I aspire to have strength, courage, a soft heart of justice, and humility.
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Limping on his right leg, Augustus trembled as he made each step with painstaking difficulty. It was only by leaning on the building line–acting as a crutch–was he able to keep moving forward.
Heavy rain poured down from the sky, drenching him and his clothes in water. The streets were filled with puddles, and certain lengths of the road were swamps of ankle-deep water.
He was fortunate enough that his leather armour and chainmail didn’t absorb water too well, as the weight of it would have had him gasping for more air than he already was.
Still, his leather boots squelched with such an irritating fervour that it irked him no more than the deep gash in the left side of his stomach. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, throbbing in an aching pain that left him constantly moaning and grimacing in pain each time.
That damn kid.
Augustus scrunched his hand around the stiff leather sheath of his sword, feeling the broken halves of his sword bending inside. His teeth gritted and rage flowed through his veins. Only tall enough to reach his chest, that twelve-year-old boy–the disciple of Master Shi–had humiliated him.
Not even putting him in his eyes, he had been put in this state with just a single thrust of his sword. Not a second later, the guards had thrown him out onto the streets and he ate dirt.
He had been walking for what felt like the entire night so far, and the whole time, the events of earlier today had been repeating in his head.
Though he was nothing in comparison to that monster prodigy of a twelve-year-old, he was still far better than the average knight in training. He had shown his form, duelled his students, and proved his strength.
What more could he ask for?
Yet he was still rejected.
It was a big blow. Master Shi was the only Master in Greyroam that accepted students from the outside. Every single other place was cities away.
It was either he got accepted into some kind of knight school or branded and became a knight in service to Geitwyn. The second option was not even an option, and he didn’t even consider going back home to help manage the family vineyard.
What was the point of it all if he wasn’t swinging around his sword?
“I do not take in disciples that cannot see properly,” Master Shi had said.
What the f**k does that mean? Blabbering about philosophy and whatnot when he was waving his skill right in his face.
He tasted blood.
This late at night, the streets were destitute, and even if he stumbled upon someone, they would keep to the other side of the street, shunning their face from sight with the hems of their robes if he even shot them a single glance.
He would’ve liked to have seen a doctor, but by the time he got kicked out and had a sudden but very long nap on the steps of a high-ranking merchant’s house, they were already closed.
People were petty and untrustworthy. Even if a kid like him from a respectable school were to answer at their door, he'd be turned away without another word. His shitty appearance wouldn’t help either.
In general, he just didn’t bother with people.
Fortunately, he didn’t have much longer to go. His dormitory was just around the corner.
Pulling himself along the last leg of the journey with the last bit of energy, he reached a building that was five stories tall. Windows lined each floor, and only a few candles remained lit within some of them. He knocked on the front door, banging against it with its metal knocker.
He was so exhausted that he couldn’t even manage to keep himself standing when someone came to answer the door.
“Who is it?” Came the wary voice of an old lady, her voice travelling through the door.
Augustus could spy the shine of a lantern through the bottom of the door.
His chest heaving, Augustus replied with the loudest voice he could muster.
“Augustus.”
That voice, however, was barely a whisper, and it was only with the surprisingly keen left ear of the old lady behind the door that she managed to catch the name.
“Augustus?” Unlocking a few hatches, she opened up and peered through a small, rectangular-sized hole to see Augustus out the far right corner of the hole, lying next to the door.
Her eyes widened in shock. She didn’t hesitate to open the door.
Lying against the wall next to the door, wet hair stuck against Augustus’ forehead as he cradled the gash in his stomach with the opposite arm.
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“The audacity to arrive back at this hour,” The lady remarked before rushing back inside and coming back with four particularly strong boys in tow.
Drowsy, and slightly annoyed at the same time, the four boys hefted Augustus up on their shoulders and brought him up a floor, down the second hallway, and to the seventh bower on the right.
Hal, a tall boy with short and dirty-blond hair tried opening the room but found it locked.
“Mother Liandra, It’s locked-”
“I know! Of Anaiel’s divine, of course, it would be locked you hick!” Mother Liandra shoved him out of the way and stomped over to Augustus who was placed on the floor.
She had been waiting the entire night for Augustus to come back, and she wanted to get to sleep as fast as possible after this. And seeing bloody and wet he was, she did not want to get a damn stain on the carpet!
“Where are your keys?” Shaking his collar, she held in her temper for just a little longer.
“My…neck,” Augustus barely lifted his right hand to point to the leather pouch hidden underneath his shirt. Coincidentally, Mother Liandra had been grasping at it through his shirt.
Wrenching it from underneath his collar, she dug out a key from within the pouch and unlocked his room. Without mercy, the four boys dropped him on the wooden flooring of his bower and scurried away, their laughs and chuckles fading away into the distance as they went back to their rooms to catch the rest of this night’s sleep.
Moaning in pain while cradling the left side of his stomach, Augustus subconsciously predicted the incoming abuse. He could feel how infuriated she was when she slammed the door shut and stomped over to him loudly.
All he just wanted to do was rest, but Mother Liandra didn’t seem to care about how tired he was or how badly injured he seemed to be.
She assumed the worst.
“The Phel’s Boys School of Excellence has no time to waste on those who can’t honour Anyel’s holy wishes. You were out there past the curfew bedding whores–weren’t you! And when her suitor came along, he cut you up well didn’t he? You are to come back by the time I tell you to!”
Stomping on him with her leather boots, Augustus released a faint groan, suffering in silence as he was left completely defenceless against this devil.
Continuing to slap and stomp on him, she finished her attack off with a kick to his head.
Telling him to report to her at 8:00 sharp tomorrow, she made her exit with seemingly the loudest possible way she could shut the door.
The vibration of it reverberated through the floorboards.
And then it was quiet, the heavy rain pattering away on the roof the only sound he could hear.
Still, he was in pain. He released a tearless sob, wanting so badly to just fall asleep, but with how much pain he was in, and how painfully uncomfortable his wet clothes were, it was simply wishful thinking.
Augustus grimaced as he pushed himself up from the ground, and winced as he unbuckled his leather armour, lifted it off himself, and peeled off the sticky wet cloth of his undergarment up and over his shoulder.
In a hurry, he finished stripping and climbed into bed, smothering his body with his thick woolly blanket to ward off the shivering coldness.
He slowed down his breathing, allowing his mind to drift away softly.
Finally, he had found respite.
And then everything disappeared.
Augustus found himself in a void. It was soundless and empty. He couldn’t feel a thing as he lay spread out on the ground, a gnawing pain eating into his soul.
A voice came to him; of his father.
It resounded in his ears clearly, a stern voice giving him a warning that he had long brushed aside.
“That sword will not bring you glory, but only trouble.”
Funny that.
The boy had cut his sword in half.
If it weren’t for him, they would’ve thrown the thing into their forge as a generous tip for his entrance exam. God knows why a boy would want a broken blade.
But he kept it.
They may have thought they had broken him, but they hadn’t.
Some may say it is audacious, foolish, attention-seeking, or over the top–mimicking that of dramatic stories about famous heroes defeating evil–but Augustus believed that one day, he would become the strongest spellsword in the entire world.
Kings would bow in his presence, dukes and counts would offer their daughter’s hand in marriage, young boys would be begging to become his squire, and he would have such strength that he could defeat armies numbering in their thousands.
And one day, Master Shi would regret turning him away!
The same went for his father. Working in the vineyard was a dead end.
Sometimes, he couldn't believe that they were the descendants of a Royal Paladin. His family inherited the bloodline of a man that had once single-handedly killed a company of 173 men.
Unfortunately for him, his “descendants” only amounted to vintners, bootlicking nobles and buttering them up for better prices.
They had been destined for greatness. Instead, they squandered the chance that had been given to them. It was what separated the Paladin from the common knight.
Somehow, no one in the family had inherited any of his attributes.
Not his supernatural strength, his red eyes, his innate magic, sense of smell, aura, grace, and not even his gigantic stature. Nothing.
It was like they weren’t even related.
But before he could dwell on these depressing thoughts any longer, he was jolted awake by sudden movement in his bowels. It felt as if someone had grabbed his insides and tied them in a knot.
And before he realised it he had vomited all over himself.
Bloody vomit.
Augustus couldn’t comprehend what was happening. It wasn’t excruciatingly painful, but something felt wrong.
He tried to stand, but he felt no response from his body and a thick brain fog that stopped his process of thought, causing him to blank for several moments as he panicked.
“Help!”
Augustus wasn’t even loud enough to make a cry for help. All that came out were pained, hoarse moans.
He kept trying to move, but his usually dexterous and powerful physique had failed him when he needed it most. At this moment, he was no different to an elderly man on his deathbed. Crippled, helpless, and an inevitable reality encroaching on him.
Could he, Augustus Light, be dying?
It sounded impossible. But he considered it.
His injury hadn’t received care from any doctor, and the rain could have been filled with all sorts of curses. More likely than not, these types of injuries would get infected.
Augustus almost wanted to slap himself for thinking he was invincible.
But he kind of was. His name was Augustus Light. What more did he need to say?
He just couldn’t die.
But that was when he found himself in the past as an invisible ghost, watching his bout against Marcus Luvine unfold, the twelve-year-old sword prodigy.
His past self had stood with tall, broad shoulders, and assumed the usual cavalier attitude.
In contrast, his twelve-year-old opponent had stared at him curiously and was constantly fidgeting as he stood, looking at the birds flying in the sky, and observing the falling leaves, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
The bout commenced with the sound of a horn.
But as it did, Augustus had been so far entrenched within the realm of his mind that he didn’t even notice when Marcus had disappeared from where he had been standing.
Arcing into Augustus’ blind spot, Marcus ducked past instinctual defensive attack and fitted a steel blade in his side. With the heel of his shoe, Marcus kicked him, sending his defeated opponent to the ground and allowing him to pull out the blade with ease.
But not without twisting the blade and slicing up his innards.
It had been so instantaneous and sudden that Augustus didn’t even realise it when it happened. He just found himself lying on the ground, blood pouring through his now-tattered leather and onto the ground around him.
And when he craned his head up to look at the young boy, he saw empty and sunken eyes that stared at him with a longing for something more.
Technically, it was too soon to make any real assumptions. But Augustus could feel it. Never before had anything left him this sick before.
Similar cases weren’t uncommon either now that he thought about it. People would always get themselves cut up somewhere. The wound would get infected, and they would be dead within the next few days. Not even the clergy could help them.
For a while, his train of thought stopped, and the possibility of death silently sunk in, bringing his mind under. But he remained vigilant and strong, repeating to himself a hypnotic, relaxing mantra.
My name is Augustus Light and I am destined for greatness. I will live to a ripe old age after experiencing everything that life has to offer. This path calls me and I must heed it; for my existence is one and only within an infinity. I live, they die. It is simply impossible-
Augustus awoke to the sound of glass shattering.
With a ringing in his ear, Augustus cringed, feeling the dampness in his pants as he pushed the stiff muscles in his neck to turn. His head slumping to the left, he saw his window broken and a man keeled over, kneeling on one leg.
Wearing azure chainmail, a humongous sword strapped to a leather belt at their side, and a tattered black cape hanging behind them, a pair of bloodshot, amber eyes beneath a metal helm locked onto him with a vicious gaze.
Their chest heaving up and down, the man extended a trembling hand towards him.
“Augustus, do not trust w̵̧̖͙̭̬̜̪͓̼̺̑̍̈͗̑̎̏̍͛̄à̶̡̛̩̥͖͔̟̭͔̔̐̽l̷͍͉͉̱̱̾̿̃̃̓͘k̸͒͝ͅe̸̩̟̦͆̉͒̈́̀̀̅͝͝ͅr̴̨̦̗̰͛̓̊͝ͅ” The man called out to him hoarsely, blood gurgling in his throat.
Whoever the man spoke of, Augustus could not make sense of it, the sound of it merely unintelligible.
But as Augustus was about to reply, he felt a distinct warp in his reality; as if he had jumped off a horse running at high speed. As if all the air had been knocked out of him.
The world stilled.
For a brief instant, he witnessed the world scatter away like dust.
And then nothing.
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Augustus awoke to the scene of a verdant green pasture backdropped against a golden sunset. A gentle, warm breeze caressed Augustus as he lay comfortably against the bark of an oak tree.
As if lightning had struck Augustus, he jumped up and stood with a noticeable tremble in his legs.
His eyes wide open, he scanned his surroundings in bewilderment.
He was back home.