Just as Emily dashed forward, Joram reassigned Kinkade all the way through to M6 to go through the forms to refine what he knew as he used Emily as a live practice.
Her first trike nearly caught him in the gut, but a quick flick of his right wrist came down and deflected the jab. From there, she put him on the back foot as she began to unleash a blistering onslaught of attacks.
There were several times when he needed to shift stances to keep from being kicked off the stage. Each time, he quickly made distance and recovered his stance to try again while his Minds worked overtime. Analyzing, observing, visualizing how every move could be used in the most efficient way possible.
It was hard.
Even with the minor cheat of having enchanted clothing, Emily was able to land an incredible number of blows in the first few minutes of their spar.
But he was learning.
* * * * *
Galamir was disgusted. Not only had that round-eared commoner managed to “defeat” his sister, but his father had also dragged them along to “investigate” the matter.
Now, after having had to suffer many humiliations at the round-eared bastards’ hands, he was gloating.
It still disgusted him that his Joram not only had the audacity to ask for instruction from his sister, but also had no shame in his terrible skills. It was obvious that Emily was much better than Joram, the dozens of blows she landed each attesting to her superiority.
He could see Joram running away from Emily each time she threw him off balance with her perfectly executed attacks.
So, why was she prolonging the fight? Couldn’t she have already ended the fight any time she wanted? Or was it because of her rising battle lust?
He looked over to his brother and sister, intent on asking them what they thought, but stopped. His elder brother and sister were intently watching the “match”. Having grown up with them, he knew that interrupting their entertainment came with dire consequences, so he turned back to watch the match, wondering when Emily would end the farce.
* * * * *
Corinthus Icewood considered himself a tolerant man. He ruled not only with logic, but also with compassion. Taxes were fair across the board. He even made sure that healers were accessible to everyone regardless of their station in life.
Even in his own life, he kept things as simple as possible. He had one wife and one concubine. A ridiculous thing according to the various nobles in court. They argued that he should have many more to make sure that the royal line would be secure.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care, because he really did love his kingdom. No, he was just a person who was a bit more focussed in things. He had one wife because he truly didn’t want to divide his focus.
He’d taken Emily’s mother as a concubine because- at first- of political expediency. It didn’t hurt that she was a stunning beauty. But it had taken a few years for love to properly blossom in his heart.
Now, he cherished her dearly. As well as their daughter.
So over the years, he’d more than doted on his third child. He’d taken great care to nurture her, to give her the best cultivation techniques the royal family kept.
When she’d not only expressed interest in martial arts but had proven to be a prodigy like her mother, he’d done everything to nurture and develop that talent for her.
She’d even inherited the ancestral bloodline of her mother’s clan, the Ice Phantom bloodline. Which made really pushing her growth a hazardous endeavour, at best. And so, with great reluctance and much urging from her mother, he’d finally agreed to send her to the Grand Waeryn Academy.
It was said that they were the best institution in the world to nurture talents. Then, as the months passed by, the progress reports he received put his mind at ease. She was learning, slowly mastering her frighteningly powerful and berserk bloodline.
Then he’d received a report that had chilled his blood. She’d been almost fully taken by her bloodline during a spar with a junior. He’d made arrangements to visit her as soon as he could get away from his duties and there he was.
He’d been exceedingly dubious of the report that claimed that her sparring partner had been the one to end her berserker state, thinking that maybe the Dean had intervened from behind the scenes.
Then, after interviewing young Mr Aneath, he’d retained his doubts. Yes, the boy surely carried himself well. His manners could use more than a little work, but that was the case for most youth, so he didn’t mind it too much.
But to not have a cultivation base and still claim that he’d defeated his daughter was surely beyond credence even if he was a body refiner. Yes, he was respectably strong, likely due to his being an Artificer, but even if his daughter claimed that he’d defeated her, along with her friend, Renna….
He didn’t want to doubt his daughter and one of the ancient folk, but there was a limit to what he was willing to swallow. And after meeting young Mr Aneath, he suspected that maybe her opinion was… slanted.
When he’d arrived at Mr Aneath’s manor, he’d been treated by two beautiful young women, then a third one showed up a moment later, claiming to be part of Mr Aneath’s study group. Emily and Renna corroborated that story though, so he had no further grounds to doubt it.
But having two “servants” and a “friend” who were on a level with his daughter was more than suspicious in his mind. Especially when he noticed their varied reactions during his conversation with the boy.
Because he’d already suspected that his daughter’s opinion was biased, he wasn’t surprised by her antics. But to see even Emily’s friend, Renna, react minutely had shocked him. Was his precious daughter involved with a playboy?
That was when he suggested the match... which hadn’t gotten the reaction he’d been expecting. It wasn’t Emily’s obvious embarrassment, as that was expected, but Mr Aneath’s ennui that had struck him. Then to demand recompense just to agree to it had nearly pushed him over the edge and allow his guards free reign.
But he’d reigned in his instincts and had even offered a generous sum. It was, simply put, an amazing offer for anyone not of nobility, which his people reported that he was not. So, why the varied looks of amusement at the offer?
Mr Aneath’s condescending acceptance was even worse, but he held his piece and followed the boy out of his manor. The walk proved to be pleasant regardless of the stranglers following along drooling after his daughters.
When the small arena began filling with spectators, he nearly had them removed, but then the thought of Mr Aneath losing to his daughter stayed his words. When various faculty members started to arrive, his pleasure at the thought of Mr Aneath’s public defeat started to grow.
Then the Dean had arrived, which also pleased him greatly. The man was surely a political beast, knowing that it was proper to greet a king.
He’d been mildly surprised at Mr Aneath’s choice of combat attire, but supposed a pugilist would find the outfit accommodating. He was almost floored when Emily came out wearing such a scandalously revealing outfit and almost called for a moment so that he could get her something more appropriate to wear.
But the moment passed before he could act. The two of them strode onto the stage and exchanged quiet words before Emily started.
He was… disappointed. He thought that Mr Aneath would at least put up a better showing than he was; given how confident he’d been. Instead, Corinthus was shown a level of amateurish incompetency on the level of initiates.
His forms, as unfamiliar as they were to him, were sloppy and ill executed. Emily was constantly pushing him back, continually breaking his stance. Not only that, but he saw tens of her attacks land each minute, making him wonder just how easy she was going on the boy.
Was she feeling pity for him? Was she holding back just so that she could give the boy some face? Surely that was the case, for with how many times she’d struck him he should have been a bloody mess by now.
Instead, the boy seemed to be… improving as they fought. His forms were slowly tightening up, his footwork’s efficiency increasing. Even the number of attacks landing on him decreased.
Was she taking the time to train him? Surely that was going too far, even for her. Did she like him that much? Was that why she’d sent him the message saying that she’d found “the one”?
His eyes sharpened and he refocussed on the match, studying the boy’s movements with new eyes. If his daughter had chosen this lad, there was surely something about him other than his looks and demeanour.
Corinthus’ eyes followed every step, every subtle movement of the pair. It wasn’t difficult for his Tier 6 eyes that had been refined with his family’s secret body refining technique.
He would thoroughly investigate the boy and if he found him lacking, well, it wouldn’t be difficult to scare the boy off. But, what was this feeling in the back of his mind that kept nagging at him?
He shook that feeling off, once again focussing on the match. Emily practiced the same techniques that he did, that the entire royal line had for generations. Their pride was on the line, so he hoped that she would end the match soon.
But it wasn’t so. As he continued to watch, the boy’s technique continued to visibly improve. Soon, Emily wasn’t unilaterally dominating the match, their techniques soon matched for efficiency.
His hackles rose as the realization dawned on him that it hadn’t been Emily who’d been going easy on him. No, with how fast the boy’s martial art was improving, he began to suspect that he’d started himself off with a handicap. There was no other explanation.
It was when Mr Aneath started pushing Emily that his suspicions were confirmed. Not only had he given himself a handicap for the match, but he was also growing at a monstrous rate.
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As he watched, the lad began landing more blows than Emily. He saw as she grew frustrated even as her smile grew to the point where he was truly getting worried. Her bloodline wasn’t something that just came out right away during a fight. It built up, grew as the person fought; and grew excited.
It wasn’t long before Emily’s aura started to show, once again confirming his instincts. Even Sasha by his side was growing tense, knowing better than most how dangerous the match was becoming.
He quickly glanced over to where the Dean was sitting with the announcers and frowned. For even as excited as the announcers were becoming in their commentary- one that was highly in favour of his daughter- he seemed… calm.
Corinthus turned back to his daughter to see her aura growing at an alarming rate. But what concerned him more was Joram, specifically: his own budding aura. His aura looked jade lightning playing around in flames. It gave him the chills just looking at it.
His eyes turned back to his precious daughter as she began to growl at him as they fought. Again, he glanced at the Dean to gauge his reaction only to find the man as placid as ever. Was he just that confident in his ability to stop Emily’s rampage? For surely that’s what it had turned into.
Even as he looked back at the intense battle taking place on the stage, he saw just how powerful their movements had become. The stage was starting to crack in places where Emily launched herself at the boy. With increasing worry, he watched as her aura manifested to the point where it began to solidify.
He saw claws form from the backs of her hands, mimicking her favoured weapon. He was just about to call the match when he saw Emily land a slash across Joram’s chest, knocking him back with a splash of crimson.
He was already thinking of ways to comfort his daughter, for she’d always taken it hard when she injured someone when in that state, when his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. To his utter astonishment, Joram’s chest didn’t show even a scratch as he shot back into the fight with Emily.
That was when he realized that, even in the intense heat given off by their auras, their clothing was perfectly intact, even after the punishment they’d been subjected to. Was this the source of his confidence? A defensive artifact that could withstand blows that could even injure a Tier 5 cultivator?
But that wasn’t right. He could see just how fast the boy was as he fought. Looking closer, it now appeared as though Joram was the one coaching his daughter as they fought. His practiced eye spotted feints that were obvious to him, but lured his daughter’s attacks as surely as flies to honey. His counterattacks weren’t light either, connecting with enough force to make Emily’s face twitch even when consumed by her bloodline.
Yet, they weren’t hard enough to end the fight.
Corinthus watched as Joram’s form continued its astonishing refinement. As his movements became more fluid, he pushed Emily ever further. Her aura had strengthened to the point where it was now covering her in a protective layer, softening blows where it didn’t outright deflect them.
He’d only ever seen that aura on one person before. A man that had become consumed with grief and rage when a wave of demonic beasts had decimated his town, killing almost everyone, including his family. He’d been in such a berserker rage that he’d even turned on those who’d come to help, and it had only been the intervention of his royal guards that had stopped his rampage.
Again, he was about to intervene but stopped when, once again, the Dean seemed unconcerned with the state his daughter was in. Did he not know just how far gone she was? Even the faculty observing the match were showing signs of nerves as they watched.
He looked to the people who’d arrived and sat with Joram, presumably his family. From what he felt, none of them were particularly strong. But the only thing he could read from them was an intense… interest in the fight. Their eyes were glued to the fight as they leaned forward. Even the young women who’d come with Joram, and had been joined by yet more stunning beauties, seemed more interested than worried.
He turned back yet again and saw that Joram’s aura was now getting stronger. What really caught his attention though, was the huge smile on the boy’s face. It showed such and intense… joy that he nearly lost his composure at the sight of it.
Is a mere Mentalist such a battle maniac? He wondered, then felt another shiver run down his spine when another wave of Joram’s aura hit him after it had risen to another level, shining brighter than even his daughter’s blood-red aura.
It was then that a thought occurred to him, one that he wasn’t sure if it should please him… or terrify him. For what he felt from that aura wasn’t something you’d normally ever feel if you lived several lifetimes, reminding him of stories from his family’s archives that he’d been privy to growing up.
He’d never experienced it himself but knew the signs of it. The pressure described. How his instincts told him that the person fighting his precious daughter was a monster. How he should take her far away from this place and hide her away. Of how the other beastkin in the audience were now visibly sweating, even his children, even Sasha.
It was the suppression from a higher bloodline, a much more powerful one.
As he continued to watch, Joram’s aura continued to grow in strength. He could see vibrant jade scales made of his aura forming along his arms even as he could swear that Joram’s incisors seemed a bit longer than before. The boy’s eyes began to shine as Corinthus watched.
Their movements became so fast that he was sure that they’d reached the equivalent of the peak of Tier 5 in their speed alone. And yet, they continued on as though their energy had no limits.
Stunned, he could only watch as his little girl continued her onslaught against the monster of a boy she’d taken an interest in, his heart growing tight in his chest.
* * * * *
As he watched his son fight, Ivaryn would only marvel.
It had taken Joram less than nine years to surpass him. The thought both made him incredibly proud and depressed at the same time. That he’d come such a long way in such a short time truly proved that he was not only a Reincarnator, but one with great talent. It was no wonder that he’d been the Founder’s First Disciple.
But where and when had he acquired his bloodline? From everything that he knew, and that was considerable given the fact that he’d married into Sulia’s Clan, neither of their lines had such a bloodline as that. Which meant that he’d gained it somewhere in the past few years.
The fight was already at the point where none of them could stop it. They could only rely on the Dean, a Tier 7 Mage, to stop it before one of them got seriously hurt.
His jaw clenched as he thought of how weak he was compared to even his son. He hadn’t been sure of his wife’s choice to become what she’d called a High Elan, reportedly not only what their ancestors descended from, but what Joram had been before his death. The same race as their Founder.
Now? Now he wondered. It would surely take monumental effort to regain his cultivation if he chose to go the same route that not only his wife had, but also the Matriarch had taken. But seeing their stunning growth was more than tempting him.
The desire to protect his family warred with his pride for having reached the peak of Tier 4 just after thirty years of age. Seeing his son, who’s cultivation was odd beyond belief, but reportedly already in the 5th Tier, was a powerful motivator to get stronger.
As he watched, he continued to ponder the pros and cons of joining his wife on her path.
* * * * *
Aya was, once again, torn.
When her ward had heard that Joram was going to be tested by Princess Hornwood’s royal father, she’d instantly run off to watch.
So there she was watching a fight that, by every metric and ounce of common sense that she had told her what she was seeing should have been impossible, was happening before her very eyes.
She’d long known that Joram was more than he seemed. From his unusual knowledge to his martial arts to his ability to draw others to him. There was a… magnetism to him that she couldn’t deny. Something that made a person want to get closer to him that drew even her, her duties notwithstanding.
But then his opening stance had caught her attention, nearly causing her to exclaim in shock. Jae-Eun had also noticed, growing more somber and focussed as she intensely observed the match.
Aya grew instantly guarded against the “young” man. For what she was seeing wasn’t a martial art that someone could just stumble upon if they visited their local training hall. It was the ancestral martial art of the Heavenly Guard that protected the Emperor and his family.
Even though his form was crude, juvenile at best, it was unmistakable. As she watched the match progress, it was as clear as day to her that he was improving and polishing his movements as they fought. The rate of improvement she saw shook her to the core.
As their auras began solidifying on them in the form of armour, Joram’s mastery of Everlasting Spring was at the level of veterans in the Heavenly Guard. Soon, Joram stopped jumping around with the princess, instead preferring to reduce his movements even further as they fought, his footwork so elegant that he seemed to glide over the arena floor.
Aya was heavily tilting towards once again forbidding contact with Joram when the match came to its climax.
Princess Hornwood’s aura suddenly exploded outwards, sending a wave of such intense bloodlust that it caused not a few of the students faint dead away. She reflexively extended her own aura to protect her ward as she watched, her interest peaking.
The Princess’s aura had now taken the form of a great cat around her. Not only that, but her hair had visibly grown along with the nails on her hands and feet, turning them into deadly claws. Her aura was so intense that Aya could hear angry feline growls coming from it.
She thought that the Dean would step in then, but was shocked by Joram’s response. He calmly reached out a hand and placed it on the Princess’s head like someone patting the head of a beloved child... or pet.
Time seemed to stop then as everyone’s breath froze in their chests.
Joram’s aura flared out stronger than even the Princess’ had been, knocking out even more students unlucky enough to be standing too close. What was the most shocking to her was the sight of the Princess’ eyes rolling up into her head before her aura winked out.
She then collapsed into Joram’s arms before he shifted to scoop her up in a traditional princess carry.
Appropriate, that. She thought wryly as the stunned audience watched in silence. But just who is Joram Aneath? Is he a friend or foe?
And so, she continued to be torn. On the one hand, he was a mysterious existence with knowledge that she couldn’t explain, especially his knowledge of Everlasting Spring. On the other, she hadn’t observed any untoward behaviour from him.
Even Jae-Eun had finally started showing an interest in martial arts as she continued to attend Joram’s study group. The other members also seemed to enjoy their time studying which, given their ages, shouldn’t have been a normal occurrence. Far from it.
Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder at the mystery that was Joram Aneath. A Mentalist, Alchemist, Artificer, Marial Artist, and Body Refiner. Someone who’d created a new fabric that could not only withstand such ridiculous conditions as she’d just witnessed, but also proved to be the most comfortable material she’d ever experienced when it was used to make undergarments.
Aya cleared away that last thought, not being terribly proud of herself for having succumbed to her curiosity after having heard Jae-Eun sing the “viridian silk’s” praises for days on end.
She watched as Joram slowly made his way to where King Icewood was standing, sweat still coating his face.
Aya wondered what would come of this as she watched Jae-Eun out of the corner of her eye. Her ward seemed conflicted, and rightly so. But for all that, her expression told Aya that she was still leaning in favour of Joram.
So, what would she do?
* * * * *
It had been a monumental risk, but Joram was glad that it had paid off.
M4 had noticed that after Emily’s aura had flared, every beastkin in the audience had reacted. Not only that, but even the weaker member of the audience had been affected, some even fainting at the pressure. Then, when his own aura had spiked, even more people had been affected. But most importantly, the King and his family, along with Emily, had flinched.
Given that Emily was so resistant to mental influence while in her berserker state, he’d been seriously wondering how he was going to safely bring the spar to a close. M3 had reported that the Dean seemed chill, so that line of thought went out the window.
But M4 had posited that a sufficiently powerful blast of his battle aura might well render Emily unconscious, and thus end the spar.
It had taken several more seconds of M4 experimenting with his aura before they’d thrown caution to the wind and just went for it.
So, the fact that it had worked had greatly relieved him. He was also glad that their clothing had survived the spar, as he was sure that he’d have been murdered if the results of their first spar had been repeated in front of her parents.
After he shifted Emily into another princess carry, he quickly [Delve]d her to check on her condition. He found that her cellular regeneration was slowing even though she still suffered from tears in every muscle in her body. Her tendons and ligaments were also tearing, her bones showing microscopic stress fractures.
It hurt him more than a little to find that he’d pushed her so far, so hard that she’d sustained so much damage to her body. So, as he slowly walked to where her family was staring at him in open shock and not a little fear, he forced her into the Network so that he could manifest [True Metabolism] on her.
By the time he reached her parents, her internal wounds were gone, leaving her sleeping in his arms.
“So, was that convincing enough?” He asked the King as he passed Emily off to her mother’s waiting embrace.
Joram could see the man visibly reign-in his emotions, his face quickly returning to what Joram supposed was his “King” face before speaking.
“We will discuss things further, young man. For now, I need to see to my daughter,” he said before gathering up his family with a glance.
As the royal family walked past Joram, he didn’t miss how Emily’s siblings stayed as far away from him as they could manage in the tightly packed arena. The two guards glared as they passed him, which didn’t bother him. What really affected him was the look Sasha gave him as she had gone by.
It had sent a chill down and right back up his spine.