Chapter 17 - The Ogre [Part 1]
----------------------------------------
All warfare is based on deception.
- Sun Tzu.
Eloise was too important to be harmed, restorative Alchemics or not. Some wounds scarred the soul, crippling rather than strengthening. Her insane mother and this training-obsessed Armsmaster's scheme were one such danger. The thought of Eloise injured, her bright spirit dimmed, ignited a protective flame within Seraphina. She had invested too much time and attention into her.
Thinking of her mother brought forth thoughts of another looming problem: her brother. She was torn about whom she should allow to live. Her brother would be an innocent, just a defenseless baby, but dealing with her mother was an entirely different matter. With the Sight, Anaselena could see many of the probable threads of the future, granting her the ability to foil many of Seraphina's schemes and plans. The Sight was a blessing and a curse, revealing possibilities but not certainties.
Of course, the best outcome would be for both of them to quietly remove themselves from this mortal coil, but she had learned not to place too much faith in good fortune. Case in point, one only had to look at where such hope had gotten her—standing in an arena, facing down two hulking men with grim faces and cruel intentions.
No matter how she considered it, it was sheer folly to pit two fifteen-year-old girls against two fully grown men. A travesty, really. The men's muscular forms loomed over them. She had planted a few seeds of doubt in the men; now she needed to plant the seeds of shame.
"I hope you louts feel good about striking young girls. Probably makes you feel very big and manly," Seraphina accused, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She smiled as she saw their jaws tighten at the insult, a flicker of uncertainty crossing their eyes.
However, both remained silent. Either her mother had paid them well, or they owed her something. Considering it for a fraction of a second, she realized her mother had probably given them something more valuable: information on their pathetic little futures. Manipulation, it seemed, was Anaselena’s forte.
The unfolding situation was troubling, especially since it had never been part of the game. In these little deviations, the precognitive Sight would have been advantageous. Without it, she felt blind, forced to rely solely on her wits and skills.
The two men picked up wooden practice swords, swinging them through the air to test their weight. The wooden blades whistled ominously, cutting through the air with practiced ease. Padded jackets or not, a direct strike from one of those could hurt and even break bones. It was worrisome, but Seraphina was no stranger to pain.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
An unbidden memory surfaced from a time before she wrestled her way to the top. The echo of mocking laughter and scorn. She shuddered as if someone had stepped over her grave—both future and past.
Clenching her fists at her sides, she rallied, pushing back the memory and keeping it where it belonged: repressed. She refused to be that girl ever again.
"Come now, Eloise, let us choose the implements we will use to teach these thugs a lesson," she commanded, her eyes flashing with fire. Her voice was steady, authoritative—a stark contrast to the turmoil within.
Marching over to the weapon rack with the nervous girl in tow, Seraphina gazed over the array of weapons. The rack was an impressive display, holding everything from simple wooden staves to elaborate blunted blades, each one worn from countless training sessions. Eloise immediately picked a long wooden pole. The girl had demonstrated some skill with it; it was easier to use and had great reach. The spear had been mankind's staple weapon for a reason.
Seraphina, on the other hand, needed something that would send a much stronger message. Her eyes scanned over the practice swords, axes, and maces, seeking the one that would strike both fear and awe.
Her soft hands—skin still supple despite constant weapon practice, thanks to a bevy of creams and lotions—trailed across them. Their solidness beneath her fingertips grounded her. Her hand stopped at a great mace, essentially a huge log with a handle, banded with iron to give it extra weight. Unbalanced and extremely heavy, it was not meant for practice sparring but to train warriors to build up Strength, speed, and stamina. It was a weapon that a young girl of fifteen would never be able to lift, let alone wield.
She understood why she had been brought here; only she could push past the original's inhibitions and self-doubts. The weight of expectations settled on her shoulders, but she stood tall.
It was time for her legend to begin early.
She would be like the expensive, ancient swords of her homeland that she had prized and collected: strong as she was beautiful, beautiful because she was strong.
Her heart sang with joy as she lifted the heavy tool with a single hand, muscles coiling like steel beneath her skin. The weight was substantial, but she handled it with ease, a testament to her hidden power, the Strength of the Old Ones. Giving it a practice swing much like Giles and Crayton had tested their own weapons, she felt the power coursing through her. The displacement of air as it whooshed could be felt by all, a tangible force.
Eloise's mouth dropped open, her eyes wide with astonishment. The two men Kellan had pitted against them stopped in their tracks, their confident smirks fading.
Silence reigned supreme in Haql Tajriba, the training grounds hushed as if holding its breath. Cruel determination was etched on Seraphina's face, a mask of concentration. Then, with a mighty swing, she smashed the great mace into the earth. All of her angst, frustration, and anger went with into the blow. The ground shook with the impact, a resounding crash that shattered the silence. Small clods of earth from the floor flew into the air in a small explosion.
You have learned Power Strike (lvl.1)
You have gained 1 Strength.
This was her message.