The girl only grinned with excitement matching Sunday’s as an answer to his challenge. She took a low stance and didn’t let him out of sight. Like a poisonous insect ready to attack.
Her outfit was a mixture of something one would wear to a cocktail party and heavy armor covering the vitals while leaving room for the limbs to move freely. Both the silken cloth and the steel were meshing seamlessly in a show of craftsmanship unlike anything Sunday had seen. Two slits to the side showed off a skintight layer of something like under armor and her very heavy boots, which were adorned with metal spikes at the front.
That would make for some mean kicks.
Sunday noticed when the flaps of her dress started billowing around her as if she was some sort of a superhero about to shoot up in the sky. The sand was undulating under the power radiating from her iron-clad feet.
That didn’t bode well. Apart from his slaps and Phantasmal Fall, he didn’t have anything else suited for close combat. Melting her face was not an option. But he was eager to feel the true power of a mage. It was not about winning or losing, it was about information.
I’m in for it now, there’s no going back. Still, I expected fireballs or something. His sword remained at his side, undrawn. Sunday highly doubted it would achieve anything more than make Elora do whatever it was she did harder and stabbing her was not the end goal.
Zihei had already fled a safe distance away, and Sunday was yet to notice anyone else in the room, not that it mattered. He had eyes only for the dangerous beauty before him.
She shot out without warning, like a ballistae arrow, and Sunday was ready to move out of her way. He summoned the Smash Ball and sent it where he assumed she’d land before he could even pivot and follow her passing form. The sandy ground made it difficult for him to move as fast as he wanted.
He turned and saw Elora land lightly and dash at him again, easily dodging the Smash Ball. She was slower this time, but still faster than any normal human had the right to be. It was not even like she was trying to hit him. Her hands were reaching for him as if to gently touch.
Sunday threw himself to the ground, while simultaneously directing the Smash Ball to fly directly toward where he was standing.
Elora didn’t manage to twist in time and the spell found her in the air. She crashed sending sand and gravel flying.
Sunday smirked. Magi are not all that much, huh?
Elora came at him again, before he could even blink. Sand thrown around by her speedy movement obscured his vision for a moment, and there she was, standing mere inches from him, with a mocking smirk of her own. She reached out.
Sunday’s hand moved too as he aimed a perfect slap at her face while his essence flowed into the Smash Ball behind her.
She didn’t try to hit him as he expected, but her smile told him enough. There was danger. Her arm seemed to accelerate as if propelled by external forces and rather than come for him, crossed the path of his slapping arm, and touched it. Numbness instantly spread all over Sunday’s arm and it fell limply to his side mid-motion.
In a simultaneous burst of movement, before he realized what was happening, Elora touched his other arm too. She simply patted it a bit above the elbow, over the shirt.
Rather than do anything else, she stepped back, easily dodging another charge of the Smash Ball. She only watched him with cold amusement, as if the fight was already over.
Both his arms hung limply to his side, and he couldn’t feel a thing. It was not simple numbness, rather it was as if his nerves didn’t exist at all. Only the weight of the limbs somewhat alluded to the fact they were still attached to his torso.
“Do you give up?” Elora asked, her voice sweet.
Sunday took a moment. Things hadn’t gone the way he had expected, but he was not too shaken or surprised. If spells could heal the most brutal of wounds, or cause a person to feel like they’re falling, then they could do things like this. It was certainly fuel for his paranoia, but it was great to have as many possibilities in mind.
He didn’t reply but charged her and saw her eyes go wide. She easily dodged his clumsy attempts and then leaned away from the Smash Ball which rammed into a small pile of sand behind her. She moved with grace and nonchalance.
“You have no hands, and such a simple tool spell has no chance to get me. Give up,” Elora said.
A tool spell? Fitting. It is a tool.
“You would be wise to listen to Lady Elora, Sunday. You’ve already proven to us your capabilities as a combat mage and we can count this as you passing the test.” Zihei called from the side.
Sunday didn’t reply and went for her again. This was a controlled and safe environment, and he would be damned if he would let the chance for some practice and knowledge slip away. He needed all he could get. He needed strength, and he needed it quick.
His attempts were futile, of course, but her look of bewilderment was enough. He wanted to see more of how she used her spells. Wouldn’t she run out of essence soon? How long did the effect of this complete numbing of his limbs would last? Could the moths deal with it? What would happen if she did it to a living person’s chest? Would they die? Was it just a speed and strength boost, or something with more uses?
The questions were running rampant in Sunday’s head with passion he wasn’t sure he had ever felt. There was something about spells that made him want to know it all. To own and grow them and see their full strength.
Elora didn’t even need to use her spell to keep her distance from him. Her look of superiority and victory had grown to one of concern. She obviously didn’t want to hurt him, but Sunday wasn’t giving her much choice in the matter. As if his strange actions led her to believe he had another tool up his sleeve.
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She seemed to reach her limit and her temper exploded as he once again came close to her, flailing his useless arms and trying to headbutt her. She stepped sideways and kicked him at the knee with more strength than he thought she was capable of, making him lose his balance before her accelerated arm clocked him in the jaw. He was sure he heard a crack and felt something being displaced as he rolled onto the sandy floor.
No one seemed to notice the black moth that appeared for a fraction of a second between his jaw and the limp arm that had gone under it. The spell’s effect was nourishing rain and his nerves came alive almost immediately, while his jaw set itself in place.
Sunday slowly stood up without using his hands, acting hurt and letting his arm still dangle uselessly.
“Stay down!” Elora yelled, “This is enough!”
It fell on deaf ears as Sunday once again dashed at her. There was pain in the leg she had kicked with her steel boot, but nothing he couldn’t ignore. She was almost in his clutches now.
Once again, she refused to dodge. He saw her prepare to take him down. She was no longer using her spell, either because she was low on essence or because she thought she didn’t need it.
The Smash Ball shot straight up from the pile of sand it was buried in when Sunday had almost reached Elora. However, as he stepped on the hurt foot he grimaced. It gave under his weight and he fell face-first into the sand just before Elore’s feet.
There was a silent pause during which he lay face down in the sands.
“Are you—” Elora tried to ask.
His healed arm reached out with lightning speed and wrapped around her knee while the full weight of Phantasmal Fall hit her at the same time. Sunday blinked the sand away from his eyes and showed his teeth as the girl fell on her back.
The next moment the Smash Ball hit the sandy floor to the right of her face with a dull but heavy sound.
Elora’s eyes were wide in terror and she remained frozen on her back as Sunday slowly got up and spat the sand that had gotten into his mouth. There was still no feeling in his left arm, but he had enough essence left to heal it if he had to.
“I win,” he said, then coughed. “I hate sand.”
“Y-You!” Elora mumbled, rising on her elbows. She was looking at him as if he had just proven to her the earth was flat.
“Thank you for the spar, Lady Elora, it was an absolute pleasure,” Sunday said and offered his healthy hand to her. She looked at it as if it was poison.
There was laughter and clapping as the gravel of a nearby mound moved and a person walked out of it. It was a slightly hunched-over undead man in a fancy dark suit that was as pristine as his clear eyes. He was bald like many of the undead Sunday had seen, but sported a heavy well-trimmed beard.
“Turim Ironbond of the Builders greets you, Sunday. That was a marvelous display,” the undead said.
“How did you fix your arm?” Elora hissed. She got up, ignoring Sunday’s hand.
“A gentleman never tells,” Sunday smiled.
Her face became red and she seemed ready to argue.
“That’s enough, young Elora. Perhaps this will show you that a few bought spells don’t make you a true mage. I don’t have the time to entertain your outbursts, but after we’re done here, if Sunday agrees, you two can have a chat. Now fix his arm,” Turim said.
“Don’t tell me what to do, old man,” the girl snarled.
“Then, perhaps, I should delay the construction of that wing your mother is so passionate about?”
It was Turim Ironbond’s turn to suffer the weight of Elora’s hateful gaze, but that seemed to only amuse the old man. Finally, she averted her gaze, opting to stare at Sunday instead. He felt the numbness slowly go away from his arm and nodded his thanks.
I did hurt her pride, but I got too into it. Her spells are truly amazing… All spells are.
Zihei had come close at some point, silently clutching at his book with both hands and looking at Sunday with newfound light in his eyes.
“Thank you Adept Ironbond,” he said, “I think the demonstration was enough for all of us to agree that Sunday is a mage of Rank One.”
Adept? Rank three?
Zihei had briefly explained the first three ranks of being a mage in the Arcanum. The first rank magi were called Novices, barely having awakened and new to the world of magic. The second rank were Initiates – those who had put in the work, proven their talent, and managed to raise their strength. The third rank were called Adepts.
The chasm between the third and the fourth was much larger than anything else, and such magi were rarely found in peaceful places like Blumwin. Zihei himself didn’t know much about what made them so fearsome, but per his words, the journey toward higher ranks was one of self-discovery and toil.
“I guarantee in my name that Sunday is untouched by the Divine,” Adept Ironbond stated calmly.
Zihei noted everything down on a strange piece of paper and looked toward Elora.
“I do too,” she said quickly.
All of this was just to notice traces of the Divine? Sunday understood better now. The experience in the swamp had been one thing, but the suicidal cultists had left their mark. He didn’t know what to worry about first, the hound, the attention of the mad gods, or the strange feeling that something was terribly wrong. The latter was probably related to everything else.
“Are you a traveler, Sunday? We seldom see roaming magi in our little corner of the world. It is more peaceful than the others. The Divine had thankfully deemed us unfit for their full attention,” Adept Ironbond asked while Zihei was busy filling some things on the paper.
“Something like that. I’ve recently awakened and decided that a change of scenery is a good thing, especially when it comes to a beauty like Blumwin. And of course, the Arcanum is here,” Sunday said. And I plan to make full use of your spell stockpiles and arts. I hope you have them ready.
Adept Ironbond nodded sagely. “Blumwin is quite a special place indeed. However, there are cities in the world that can swallow it without notice. We’re both blessed and cursed to live in this place. We enjoy flowers and wine, but we forget the roots of it all grew in soil rich with the blood of our predecessors and dense from the nutrients of flesh,” the old undead replied. Each word was distinct and slow and Sunday listened carefully.
This was a powerful mage. Some part of him wondered what the man was capable of, but picking a fight didn’t seem wise now. And he needed allies.
“A flower grown from stone is much stronger than one in a glass house,” the old undead continued, throwing a glance at Elora. “Do you know that Blumwin hasn’t produced a single fourth rank mage in over six hundred years, not since the nearby burial ground was taken over and destroyed by the Divine’s swarm? However, being reliant on such a place to produce talented and hard-working individuals is a shame in and of itself, don’t you think?”
Sunday nodded, “To rely on others is not inherently wrong, but one should also strive to improve themselves and contribute.”
“Good words!” Adept Ironbond nodded, “We, who live in this place of flowers and abundance, have forgotten this. We’ve become complacent!” the old man seemed almost angry now, “You, Elora, and those like you shouldn’t allow the environment you’re awakening to suppress your growth!”
Sunday chuckled, “I’ve found a good way of circumventing that,” he said. “Or perhaps, it has found me.”
“Oh?”
“Trouble. There’s nothing like some pressure to make a flower grow thorns and a man to find his spine, right?”
“Are you saying, you’ve already found trouble in Blumwin? I could lend a hand.”
The old undead’s eyes gleamed with strange light as he stared straight into Sunday. Elora seemed to have her full attention on their conversation too. Is he testing me? Of course, we just met. Old guys, even dead ones, never change.
“I’ll be fine. I plan to live a troublesome life so it’s a good practice,” Sunday replied.
“And we’re done,” Zihei exclaimed.
What followed was a simple procedure of Elora and Adept Ironbond signing the strange paper with their badges.
“There’s only one small thing remaining before we issue your badge,” Zihei said.
“What’s that?”
“Would you like to register any talents? Giving the Arcanum any sort of information is greatly rewarded.”
Sunday smiled gently. “No.”