Victor’s heart beat fast, he heard the roar of the crowd and his body shuddered. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his nerves, remembering the words of his teacher- “Being a mage requires a calm mind and a strong will. We imprint Meaning on the meaningless. A panicking mind will lose grasp and a weak will can break.” -Exhaling deeply, Victor steadied his nerves and the shaking stopped. Some announcer was speaking loudly, making ridiculous claims and encouraging the crowd even more. The gate in front of him rattled before slowly raising upwards. Victor straightened his coat jacket, looking every bit a noble despite his current task. His father had told him in no uncertain terms to prove himself, and this was the only way he could think to do so. Back straight, eyes forward, The young nobleman strode into the sand pit of the Carian Colosseum. As he walked, his boots crunched into the blood soaked sand, leaving behind footprints on the floor.
“AND OPPOSING THE RUSTIRON GLADIATORS, A NEWCOMER TO THIS COLOSSEUM, THE SECOND YOUNGEST OF THE FORESHOCK FAMILY! IT SEEMS THEIR CHILDREN HAVE ONCE AGAIN TAKEN UP THE MYSTIC ARTS, SO THIS SHOULD BE A SHOW FOR THE CENTURY!” The announcer’s voice boomed in the large space, somehow reaching every watcher as they once again screamed for blood. Victor himself finally paid attention to his opponents. Three of them, two taller than average males and another man who was shorter than victor by a large margin. The two taller gladiators had similar equipment, both with full iron helms which obscured their vision as much as protected them, short blades, and shields. The slightly taller of the two held the larger shield, while the shorter held a slightly longer blade. The shortest of the trio had no helmet but the longest weapon of the three, a three pronged trident in his right hand, and a net in the other. On his left arm was thick padding and a large iron pauldron, protecting his shoulder and neck. Victor opened his spellbook, a gift from his mother, and flipped to a page close to the middle as the announcer finished. “THESE THREE MADMEN OF THE PIT HAVE RIPPED AND BROKEN EVERY OPPONENT THEY’VE COME ACROSS, AND NOW IF THEY CAN KILL THIS ONE MAGE, THEY WILL HAVE EARNED THEIR FREEDOM! THIS IS THE FINAL MATCH OF THE RUSTIRON TEAM! WILL THEY FINALLY EARN THEIR FREEDOM? OR WILL THEY LIE BROKEN BENEATH THE HEEL OF THE NEXT WALLBREAKER FORESHOCK?”
Victor grimaced at the reminder of his ancestor as the fight began. He had plenty of time before the three gladiators even got to him, so he took a moment to calm himself once more before casting his first spell pointed towards the tallest of the three, who was the fastest.
[https://i.imgur.com/FOkn7pz.png]
A spike of fire, four feet long and sharpened to a razor point appeared floating next to Victor’s outstretched hand. It hissed midair, smoke wisping off the entire length and drifting into the sky. With its arrival, the crowd, which had been subdued, erupted into cheers as the announcer said something victor didn’t pay attention to. Before he could lose focus, he immediately used a spell he’d been practicing since the first moment he could cast.
[https://i.imgur.com/HDV5rOh.png]
The spike hurtled towards its target, trailing smoke in its wake. The tallest of the bunch raised his shield to block and slid into a crouch, sand billowing up around him as he tried to get leverage to block the flaming projectile. The spike ignored his flimsy shield entirely and punched straight through. His body slumped to the floor next to the second tallest who charged past his impaled ally to strike at Victor. The noble stepped back, the blade swiped past his face as he quickly brought his palm up.
[https://i.imgur.com/cE40drC.png]
A slightly curved blade of fire burst into being, right through the midsection of Victor’s attacker. In his panic he had lost fine control of his spell, and while it had earned Victor a moment of reprieve, the noble had inhaled right as his spell had caught aflame. He now doubled over coughing and the flat pane of fire sputtered out, both halves of the gladiator falling into bloody heaps on the ground. Victor, gasping for air felt and heard a ‘SMACK’ as his spellbook was smacked out of his hand, the long wooden handle of a trident visible in his teary eyes. Stumbling back, victor grabbed for the book before something heavy slammed into him, tripping him to the sandy floor. On the ground, Victor rolled to the side as a trident slammed into the sand right where he just was, looking around he could see his spellbook just out of reach, the last of the gladiators laughing as he kicked it further away from the boy. Victor was trapped in this net, and with no way out his panic rose, the gladiator turned his back to the defenseless noble, holding his trident high as he yelled his triumph. Victor didn’t have his spellbook, his spells, all the hours and days he had spent mastering and practicing them, useless. He scrambled for something, anything, and his hand touched a shard of iron. His blade had cut a buckle of some kind into a sharp edge. Victor’s mind snapped into focus. He needed this man dead, and it needed to happen immediately. His hand worked almost without thought as he cut into his arm, forming exactly the rune he needed. After all, the human body itself was flammable, wasn’t it?
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
[https://i.imgur.com/UF3NyC5.png]
The gladiator turned back around to see Victor with a bloody wound carved into his arm. Victor held one hand up through the net, and the gladiator raised the trident to stab the noble boy. Victor inhaled, a heartbeat passed, and he snapped his fingers. The Gladiator let go of the trident, stumbling back in pain. He clutched his chest and screamed, the entire colosseum had been silent for the killing blow. A red glow burned in his chest and spread. His screams continued, turning into a gargle as his lungs and throat now glowed a brilliant orange red. Flames burst from his mouth and the tears in his eyes evaporated as he died, immolating from within. There was a moment of silence, before the crowd roared in approval. Victor untangled himself from the weighted net, and grinned up at the crowd as the announcer spewed some kind of bullshit about glorious combat. He searched for a long moment, before finding them. His father sat stoic as ever, a cold calculating stare with just the hint of a smile. Then Victor’s victorious grin faded as he saw his mother, who was staring at her son in horror.
----------------------------------------
Victor woke up as the sunlight streamed through the window directly into his face. He groaned, forcing his sore body to sit up and look at the trap he had placed. It was completely intact and the candle was nearly burnt out. He sighed and shook his head, annoyed that he would have to spend yet another day here, before he saw something out of the corner of his eye. A note was left on the windowsill. Victor prided himself on being a calm man. He believed that he could approach any situation with a level head and a reasonable attitude. However, it took all of his willpower to not simply burn the note and probably half the inn to the ground at that moment. Breathing to calm himself down, he reached over and plucked the note from its resting spot, opening it to read. ‘You didn’t really think i’d fall for that, did you?’ Right before he finished writing a small rune to burn the note to ash, he stopped. That was, well, an awfully childish thing to write on a note to a wizard who had just tried to catch you in unknown magic. The puzzle pieces slotted together and Victor realized who exactly had been messing with him. Victor got out of bed, put out the candle, ending the alarm spell he’d placed on his doorway, and began getting dressed for the day. If all went well he’d be on the road again before sundown.
----------------------------------------
“Hello, Innkeep?” Victor realized now that he’d forgotten to get the man’s name as the Innkeep in question walked over and smiled at him.
“Yep, what can I do for ya, Victor?”
“Well,” Victor began, clearing his throat and hoping the man hadn’t noticed, “I was actually hoping to talk to your son. Do you know where I could find him?”
The inkeeper’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the question “Did he do something wrong? I assure you sir I’ll give him a good talking to if needs be.”
“No, nothing like that, its just that,” Victor paused for a moment, thinking up an excuse, “He seemed interested in magic and I wanted to make sure I hadn’t discouraged him at all.”
“Ah,” The innkeeper smiled, “Yep, he’s always been bothering any mage that steps foot in town, it’s a real passion of his. You can probably find him down by the mill. He says he’s got a bunch of friends he hangs out with by there.”
Nodding, Victor smiled at the man. “Thank you, and by the way, I believe I won’t be returning here tonight, so here’s the room key and thank you for the breakfast.”
As victor got up and walked away, the innkeeper waved him off saying “Been good having ya around. I hope you’ll come visit us again one day.”
Victor did not respond, having already gone out the door. He walked briskly and with purpose down the streets. He had remembered the location of the mill during one of his shopping ventures, as he had gotten lost and ended up at the east gate. Down a steep hill and a ways below was a waterwheel, which fed into a grist mill set up there. Stepping up to the doorway, he could hear hushed voices talking inside and he paused. It seemed his hunch was correct after all. Limbas the magic obsessed child was involved with the same bandits who had taken his brother's signet ring. Victor unclasped his book holster, and opened his spellbook to the second page. It was time to have some words with these backwater bandits.