Firdah, Minbasha 1, 350 AOR
“That was rather intense,” Cal muttered as his teammates and Squad Seventeen walked out of the Grand Chamber.
Leading the group through the Main Hall and into the courtyard, Ray chuckled. “Yeah, but it helps get everyone excited and ready for what’s to come. It seems to have worked.”
“I expected something a bit more professional and to the point,” Rafierre said with a yawn. She sat down on a bench beneath the shade of a tree, followed by her teammates. “But I guess this is how things are done in Wyze.”
Cal stood in front of them with his fellow squad members, though Sylvest walked around the bench and leaned against the flower bed surrounding the tree.
“You’re not from Wyze?” Cal asked.
Her head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “Hm? I come from Volmier… The Rafierre Empire. You know it?”
…
No wonder it sounded so familiar.
“Are you kidding me?” Cal mumbled under his breath.
“You didn’t connect the dots there?” Ray snickered as he elbowed Cal’s side.
Bordering Wyze’s western border, a country of five empires reigned. That country is Volmier, the largest country in all of Lumiriahn, as well as the longest-lasting nation in the entire world, rich with culture, tradition, and aged aristocracies. Despite the many wars it had witnessed—the empires that had fallen—Volmier prospered. It was a staple of Lumiriahn, proving that the passage of time wasn’t entirely almighty.
Having only seen it in passing on the map in Dirah’s office, and reading about it in the occasional book, Cal’s knowledge of it was limited. Still, he felt stupid for not recalling at least the names of the empires within the country.
“So… you’re the duke’s daughter?” Cal asked after looking back at Rafierre, already mortified by her eventual response.
She nodded and smirked. “Surprised?”
Cal inhaled sharply, bewildered—and frankly terrified—as he stood between the children of three world leaders. Why fate wished to put him in such a position, he had no idea, and at this point, he was concerned that Sylvest or Grace would come out and claim to be a member of royalty as well. Of course, by the sounds of it, the former seemed to be an orphan whilst the latter’s family owned a bakery.
So no more royals… maybe.
“I’m sorry for speaking to you so casually then, Lady Rafierre,” Cal said, eyes set to the side.
The heiress snorted and waved Cal off. “Calm down, Gray. You look stuffy acting so formal. Besides, I don’t care about such formalities?”
“Is that so?” Cal asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, so don’t call me that. Just call me Venella and I’ll call you Cal. It’s a lot easier that way.”
He did it for Ray, so there was no reason why he couldn’t do it for her as well.
“Very well, Venella.”
“What brings you to Elda anyway, Venella?” Ray asked, already regarding her so casually. “You’re like three thousand miles away from Baylaas.”
Venella let out a dry chuckle and twisted one of her braids with the tips of her fingers. “Well, actually, you see. I… sorta ran away from home.”
Ray and Princess Availius’ eyes nearly flew out of their skulls as Grace grabbed Venella’s hand, concern evident in her green eyes. Grace spoke hurriedly. “What? What do you mean? You never told me anything about that! Is everything okay?”
“Uh… yeah. Um, everything’s fine,” Venella responded, expression somewhat unreadable once her gaze shifted to the bashful magess.
“What reason would you have to run away from a family of your caliber, though?” Grace followed up with.
“Don’t say it like that,” Venella sighed. “Even people like me have problems. Just ask our prince and princess over here. I’m sure they have things they’re running away from too.”
The aforementioned nodded firmly in understanding before Venella waved a dismissive hand. “Call it an act of rebellion. My parents loved me, sure, but I was nowhere near the top of their priority list. There was the empire, then my older brothers’ fight for succession; then there were all the political, civic, magic, dance, etiquette, and general education I was forced to do. It was all so relentlessly boring. The servants and empire’s people called me the heiress, but I was treated like some pretty little girl who could be dolled up. I trained and fought like my brothers—even beat them a few times—though that only made people think I was a deterrent in their fight for our father’s title as duke. So, I ran away… if you could even call it such,” she chuckled humorously. “I was actually given a proper farewell from my father and an escort to Elda. But, before I left, I suppose my father did tell me that I would not be welcomed back if I returned as a disappointed hindrance to the empire. So… there’s that.”
“You told me that he sent you here,” Grace said, eyes still wrought with worry. “Why would you keep that from me?”
Venella appeared unbothered, a dismissive shrug proving Cal’s assumption as she smiled softly at Grace. “I didn’t want to drop that on you after your family helped me how they had. There’s no need to feel bad, Grace. This was my decision, after all. I wanted to go somewhere I felt I belonged, and even if things don’t work out perfectly, I have a feeling that the next few years will be worthwhile anyway.”
“What made you choose Elda?” Princess Availius asked as she playfully pouted and crossed her arms. “Everhold is just as beautiful.”
The heiress flashed a lopsided smile. “Aren’t the elves rather isolated these days… well, more than they’re already known for?”
The princess’ cheeks puffed out. “I’ll have you know that Father is doing well in mending the wounds between humans and elves.”
“Yes. Yes. So I’ve heard. I’m just jesting, my lady,” Venella laughed as she bumped the princess’ shoulder.
As the ladies of Squad Seventeen talked and joked, behaving as if they’d known each other for years, Cal looked away, his eyes instinctively landing on Sylvest as she still leaned on the flower bed, distant and silent while twiddling with her spearhead. His gaze lingered, confusion swirling in his mind as he recalled their prior exchanges. A slap, harsh words, more harsh words, and even more harsh words.
Anything but pleasant.
He didn’t want that. Not for some gallant reason though. In actuality, he just didn’t want to stand on shaky ground with Sylvest for the next four years as teammates. She’d already proven to be a bit of a nuisance, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with while trying to make his way through Aldera and investigate his father’s death.
So, wishing to establish some form of cordiality, Cal approached his impenetrable teammate. “How do you summon your spear?”
Stunning blue eyes looked up at him for a few beats. They bore into his soul like she was gauging Cal and everything he represented. A coat of vulnerability blanketed his body. However, Sylvest eventually looked away before she tossed her spear to the ground. It turned to dust as she held out her right hand. Inspecting closer—as he hadn’t seen it beforehand—around her wrist was a bracelet. It shared the same ash-gray shade as her spear with the same orangish-red veins engraved in it. With another flick of her wrist, the spear appeared in her hand, which in turn caused the bracelet to turn a pure black color. It was as if the spear was the bracelet’s soul.
“It was a gift given to me by someone important. I’ve cherished it ever since. I think it has something to do with Familiar magic, but I’m not all that educated when it comes to magic.”
Noting her admittance to her lack of magic, Cal also realized that she had spoken to him like a human being for the first time since he barreled into her.
“That’s interesting,” Cal said before pausing, scrounging to find something to say to fill the awkward air that was slowly forming. “You did well in the exam.”
Her expression turned steely. Dispelling her spear, Sylvest crossed her arms, tilted her hip, and narrowed her ocean-blue eyes. “I don’t need your approval, Gray, nor do I need you trying to get all close and personal with me, much less him,” she added, tossing her thumb in Ray’s direction. He was keeled over, laughing hysterically, while the Elf Princess looked on, annoyed. “I think it’s clear that we’re here for our own reasons, and that everyone else will just get in the way.” She jabbed a finger into Cal’s chest. “So you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Deal, Farm Boy?”
Realizing that his teammate was both unreceptive and horribly blunt, Cal conceded. However, if not for the spike of annoyance tearing down his spine, he would have realized that he was much the same. Instead, he scoffed and turned around.
“To hell with being nice… Bitch,” he grumbled.
Not a second passed before a hand clasped Cal’s shoulder, halting his escape as a dangerously lowered voice washed over him like a hurricane of animosity. “The fuck did you just call me?”
Cal shrugged her hand off and took another step forward, just for her to grab him again. This time, he was completely spun around, forcing him to meet her fiery expression before she grabbed Cal by the front of his uniform.
“Don’t ignore me after insulting me, shithead!”
“It’s not an insult if it’s the truth. I tried being cordial and that’s how you respond…” Cal remarked, callous eyes glaring. “Now, let go of me.”
“You’re not going to tell me what to do after calling me a bitch,” she scoffed, lips twisting into a scowl. “You were the first student to be admitted to the infirmary. Pitiful, truly.”
“A bitch and a sore loser,” Cal sneered, arms crossed as he glared down at the cruel beauty. “I’m amazed. All that talk and you still scored less—are you embarrassed, Sylvest?”
She dragged Cal down by his tie, eyes on fire with her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “You like losing points, don’t you? Trying to fight?”
“You got pissy over losing fifteen. Reflect, why don’t you?”
“I’ll reflect after dropping you to the dirt.”
“You talk like that little stick of yours is going to do anything.”
She smirked. “Yeah? I bet you know all about little sticks not working, you piece of—”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What are you two doing?” Ray exclaimed as he rushed toward his bickering teammates, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “We’re teammates! Teammates! We don’t fight one another!”
“Back off, Ray,” Cal snapped, eyes still on Sylvest since she had yet to release him, both unaware of the small crowd gathering.
Sylvest laughed without mirth. “Adorable. Is your boyfriend going to help you every step of the way? Was it your intention to ride his coattails until graduation?”
“I don’t need him, and I don’t need you,” Cal stated harshly, unaware of the flash of pain in the prince’s eyes. “Just don’t be the dead weight that you’ve proven to be.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The smirk she wore sharpened, a glint in her eyes so dangerous. “Dead weight? How rich, coming from someone who was probably baggage to mommy and daddy every waking second of their life. Damn noble bastards!”
He didn’t even care that she was partly wrong.
His eyes narrowed, hand flexing before he snapped it outward and grabbed Sylvest by the front of her uniform. He dragged her just inches from his face, her feet hardly grazing the stone ground beneath them. “The fuck did you just say?”
Sylvest returned Cal’s fury as she also grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands. “What? Hit a nerve? Are you daddy’s baggage, Gray? A useless little boy that disappointed his daddy?”
Cal’s free arm lifted without him thinking. His fist curled as he pulled back, just for a grating voice to pierce the building animosity within the courtyard.
“Falling to the level of beating up women? You truly are commoner scum, Gray!”
The annoyance Cal felt at that second multiplied tenfold as Latiss pushed his way through the crowd and entered the small ring that had surrounded the members of Squad Eighteen, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. Of course, the freakishly tall Jrue and dwarfed Dawes backed him.
“What do you want?” Cal seethed.
“Yeah, we’re kind of in the middle of something, rat-face,” Sylvest shot at him as well.
Cal ignored the fact that they had finally found common ground on something.
“Stay out of this, broad. I have no qualms with you,” he barked before looking at Cal and not sparing another ounce of attention to Sylvest, whom Cal still held a fistful of her shirt. “As for you, I’m obviously a student. Do you think the most powerful noble heir would not come to Wyze’s greatest academy, much less allow a bastard of a peasant to threaten me and get away with it?”
“By the gods, you attempted to cut a man’s hand off. How are you the victim here?” Cal let his aggravation seep into his words.
“You opposed the son of the highest noble family in Elda! That’s how!” he crowed.
“And that concerns me, how?”
He scoffed and ran a hand through his curly locks. “Because I have power that you could never dream of!”
How pretentious.
“Liam,” Ray’s voice interjected, causing all heads to turn to him. “Stop trying to cause more trouble than there already is. Leave.”
“I apologize, Your Highness,” Latiss mocked, clearly unbothered by the prince’s words. “But this is a mere discussion between feuding students. There’s no need for the prince to get himself involved. Besides…”
The blonde turned toward Cal and removed the white glove he wore on his left hand. Then he tossed it on the ground next to Cal. “I, Liam Latiss, first born to Matsum Latiss, challenge you to a duel, peasant!”
In the blink of an eye, the once dead-silent courtyard exploded into shouts and hollers as every voice yelled at Cal to pick up the glove and fight Latiss. Still between Cal and Sylvest, Ray ran a hand over his face while Sylvest’s fury remained. There were also the members of Squad Seventeen, each one watching the scene with concern, intrigue, or both.
Cal smacked his teeth.
Frankly, he had no desire to accept the duel.
Was it because he was afraid of losing? Hardly.
Rather, it was simply ridiculous.
Latiss was an insufferable ass, yes, but Cal did not have any personal qualms with the pretentious noble. To waste time, energy, and even breath on such garbage was something Cal wanted nothing to do with. Yet… the piece of him that sought the strength to protect his family was firm, so much so that after a few tense seconds of staring the noble down, Cal released Sylvest, bent down, and grabbed the noble’s white glove.
Nearly drowned out by the crowd’s celebratory shouts, Latiss laughed haughtily. “Good choice, peasant.”
----------------------------------------
Echoing shouts boomed off the walls of the Arena, a thunderous energy that caused Cal’s heart to thrum within the confines of his trembling ribs. He couldn’t really help it. To stand on the coliseum’s raised, circular platform in front of a thousand screaming students, he couldn’t help but feel a smidge of anxiety. One would hardly be able to tell as his expression remained neutral, but inside, Cal was considerably perturbed. Not because of the crowd and its roars—maybe just a tad—and not because of the implications of fighting a noble on his first day of class; no, it came from the fact that a certain black-haired professor was glaring daggers into his forehead from the very spectator’s box that the Headmaster of Aldera also occupied alongside a dozen more professors.
… but in the meantime, just behave… just behave… just behave…
Cal ducked his head to the side, avoiding Airetore’s glare, and sighed.
He hadn’t expected such a crowd, especially when it came to the professors and headmaster. But seeing as today was merely orientation, classes had already been dismissed after Headmaster Valentine’s speech. Of course students and professors alike would swarm to watch a fight between a noble and commoner on the first day of school.
“Let’s go, Cal! Kick his ass!”
Cal grumbled and looked over his shoulder at where Squads Seventeen and Eighteen stood. Ray waved his arms at Cal as if he couldn’t see the prince, and beside him, Violet scolded him while Grace looked on with worry. Venella appeared as cool as ever, though curiosity lurked in her copper eyes. Even Sylvest had shown up, arms crossed and expression thoroughly displeased.
She probably wished that she challenged Cal to a duel first, Cal thought as he looked across the ring. A confident Latiss stood, the crowd cheering him on, which he took with relative ease, waving at his admirers, though mainly the women.
“Prick,” Cal mumbled as he rolled his shoulders and watched a woman climb the circular steps that rounded the entire platform.
“Welcome one and all to the first official duel of the year! We did not anticipate such an affair within the first few hours of the day, but here we are! My name is Evalene Fahnlee, and I am the mediator for this duel! Shall we have ourselves a time, my lovelies?”
Professor Fahnlee was an ecstatic character, to say the least. Cal could tell as much merely by the manner in which she presented herself, shouting to the crowd and waving in an exaggerated fashion. She was tall for a woman—just short of six feet—and had long, wavy hair the color of a bee hive. It matched well with the large blue eyes that brightened her lively personality.
“Today, I present to you our challenger! He’s a master of the sword and an Artisan Elemental to boot—charming and charismatic as they come, he is the first and only son of the Latiss family! May I present, Liam Latiss!” she shouted out, the clamoring crowd assisting in the shaking of the Arena. Her hand then shifted to Cal. “And on the other side of the ring, we have Sir Latiss’ opponent, a rank-less dagger-wielder from the village of Markstead! I present to you, Cal Gray!”
…
It might have been Ray and Grace who cheered for Cal, but he hardly bothered the noise—or lack thereof. It was suffocatingly silent.
Professor Fahnlee coughed into her hand before continuing, rekindling the crowd’s passion. “Duels are quite straightforward, though it’s important to remember the rules. One, any weapon goes. If you wish to use magic or a sword, it does not matter. Two, either fighter can concede if they choose to do so. I’ll be here to intervene if necessary; however, if you choose to keep fighting, I have no right to stop you. The only time I will intervene is if things turn ugly and death seems imminent. Lastly, you can wager points to earn for your squad. If you win, you gain both party’s wagered points, and if you lose… well, you lose the points you bargained; simple, yes? Would we like to wager points today, gentlemen?”
“One hundred points!” Latiss declared with a smirk.
“Mr. Gray?” Professor Fahnlee inquired.
“Don’t you dare wager one hundred points!” Sylvest roared behind him.
Cal sneered, looked back at Sylvest, and then at Professor Fahnlee. “One hundred points.”
“Two hundred points it is!”—“Bastard!”—the blonde professor declared as she lifted a wand into the air. “Now then, fighters, at my say, you may begin! Understand?” Professor Fahnlee looked at Latiss, who nodded, and then at Cal, who also nodded. “Very well, gentlemen! With that… begin!”
From her wand, a whistling spell was shot into the air before it exploded, signifying the fight. Latiss was quick to draw his blade, but with his new sheaths, Cal was quicker, exhaling as he shot forward and immediately met with Latiss’s sword.
The arena roared.
Blade met blade, scraping off each other until both men spun off the parry and returned with another swing. Dagger met sword again, but this time, Latiss dropped to his knee, and in the same motion, a ball of brown gathered in his hand before a sizable pillar of stone was conjured and thrown at Cal from the noble’s palm. Ca barely dodged the pillar—his rib being nicked—but he dismissed it and swung down, just for Latiss to flip backward, using his free hand as a spring in the motion. While flipping, however, he swung at Cal.
The sudden move was unexpected, resulting in the tip of Latiss’ sword slicing the fabric of Cal’s uniform. Cal swallowed the smidge of concern in the back of his throat and pushed onward, sending a volley of strikes at Latiss, who blocked each attack with ease.
Annoyance bubbled in Cal as he found himself falling short with every attack. Conversely, with each of the noble’s strikes, Cal was barely avoiding them.
It was like Jay all over again.
He was weak.
Clenching his teeth, Cal parried one of Latiss’ strikes before putting distance between the two.
The noble raised his sword and smirked. “Don’t run away so soon, Gray. I haven’t had my fill yet.”
Not responding, Cal took a deep breath and crouched into position. Latiss mirrored him, wrapping both hands around his sword’s hilt and pointing the eye-level blade at Cal. As the crowd hushed, the young men clashed, the sound of their clanging blades and grunts of exertion filling the silence.
Metal clashed with metal, and with every attack or block, an opening would show itself, allowing either fighter to push their opponent back by just a bit. It wasn’t enough for either, but Cal began to adapt to Latiss’ speed with every collision. More importantly, however, Cal realized that the noble—albeit strong—wasn’t dominating in any particular aspect. His speed, strength, and ability were all considerably average, but the problem lay in the fact that being average across the board meant that there were little to no weaknesses for Cal to exploit. The only thing that kept Cal in the fight was his perception and speed, but aside from that, he was outclassed in nearly every other aspect.
That much became apparent as Latiss swung down at Cal, forcing him to raise his daggers flat to counter the strike; however, because of Latiss’ edge in physical power, Cal was dropped to a knee, which then left him exposed to the circling kick that Latiss slammed into the side of his face. The mind-shaking kick resulted in Cal losing both daggers as he rolled across the Arena, nearly falling off the edge. Between the screaming crowd and his ringing mind, Cal brought himself to a halt and then up to his hands and knees. His eyes were blurry, dots peppering his vision.
That wasn’t a normal kick.
“Reinforcement Magic—makes your body stronger,” Latiss called out like he’d read Cal’s mind, ambling toward him as his sword scraped against the platform’s floor. “Very handy. Makes beating up worthless rubbish like you quite simple. Now get up. I can’t kill you here, so let me get a few more swings in.”
Shaking his head to orient himself, Cal eventually did so, wiping at the blood that dribbled down his brow and raising his fists.
“Good,” Latiss smirked before he shot toward Cal and swung down.
However, Latiss’ eyes snapped open as Cal shrouded himself in Lightning Armor, allowing him to sidestep Latiss’ sword and slam his fist into the noble’s ribcage. The crowd oohed, but Cal wasn’t done. As Latiss reeled back from the blow, Cal grabbed the noble by the coat of his uniform before pummeling his face multiple times. Latiss growled and swung at Cal once he had enough bearing to do so, but Cal released the blonde, ducked under the attack, and slammed his foot into Latiss’ ribs again—the same spot. This time, it was the noble who flew across the ring, stopping himself by scraping his sword against the ground. Once he came to a kneeling rest, the spectators exploded in screams.
Cal gave himself a second to breathe, dispelling his magic and glancing at Ray and the others as he and Grace joined in the crowd’s clamoring yells. Sylvest hardly seemed impressed, similar to Airetore, who stood in the spectator’s booth with a hand covering the bottom half of his face, clearly exasperated with Cal. Cal ignored it though, grabbing his daggers and sliding them into their sheaths before watching Latiss pick himself up. For once, the noble was quiet, eyes set on Cal as the former’s left hand twitched. Cal’s brows furrowed, though they shot up once dark blue mana formed in Latiss’ palm; however, Cal’s expression grew more disheartened as the noble’s sword was suddenly engulfed in flames.
“Not again,” Latiss muttered, the air around him seeming to wither. “You won’t hit me again. Not even once.”
A cold sweat ran down the back of Cal’s neck before he hurriedly grabbed his daggers. However, by the time he got in position, a roaring cylinder of water—twice as tall as Cal—soared toward him. Cal barely managed to dodge the spell, but in the second that he looked away to do so, Latiss was in front of him, fiery sword positioned wide. The noble swung at Cal’s side, but Cal bent backward, causing the sword to extinguish in the vestiges of the spell behind him. Steam formed around them, and once Latiss’ sword swung out of the water, it was set aflame once more. Within the thick haze, it was only because of the flaming blade that Cal was able to dodge Latiss’ next attack. He could do little within the smoke, so the second he backed up enough to sheath a dagger, Cal aimed his hand at the ground and shot out a blast of wind, thinning the steam and allowing him to watch as the tip of Latiss’ blade was just inches from his eye. Clenching his teeth, Cal reapplied Lightning Armor, though he directed it to his head, allowing him to snap it to the side, avoid the stab, and reapply the man to his arms before swinging at Latiss’ right side. With the noble’s arm still outstretched from his previous attack, it was open; however, his attack came to a blunt stop. When Cal looked at his blade, it was to see Latiss holding his wrist. Cal looked at the noble whose expression was contorted into sick satisfaction.
“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t hit me again, peasant?” he sneered, tightening the grip on Cal’s wrist to the point that Cal dropped the blade. “Now let me show you the difference in our powers… Try not to die. It would be truly unfortunate,” he said with utter sarcasm.
Cal’s heart lurched. Before he could react, Latiss pulled him downward and sent a reinforced knee into Cal’s face. His body snapped backward, but his back didn’t hit the ground, for a devastating impact slammed into him, forcing him dozens of feet into the air. Crying out in pain and flipping every which way, Cal finally saw what the attack was: a pillar of stone that had protruded from the platform.
“Pillar Barrage!” Latiss shouted before throwing his hands toward Cal, spurring a dozen more stone pillars to soar upwards from the platform.
There was nothing he could do.
He had no weapons capable of stopping the spell, no magic to counter, and no means of even dodging the pillars. The only thing he could do was brace for the eventual impact… and that’s what he did, righting himself and crossing his arms over his chest to act as a final defense.
The first pillar hit at an excruciating speed, pushing Cal another dozen feet into the sky. In the recesses of his mind, he registered a snapping sound, and once the second pillar connected with an equally as painful force, Cal’s body had already given up, leaving him vulnerable to five more attacks that sent him well over the Arena’s walls.
With what little consciousness he had left, Cal could hear the gasps of the crowd, and when his body turned to face the ground, he saw why. A stone spike rose beneath him, the lance-like spell pointing at Cal, beckoning him toward death as Cal spun again to face the sky. The clouds and blue sky weren’t a horrible sight to see before he died, but he wished it could have been the sky back home in Markstead, surrounded by his family and loved ones… not here, in Elda, surrounded by people he didn’t know or care about.
“I don’t want to…” Cal trailed off, mind dazed as a large ball of stone formed above him. “Oh.”
Without options, Cal could only watch as the ball condensed to his size and dropped toward him at a frightening speed, one that caused his descent toward the spike to increase tenfold. Past the horrified screams of the crowd, Cal cursed himself for being so weak.
Maybe in the next life, he could be better.