already stepping forward to help.
Leon looked at him, a mix of relief and embarrassment on his face. "Oh, thanks, Adom. Sorry about this. My mom insisted I bring... well, practically the entire house," he said, laughing nervously.
Adom chuckled in understanding, remembering his own mother's insistence on packing extra for him. With a casual gesture, casted a levitation spell, and the luggage gently lifted off the ground, hovering in the air. Leon's eyes widened in astonishment.
"Wow, that's... that's some skill you've got there, levitation spells are tough, aren't they? You're actually supposed to feel the weight of what you're levitating." Leon remarked, impressed by the seamless execution of the levitation spell. Adom's feat was no small matter. Levitation spells, especially those capable of lifting heavy objects, required the caster to have a deep understanding of the weight they were manipulating. It was a spell that demanded a fine balance between mental focus and magical energy.
Adom, noticing Leon's surprise, gave a modest smile. "Thanks. I've done my fair share of lifting back at the farm, so I guess I have a pretty good feel for weights." He thought about the recent enhancement in his magical abilities since reaching level 3 and how it had amplified his control and power. The system had undoubtedly played a role in this newfound ease with which he executed the spell.
As they navigated through the bustling station, Adom inquired about Leon's accommodations. "So, where are you staying in Mandrake?"
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Leon, managing to balance a suitcase on top of another, replied, "I've rented a room at this place close to the library and training areas. It's called the Weird Stuff Store. The owner, Mr. Biggins, is a friend of my father's. He's got a few rooms for rent upstairs."
Adom stopped in his tracks, his expression one of surprise and amusement. "The Weird Stuff Store? With Mr. Biggins?" he echoed, an eyebrow raised.
Leon nodded, seemingly unaware of the store's reputation. "Yeah, it sounded like a convenient place. Plus, Dad said Mr. Biggins is quite a character."
Adom chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh, he's a character, alright. You're in for an interesting stay. Mr. Biggins' shop is known for its... eclectic collection. And the man himself is a legend in his own right."
Leon's eyes widened with curiosity. "Really? What kind of stuff does he have?"
Adom grinned, thinking back to his own experiences at the store. "You name it, he's got it. Weird artifacts, mystical relics, things you can't even imagine. Half of it, I'm not sure if it's real magic or just clever tricks. But it's definitely worth a visit."
As Adom and Leon left the station, their arrival in Mandrake was marked by an unusual spectacle unfolding at the city's central square. A crowd had gathered, their attention riveted on a cordoned-off area where two figures stood facing each other, the air thick with anticipation.
Adom's gaze sharpened, recognizing the setup for what it was—a duel. Such events were not uncommon in this world, where personal honor and disputes could be settled by a formal challenge, sanctioned by law and observed by the public. He noted the elaborate preparations, the protective wards shimmering faintly around the designated area, ensuring the duel's effects remained contained.
Leon, catching Adom's focused interest, followed his gaze. "A duel?" he murmured, more a statement than a question, his tone laced with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
Adom merely nodded, his eyes not leaving the scene. In his mind, the rules and traditions surrounding duels ran clear—a consensual combat where the terms were set by the participants, and upon conclusion, the victor's claim was enforced, with the crown claiming its share from the vanquished's assets. It was a practice steeped in tradition, more prevalent among the upper echelons of society where honor and reputation held significant weight.
Two men stood facing each other, their expressions one of intense focus and burning animosity. One, a tall and muscular figure with a mane of fiery red hair, was identified as Sir Gareth. His opponent, a smaller and more wiry man with sharp features and quick, darting eyes, was known as Jasper. The air around them crackled with magical energy, an invisible tension that seemed to draw the crowd in even closer.
"Your insult to my family's honor cannot go unanswered, Jasper!" Sir Gareth bellowed, his voice carrying over the crowd. His stance was aggressive, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that gleamed with a faint magical aura.
Jasper, unfazed by the larger man's display, responded with a sneer. "Your family's 'honor' is as thin as your wit, Gareth. I stand by my words. Let this duel decide the truth."
A hushed silence fell over the crowd as the two men formally acknowledged their duel, reciting the ancient words that bound them to their contract—a contract that, upon death, would leave the victor with the spoils and the king with his due ten percent.
As the duel commenced, Sir Gareth took the offensive, his sword moving in powerful arcs, each strike imbued with magical energy. Jasper, however, danced away from each assault, his movements fluid and deceptive. He wielded no weapon, his hands instead flickering with the beginnings of spells that he never quite cast, keeping his opponent on edge.
The fight escalated, Sir Gareth's frustration growing with each missed blow. In a moment of overextension, he lunged forward, his sword aimed at Jasper's heart. But Jasper, with a cunning gleam in his eye, dropped to the ground in an apparent surrender, his hands raised in defeat.
The crowd gasped, some shouting accusations of cowardice, but in a split second, Jasper's hand shot out, flinging a handful of sand he had concealed into Sir Gareth's eyes. Blinded and roaring in pain, Sir Gareth stumbled, allowing Jasper the opportunity to spring up, a thin, almost invisible blade now in his hand.
With a series of swift, precise stabs, Jasper brought the larger man down, the crowd erupting into a blend of cheers and horrified screams. Sir Gareth's family members, present among the spectators, cried out in anguish, hurling insults at Jasper, calling him a coward and a cheat.
Jasper wiped his blade clean, his face a mask of cold satisfaction. "In duels, as in life, it's not the size of the sword but the cunning of the mind," he proclaimed, his voice carrying a chilling edge.
In the aftermath of the duel, as the defeated combatant lay gasping and convulsing on the ground, the scene around him unfolded with a surreal sense of normalcy, as if his plight was but a mere backdrop to the day's entertainment. The crowd's reaction was varied—some cheered, reveling in the victor's cunning, while others whispered amongst themselves, debating the honor in such a victory.
As Gareth struggled, blood bubbling from his lips with every labored breath, trying in vain to find a hand to help him up, the onlookers’ eyes turned cold, their gazes moving past him, as if he was already part of the ground he lay upon. His hands clawed at the dirt, dragging his battered form inch by agonizing inch, seeking mercy in a sea of apathy. The light in his eyes dimmed with each passing moment.
The stark silence of his agony was broken by the clear, authoritative voice of the king's messenger, who stepped forward with an air of officialdom that demanded attention. He cleared his throat, commanding the crowd's focus, and began to speak in a tone that resonated with the weight of the law. "By decree of the crown and in accordance with the ancient customs of our land," he announced, his voice steady and unyielding, "let it be known that 10% of the wealth of the fallen shall be rendered unto the crown's coffers. This levy is to be fulfilled within one month, lest penalties accrue."
As he spoke, the Gareth's feeble cries for help turned into wet coughs, his body wracked with spasms as he coughed up blood and pieces of flesh that seemed to be from his lung , each cough a desperate attempt to cling to the life that rapidly slipped away. Yet, his suffering was met with nothing but the cold, hard ground and the distant, dispassionate murmurs of the crowd.
In a final act of contempt, Jasper, with a smirk that spoke of a victory tainted by dishonor, spat upon the dying man, his saliva mingling with the blood and dirt that clung to the defeated's face. The crowd, caught in the throes of the spectacle, seemed to detach themselves from the gravity of life and death unfolding before them. Their cheers and jeers for the victor echoed hollowly in the scene.
Adom watched as the light faded from the man’s eyes, the life force ebbing away until all that remained was a lifeless husk. The crowd’s laughter and the victor's gloats seemed distant, muffled by the profound silence that death brings. The messenger, with his duty fulfilled, stepped back, leaving the scene with a professionalism that belied the tragedy that had just occurred.
The duel's brutal conclusion left the crowd in a tumult of emotions, some reveling in the spectacle, others shaken by the ruthless display. Adom and Leon, having witnessed the event, just exchanged a look of mutual understanding and left the scene.
*****
The evening shadows stretched long across the façade of the Weird Stuff Store as Adom and Leon stood before the closed door. Despite its darkened windows, Leon insisted that Mr. Biggins, the eccentric owner, was expecting him. They waited, the minutes ticking by in the quiet street, until finally, with suddenness that startled them both, the door creaked open.
Inside, a sequence of lights flickered to life, forming arrows on the floor that pointed the way forward. The boys exchanged a glance – a mix of curiosity and hesitancy – before stepping into the dimly lit store. The arrows led them through a maze of shelves laden with peculiar artifacts, their shadows dancing eerily in the faint light, until they reached the staircase.
As they ascended, they were suddenly greeted by an unexpected and bizarre spectacle. At the top of the stairs, a silhouette loomed in the dark, barely discernible against the backdrop of shadows. Suddenly, the lights snapped on, revealing a scene straight out of a fantastical dream.
Before them was a bizarre and whimsical display of toys, each one animated as if alive. Dolls danced gracefully in a choreographed routine, wooden soldiers marched in unison, and a small orchestra of stuffed animals played a merry tune on miniature instruments. It was an enchanting, albeit slightly surreal, welcome.
Leon's eyes widened, and a laugh escaped him – a mix of amusement and disbelief. "This is... something," he managed to say, his gaze darting from one animated toy to another.
The toys, each with exaggerated expressions painted on their faces, performed with an almost comical seriousness. A teddy bear twirled a baton, leading a parade of miniature clowns on unicycles. Toy monkeys clapped cymbals in rhythm, while a group of marionettes performed an intricate dance, their strings moving in perfect harmony.
Adom and Leon watched, wide-eyed and mouths agape, as the spectacle unfolded. The absurdity of the scene, with its mix of childish innocence and intricate magic, was both hilarious and impressive. The toys moved with a fluidity that suggested a high level of magical manipulation, a testament to the skill of the spellcaster.
As the performance reached its crescendo, with the toys moving in increasingly frantic circles, something unexpected happened. Mid-dance, mid-song, the toys suddenly froze, their movements coming to an abrupt halt. A moment later, they burst into flames, the fire consuming them in a spectacular, if somewhat alarming, finale.
The boys jumped back, startled by the sudden conflagration. Adom, recovering from the initial shock, whistled softly. "I knew he was eccentric, but this is a whole new level. It's like something out of a fantastical play."
The sudden appearance of Mr. Biggins was as unexpected and theatrical as the spectacle they had just witnessed. Emerging from the shadows, he flicked his wrists, conjuring streams of water from thin air to douse the remains of the flaming toys. His cape fluttered dramatically around him, a vibrant swirl of colors, as he coughed, the smoke from the extinguished fire filling the air.
As Adom stepped forward, concerned, Mr. Biggins straightened up, his hat slightly askew and dark shades masking his eyes. With a flourish that was both grandiose and awkward, he greeted them, "Good evening, Starshine, the earth says 'Hello!' " His voice carried a tone of whimsical enthusiasm, though the joke landed with a thud in the smoke-filled corridor.
Adom and Leon exchanged glances, their expressions a blend of amusement and bewilderment. The eccentricity of Mr. Biggins was beyond anything they had anticipated, a character straight out of a comical tale.
Sensing the awkward silence, Mr. Biggins cleared his throat and made to descend the stairs, eager to greet his guests properly. However, in his exuberance, he stepped on the trailing edge of his own cape, causing him to stumble. In a flurry of limbs and fabric, he teetered dangerously, about to take a tumble down the stairs.
Quick as a flash, Adom extended his hand, uttering the incantation for a levitation spell. A gentle force enveloped Mr. Biggins, halting his fall and setting him back on his feet. The cape billowed around him as he hovered for a moment, a look of startled exhilaration on his face.
"Ah, my dear boy, what a save!" Mr. Biggins exclaimed, his voice a mix of relief and excitement. "You have the reflexes of a cat and the grace of an eagle! Or is it the other way around? No matter, no matter, you've got both!"
Adom smiled, slightly amused by Mr. Biggins's theatrics. "It's nothing, Mr. Biggins. Just glad I could help."
Leon, meanwhile, was trying to stifle a laugh, his eyes wide with wonder at the spectacle before him. "This place is amazing," he whispered to Adom, a grin stretching across his face.
Mr. Biggins, now safely on solid ground, straightened his hat and adjusted his shades. He turned to Leon with a grand gesture. "Welcome to my humble abode, young Leon! You'll find that life here is never dull, never ordinary. I promise you an adventure, a journey of the mind and spirit!"