《Living Steel》


 Prologue + Chapter I

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Prologue and Chapter 1 notes: The main thing I enjoy in fantasy is character building. But the first chapter is very light on it. I took the chance to first try to set the pace and the setting. But I promise, character development is what I will try to focus on as the story progresses.


    *


    Prologue: A company of three


    Despite the thick underbrush, Arion kept his eyes on the lean, black haired, fellow who was leading their company as he darted from cover to cover. Well, lean by their definition. Southerns would probably consider him a warrior with a quick glance, but Arion could easily see that with proper, daily training, the youth''s body could be much more muscled and toned, and even though he would be considered tall at one point eight meters, that was just the average around their parts.


    On the contrary, the man on his right, Jared, easily kept up with their pace as they rushed forward, despite carrying the huge carcass of a baby oult, strapped with thick leather belts on his back. Towering over both of them at almost two meters, with a build more fitted for a bear rather than a human, he was even bigger than the fierce black animal on his back.


    The company came to a sudden halt as Martyn raised his hand. Looking back he gave a quick nod behind him, towards the warrior and the rager that were following him, and then closed his eyes. He focused on the thin lines of mana that were enveloping him, and let his senses ride along them as they expanded and started filling the area around him. Like thin tentacles, they spread from him, splitting and thinning even more as they rushed to fill the space.


    Everything had mana. From the trees, to the soil, to the tiny wildlife that thrived on the thick forest, everything lit up in his mind, like a three dimensional map giving him the exact details of everything his own mana brushed against. Apart from the two people behind him, nothing had any serious amount of mana in his immediate vicinity. He opened his eyes, waved his hand forward and started moving again.


    Jared was getting kinda annoyed. ¡°Where are all the damn animals. That''s not right.¡± They had repeated the same thing a few hundreds of times, and yet, only once  Martyn had given the signal that there was prey nearby. The baby oult was a nice and easy catch, but it wouldn''t be enough to feed the village even for a day, and they were getting quite far from it. He didn''t doubt the young shaman, if anything, he was one of the best scouts he had worked with, and he often had tried to persuade their elder to give him to his group of hunters full time, and not have him locked up in the smithy with the weird southern mage that was raising the young boy, but as always, the elder would just shut him down instantly.


    Martyn estimated he had dashed another hundred meters or so, so once again, he halted the company and let his senses encircle a hundred meter radius around them. With his training he was confident by now that he could cover much more space than that, but it would take him some time to focus, while about a hundred meters took him only a few seconds. So he found it more practical to just do quick bursts of hundred meter scans, move towards the end of what he''ve seen, and repeat.


    This time his hand clenched on a fist, but instead of pointing towards a direction, his hand moved towards his quiver as he opend his eyes, which still glowed white while holding his mana sense up.


    His mana stream was thin enough to penetrate soil, rock and generally everything non-living almost instantly, while plants, animals, and humans, regardless of their complexity had a sheath of mana, like a shield, around them. So he had to either penetrate that, a task ranging from easily done, on targets like plants and animals, to hard on humans, to almost impossible on other mages or ragers or curve his stream around it for scouting purposes. His mentor had explained to him that the density of one''s mana is directly linked to how strong one''s soul is, but that natural defense can also be enhanced by training and natural  phenomena. In order to directly affect one with magic, you had to bypass that protection always, and there were only two ways to do so, you either brute forced yourself in by shattering their mana by colliding your own, or, you thinned your own mana stream so much that it could slip right through that natural defence. The last method required the least amount of power, but the most amount of fine manipulation though, and it was limited to people with less amount of mana manipulation compared to you. Also, for most mages,  it was much slower compared to making a thick tendril of mana and simply crushing their opponent''s defenses.


    Martyn''s senses were focused towards the northwest, around fifty meters in front of them, he could sense the bodies of three adult great oults, but despite the usual risks that even one of those magnificent, feline beasts, with long curved tusks, that towered at nearly two meters tall and about  four to five meters length, meant, all three of them were piled one atop another. Their mana shields were broken, and like an evaporating mist, their inner mana was leaking to the air. On top of the pile, there was nothing. And by nothing, Martyn could actually feel an area that was a complete void of anything, no life, no air, nothing. A single space, more than double the size of a single oulk, that should not exist. Without looking away, his hand searched inside his quiver, until he pulled an arrow covered in runes.


    He started focusing directly on the black tip of the arrow, willing his mana to start forming a circle right on top of it. Martyn cursed inside him as he knew that the sigils and runes for that spell were simple enough that any competent magician could form them in a few seconds, but his unnaturally thin mana stream was far too unwielding and it always took him a much longer time to cast a spell compared to either their clan shaman, or his master, the only two mages he actually knew.


    Jared''s puzzled face, when Martyn didn''t point towards the direction of their hunt, distorted to a visage of pure malice, his teeth grinding with each other, and a shallow breath left his lungs as the young mage pulled a black tipped arrow and started concentrating on it. He spotted the young, red headed warrior that was the last member of their trio, Arion, unbuckling his backpack and letting it silently and slowly to the ground as he was nocking up a similary runed arrow on his bow. A guttular growl escaped his lips as he himself dropped his bow and unsheathed his sword.


    As Arion heard Jared growling "Demon", he looked to his right, watching the, already huge, man growing slightly larger still and his eyes flaring up with a red glow, and, like they were trying to match him, the runes on his sword flared up in flames.


    Less than half a minute later since Martyn clenched his fist, he pulled back the string of his bow, and let the arrow fly towards the northwest. And like well trained dogs, Arion and Jared lept forward trailing the wailing arrow as it flew, avoiding any obstacles in its path, towards its marked target. A second latter, somewhere in front of them, they heard the explosion of the burst arrow followed by an unearthly scream.


    Jared was first on the scene, noone could match the speed of a rager in his trance. He rushed towards the green demon, as he surveyed his surroundings.  It was obvious that the demon had dragged and piled the three dying animals in the center of a clearing, probably enjoying watching them slowly bleed to death before he would devour them. Only half of the top animal was left, probably the place the young shaman had fixed his arrow towards, the explosion destroying half of the animal, but simultaneously launching the demon away.


    The demon was trying to stand up, a process inhibited by the fact that one of its three legs was scortched, i''s green flesh seared as black puss oozed from its wounds. One of its three, trunk like, arms had a deep gush in it, probably from his fight with the oults, their tusks being not just for show. It was a weird beast on all accounts, three legs and three arms positioned around its spherical, much smaller,  main body, without a head or any other extermities. But its most frightening ability was that its skin could almost perfectly match its surroundings, provding excellent camouflage. Jared thanked the Gods that the demon''s arrogance and sadistic tendencies deprived it from its biggest asset as it layed in the middle of the clearing, and he charged in.


    The moment Arion stepped in the clearing he saw that Jared was already next to the demon, pulling his straight sword out of one of its legs. He saw the arms of the beast extending and, like a whirlwind, rotating along its main body as they fell like hammers towards Jared. The rager had already turned the flat of his blade towards the monstrous arms, and used his left hand as a brace on the blade as he used it as a shield towards the attack. Despite the man being less than half the size of the demon, the only effect of the deadly cascade of attacks was that its sheer strength forced the rager on his knees.


    Before the first arrow hit the arms of the demon, Arion had already nocked another  runed arrow that he let fly towards the exposed main body. The fire burst wasn''t as big as a shaman''s would be, but it was enough to give pause to the relentless assault of the demon, and the second explosion caused it to stagger a step behind.  With one of its legs burned, and the other wounded, the demon stumbled behind, almost losing its balance, and the pause was enough for Jared to regain his footing. With a scream, the giant of a man, clutched his sword with both hands, spun it around his head, and chopped the already wounded leg cleanly off the demon, his sword searing the flesh cleanly.


    "BACK" Martyn, watching just a step behind Arion, yelled, as he finished his magic circle.


    Jared jumped back, as he saw a tiny bead of fire colliding with the demon''s main body, before exploding in a ball of fire big enough to scorch the entirety of it. As the flames died, the demon let loose another scream, as it tried to lumber towards the three of them, another rune etched arrow from Arion on its body exploded and in the demon''s confusion it was followed by a bellow from Jared as he jumped a good ten meters in the air, dropping with all his might towards it. His monstrous strength, aided by the momentum of the fall, allowing him to pierce the main body and impalling it to the ground.


    The two men instantly looked straight towards Martyn who nodded ¡°It was alone, I can''t sense another Xed, or any other kind of demon, in a two hundred meter radius¡±


    A few seconds latter, the twitching monster disolved to a thick black mist. With senses on alert, the three people watched as the mist slowly dispersed into thin air.


    "At least there isn''t a gate nearby" Arion broke the silence. "Also, Martyn, I''m all out of rune arrows..."


    "I''ve made and gave to the elder a bunch of them the other day, I''m not the one responsible for distributing them you know"


    ¡°Well... yeah. But you know how stingy the guys at the council are, and since we are now like...  friends and all that...¡±


    ¡°Friends my ass. You gave the poor kid hell for the first ten years of his life.¡± Jared interrupted as he finished cleaning his blade. ¡°Now cut the chit chat. We need to build a makeshift stretcher to carry some of this food back. Arion, you help me carry them, Martyn, keep your eyes up all the way till the village, we need to know if there are any more of them. Also, why the hell did you go and blow up half an oult? We could have used that meat.¡±


    ¡°It was the easiest way to blow up the demon''s leg. You know I can''t fix a tracking spell on a demon. And I didn''t want the thing to leap away and escape. Regardless, even one full grown oult is fine, and how would you carry three of them?¡± Martyn shrugged ¡°We have plenty of meat either way now, maybe enough for a feast even. By the time another party comes to collect the other two oults, scavengers would probably have eaten them¡±


    ¡°No way any animal comes close to where a demon was for at least one day. And it would take less than half a day for a group of ragers if they won''t drop their trance to be here.¡±


    ¡°Are you planning on killing your troups Jared?¡± Arion snorted. ¡°No way you or any other rager could keep your trance up an hour, let alone half a day.¡±


    ¡°Hah. Let me worry about that. Normally yes. But normally, food enough for weeks don''t drop on your door.¡±


    ¡°I''m calling your bluff Jared. Ten iron pieces you''re bullshitting us.¡± Martyn joined in.


    ¡°Pray child that you don''t see us really fighting. You''ve been blessed that no war or major gate had spawned the few years you are alive.¡±


    ¡°But...¡± Arion tried to continue but was quickly cut by Jared.


    ¡°ENOUGH. If we spend the troups to gather the rest of the animals or not is up to the Elder. We can carry at least one, and that''s plenty already. Martyn, do your job, Arion, with me¡±


    Martyn closed his eyes and concentrated in his surrounding as the duo started chopping thick branches to make the stretcher. By the time they were done he already had checked around half a mile around them and seen nothing, but there was no need for anyone here to know that. "Tell no one of how far your sight can reach", his Master''s 3rd rule echoed in his mind. ¡°We are clear to go¡±


    *


    ¡°You''re not holding a grudge against me, do you Martyn?¡± Arion was mumbling on the way back. ¡°You know that don''t you? I was just trying to awaken you. A-WA-KEN you¡± He said playfully. ¡°How should I know that you would become a fricking shaman, and so, unable to be awakened?¡±


    ¡°Less chatting, more carrying, and let the boy do his job at peace Arion. We need to hurry up and report about the demon.¡±


    ¡°Grumpy old man¡± Arion muttered under his breath.


    ¡°Hrmf. Old? I''m just sixty you fool, that''s not even middle aged for a rager. I''ll be beating you up in duels till you''re an old man¡± Jared snickered.


    Both of them halted and looked back as they heard something dropping on the ground. Martyn was staring straight ahead, pale as a ghost, his bow on the ground as beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.


    ¡°No way...¡± He muttered as he dropped everything and started running straight ahead. Arion and Jared dropped the stretcher and followed suit.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    *


    Chapter I: A life''s end


    Jared couldn''t understand what was going on. They were nearing the village, in about a mile they would reach the fields that were cleared, for safety reasons, around the village. And then, the damn child dropped everything and started running blindly straight ahead. Even if it was safe so close to the village, it simply didn''t make sense. What troubled him the most thought, was the expression of pure terror before Martyn took off. Surely, he wasn''t a veteran at just seventeen years old, but he had faced even a few demons before, and the child''s expression was filled with more terror than even the first time he saw one of them.


    The young shaman was an asset alright. Their village was never large, only one in four or five people awakened as ragers, their bloodlines thin. But ever since that southern mage came and spotted that the kid had a talent for magic, something that even their village shaman missed, things have been looking up. The village was slowly expanding, both the southern and the kid had an extremely good talent at making runed arrows, and even a few runed swords like his own. Traders were already starting to show up and their own stockpile for emergencies was rising. As all shamans and ragers, even small amounts of magic usually meant a longer life than the average person, and if he could make ¡°a bunch¡± of runed arrowheads a day at such a young age, that only meant that he would grow up to be a prominent figure in the future.


    That was the main reason their shaman only sent him, one of his ten captains, and Arion, who despite being annoying, was one hell of a fighter, even without any remarkable talent, as escorts to the kid when they were going hunting. An activity that took less and less time as the kid could quickly find worthy prey in a matter of a few hours.


    Jared''s thoughts were interrupted as the smell of something burning invaded his nostrils. With his senses, enhanced like all ragers, and the wind blowing towards them, he couldn''t determine exactly how far away this burning originated, but the only thing that was in that direction was the village.


    Jared, drew his sword and let his emotions overcome him. As a raging tempest, he felt the familiar burning sensetion spreading from his chest, enveloping all of his being, the world seemed to slow down a bit, as his speed exploded. His muscles strained against the loose leather armor as they expanded, and his senses became even sharper. He felt the runes on his blade pulsing along his heartbeat, his sword becoming one with him. In the blink of the eye, he had already passed Martyn and was racing towards the village. As the sounds of battle, the screams, and the scent intensified, so did his pace as well, till he was running like a madman towards his home.


    For a fleeting second, before the scene in front of him overtook him, a single thought passed  through his mind ¡°We were more than a mile away from this, but Martyn...¡± Even in his awakened, brutal, state, he paused as the scene in front of him came into view.


    The village was burning. Right outside of it, in the fields, there was a huge black tear in the air. No, not black. It was void itself, the total lack of everything. And not a tear, an ugly wound in the sky, like the very air was cut open by an invisible blade.


    Around the tear, thin blue lines formed a giant circle with counless strands that were encircling the void. With his enhanced sight he could see countless runes being engraved within the circle, which was, in his best guess, made from so much condensed mana that it was visible even to the naked eye. Opposite of the tear, around ten meters away but much closer to the ground, another huge circle made of mana was forming, this one with circles within circles of itself, weird runes and symbols already dancing in the outer rims, and the inner ones were slowly filling as well. Between the circles was an old man wearing a worn out leather blacksmith''s vest, and around him, ten ragers had formed a circle, like a human body shield, protecting him from a horde of small, black, dog-like, demons, Igrids, the name instantly popping into his mind, that were trying to claw their way towards the mage.


    Around the small group he could see the rest of the squads.


    Five warriors had circled around a Xed, showering it with runed arrows as two ragers were keeping it busy.


    A little further away, three of the same type of demons were trampling over and pummelling a force of at least a dozen of his people.


    Closer to him there was an Aungin. The disgusting, floating, blob of flesh, hovered about a meter over the ground. Ten ragers were around him, trying to approach it, while counltess other husks of people lay around it, dead and shrivelled. In an instant, a fleshy spike formed and launched from it towards the nearest person. Its speed so high that even he couldn''t follow it. He saw a man staring with disbelief at the hole in his chest before collapsing. Almost instantly, his body shrivelled, and from within, the spike shot back towards the main body of the demon, which, as it absorbed it, grew a bit more.


    A huge ball of flame that envelloped two Gruds, giant, slow moving bipedal demons that spew acid,  drew his attention towards the main body of the fight. He could clearly see their shaman already preparing another spell. Around him, more than fifty ragers and about two hundred  warriors were fighting, sword and bow, kicking and screaming, trying to cleave their way towards the southern mage.


    But even as they were fighting against a horde of Igrids and Xeds, Jared''s eyes filled with horror as he saw another, much smaller, tear appear in the evening sky. A few dozen Igrids and two more Xeds fell to the ground before it closed again. A slight pause later, the demons started rushing towards the mage as well.


    For a second, Jared thought that the runes on the two huge circles stopped forming, as two rays of searing fire launched from above the mage, each one carving each approaching Xed in the middle.


    ¡°If he can kill them that easily then why...¡± His voice was suddenly cut as he was left speachless.


    From within the huge gate, six enormous claws, three on each side appeared and tried to force the tear even more open. He saw the huge tear straining, the strands of mana around it stretching like threads trying to sew a wound. As the tear closed a bit, the claws retracted back into the void. Whatever was trying to get out of there was larger than the whole village. He glanced over towards the ten ragers that were standing between the flood of Igrids and the mage. In the distance he  briefly saw another small tear opening up, more demons pooring out of it before it closed again, but at this point it didn''t matter at all to him, he was already charging at full speed towards the mage, he had to keep him alive, that much he could easily figure.


    As Martyn reached the edge of the woods he fell on his knees. He could see the battle, the massacre, in all of its gory glory. The ground was littered with the bodies of the people he grew up with. And an almost constant steam of black mist was slowly drifting towards a huge gate. He knew that this meant that the demons would just reform in their plane, only to appear later again, like an immortal, immoral, vile plague, sent by the Gods to devour them. There were a few smaller skirmishes, composed of few men, destined to fail, as smaller gates were already being formed above their heads, ready to refill the endless horde of demons, but the fighting was focused in mainly two fronts.


    The larger force was composed of a  scarce hundred of people surrounding the shaman. They were rushing from gate to gate as it was appearing, trying to destroy the biggest threats like Aungins and other demons that he had only heard in tales so far, before moving to the next gate. Whatever they were leaving alive, usually Igrids and Xeds or the occasional Grud rushed towards the second front, composed of about thirty or so ragers that were protecting his master.


    Even from this distance, he could clearly see dozens of spells simultaneously forming above his master''s head, as rays of fire seared through demon flesh constantly. But his eyes fell on the two  enormous spells that he was trying to finalize. One of them was some kind of reinforced sealing spell. He felt like the one his master had taught him was like a children''s toy in front of the complexity of this one. The second, mere meters away from the gate, was some kind of portal, but it was simultaneously like it contained spells within spells.


    As the last of his stomach''s contents left him for good, he saw the shadow of Arion rushing by him, running to join the shaman''s group.


    It didn''t make sense. He knew that his master had placed countless protective glyphs and hidden spells all around the village, protections and traps to explode, seals and triggered circles. He had accompanied him when he was casting them to learn.  Yet, for their force of five hundred strong people to be reduced to that, he couldn''t fathom what the initial assault was.


    He felt like the key to victory, if something like that could be achieved, was to let his master finish his spells, but seeing him casting so many simultaneous things, an amount of which he was certain that no one in the world could, until now, was making the progress on the two main spells a crawl.


    He estimated that his master needed at least half an hour to finish the sealing spell, as for the portal one, Martyn had no clue, he couldn''t even see what the other spells his master was casting were, let alone know why or how many he needed.


    Clear you mind, steel your soul. No emotions. Serenity. His master''s teachings echoed in his mind. But how can one be calm in a sea of demons?


    You cannot cast if your are not calm. No emotions, pure logic.


    Calculate calmly what you want to do, visualize it, carve the runes with your soul to enhance your vision. Make it reality.


    If you are unstable, your magic is unstable.


    In order to command the world, you must first command your self.


    You are your own god. Nothing can trouble you.


    Falter, and your magic falters. Waver, and your threads wave.


    Silence the emotions within you, till you master that, even a simple spell would take too long to cast.


    Martyn couldn''t see the mana of the demons, if they even had such a thing, no one could. But he could easily see the mana of whatever was left in the earth around him. ¡°I''m not strong, or fast, I get one chance, and I need to make it count¡± He let a breath as he tried to compose himself and expanded his mana towards the plains. The grass didn''t offer any resistance as he pierced the tiny amount of mana that was enveloping it. In his mind he pictured the grass growing, becoming like thin iron spikes as it impaled his foes. He knew that Gruds and other higher demons had skin that rivaled the toughness of steel, but he felt pretty confident about lesser demons. The goal was simple, buy his master time.


    He made a circle symbolizing life, an eight pointed star inside it for its eight elements. The runes started forming. Enlarge. Strengthen. Pierce. Last. It took him about ten minutes to make a circle big enough to affect the whole area he was trying to. An area as big as his whole supply of mana could affect. Two runes for enlarge, three for strengthen, one for pierce, one for durability. ¡°One chance, one shot, one spell, one kill.¡± He murmured to himself as he inspected his spell for the last time.


    Three hundred meters away, in a circle around the people protecting his master, the grass became alive for a split second. Like thin needles it sprung from the ground, two meters high, impaling dozens of Igrids and forming a solid wall around them.


    Before he could smile in relief, Xeds launched themselves into the air, landing on his spikes, impaling themselves in the process. His puzzled expression changed to despair as he saw the rest of the Igrids using the bodies of the Xeds, which for some reason weren''t disolving into mist, as bridges over his makeshift wall.


    Spent, with his mind buzzing and his vision blurring, Martyn drew his sword and let out a cry. His eyes flared red, as his body expanded a bit, and he charged in.


    His awakened form was childish compared to all the ragers he knew, yet his master''s rules echoed in his mind


    Rule number one: Never show anyone that you are a rager


    Rule number two: Never, ever, try to cast a spell while awakened


    Rule number three: Never tell anyone how far you can see


    Rule number four: Never assume awakened form until I tell you so


    Rule number five: Never...


    His mind was slowly shutting down, lost in a sea of emotions and violence, tired but unwielding, as he was cleaving through lesser demons on his path towards his master.


    Four Igrids launched themselves with ungodly speed towards him, their foaming mouths spelling death. He cut the first one as he rolled to the ground, his sword already cleaving the flesh of the second one. Without standing up, he launched a kick on the head of the third one, snapping its neck. As the last one jumped on top of him, he let his sword down, grabbed its head with both hands, and smashed its skull.


    He let a sign of relief, his body in constant pain, spent. Most ragers could go for about an hour before reaching this state. There were even rumors about secret medicine that would allow you to go on for hours. But he himself, out of practice and without training, was only good for a few minutes before his body collapsed. He noticed that it turned completely dark. As he opened his blazing eyes, he saw a giant towering above him and looking down. The eyeless Grud opened its disquisting toothless mouth, ready to spit its acid on him. Resigned, Martyn looked at his fallen sword and willed the simplest spell he knew with his last power. A tiny circle containing just a single rune of fly and pierce. He saw his blade launching itself towards the open maw of the demon.


    ¡°Rule number two: Never, ever, try to cast a spell while awakened¡± Was his last thought as a searing pain enveloped his mind and everything turned black.

 Chapter II: Lady of the Emerald Dragon

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Chapter II: Lady of the Emerald Dragon


    Tisior straightened his white and silver robe nervously as he kept his eyes glued on the sturdy double door. The engravings in the dark wood depicted a dragon swooping down on its prey, and at this particular instant, he could perfectly relate with how the prey would probably have felt before facing its doom.


    His grey, neatly trimmed, hair, his stoic stare, his proud posture, betrayed nothing. His own silver dragon embroidery on his robe warning everyone of his Master rank. Yet, every time he had to give a report to the duchess he felt like he was the same young apprentice that had appeared before her fifty years ago. And like then, this time too, he knew that he wouldn''t have the answers she would be looking for.


    After a short bow, the knight on the right side of the door gently knocked and opened it.


    ¡°Master Tisior, deputy commander of the support division here to report to you milady¡± The knight announced and closed the door behind him.


    As the old woman slowly raised her head from the pile of papers she was absorbed in, Tisior felt like he was thrown alone inside a cage with a dangerous beast, and it was sizing him up to determine if he was food or not.


    ¡°Proceed¡± Her voice was low, gentle, almost motherly in tone. Yet he knew better than to be tricked just by her tone of her voice. The woman in front of him once held the monicker ''Daeva of destruction'', and he didn''t have good news for her.


    ¡°Milady, the last two knights and the last adept in the treatment ward lost their lives yesterday. This brings the tally up to twenty three knights and seven wizards lost in the battle the previous week. Everyone else is either recovering or completely discharged by now¡±


    ¡°I expected better of you Tisior. So many loses over an almost finished battle... What about the boy?¡± Her grey eyes left his as she lowered her gaze to the papers in front of her.


    This was the question he was dreading to answer.


    ¡°He is... wierd¡±


    Her eyes once again shot up to him. This time there was no pretense of kindness in them. ¡°Explain¡±


    ¡°You know how badly injured he was. Whomever treated his internal injuries in the battlefield left everything else a mess. We repaired all of his fractured bones and all of his external wounds, but the main problem is the blood loss. When we look at him with mana sight, it is easy to see that he still misses a ton of blood, but when I try to use healing magic on him to replenish it, the spell fails, almost like it would fail if I was trying to heal a healthy man. Furthermore, since yesterday that his own mana replenished enough to put up a natural mana shield, we are having problems even monitoring him. His mana shield is extremely tight weaved, it is even tighter than what a lot of adepts can achieve when they actually try to bolster their defenses. This means that a lot of my apprentices and even some of my adepts can''t pierce it to monitor his progress or to cast basic spells on him.¡±


    ¡°I see. Notify me immediately when he awakens.¡±


    ¡°We don''t know if he will awaken milady. The blood loss was extreme and...¡±


    ¡°I said, notify me WHEN he awakens Tisior. Was it not clear enough?¡± The edges of her mouth twisted to the previous, kind, smile, as she continued. ¡°Oh, and Tisior, a medic who cannot pierce a simple, unattended shield, is worthless in the battlefield. A wizard with the the rank of adept is not only presumed to be an active force in a battle, but sometimes they even lead squads. Tell your adepts that by the end of the week, I WILL have a full list of the names of the adepts who can''t pierce the child''s shield. They have until then to improve by themselves, after I get the list on my hand, I will personally supervise the training of whomever is in that list. That''s all, you are dismissed.¡±


    Tisior left a sigh of relief as the door closed behind me. ¡°Well, that went better than expected¡± He murmured to himself.


    *


    Martyn grunted as he tried to shield to his eyes from the bright daylight that was pooring in from the window. His whole body felt like he was on fire. Every single heartbeat felt like something was pummelling every inch of his body with a hammer.


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    He tried to focus on the two people who were standing in front of him, but his vision was blurry. He saw one of them moving away from his field of view, but as he tried to turn his neck to follow the movement, a piercing pain shot up from his spine.


    The person in front of him waved his hand and, suddenly, the pain all but dissappeared. A shrivelled old lady was standing in front of him. She was dressed in regal red robes with gold trimmings but her attire seemed to pale in comparison to the dragon emblem on her chest. It looked to him like it was made out of some sort of green, precious, stones that reflected the light and bathed the whole room in myriad of colors. His eyes barely caught a man in white robes with silver trimmings as he was leaving the room and closing the door behind him.


    His stare returned to the old lady as she started to speak. Her hair was white, almost silver, arranged in a tight bun behind her head, and her kind, grey eyes, along with her wrinked face, reminded him of the midwives of his village.


    ¡°Don''t strain yourself child. I''ve only relieved you from your pain a bit. Whatever is causing that pain is still there, and it would be a shame if you ended up hurting yourself more after all we''ve been through to fix you. Now, would you mind answering some questions of mine?¡±


    Her voice was soft, gentle, but the tone in her question was known to him. It was the same tone his master used to use when he wouldn''t take no for an answer but still wanted to appear polite enough to make it sound like a question. His own voice came out harsh, much harsher than he wanted, but his throat was coarse and dry, and despite whatever that old lady used on him, talking still made his lungs flare up with pain.


    ¡°My village... Master... What happened? Where am I?¡±


    ¡°That''s what I''m trying to figure as well child. Answer my questions, and perhaps we will find an answer to your questions as well. Do you know what this is?¡± She continued, procuring a small black stone from inside her robe.


    Martyn''s arms moved almost instinctively towards his torso where a small pouch used to hang. ¡°My charm... Give...¡±


    ¡°Your charm?¡±


    ¡°Master... No... Give it back.¡±


    ¡°Child, you are my guest here. Do not take my kindness for weakness. I''ve given you too much of my time already, and I''ve given you too many opportunities to answer my questions. But here you are, still defying me.¡± For a second, her eyes glowed white and the temperature in the room fell down to freezing. ¡°If you don''t answer me, I WILL kill you¡± As her eyes returned to their normal color, the temperature rose again, and the kind and warm smile returned to her face. ¡°Now, let''s try again. Do you know what this is?¡±


    For a split second Martyn saw the old woman''s eyes turn to white, like she was channeling her mana. As he instinctively opened his mana sight, he saw the whole room fill with pure mana. Her aura alone was enough to bath the place in the chilling embrace that mana had when one tried to perceive it through enhanced senses. That second he knew, he could easily lose his life here.


    ¡°Master gave it to me. He said that it would protect me. He said... if anything happened to him, I should take it someplace.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± Her eyes kept looking at him with their previous kindness, but Martyn had already experienced how quickly they could become the harbringer of his death. All pretense of resistance left him as he continued.


    ¡°To the great academy of Ecten¡±


    ¡°What is your name? You''ve at least earned the right for introductions.¡±


    For some reason Martyn felt like he was treated as a puppy that was given a treat.


    ¡°Martyn.¡±


    ¡°Well, nice to meet you Martyn. My name is Grant Magister Sivath Ecten. I''m one of the nine...¡± There was a silght pause as she seemed to swallow a knot in her throat ¡°...eight Grant Magisters of Iles. I''m also the current administrator of the Great Academy of Ecten. Lastly, I''m the duchess of Aren, which is the province you are at this moment. You may address me as either Magister, or Duchess, or Milady. Now, let''s talk about your ''Master''. Who is he?¡±


    Martyn could feel the old woman capitalizing every word, every title she held, as she introduced herself. Their shaman never bothered with southern politics or history lessons, especially about one of the inner provinces like Aren. And his master had only taught him just a sliver about politics and the world outside their small village. But, from the little he actually knew, the woman in front of him was either insane enough that she would claim such a title without her actually having it, or one of the most powerful mages in the continent. From her little show earlier, he was betting it was the second.

 Chapter III: One Last Favor

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Chapter III: One Last Favor


    Martyn continued describing his master''s life as best as he could. He told the duchess how he fought with the elder to take him as an apprentice in his smithy. How he taught him to cast his first spells when everyone, including their shaman, weren''t able to tell that he even had a spellcasting ability. How he took him in, completely under his protection, when his parents died on a hunting trip shortly therafter.


    For Martyn, the middle-aged blacksmith was more than a master. He was his family, his mentor in things even beyond magic, his friend. Yet, even he didn''t know the extend of his power. The man casting a dozen spells simultaneously as they cleaved and seared the demons in the battle, was something he had never seen or experienced himself.


    ¡°And this? Do you actually know what it is?¡± Sivath asked pointing at the black pebble in her hand.


    ¡°No. Master forbit me to look at it. He only said that it would protect me and that if something happened to him, I should bring it here. I put it in my charm pouch that I had on my neck, along with a few protective charms of my own and another one made for me by our shaman.¡±


    ¡°Your Master, the one you called Wren, was known to the rest of the world as Grant Magister Senthas Wrenal, the Divine Architect, and countless other, meaningless, titles. He was the creator of pieces of art like this one here¡±


    Out of nowhere, a slim staff appeared on her hands. It looked like a single, straight, wooden root at the bottom. As it raised towards her hands, it twisted and turned, growing thicker and thicker, till it reached to be about as thick as a grown man''s upper arm. For the headpiece, five, natural, wooden tendrils were extending from its edge, and as they curved, they were creating something like a hollow, spherical, container. Inside it, a translucent white crystal, the size of one''s fist, seemed to float, without touching anything.


    Martyn had heard stories about Crystal. The solidifed mana of the world. All the known artifacts of the world used it as their power source. But the stories usually spoke of rings that used it as their gemstone, or slender wands, thick as one''s finger, that wizards used to power up their own magic reserves. A crystal that big, if the stories were anything for him to go by, would multiply one''s strength to an inconceivable degree.


    Like the staff was nothing, Sivath continued. ¡°He was also one of my oldest, closest, friends. And a fool. The second spell you described, the one looking like a portal, was in fact one. It was directed towards here, and the inner spells that were being cast inside it were the necessary ones to ask for my side to actually allow such a portal to be opened in such a protected space like the academy. Like a very complicated knock on a door. Or, to be more exact, like having someone yelling from outside your door something akin to ''Help! Help! Bring as many troops as you can! Demons! Destroyer! Contained!''¡±


    Her gaze fell downwards and her eyes became softer, as she paused for a breath. ¡°But as I said, Senthas was a fool. Yes, if someone is lucky enough to be in the vicinity of a Destroyer gate opening, and he has enough troups to withstand the hundred, or so, gates that open up to protect the main one, he can stop the disaster from happening. But a handfull of barbarians isn''t enough to do so. The right course of action, if someone can''t stop it from opening, is to get as far as you can. Yes, a few villages will be devoured, a few thousand barbarians would probably have died to the Destroyer''s full army, but Senthas'' life was much more important than that. I didn''t think of him as such a fool.¡± She sighed


    ¡°By the time I gathered a sizable force, by the time I was able to finalize the portal from my side, by the time my own troops joined the frey, only a few barbarians were alive. Senthas had fixed a sealing spell on the main gate, preventing it from opening further for a limited time, but what was left of him by the time we reached him was just an empty husk of a, once great, man. He had overchanneled his mana, his spirit burned out, an empty, dead, body devoid of a soul.¡±


    Her gaze rose again to meet Martyn''s grieving eyes.


    ¡°In the aftermath, we found you, or to be more exact, I found a familiar, strong, spell around the neck of a boy. A boy with his bones crushed, like a great weight had fallen on top of you, yet miraculously alive.¡±


    Sivath channeled a tiny tendril of mana. As it touched the small stone, mana expanded from inside the stone and it formed dozens of incomprehensible symbols around it. Martyn could only recognise the first one, the symbol his Master used to engrave on the weapons and armors he crafted in their small smithy.


    ¡°That is a letter. An encoded message to me, from Senthas, asking me to take you in my academy. To train you. So help me here child. Show me what my old friend''s apprentice can do. Show me what one, trained by one of the most powerful mages can do. Show me why my friend thrown his life away for.¡±


    Like a long speech ending, Sivath let out a sigh and looked expectantly towards him.


    Martyn was stunned. He felt like there was a great boulder on top of his chest, making it impossible for him to breathe. He could feel his eyes burning, as something watery was trickling out of their corners onto his cheeks. His village, his friends, his Master, everyone was dead, gone. That woman in front of him, nonchalantly just informed him that his life, everything he knew for the past seventeen years, was gone. He didn''t want to believe it, he''ve seen his Master in that last battle performing miracles, he couldn''t have simply died. And yet, deep inside him, he couldn''t refuse anything she was telling him. Deep inside him, he knew that everything he just heard was true. There was only one thing left for him, to honor the wishes of his Master.


    ¡°What would you like for me to show you?¡±


    ¡°Anything really.¡± She absentmindedly pointed towards the window by the side of the room. ¡°Throw a spell towards there¡±


    Martyn concentrated as he formed a circle with his mana in front of him. Slowly, inside it, the rune depicting fire was formed as he decided to use one of the elements he had a greater affinity with. Around it, in the border of the circle, he willed his mana to start forming the rest of the symbols to enhance his spell. He had chosen a simple spell but one he was already familiar with, he didn''t take the woman in front of him for a fool, he knew that she would be able to judge the extend of his capabilities regardless what spell he would have chosen, and so, he had decided to try to appear as favorable as he could.


    He could easily see a thick wreath of mana protecting the window and the walls around him, like some sort of warding was cast on the whole building. The shielding spell was so strong that he wasn''t worried about destroying the property around him, and so he chose to invest a sizable amount of mana to his spell. After a final inspection of the full spell, he let it fly, and a ray of fire jumped from his stretched hand and struck the glass window straight on, dispensing as it hit the shield, but still, strong enough to dent it. As the spell ended, he saw the shield instantly repairing itself.


    ¡°...Are you still recovering?¡± Sivath asked in disbelief, and as she looked at Martyn''s the puzzled expression she continued ¡°That was way too slow. Slower than even a basic apprentice could muster...¡±


    Martyn looked at his still extended aarm, he had feared that this would be her reaction, but he had hoped that it wouldn''t be at that degree.


    ¡°No... that''s my normal speed.¡±


    Sivath was silent as he was inspecting him. Her eyes narrowed as she started to speak.


    ¡°You''ve been here, unconscious and resting, for three weeks. For the last week, your inner mana had been steady. So I know that to be your extend of your power. And it''s pitifully low. But your speed as well... to be so low, it doesn''t make any sense.¡±


    She took a deep breath as she continued. ¡°Despite what you think of him, Senthas was a cold and calculating man. He never did anything without an ulterior motive. And yet, he picked *you* as an apprentice. He sent *you* here, knowing the level of my students. And all I see is a weakling, someone who I wouldn''t spare a second glance if it wasn''t a request of an old friend. So prey tell child, in this academy that I prize my students as some of the stronger, the faster, the people would lead armies in the future, why would he sent *you*? A slow, weak, goddamned barbarian? What. Are. You. Hidding from me?¡± She barked, her eyes flaring up pure white as mana filled the room once again.


    Martyn''s mind raced. He knew that he shouldn''t piss the woman in front of him. He knew the answer to the old woman''s question layed somewhere within the oaths he has given to his Master and he wished to honor his wishes to come here. But he also wished to keep most, if not all, of his promises to him. He raised him, he taught him how to wield his magic and the hammer, he had, ultimately, given his life to protect him and his village. He owned him at least that much.


    ¡°Forgive me milady.¡± He said, as meekly as possible, as cold sweat was forming on his forehead ¡°I don''t trully know. My Master had told me countless times that I was slow and weak. He used to say to me that it was because ''my mana stream was too thin for my own good''. He was proud of how far I could see though and he often told me that I had a great talent at blacksmithing and enchanting. Maybe this is what you are looking for?¡±


    Martyn couldn''t bear to look her in the eye. He knew he had avoided answering completely and he feared she would be able to tell that he was omitting stuff with just a glance. He''d chosen to at lesat honor his first vow, not to reveal that he could rage, to its fullest, and as for how far he could see, he believed that showing a big extend of his capabilities, but not all, would be acceptable to pass as an extraordinary ability. As for the enchanting part, that one was at least true, and not something his Master had asked him to hide, he only wished it was up to par with the beasts of wizards that southerns were known as.


    ¡°Show me that then. How far can you ''see''?¡±


    He calmly collected his mind and his thoughts, steeling himself against the emotions that were trying to overrun him, mainly fear and anxiety. ¡°This may take a bit¡± he announced.


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    Without raising his eyes to meet hers, Martyn threw his senses on his mana stream once more. Thankfully, Sivath had stopped channeling the torrrent of mana around her. There was an unsettling magic aura right next to her, but he decided to ignore it for the time being. The shield around the window and the wall was tricky, he has never seen a shield so tighly woven, he had to keep splitting his stream to thinner and thinner, sacrificing much of his range for that tiny span of a few meters, but after his stream was thin enough to pierce through the shield, then it was easy to simply expand in the vast openness.


    It took him more than ten minutes overall until he decided that he was far enough to flaunt his talent but not fully reveal the extend of his power.


    ¡°I can see a bit more than half a mile from up here¡± He stated as calmly as he could. ¡°We are in a central huge building, more than ten stories high, this room is about 20 meters above ground. There is a great plaza outside with a big round... fountain?... in the middle. The water keeps getting recycled and purified from a spell that''s fixed on its center. Just beyond the plaza, around it symmetrically, there are three more buildings, huge as well but not as big as this one. Behind this building, a leaner but much higher tower stands, there are countless warding spells around it, so I don''t think it''s safe for me to try to look in there. This place is like a huge campus of sorts. I can see more buildings and open spaces all littered around the central complex that is composed of the three large buildings, the tower, and this place we are in right now. There is an open space about a hundred meters from here that a lot of people wearing metal armors are sparring, and next to it a low, two storied building, that looks like barracks. Just a bit further than that, there are vast stables with... a hundred? Two hundred? horses. In the east and the west I can barely touch massive walls that seem to surround the whole complex, but on the south and the north they seem to be further away than where I can see¡±


    Martyn kept expanding his senses as he looked up, eyes shining with his mana, towards Sivath. If he had to escape from here, if he was given the chance to do so, it only made sense to know the complete layout of the place he was. He didn''t know a lot about academies, forts, or castles, but from the few things he had picked up from his Master''s tales and his elder''s teachings about southerner''s fortifications, this place looked like it was a mix of all three. He could see places where a lot of mages were gathered, places where soldiers trained, barracks and war stables, a huge smithy, walls and defensive spells locked in place, yet there were also children and mages as young as himself, sitted inside the walls of the three great buildings around him, another stronger mage in the head of the class, exactly like their shaman used to arrange them when he was teaching them in the village. Directly in front of him were two distinct sheaths of mana. A monstrous tangled web, always shifting like a pier where waves of mana kept crushing from within, Sivath, and a second one, so thin that it was almost invisible to his senses as they brushed effortlessly by it, only to be gently redirected around it.


    He knew that everytime he had tried to pierce his Master''s mana shield, as training, he had known, and so he didn''t even try to do the same to the two people in front of him.


    ¡°That''s as far as I can see¡± He said, waiting expectantly for a positive answer.


    ¡°... I see. That''s actually what I was expecting.¡± Sivath smiled, and it was the first time, Martyn thought, that she was genuinly happy. ¡°You, at least, have a talent worth the time cultivating. Rest here until your body recovers enough to show me your craftsmanship with enchanting. Some people may come here to ask you some questions in the days to come, to judge your general level and to make it easier for me to see what I can do with you.¡± She paused for a second, as if deliberating about something, before continuing ¡°Don''t try to pierce the shield around your room again. I''ve had it lowered to see what you can do, but it will be up to its normal strength soon.¡±


    As she turned the doorknob to leave, she turned her head one more time towards him. ¡°You did good today. Your master would have been proud of you being able to put up with this old lady. But don''t let this one compliment get into your head. You are still a weakling and a barbarian to boot, and, even if I decide to keep you here, you will soon be cursing me. Your days in the wilderness will seem like a trip to the playground compared to your life here.¡± She smiled, nodded her head towards him, and left.


    Martyn could clearly hear the sound of the lock clicking shut as the door closed.


    *


    Sivath''s gaze wandered aimlessly in the corridor, finally resting on the middle aged man that stood in attention just outside the door she had exited. His appearance was just as impeccable as the last time he had come into her office.


    Image was as strong a tool as magic in her own experience, and her deputy commander seemed to understand this better than most. The touch of grey in his otherwise perfectly trimmed hair was a natural blessing, granting him a much more sophisticated look than his blant face deserved. His uniform, sparkling brightly white and silver, hid his weak, frail body and emphasised the silver dragon emblem on his chest. His posture, as straight as one can stand without looking unatural, was covering the fact that he was rather short. All helped project the image of an untouchable mage, looking down the world as if he owned it.


    ¡°Tisior, let the boy rest for today but put up a knight as a watchman in case he tries anything stupid. If he does, don''t kill him, just subdue him. Also, get Arkon to fortify the shield around the room. Tell him to do so without alerting the kid, and to place an enchantment to notify him if the kid tries to pierce the shield. He knows what to do if this happens.¡±


    *


    Spend, she let herself crush onto her chair, her shoulders shagging tired.


    Losing someone you''ve known for hundred of years was never easy. Losing him for something she found unworthy only made things worse.


    She toyed with the small pebble in her hand. The echo of the strong, spent, protective spell has faded two weeks ago, the only thing that remained was his letter. His last message to her.


    ¡°Fuck¡± She yelled as she lanched the pebble, sending it to crush in her office''s wall. ¡°Would it have hurt if the old fool was once clear in his messages?¡±


    ¡°''Train and protect the child, he is special''¡± She said in a mockering voice. ¡°What the fuck does special entrails you stupid old goat¡± She continued shouting at the fragments of the stone as they flew slowly back towards her hand, piecing themselves together.


    ¡°Ahem¡± A low, polite cough brought her attention to the man next to her.


    Slowly, seemingly out of thin air, a massive man dressed in a tight, black uniform appeared. His whole face was covered by his eyeless mask. Thin, black, metal plates guarded his chest, his legs, and his arms, and two blades, one on each side, completed the attire of a man that would make most common people faint in fear. Sivath glanced over towards her personal confidant and bodyguard.


    ¡°Milady, if you may, I could certainly use the boy.¡±


    ¡°You would turn this sorry excuse of a mage into an assassin Douma?¡±


    ¡°Sorry excuse? I beg to differ Milady. There aren''t a lot of people in the academy that could pierce the administrative building''s shields so quickly. To be able to see for half a mile afterwards... it is simply unheard of from someone not of at least Master wizard rank. Furthermore, the moment he started sensing his surroundings, he almost pierced through my illusion instantly. I had a hard time suppressing a laugh as his eyes kept darting towards me while simultaneously he was trying so hard not to look.¡±


    ¡°Yes, his weaving is surprising thin, but we knew that before the interview even started. That doesn''t change the fact that he is weak.¡±


    ¡° In my... profession, speed is irrelevant. If he can pierce a mansion''s shields from half a mile away, and I teach him how to nullify the various protections and how to slip inside a personal shield unnoticed, he could easily kill a lot of annoying pests. You don''t need strength to make a heart explode if you can manipulate it directly, and you don''t need strength if you can slip through a person''s defenses rather than crushing them. And, once again, speed is irrelevant if you have the cover of darkness, the safety of distance, and a whole night of free time to complete your casting.¡±


    ¡°...Our battlefields are indeed vastly different Douma. But Senthas wasn''t an assassin. He was the goddamnned best enchanter in the continent. I have trouble picturing him raising an assassin. He dissappeared for nearly sixty years, a lot of people thought him dead already, only to appear in the barbaric lands with an apprentice. There is only one thing he could be doing up there. His old obsession about the barbarian legends.¡±


    ¡°Living steel...¡±


    ¡°Correct. A legend from the old times, an enchanter''s wet dream, a fairy tale. Whatever the old goat was trying to achieve with raising that boy, HAS to be linked to those legends.¡±


    ¡°You know Milady, when you asked him why he believe his master sent him here...¡±


    ¡°Yes, I saw. He blatantly lied. A kid, any kid, in his position would have vomited out everything that passed throught his mind the instant I asked him, especially under the pressure of my mana. But he took his time, he collected himself, he gave an awfully polite and thought out response. He hid something.¡±


    ¡°...Do you want me to find out the complete truth?¡±


    ¡°No Douma. I''m going to honor my friend''s last request. And I would prefer my students to be in one piece.¡±


    ¡°You''re insulting me if you suggest that I would need to use bodily harm as a means to get out anything out of a child. But are you sure you''re going to admit him in the academy? He is a barbarian Milady. And we can''t even mask that fact seeing as he is the size of a fully trained knight. They are going to eat him alive.¡±


    ¡°True. The kid is slow, weak, he doesn''t have a single friend, not a single political contact, and he is a barbarian to boot. The arrogant brats who run rampart in here will force him to play his full hand if he wants to survive. That''s a win win for us. He will either die, which will prove that he is worthless or reveal all of his secrets to us.¡±


    ¡°And if he simply quits?¡±


    ¡°...Then he is all yours Douma, to deal as you see fit.¡±

 Chapter IV: First Encounter

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Chapter IV: First Encounter


    Martyn kept clenching and unclenching his fists. It has been more than a month since the last time he held a hammer and the calluses on his hands had all but disappeared. It made his hands feel soft, unnatural, weak.


    He pondered about going to the smithy, but it was far from here, near the eastern walls. And, even thought they have stopped locking his door after one day since the duchess had paid him her visit, the one time he actually ventured outside was almost a disaster.


    Martyn sighted as he recalled the incident.


    He was walking behind the big building, his body still stiff and sore, trying to avoid places with a lot of people. The few times he crossed paths with anyone, he was met with glances full of either spite or contempt, and he welcomed neither.


    He heard a whistling sound, and an instant later, something sharp nailed him on the back of his head. He felt his blood trickling over to his shoulder as he looked at the bloodied stone that had landed on his feet.


    A few meters behind him, a bunch of children were laughing as they pointed towards him. He tried to ignore them, to move away, but a few of their voices reached his ears.


    "...Haha, look at the dumb barbarian, he doesn''t even understand what happened..."


    "...how could he? The only magic they have is their shamans, and I''ve heard that..."


    "...he''s probably a slave or something..."


    "...even as slaves they are practically trash..."


    He looked at the pack of children that were mocking him. They didn''t wear the white robes he had seen everyone wearing. Instead, they were dressed in light leather armor and had a white tabard over it. At most, they were forteen, fifteen, years old.


    Even if he was a guest here, he still had his pride. And he decided to teach them a lesson. As he approached them, he narrowed his eyes, furrowed his brow, and he clenched his teeth, trying to appear as intimidating as he could. He let his mana flood out of him, knowing that his eyes would glow white as he did so.


    For a second, they stopped laughing, but immediately thereafter, instead of the children running away, the laughter increased.


    "...is he a shaman?..."


    "...look at him, he thinks he is a mage..."


    "...so weak..."


    As he reached within five meters of them, a slim blonde kid, barely fifteen years old, stepped in front of his peers, like trying to shield them from him and made an overly exaggerated bow towards him.


    "Forgive my friends Mister shaman, one of them mistook you for a garbage bin and thew his litter towards you. But if that hurt your honor, I''m willing to duel at his place in order for you to restore it."


    The snickering and the laughter became even louder as the child, called Evan from what Martyn could piece together from all the muttering around him, procured a blunted sword and turned it, handle first, towards him.


    Martyn could see that the passersby either outright ignored them, or stayed in the sidelines, watching, and sporadically joining in his ridicule. What infuriated him more, was that with his mana sight he could easily see that the child in front of him had indeed a stronger aura than his... but if this was a sword fight, there was no way he could lose, he towered nearly two heads higher than the boy.


    Looking back at the incident, he realised he should have simply walked away. He should not have let himself be goaded into action. Winning a fight versus a kid, wouldn''t restore any of his damaged pride. But he didn''t. Instead he replied.


    "I''m not a shaman. A shaman would have killed the lot of you already. But I accept." He said


    Evan threw the blade towards him and picked a second one from someone behind him. He smiled and bowed again towars him.


    "Since we were the group responsible, I''m giving you the advantage. Come at me when you are ready."


    Martyn wanted to finish that parody of a fight as quickly as possible, so he exhaled, and bursted forward, a single clean hit on the chest should have sent the boy flying.


    Instead, he saw, almost instantly, a magic circle appearing in front of the Evan''s chest. The boy accelerated to an inhuman degree, and Martyn''s eyes were barely able to follow him as he rushed directly next to him. As he bypassed him, he saw the circle of a second spell already being formed directly on top of the Evan''s training blade.


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    He twisted his neck, trying to follow his opponent''s movements, only to see the blade rapidly swinging down, hitting him squarely behind his knees. He let out a scream in pain as he lost any control of his legs. As Martyn fell down on his knees, Evan had already made an, almost complete, round around him. Martyn tried to turn his head, to keep his opponent within his sight, only to see the boy''s blade swinging once more, hitting him right in his swordhand''s wrist, sending his blade flying as the pain overtook him.


    The laughter around him had changed to cheering and the boy''s face had distorted into a smug visage of contempt. Evan stopped right in front of him, and as he looked down on him, spat on his face.


    "You barbarians are all the same. Worthless."


    You simply just never stand idle in front of your enemy. Martyn realised that his opponent was just a kid. Someone who had never faced any true danger.


    "That''s what the citizens of Oros used to say when barbarians, like me, paid them a visit" He answered back.


    The child''s smug face changed to one filled with rage as he swung his blade. With his good arm, Martyn grabbed Evan''s arm by the wrist just before the blade struck him in his face. He saw the boy''s enraged eyes looking towards his own fallen sword as Evan was trying to make the sword fly towards him, similarly to what he had done against the Grud.


    Martyn smiled as he finished his own spell, negating any sort of pain from body. He instantly rose up, and headbutted Evan right in the nose. Blood spluttered from the boy''s broken nose, and along with his screams of pain, Martyn saw that whatever Evan tried to do with the second blade had already fizzled.


    Martyn''s right hand, free from the pain, had already formed a fist and was travelling towards his opponent''s face when something made him freeze in place. He felt like a million hands were holding him in place, unable to move even an inch.


    From behind him, he heard a clear, male, voice.


    "I officially declare this duel over. The winner is, clearly, the barbarian"


    A man fully clad in metal armor, with a bronze dragon emblem on his white tabard came into view and positioned himself right between Martyn and Evan. He casually opened Martyn''s fingers around the boy''s wrists, picked up Evan and moved him a little further back, and positioned himself, once again, right in front of Martyn.


    As deadly silence reigned around them, the knight dispelled whatever was holding Martyn immobile, and looked him straight at his eyes.


    "And you, barbarian, I don''t know what you are doing here, but do you think it''s prudent to mention Oros around here? A city razed and burned to the ground by your people? A city where every man was slaughtered? Every woman..." His stare, cold as ice, as he left the sentence unfinished.


    Martyn looked at the man in front of him. Despite the knight being a head shorter than him, Martyn felt himself breaking in cold sweat. It wasn''t how effortlessly he walked in his heavy armor, nor the pommel of the greatsword that protruded behind his back, it wasn''t even the fact that this man could immobilize him without him being able to resist at all, it was his eyes. Eyes that told him that the man in front of him had fought real battles, killed real people. Eyes that could easily kill him depending on his answer. Eyes of a true warrior.


    "I wasn''t at Oros myself. Hell, I wasn''t even born back then. But I was losing, and I was losing solely because he was a faster caster than me. I figured if I could disrupt the boy''s concentration, if I could anger him, then I had a chance to win. And everyone knows that mentioning that city''s name is bound to get your people''s blood boiling."


    "..."


    "Correct" the knight broke the silence as he shouted for all to hear. Slowly, he turned around, looking every single kid straight to the eyes, and then pointed towards Evan.


    "Evan was faster. Evan was stronger. Evan had more experience AND he had the element of surprise. He was winning, and he could easily win even against a dozen of barbarians like this one." He said as his finger darted towards Martyn.


    "...And yet" He continued, "If this was a real battle, Evan would have died. He would have left his squad vulnerable and open to be butchered as well. And why?" He pointed towards a kid in the back.


    "..."


    As the kid stared with a blank gaze, his face pale, devoid of blood, the knight continued.


    "He would have died because he lost himself in his emotions. He would have died because of a stupid remark. You CANNOT fight if your emotions get the better of you. I''ve told you countless of times: you have to kill your emotions in a battle, or die a pig''s death."


    "I hope this little dogfight of yours stays stuck in your little brains for all eternity, because I couldn''t have taught you better myself. You will never become true spellswords unless you first become cold, calculating, machines of death."


    "And as for you barbarian" He said as he turned towards Martyn "You are correct that most of us will respond to an insult about Oros. So... I would suggest you find a corner to hide and not insitgate any further... problems in this academy."

 Chapter V: Metal and silk

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Chapter V: Metal and silk


    Martyn couldn¡¯t let the memory of his recent scuffle go. He had learned by now that the academy had four types of students, and all were easy to identify by their clothes.


    The wizards were divided into two categories. Battle mages were your basic artillery wizards. Strong offensive magic capable of shaping a battlefield as they wished. The other type of wizards, the support mages, were basically everything else. From healers, to enchanters, to scouts, to crafters and everything in between. Both wore white robes, the color of Aren, but battle mages had red trimmings on their robe, while support had silver.


    The other people studying here were the knights, who were basically what he would have called warriors back in his village and spellswords. Spellswords were wizards that focused on martial prowess and used their magic to augment their bodies, armaments, and generally, in his opinion, just make them better knights. Both those groups wore armors instead of robes and white tabards. A black border around the edges of the tabard denoted a knight, while spellswords didn¡¯t have one. He thought it was stupid that pure wizards didn¡¯t train how to wear armor as well, but maybe it was because everyone except the warrior types was so weak and skinny.


    He realised it was not a coincidence that he was simply given just a pair of leather trousers and a white tunic, clothes that neither mages, or warriors wore in public in the fort. Althought, personally, he prefered those simple clothes.


    As for their ranks, those were the same for everyone. No dragon at all meant an apprentice, adepts wore bronze dragons, masters wore silver, archmages and knight commanders, not that he has seen any, had gold dragons, and grant mages and generals platinum. From Magister rank and up, each one used a unique material, like emeralds for their own grant magister.


    So, from his observations, an apprentice ranked spellsword nearly defeated him, and lost only because he was a kid, while an adept could probably wipe the floor with him. If he was to stand on equal grounds with everyone else, he had a long way to go.


    He withdrew from the window and sat crosslegged on the floor. Channeling his mana he started casting one spell after another as fast as he could, trying to improve his speed. Sure, spellswords were usually the faster casters while battle mages the stronger, but it was the degree of difference between him and Evan that had shocked him.


    It took him about two hours before his head started buzzing and his mana to start dropping dangerously low. After that, it was basic physical training until he had recovered most of his mana, and then casting again. It was a very basic routine, but in the empty small room, by himself, the best way he could think in order to improve.


    A soft knock on the door, in the middle of his second set of physical training interrupted his train of thought. His most common visitor was the man who taught him about the academy¡¯s structure and various insignia, a middle aged master support mage.


    From what Martyn had gathered, he was something like the head healer around here, but he was getting kinda annoying. He kept probing him with spells, trying to figure why he was unable to heal him when he was unconscious. He even reached the stage where he cut him and healed him back again. Thankfully, Martyn knew by that point not to argue against a master ranked wizard, especially a life mage that had access to his body.


    Disinterested, without even pausing the push ups he was doing at the moment, he replied to the knock.


    "Enter"


    A short silence was interrupted by a bubbly giggle


    "...ehehe..."


    Petrified, Martyn raised his eyes from the floor, upwards, towards his door, only to see a stunning young woman. Wavy, shoulder length, blond hair framed her head as it was slightly tilted to the side, watching him. As her piercing green eyes run rampart over his body, her small mouth opened again, revealing a brightly white smile as she giggled once more without even paying attention that he had stopped moving and was looking at her.


    Suddenly, Martyn felt overly conscious about his half naked, sweaty, appearance. He knew that his body was well formed, and the countless years of battle training, and the forge, back in his village, had chiselled his muscles more than enough. But on the other hand, the real battles, the bandits, the beasts and the demons, or even just their warrior trainer, had filled the very same muscles with countless cuts, scars, and badly healed wounds. To top it off, he didn''t think that his scarification on his upper left arm, the one that marked him as a shaman-in-training, would be something that a southern would be accustomed to.


    He shot up, instantly tapping into small amount of mana he had recovered during his exercises. Channelling his mana directly onto his body, he felt the familiar chill sensation as his sweat instantly dried up. He grabbed his tunic and threw it hastily on top of his upper body, offering a silent prayer to the gods that his pants were comfortable enough to exercise in.


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    As his head popped out of the tunic''s neck, he was surprised to see that the small woman was already directly infront of him. Despite her struggling to stand as straight as she could, he still towered at least a head above her. She raised her head to meet his gaze and gave him a wholehearted smile as she extended her hand.


    "Hi, I''m Kathlyn, you may call me Kat." She said overenthusiastically.


    He looked down, towards her, and accepted her handshake.


    "...M-Martyn" He managed to stummer as he felt his blood rushing to his cheeks, blushing.


    From what he''ve seen, the uniforms in this place weren''t that stict. As long as it was any kind of armor with a white tabard, it was ok, as long as it was a white robe with the appropriate trimmings, it was ok, but in no way or shape could anyone call what the woman was wearing a robe and not a dress. The long, white, with silver trimmings, fabric hugged her figure perfectly, and an, inappropriately wide, neckline accentuated her full bust. From up where he was looking, he couldn''t help but have his eyes glued to her chest.


    He broke the eye contact by looking awkwardly towards the ceiling.


    "So.. uhm..."


    "I''m here to see what you can do with enchanting" She said happily as she patted the mattress of his bed behind him, "Sit"


    Dumbfounded, he followed her order and watched her as she walked away, leaving the room. His eyes still glued to her figure, but at least he had a second to collect his thoughts. "She is at my age, or just a bit older and yet she flaunts herself so..." His trail of thought was interrupted as she reappeared, this time pushing a small cart inside the room and closing the door behind her.


    "Eh, I''m sorry, I''ve heard that you barbarians use big swords, bigger than us, so I didn''t know how much metal you would need to transmute a sword, I hope it''s enough." She said as she pointed at the cart full of metal ingots that she was pushing.


    She pushed it right next to him, and stomped her foot to the ground. Suddenly, the stone where she hit the floor rose, creating a makeshift stool. She sat down on it gracefully and looked expectedly towards him.


    Martyn looked in disbelief, his gaze alternating between her and the cart. It was absurd for someone to haul a cart full of metal ingots just for a single sword. To make matters worse, the way that she kept her hands close to her body as they rested on her lap, pushed her bust even further, and her face, brimming with excitement, made him feel like he was looking at a child just before opening a present.


    And yet, he had just seen her magic, pure magic at that, not even runic, easily shape the protected floor to a stool, and right there, next to her impressive breasts, a bronze dragon was engraved.


    He finally grabbed an ingot, looking it more carefully, even using his magic to see throught it.


    "...this is iron."


    "Yes!"


    "Swords are made from steel?"


    "..." She tilted her head, looking at him puzzled. "It won''t do?"


    "I can change iron to steel, but it won''t be permanent?" He said, unsure if that was his own limitation, or if crafting magic worked the same for southerners as well.


    "But the smith uses those to make weapons?" She said as her face became more anxious and her eyes pleaded him to agree with her.


    "Your smith uses coal to make those into steel, and then steel to make stuff..."


    "...you are a support adept?" he added in disbelief


    She hang her head down in shame "I''m mostly an enchanter, I only create stone and fabrics... Father forbids me to create anything out of metal..." she said as she looked ready to burst into tears.


    "Ehhhh it''s no problem. I''ll just grab some wood, turn it to coal, and then transmute steel first and then a sword!" He hastily said, not understanding why he was in such a hurry to stop her from crying.


    Her face shot up with a smile as she looked at him with puppy eyes, waiting expectantly.


    "..."


    "I''ll do it tomorrow?" He added, trying to break the silence "I''ve spent most of my mana doing exercises in the morning, so I''ll need to recover a bit."


    "Oh! I see."


    She stood up with a bit of flair, the stone stool merging with the floor once more, and she rushed towards the door before he could react. She paused, turned her head towards him and smiled.


    "See you tomorrow then!"


    Still dumbfounded, Martyn played with the ingot in his hand, weighting it.


    "It would be a ton easier, and better to actually enchant something I''ve forged with my own two hands instead of a piece of junk I''ll just transmute" He mumbled to himself . "At least, it''s more interesting than flinging spells for no particular reason." He finished as he laid on the mattress.


    He stretched his hand to the air, still clutching the ingot as he played with it. He realised at some point that he had transmuted its form to something resembling, badly, a curved woman''s form, before cursing himself and straightening it back to its original form.

 Chapter VI: Enchanting

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Chapter VI: Enchanting


    Kathlyn skipped all the way towards her house grinning wildly. She flashed a smile at the knights on guard as she waved towards them, and entered.


    Inside, in the grant living room, there was her father, studying some papers, probably reports, while her mother was on the sofa going through her correspondence. He raised his gaze and looked at her puzzled.


    "Where¡¯s the sword?"


    "I¡¯ll bring it tomorrow father"


    "...Why?"


    "Ehe, it seems I¡¯ve messed up"


    "¡­*You* messed up? And what¡¯s up with this appearence? Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s little over the top for just a simple evaluation?"


    Her mother perked up, like on cue, her gaze alternating between her husband and Kathlyn.


    "Don¡¯t be ridiculous dear, for a fine young lady it is imperative to appear at her best at all times. Unless you forget I met *you* in *just* a fighting drill"


    "Mother, father," She interrupted their banter with a polite bow, "I¡¯ll be up to my room"


    As he watched his daughter climbing up the stairs he turned towards his wife that seemed to have dived straight into the letters on her hands.


    "Did you tell her anything about the barbarian?"


    "I¡¯m mostly disturbed about your antiquated views on our daughter¡¯s wardrobe. There was a time when you still used to care about your appearance as well. And now, look at you¡­"


    "Elsa!"


    "¡­I may have mentioned that his previous trainer was a really, really, strong mage"


    He spent a minute looking at her innocent smile before letting his head slump between his shoulders.


    "Sigh¡­ I always feared that the way I trained her was too much for her age, but sometimes, I swear to gods, I wonder if you have trained our daughter to become a monster¡­"


    "Just the basics dear. Just the basics."


    *


    On her way to her room, Kathlyn knocked the door next to hers.


    "Mira, come a bit on my room"


    As the plump, middle aged, woman entered the room, she found Kathlyn struggling with her dress.


    "Help me out of this damned corset Mira. I swear, the one who discovered them was a sadist!"


    "Yes young mistress" Mira said as she began working on the strained straps on the young woman¡¯s back.


    "I¡¯ll also need you afterwards if you can. I want you to help me a bit with this" She said while her finger circled her face.


    "You are already beautiful milady¡­"


    "Nonono, now I¡¯m more close to, let¡¯s say, dazzling. I want to change it a bit towards lovely, cute... you know!? she said as she flashed her another smile.


    "¡­ yes milady¡­"


    Kathlyn watched herself in the mirror as the middle aged woman gently touched her face. She saw the familiar life magic circles appear close to her head. Delighted, she watched as her features slowly became softer, less edged, her cheeks a bit more flushed, her eyebrows just an idea smaller and less sharp and her eyes seemed to almost enlarge.


    She watched as Mira worked her magic. It wasn¡¯t one single big change. There were dozens diminutive changes, but the end effect was like night and day apart. Of course, the idea was for the differences to be more like excellent make up, no one would think that she was a different person, or anything like that, but, on the other hand, everyone would wonder how they had previously missed such a detail on her.


    "You are a lifesaver Mira." She said as she looked at the end result.


    "Are you sure young mistress? All this for just a... barbarian?"


    "No! Gods no! It isn''t *just* the barbarian, there are a lot of reasons. Although, I have to admit, he does have some nice... assets." She winked towards her flushed maid.


    "Now, on to the dresses..."


    *


    Martyn was twirling the broken branch that he had collected earlier this morning. If somebody back in his village would have told him that getting a piece of wood would have been so mentally exhausting, he would have laughed till dawn. But here, it seemed that going out to the nearest trees and snapping a single branch, was reason enough to make everyone stop in their tracks and look at you like you are some kind of animal.


    At least, news about the barbarian living in the administration building, like some kind of guest, had spread, boomed, and like all gossips, died. Sure, people still looked at him weirdly, or disgusted, but at least it wasn''t open hostility.


    He wasn''t sure if he was supposed to wait for Kathlyn before starting his transmutations, but he knew that it would be a lengthy process, and if he was to enchant the blade, as well, in the same day, he didn''t have a lot of time to waste.


    Making a decision, he let the branch on the stone floor as he started to form the symbols on top of it. Within minutes, without so much as a single flame, or smoke, the wood shrivelled as it turned black. Small pieces of it breaking apart as it turned to coal, burned from within.


    He picked a medium sized piece of it and an iron ingot and sat as comfortably as he could on his bed. Transmutation, as his Master had taught him, even thought it was technically runic magic, was as close to pure magic as it could get. The spell itself was really simple, but the result was affected to a huge degree by his mind. If his vision would falter, so would the end product.


    He emptied his mind of all obstructions, he calmed his emotions as much as he could, and closed his eyes.


    He was now in his familiar smithy back in his village. The forge was burning and the bellows were pushing air to fan the flames so hard that made the coals light up blindingly yellow. In the middle of the oven, inside its cast, an iron ingot was melting, almost turning to a bright, gold, liquid. An invisible hammer smashed at it, infusing the fine coal dust inside the metal before it was tossed into the water bucket to be cooled, only to be thrown back into the forge. Again and again the metal melted and reformed, absorbing increasing amounts of coal, until he felt its elasticity and toughness were perfect.


    Opening his eyes, he looked at the crumbled coal piece on his left hand, and at the steel ingot in his right hand, tough, and ready to be tempered. He repeated the process four times, just to be sure that he would have enough steel to work with, before arranging them in front of him, alongside a small piece of wood, for the handle, that he had kept.


    "And now... the hard part" he whispered as he laid his hands on top of the pile.


    He was in the fields outside his village, sword in hand, as a pack of wolves, the size of mountain lions, was circling around him. One of them dashed forwards towards him, only to have its head, cleanly, severed by his swing. One by one the, unending, horde kept rushing to its death, and with each swing the weight of the blade shifted, becoming more and more comfortable, until there was no blade... just a natural extension of his arm.


    As the last wolf died, a giant oult emerged from the edges of the forest. He took the beast''s furious charge head on, using the blade as a shield. The collision causing the metal to chip at the edges for an instant, before he willed it to become as new again. Time and time again the oult would try to gut him, only to find its vicious tusks blocked by the flat of the blade, and with each block, the blade would harden, until, finally, there was not a single scratch left from the strikes.


    Satisfied, Martyn grabbed the sword at its hilt with both his hands, and cleaved into the thick hide of the oult. He kept slashing at it, until there was no resistance, until his blade could pass through the beast like it was made out of thin air.


    Finally, he was back at his smithy again. The sword rested on top of his anvil and he was holding his trusty old hammer and a thick, metal, stamp. Carefully, with a single solid blow, he engraved his mark, a crossed out circle, on the base of the blade.


    Mentally exhausted, Martyn opened his eyes and looked at the hand-and-a-half sword resting at his lap. His eyes shot up, at Kathlyn''s gentle smile, as she was sitting there, in her usual, makeshift, stone stool.


    "M-Miss Kathlyn... how long have you been here?" He asked, looking at the afternoon sun outside of his window, before returning his gaze to her face.


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    She looked... different. He couldn''t place how exactly, but she seemed more approachable, more... earthly. "Maybe it''s her smile" he thought, noticing how softer it appeared. "Or her, thank the gods, more, normal clothes" he ended his short evaluation, looking at the fullbodied, sleeved dress. It still hugged her figure perfectly, and it still toned her gifts, but at least they weren''t out in the open for all to ogle.


    "I told you to call me Kat! And it''s been just a few hours. It''s always enthralling to see a transmutation. To see the metal take shape, sharpen, harden, and bit by bit, becoming more and more perfect." She said enthusiastically.


    "A servant brought you some food a while back, it''s over there by the edge. You should really start locking your door! Someone could have easily stepped in and stab you in the back while you were lost in your mind." She nonchalantly continued while retaining her innocent smile.


    Martyn couldn''t stop staring at her, stunned, at how easily she blurted that last bit out, and how true it was. "Are there people that really want to kill me just for being here?" He shook his head, dispelling the unpleasant thought.


    "Now, eat a bit before continuing with the enchantment!"


    *


    Martyn was standing in the middle of the room, sword in hand, as he was made as few shadow stabs and slashes in the air, trying to gauge its weight. He tested its sharpness on the flesh of his left arm and inspected every inch of blade and the handle, before concluding.


    "Yeah, it''s an ok sword, usable. Should I try for a specific enchantment?"


    "Anything is fine. This is just so that they can judge the extend of your training"


    He sat back to the bed again as he started forming the magic circles.


    Enchanting was like the opposite of transmuting. While both were runic magic, and both used the inner image of the mage as well as the runes of the old gods to fuel the spell even further, there was a clear distinction in which was the deciding factor in each occasion. For transmutations, a badly drawn circle would just meant a tougher to transmute item, and a single circle was used for each item.


    On the other end, for enchanting, every ability, every property, every trait, had a very specific runic circle. The strength of the enchantment was tied directly to your mana and to how sharp your circles were. A slightly deformed symbol could make the differance between a flaming sword, and a blade that just produced a bit of heat. And, of course, you could only enchant an item using the spells, and their very specific runic circles, you already knew.


    Martyn went with the two enchantments he knew best, the ones he kept doing on all items he made for his fellow warriors: stronger, and sharper.


    He concentrated on the circles as they formed, willing his thin threads of mana to carefully construct the runes on the circle. He kept redrawing the ones he felt weren''t perfect, he kept pushing for the clearest, the most perfect, runes he could make, until about an hour had passed and he felt ready to unleash his remaining mana on the circle, half of it on each enchantment.


    Completly spent, he rose and stretched his back as he smiled towards Kat.


    "There you go, one day''s worth of work ready to be judged."


    "Great! Is is any good?"


    Martyn thought for a bit, till he spotted the stone stool.


    "So... You''re pretty good with stone right? Could you repair the walls of the rooms if they get damaged?"


    "Sure!"


    With Kat''s confirmation, he smiled confidently, as he spinned and slashed at the stone wall. The wall chipped as shards of stone exploded from where his sword had struck. Without pausing, he assumed a combat stance and started a series of slashes towards his immobile, stone enemy. Each time the blade struck, it would go a few inches deep, breaking the surrounding structure. With a final breath, Martyn jumped half a step back, grabbed the handle with both his hands, and, with the full weight of his body behind it, threw himself towards the wall, stabbing it. Smilling, he released the handle and stepped back to admire his handiwork.


    The, once unmarred, surface of the wall was just a mess of slashes, cracks, breaks, and chipped stones, and a sword was impaled, a good palm inside its middle.


    Martyn retrieved the blade, carefully inspecting the edge to make sure that his strengthening enchantment had prevented any kind of damage to the actual steel.


    "The enchantment has enough mana to retain it strength for at least two, three, more days" He triumphantly declared, pleased with himself, before handing the blade to the young woman who looked at him excited as she clapped her hands.


    She took the blade, and Martyn saw her eyes glowing white, as she channeled her mana to check his handiwork. As she walked by him to reach the wall, she almost brushed against his shoulders, and the smell of a sweet fragrance almost made him break the smug grimace off his face.


    She touched the wall, and Martyn saw the breaks and the gaps closing as, slowly, the wall returned to its previous state.


    With beaming eyes, she turned towards him.


    "That was perfect! You certainly are at the level of our apprentices! Judging by those enchantments and this crafting, I''m sure that you''ll do just fine!"


    Matyn felt petrified as his smug smile slowly left his face.


    "...Apprentice huh?"


    "Yes!... Why... Oh! You hoped for higher? Don''t be disheartened. You must realise that this academy is full with exceptional people. For other places you could easily be at the level of beginner adepts! But the Countess sets the bar too high. Now, excuse me, I need to hurry this to be properly evaluated."


    Still, not wanting to admit defeat, Martyn mumbled as she was leaving, more to himself rather than anyone else.


    "Well... If i had enchanted something I crafted with my hands, it would have turned out better"


    Kat paused and turned towards him, looking at him puzzled.


    "Why is that?"


    Martyn shrugged. "I don''t know, isn''t that normally just how enchanting works?"


    *


    "This took a bit of time." Her father said as he was examining the sword in his hands. "But it is a nice blade. Too bad that our men can only use it two handed, instead of both one handed and two handed as it is intended to. He should seriously consider making the weapons a bit smaller than he is accustomed to now that he is here."


    He placed his hand on the flat of the blade and whispered as he infused a bit of his mana inside.


    "Shatter"


    Smilling, he infused a bit more. "Shatter."


    Shards of metal flew away as the blade broke into small fragments.


    "The enchantments are well woven and sturdy, despite him only investing a meager amount of mana in them. Really solid work." He said as his eyes started glowing white. The fragments slowly started flowing in the air as they converged towards the broken main body, and in a few minutes, the blade was whole once more.


    "Father?"


    "Hmm?"


    "Is there a difference if you enchant a crafted item and a transmuted one?"


    "No. Why do you ask?"


    "Nothing, just thought of something..."


    "A blade is a blade Kathlyn, it makes no difference how it was made, as long as it was well made."


    *


    "Miiiira" Kat shouted from her room.


    Soon, the door opened and the plump caretaker made her appearance.


    "Are you busy? Can you drop by the smithy and bring me a dagger? Tell then smith that I''ll return it tomorrow along with the rest of the iron I''ve borrowed."


    Half an hour later, Kat was studying the steel dagger Mira has brought her, her eyes glowing in the dark. She locked her door, walked towards the stone chest by the side of her bed, opened it, and placed her hand on the inside of its lid. Slowly, the stone parted, revealing four identical daggers.


    Kat picked one, sat crosslegged on the floor and started transmuting it until it was identical to the one she had gotten from the smithy. With a dagger in each hand, she concentrated and simultaneously, two identical magic circles formed, one on each blade. "Sharpen" She whispered.


    Standing still, in the middle of her room, one dagger in each hand, she smiled. She pulled back both of her hands, and with a sharp motion, she sent them flying, perfectly in sync with each other as they pierced the wall opposite of her.


    She walked up close, studying the blades that were embedded in the cold stone. Each one had penetrated the wall for exactly the same length.


    "So, he is either wrong, or... interesting." She mused, as she pulled the daggers out of the wall, the holes instantly closing behind them.

 Chapter VII: Senthas little secret

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Chapter VII: Senthas'' little secret


    Martyn couldn''t wipe the grin off his face as he felt the familiar heat seeping through his light, white robe.


    "If I knew you would be this happy, I would have found you a job earlier." Kat nudged him from the side.


    Martyn looked at the young woman beside him. She was trully one of the few people whom he liked in this place so far. And what wasn''t to like? She was the one that gave him the good news that he would be accepted as a support apprentice. She was the one who, through her persistance to come almost every day it his room, taught him how things worked around the academy. She was the one that convinced him to start walking, and even enjoy a bit, the open spaces around his tiny room. She was the one that removed the ugly stares towards him during their walks, only to have them redirected towards her, as they wondered what was she doing talking to him. And now, she was the one that brought him to his mind''s safe haven, the smithy.


    But still, compared to how he had passed this last month that he had been awakened, as he took a deep breath of the stuffy, heavy atmosphere, he could help but feel like howling his lungs out. And even though he knew that she was part of the reason that he was standing here at the moment, he couldn''t feel but look at her like she was a stranger, someone who couldn''t really understand what was going on inside him.


    "Heh, wouldn''t expect a southern mage to understand. Here I can be free."


    Kat''s mind raced. "He looks different. His eyes shine like a wild beast''s. Was it a mistake to bring him here? But why..."


    Instead, she smiled as always, as she tilted her head towards him. "Why do you say that? It isn''t like you were locked in or something..."


    He couldn''t take his eyes off the raging flame burning in the furnace in front of him as he answered.


    "Kids in our village, in all villages where I come from, are trained differently than you people. From the moment we leave our home for the first time to go and learn stuff from the Elder, we are expected, hell! we are encouraged, to fight off our differences. We hone our instincts by beating each other silly, by screaming, by fighting, by clawing our way to adulthood. We learn how to fight and how to hunt, and we train, like your warriors here, but a hundred times more brutally. Most shamans think that by embracing our anger, by being constantly mad with rage, those who are able to enter a battle trance, will learn how to do so earlier. And so, we are kept constantly angry, until our ragers start awaken one by one."


    He took a breath as he continued, his gaze never leaving the fire in front of him.


    "And now imagine Kat... After the first five years of your social life being like this, imagine, a stranger coming and telling you that you cannot use your gift, that you cannot cast any magic, if you aren''t calm, if you aren''t as devoid of emotion as a human could possibly be. So... Master thought of a way to train me. He forbid me to show any emotion, at any time whatsoever, regardless if I was trying to cast something or not. He thought that in order to master my emotions to a degree that I could shut them down at will in order to access my mana, the easiest way would be to learn how to shut them out completely. But I still had to go to the Elder. I still had to get beaten up, and beat up, the other children on our scuffles. I still had to learn how to hunt and fight, and I still had to go to the wakes when fellow hunters died out in the forests. And every time I would falter, every time I would get angry, or sad, or anything, Master would... he was harsh."


    He turned his head towards her, and looked her straight into her eyes, as he felt his own getting watery. "I was forbidden to grieve even at my own parents'' funeral pyre Kat... In order not to lose my mind, my Master allowed me to, commanded me, to let it all out on the smithy. To pummel my rage on the hot metal, to quench my tears as the steel cooled. The smithy was my haven, the only place, where when I worked, I was trully free to express any emotion."


    His eyes moved away from hers, once more focusing on the familiar sights all around him.


    "It''s not any more different here. I woke up in a strange place, surrounded by monster mages, by southerners who, according to our Elder, only want us dead. I learned that my village was burned to the ground by demons. My master gave his life to protect us. Everyone I''d ever known was dead. And most people would look at me with pure hatred in their eyes. Did you really thought that I''ve felt nothing? That I didn''t want to scream in fear? That I didn''t want to weep in tears for my lost ones? That I didn''t want to pummel the arrogant children to the ground in rage? But the only thing I had left from my Master was his memory. And I decided to honor that. And so, I kept my promise to kill my emotions, in all times... except here. Here, I''m free."


    The words flew easily out of him. In his haven he felt like nothing could touch him, and as he spoke, as Kat watched the tears flow out of the corners of his eyes, he felt... lighter, like a huge burden was lifted from someplace inside him.


    "Now, forgive me Kat, but I really need to temper some steel in order to..."


    "You are out of your mind boy if you think I''ll let you even near a hammer and an anvil before I judge you competent enough. Especially after your little declaration that this is some sort of a venting playground for you and not a goddamnned work place."


    The leather clad, old smith said as he swept the sweat out of his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing a black stain all over his face. He slowly limped towards the pair, until he was right next to Martyn. Even though the barbarian was more than a head taller, the smith''s eyes didn''t leave Martyn''s even for a second. Raising up his finger towards him he continued.


    "Listen up boy. I don''t know the village you came from, nor do I know what you did there. But here, inside this smithy, I''m your master. No. Here I''m your God. Here, you carry the water, and you work the bellows, and you only dream of sometime grasping the hammer, maybe for some horseshoes and such. Because if anything were to happen to one of the Countess'' shinny new toys, she would have my head on a pike. Heh... steel he says."


    Grinning Martyn bowed his head politely. "Of course Master. We still have another month till the academy officially opens for the year either way. I''m pretty sure I''ll be able to make you trust me with your finest swords and armors by then. Now... do you have a spare leather apron? I don''t think I''ll be able to work in... this thing." He concluded pointing at his spotless new robe.


    The smith spend a good minute staring Martyn hard in the eyes before turning towards Kat. Smilling, he waved towards her.


    "Shoo, shoo, little Lady. I have a new apprentice to break."


    Still stunned from Martyn''s previous speech, she turned and walked towards her home.


    Sure, she had never trusted Martyn. The aloof foreigner that conveniantly came to the academy and bypassed the normal procedures. He always seemed to abosrb everything around him, everything she told him, usually replying with simple yes''s and no''s. But, even though he had the physique to snap the neck of a mage easily, she had never feared him. She knew she could overpower him easily.


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    But this new Martyn was different. Like a wild animal he felt dangerous, and yet he also felt more... real. She never expected anyone around here to bare their soul so easily, and it had taken her by surprise. Yes, his story was a sad one, but the way his eyes shone as he was speaking, the way they had reflected the light of the fire, the way that his tears marred his face... he wasn''t a broken man. No. He was someone who, really, had just broken free of his chains and was weeping in relief.


    She wasn''t so sure that she could overpower him now. Now, he appeared as if he was trully dangerous. But despite that, now, she couldn''t resist feeling more secure by him.


    *


    Kat was racing down the big hallway in the administration building carrying a big, wrapped in clothes, package on her hands. The knights on duty were unsure how to react as she slammed open the heavy double doors to her father''s office.


    As the Archmage saw his panting daughter bursting in, he was already on his feet rushing towards her.


    "Kathlyn, what..."


    "Father" She said in between her breath. "We need to talk in private."


    As the knights exited the office, Kathlyn unwrapped the package on her hands, revealing two swords inside.


    "Please, examine those two, I think I''m going insane." She pleaded, pushing them on her father''s lap.


    With a grivious tone, her father stared down towards her.


    "Really now Kathlyn? My heart jumped when I saw you running! Can''t this wait until we get home? I have a really busy day today."


    Kathlyn stood up as straight as she could.


    "No. It really cannot."


    "Well, from a quick glance, their size and the stupid mark, show that they were both made by that barbarian of yours."


    He raised his eyes towards his daughter.


    "You are spending an awful lot of time lately with him."


    "I had to find out why and what his Master taught him father. Now please look at the swords seriously."


    "Well, not much to tell. One is obviously smithed, you can tell from the faint marks of the hammer where it landed last, and from its rougher, overall, appearance. Regardless that, it''s a nice sword. The other is a plain transmuted sword like the first one you brought me. Both have a sharpening enchantment on them. His symbol work is top notch as always, and his mana pathetic as always."


    "But are they the same father?"


    "Eh... from what I can tell, more or less yes."


    "Test them." She said as she crossed her arms across her chest.


    "Really Kathlyn. If you stopped my work for..."


    His sentance was cut in middle as he saw one of the blades passing a whole palm deeper into the stone were he stabbed the floor.


    He slowly raised both blades, and putting all the strength he could muster, pierced the floor once more. One of them slightly penetrated the hard, enchanted stone, while the second one reached, once more, a whole palm inside, effortlessly piercing through.


    He raised the swords again, and, with eyes glowing white, started to carefully scan the enchantments.


    "What''s the meaning of this?" He raised his head towards his daughter. "That''s as strong as an adept can get. But the mana inside it, despite the symbols... it''s impossible."


    With a smug smile, Kathlyn raised her hand and pointed towards her father.


    "No. It just means that *you* were wrong. Transmuted and crafted items *do* indeed differ after all."


    "They are the same Kathlyn! And yet, one is apprentice level and the other adept! Why? How?"


    "I don''t know how. You don''t know how. I bet the man who made them, saying that''s normally how enchanting works, doesn''t knows how. In fact the only one, probably, who might knew how, is dead."


    "...Senthas"


    "It all makes sense now father! Why he left the kingdom, why he disappeared, why we found him deep within the savage lands, in a village forgotten even by their own people! And from what Martyn said to me, I''m pretty sure that he had Martyn''s parents killed in an accident, not long after he claimed him for his student. He obviously *done* something to the boy with life magic! And he went over there because who would be able to tell anything was done to a child? Their naive shamans? Heh, no way."


    "Kathlyn, don''t... No... As the commander of the support mages of this keep, I *order* you not to tell anyone about anything related to this. Especially your mother, who knows what she''ll trade that information for. Also, stop pushing the barbarian to enchant stuff, in fact, slowly lessen how much time you spend with him altogether, else someone notices something''s off. Now, please leave me, you''ve just multiplied my workload by a dozen degrees!"


    As he watched his daughter closing the door behind her, he let his head rest on his arm. This whole thing was bringing him a massive headache.


    Obviously, his daughter was wrong. His old Master hadn''t done anything to the boy. If that was the case, then he would have simply walked away from the gate, went to the next village, and repeat the process to another child. The only thing that could be true from his daughter''s deductions was the thing about Senthas killing the boy''s parents. He was crazy like that when he wanted to claim something as his own.


    But for the rest? He personally went to study the echo of the spells his old master had used, and there were enough traps in place to level a field. No wonder the barbarians managed to pull off that crazy defense of theirs. But there were some pieces that didn''t fit the puzzle at that moment, but now slid nicely into place.


    There was some kind of unique magic he had used, they were still trying to decrypt exactly what, but it seemed to guide the gates towards the village, like a beacon of sorts, like Senthas wanted the gates to spawn close to him, or, now in context, away from the forest where young people usually hunted. There was the fact that his Master chose to die in order to seal a gate, instead of simply running away and coming with an army. But, from what they''ve seen, Martyn was out hunting when the gate spawned. If Senthas would have left, there was a chance that Martyn would have walked straight into a Destroyer''s army. And of course, there was the dying message of the grant Magister, making preparations for the child''s future in case he died.


    Everything pointed that Senthas chose to die there, in order to protect the boy.


    They knew, from what Martyn had said to them that his Master had taught him mainly enchanting and transmuting, completely negleting basic support spells like healing, and only teaching him the most basic of all protection and offensive spells. And they also knew that he was training the boy to be a smith, drilling every modern technique he knew onto the boy.


    No. There was no coincidence. Senthas knew about the boy''s ability to enchant crafted weapons. But the blasted fool told noone anything about it. He wrote nothing down. He took his secrets to his grave. The only thing he did right was sending Martyn here, to him, to his old apprentice...

 Chapter VIII: Apprentice

    Author''s notes:


    Hello and thank you for taking your time to read through my story. This is the first time I seriously try to write one of my stories, so any kind of feedback, good and bad alike, is highly appreciated. English is not my first language, but I hope my writing is clean (enough). But please, I personally hate grammatical errors, so if you spot any (WHEN you spot any!), please notify me to fix them.


    Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy.


    Chapter VIII: Apprentice


    Martyn couldn''t help but let his eyes wander all over the magnificent architecture. Elaborate stone arches interweaved with each other, creating a mirage of cascading waves of stone as they descended from the central dome towards the stone floor. The whole place, from the ground up to the ceiling was covered in tiny, magnificent engravings that made the cold, grey, stone, look like it was alive.


    He could just see the ones in the wall next to him, a battle ground. There were knights on the front, with archers and mages supporting them, as they charged towards a line of demons. The engravings continued as they rised to the top, with what could only be the souls of the dead knights from below, as the ascended in the air, and were slowly being replaced with winged, armored, daevas. The divine beings themselves were battling flying demons a bit higher, piercing them with their lances.


    All the way to the top, as far as his eyes could reach, the walls depicted the battle of the humans against the demons, the fight of the daevas against the toothed horrors of the void. Till, at the top of the dome, a clear large representation of the ten Gods, watching over them, dwarfed every other marking. Around them, growing smaller and smaller, till they reached the size of the rest of the engravings, from Iggdzen, whom his fiery majestic form was almost as big as a God, to Reghjin, the last born, who was just slightly bigger than a daeva, their thousand children, our link with the Gods, our ancestors.


    The whole place was huge, a hundred meters across, and yet, somehow, the arches were build in such a way, that no pillars were required to support the dome, allowing a full view to the battle above from wherever you stood. His mana sight had long now reached the ceiling, tracing the pictures, trying to grasp everything with his mind, since his eyes were not strong enough to see across, and so he knew there was no magic on the stone itself. It was clear that it was the way they interweaved with each other, supporting each other, that made this miracle work. And his mind was burning trying to figure out how such a thing could be built.


    No... Not built. Excavated. What made this even more impressive was that they were now a good deal under the main three buildings of the academy. Following knights, they had travelled through the maze-like corridors beneath the ground, passing through countless other rooms and domes, till they reached this place. And to Martyn, here, underground, felt like there was even more rooms, even more space, than the buildings above. A true concealed academy sprawling beneath the obvious one.


    One could easily lose his breath on the masterpiece, but, despite that, the constant buzzing of the voices around him, that filled the room with noice, irritated him. Made him feel like the forty or so children around him were disrespectful to the Gods themselves.


    A sudden jab on his ribs brought him back to reality.


    "You''re the barbarian right?" Said a cheerful voice besides him.


    Looking down, next to him, Marcus saw a young man, maybe a little younger than himself smiling towards him. His unruly dark hair were tied messily on a tiny ponytail behind his neck as a stray tuft of hair fell over his face. As opposed to everybody else here, this man had somehow managed to alredy dirt his white robe near his feet.


    Extending his arm, he continued. "So? Are you really him? My name''s Donovan, Donny for shorter and cooler!"


    A bit hazed, Martyn stared straight at his clear brown eyes before extending his own.


    "I guess so... Martyn."


    "Ohhh great. So? How do you like it here? I bet you didn''t have something so magnificent in the savage lands right? Amazing isn''t it?" Donny''s words continued to fly, one after another, without taking a breath, not even noticing his slight insult in his excitement.


    Martyn furrowed his brows a bit and his voice took a sharper tone. "Yeah, it is amazing alright. But I''ve heard that the Great Shaman''s hall in the living city was build by the Daeva themselves. That its beauty had caused people to lose their minds." He said puffing his chest out proudly.


    "And?" Donny continued unfazed. "Do they? How much more beautiful compared to here? Let''s say if here is like Margie would you rate your places as... Eren?" He said as he pointed towards a girl in front, and looked like he was searching for another one somewhere in the clump of people.


    "What...?"


    "What what? Don''t tell me you haven''t seen Eren? Oh man you''re in for a treat. A rare beauty I say... too bad everything good only went to her looks... but hey! Who am I to complain?" Donny winked


    Unsure how to answer, Martyn felt safer to return to the previous subject. "I haven''t been to the Great Shaman''s hall to know, that would be absurd. I haven''t even been to any of our holy cities. Only shamans go there."


    "But aren''t you a shaman?"


    "I was a shaman apprentice. Far away from my pilgrimage to the holy cities." Martyn corrected, putting as much emphasis as he could on the word ''apprentice''.


    "Oh man... that sucks. From apprentice to apprentice? I can''t wait till I become an adept! I would be gone from here to tour the world in the blink of the eye! At least, I hope we are in the same class till then!"


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    "...Why?"


    "Why?! You''re kidding right? You are a fucking barbarian! How awesome is that? How awesome would it be to hang around the biggest, meanest man around here? Plus, I will get to hear your stories about slaying beasts and whatnot in the savage lands. They don''t get their name for nothing, right?"


    "Most people around here don''t seem to share your enthusiasm about me..."


    "Meh, don''t worry about them. They are either scared or jealous that you are, like, two heads taller than them. And you don''t look half bad either." Donny said scanning him from top to bottom. "I bet some girls already..."


    "SILENCE" A booming voice echoed in the whole hall.


    In the central podium six figures were standing. The one who had just shouted, enhancing his voice with magic, was a tall, well built, man, with golden, short cropped hair, his silver dragon prominent in his chest. As the hall filled with silence, he turned towards his colleagues behind him and noded.


    A shorter man slowly approached the edge of the podium, staring at the apprentices. Out of all the mages Martyn has seen so far, he seemed to be the one in the worst shape, his robes barely concealed a growing belly and his receding hair was clumsily oiled back. Despite that, the man put his arms behind his back and proudly pushed his chest outwards as he took a huge breath, his golden dragon plain for all to see.


    The archmage scanned the room, looking at each of the apprentices, his eyes filled with life, and with a bright smile on his face, he shouted.


    "Welcome to the academy. My name is Archmage Arkon Erevar, Commander of all support units in the fort. Basically... your boss. As long as you train to be a support mage, you are under my jurisdiction, under my command, and under my protection. And since I''m in charge for your actions, please, don''t do anything stupid.


    Behind me, are my deputy commanders and some of my oldest adepts. They will be in charge for your training. But keep in mind, that the only way you''ll ever become adepts, the only way to become real mages and not some children running around with toys they don''t understand, is if I, personally, say so.


    On my left and right are Master Tisior Cain, Deputy commander of the support units and leader of all of our healers here, and Master Fidren Daman, Captain on the Countess'' army and in charge of coordinating our squads. Like me, you won''t see them often, but keep in mind, that if you don''t draw their attention, you''ll never draw mine.


    I warn you that I''ll only accept perfection. A lot of people, and I hope noone here, believe that we are just what remains. They believe that battle mages are our strongest mages, our spellswords our fastest mages, and so, that leaves support as the people who are neither strong, nor fast. There may be some truth to that. Maybe, on average, we aren''t either the fastest or the strongest, but what we are, is far more important than that.


    How many spells do you think even an adept spellsword knows? Ten? Twenty? Just the same old strengthenings and accelerations, practiced over and over again till they master their speed. Battle mages? The same. You don''t need a vast repertoire, you need mastery over what you know. But supports? We know *everything*.


    Even our most dedicated crafter, if he finds himself on the battlefield, will need to know how to heal people. Just imagine being on an expedition, and having your cartwheel broke down. A whole platoon going to the support asking to fix it, only to get answered "Sorry, I''m a healer, I can''t fix a wheel." Inconceivable. We are the masters of enchantments and you know how many of those exist? Innumerable. How many things we need to learn even for a basic transmute?


    Let the battle mages and the spellswords lead our troops to victory, most of them are squad captains by the time they become adepts either way. People hear ''mage'' and expect to be taken by the hand and lead to victory. That role isn''t suited for us. But go into any academy. Anywhere in the world. And you''ll find that the ones pushing for new spells, the ones leading the researchers, the ones giving all the new shiny toys to the captains, the army, and the plain folk... are all support mages.


    Now... I don''t brag that we are the smartest... BUT WE MUST BECOME!"


    Arkon stopped to take a breath and watched with glee as the apprentices below nearly exploded with enthusiasm. Those kids, the ones that were one step below the prodigies, those were his to train, and they were the easiest to mold to his liking. He took another breath, and waved everyone to quiet before continuing.


    "We are blessed with forty one apprentices this year. And by apprentice, I mean people that know how to at least weave their magic. Feel proud for that. There are a few dozen more who were deemed too low for even apprentices. Kids who we''ll continue to train until they are at least at your stage to officially enter the academy.


    But, unfortunately, even amongst you, not all of you are equally trained. Some had years of house training from family mages, others awakened to their gifts from early on, and others... well, weren''t so lucky. For this reason, you''ll be split into three classes, each corresponding to your level of training. The people behind me, some of my most trusted, and most talented adepts, will be your teachers, each in charge of each class."


    He waved the three adepts forward, and as they dropped their hoods, Martyn was stunned to see Kat among them.


    "Adepts Vorias and Nerin Fern, known as the twin geniouses a few years back are our academy''s pride and hope when it comes to future spell researchers and Adept Kathlyn Erevar, my daughter, who despite her being a support, can rival some of the best battle mages in power and some of the best spellswords in speed."

 Chapter IX: A lesson on mana weave

    Author''s notes:


    First of all guys I want to give you my big thanks for reading through my story. Your views, and especially the followers, the favs and the people who comment, are a big incentive to keep me writing. So, thank you!


    Secondly, I''m really sorry for taking more than usual to update this time, but my carpal tunnel flared up, and I had to stop using a keyboard completely, even now, I need to rest my hand as much as I can, so I expect only one chapter next week as well.


    Lastly, and more importantly, we are now beginning the first school ark. I want to take this opportunity to not only establish characters, personalities, and relations, but also, since it''s the first "serious" school Martyn attends, I want to focus and explain a bit better the magic system itself. I''ll try to make it sound as natural as I can, but this chapter has quite a lot of information shoved into it.


    What I ask of you, if you can, is post in the thread if you enjoyed the way I introduced the system, or if you want me to give it in smaller pieces interwoven with more "other things". Simply put, if this is too much of an information dump on you instead of a story chapter.


    Thank you again for reading.


    Chapter IX: A lesson on mana weave


    Martyn looked around at his fellow classmates that compassed the ''seventh apprentice support mages class'', or S7 for short. The first four support classes were compossed by the apprentices of older years who didn''t make the cut for adepts yet, and the three last ones where for the people like him who had just joined the academy.


    Only eleven people out of the forty two were in his class, which, from what he understood, had the lowest amount of knowledge about magic, the most untrained of the support, and thus, the bottom feeders of the whole school. At least, there were some people around that weren''t as aggravating as most of the other apprentices he had the chance to talk with.


    "For Gods'' sake Donovan, stop looking out the window at the battle mages and focus!" Kat''s voice shook Martyn out of his own boredom.


    Of course, he knew the stuff Kat was trying to teach them, but since they were the lowest of the classes, they had started from zero, once again.


    "As you all know, the two forms of magic is pure and runic. Eren, what''s their main differences?"


    Martyn had to give Donny that. The girl was breathtaking for her age. A little too young for himself, but he could easily understand why most apprentices her age were fawning over her. Her rich black hair were tied in an elegant braid behind her back, her big, brown, eyes threatened to captivate you if you looked long at them, and her figure, for her fifteen years of age, was already fully developed. Her neat appearence obviously required alot of attention each day to reach that level, and probably life magic was used aplenty.


    But as Donny said, that''s where her good points ended. She wasn''t stupid or anything like that, but her talent for magic was almost nonexistent. Rumors were aleady circulating that it took quite a bit of money and influence from her family to even get her accepted as an apprentice here. Despite that, her native arrogance was irritating to say the least. She obviously didn''t care at all about her the actual studies of magic, and yet, she always managed to showcase herself as a higher existance compered to the rest of the class. For his life, Martyn couldn''t understand why boys and girls flocked to her like she was some sort of bright beacon instead of punching her silly as they would have done back in his village.


    "Ehhh pure is, like, minor magic. You just use your exterior mana to do your binding, but you are limited by the amount you can channel. Runic is like pure but this time, instead of your imagination, you use the Gods'' language to describe what you want to do, and so it''s immensely more powerful."


    "Minor magic?" Kat snickered. "You are wrong. How strong or how weak pure magic is, is directly linked to your own mana supply and your own state of mind at the time of the casting, yes. But minor magic? I''ve seen people who could engulf the whole classroom in a blazing inferno with just a simple thought. Do not underestimate pure magic. If anything, pure magic is the strongest form, and the most important to master first.


    This ties in with your explanation of runic magic, in which you are wrong. Again. In runic magic, the most important factor is your own imagination, your own mana supply and your own state of mind. Exactly like pure magic.


    Then what about the actual runes you say? That is simply knowledge, nothing more, nothing less. You have to realise that you don''t shape your magic through the runes, you use the runes that fit what you want to shape. It may sound similar, but it''s worlds apart.


    For you, for all beginners and apprentices, it''s dangerous to tamper with, so tried and tested runic formulas are what you will be taught. But by the time you are mid level adept, IF you ever become adepts, you are expected to be able to deconstruct and reconstruct your own runic ''sentences'' to be able to power up your magic.


    As for why it''s first important to master pure magic it''s really simple. Everything you do IS pure magic. Let alone the minor spells like using your fire affinity to lit a bonfire or even fill the room with the predescribed inferno, those are parlor tricks. The very reason and way you regulate your inner mana and pour it as a sheath, the mana strands that you use to form the runes, even your mana sight, they are all just different aspects of pure magic.


    Everyone, open your mana sight and look at me for a moment."


    As Martyn looked at Kat he saw the familiar, thin and robust, mana sheath surrounding her form. Tiny tendrils of mana flickered on it''s surface, but beyond that, nothing, he couldn''t pierce throught the thick weaved strands that formed the shell. All around him, every student had his own sheath, some had thick, wild layers, blazing with huge strands that extended towards Kat as they tried to probe her sheath as well, and others were thin, weak, like his. But most of them, all except Donny and Margie, had their sheaths so lously and widewoven that he could could easily pierce with his own mana strands and peak directly into their inner mana.


    Suddenly, Kat''s sheath flared up. The moderately thin layer of mana grew explosively as it transformed to a full aura two palms wide around her. The tiny tendrils burst through, thickening to a man''s arm width as they extended outwards, enveloping the whole classroom. The last thing he saw was them rushing towards everyone, and like whips, crashing on their own pathetic strands, and knocking their mana sense out.


    "And that is pure magic apprentices" She said with a grin. "Anyone cares to explain how I did that? Margie? You seem to have a pretty good grasp of moderating your mana, care to explain to the rest of the class?"


    The short bispectacle girl was still rubbing her temples turning the stray red strands of hair into a mess as she did so. As she compossed herself, she took a breath and tried to straighten the long wild strands behind her ears as usual. She stood up and cleared her throat, assuming a much more regal posture with her hands close to her sides and resting directly underneath her impressive bosom.


    "Instead of your inner mana being the size of a human you have one the size a battleship?" She said with the most serious tone one could imagine.


    Amidst the laughter of the class, Kat''s voice rose and took a more grievious tone.


    "I have indeed the inner mana you''d expect from a battle mage. But this wasn''t really the question was it? So, since you want to crack jokes, I am correct to assume that you know the right answer? And, thus, you wouldn''t have a problem if this battleship comes crushing on you if you fail to answer correctly. Right? Go on."


    "Sure! Unlike the poor apprentices you tried to assert dominance over, that can''t regulate their inner and outer mana, you, and every mage worth calling mage, control how much inner mana you allow to seep through you to form your sheath. You usually keep only a tiny bit of well woven mana outside, and what you did was, simply, allow your reserves of inner mana to violently surge forth." Margie said calmly, like the glare Kat was piercing her with was nonexistant."


    "...Correct." Kat said with a dissapointed undertone that her young student had gotten it completely right. Turning her eyes towards the rest of the classroom, she continued.


    "The reason all mages must do this, and the reason this will be my first priority to teach you is simple really. Everyone has their inner mana. Naturally, this seeps out, and thus all living beings have a natural sheath of mana surrounding them. This is what you use when you use any kind of magic. This is the strands you extend to manipulate, to see, to craaft runes, to use any and all forms of magic. But, the one thing you can''t do, is take it back inside. Your inner mana regenerates with time and rest, meditation also helps, but you can never re-absorb the mana that is surrounding you. And while this stays relatively innert, it always, slowly, seeps away to the world.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    What you need to do, as a mage, is thus simple. You hold on to your inner mana as tighly as you can and only let out the necessary amount to have a decent protection and a decent reservoir for what you have in mind. Then, if the need arises, you let more and more inner mana leak out, until you again have what you need.


    The second reason to regulate your mana flow, as we call it, is the most severe one. Everything that runs out of inner mana, dies. Or to be more precise, becomes a souless, mindless, unresponsive being, as its functions close naturally one by one. You don''t have to worry too much about that at the moment, because your natural defences prohibit you from overdrawing your reserves. And the technique that unlocks that restriction is only something taught to Adepts and above.


    In the off chance that any of your previous teachers was stupid enough to show you how, consider yourselves banned for life from the academy if you use it without direct approval from me or from a Master and higher mage."


    She stopped and look at her classroom, letting her words sink into them before continuing.


    "The next thing to notice is that the more the outer mana, the thicker the mana strands. That has ups and downs. The thinner the strands, the most control you can assert, the more delicate they are, the better their finesse. And this has direct applications as to how perfectly you can form your circles, your sheath, and your runes. But the thicker they are, the more strong they are as well, and the faster you can channel your mana.


    Take your standard mana sheath as an example. By using my control over thin strands, it''s very tight woven, it can''t be easily pierced. But if I was in a duel, and someone used an overwhelming amount of mana to crush it, then it would easily crumble away. Similary, if I wanted to use my magic to scorch an entire enemy platoon, I would shift to thick, strong strands, but if I wanted to heal someone, when his life is on the hands of a delicate spell, then I would use the thinnest strands I can form.


    Speaking of which, anyone knows why we first form a circle and then inscribe the runes within?"


    "..."


    "No one? I''ll give you a hint. You don''t need to. Use your mana sight again and look."


    Above Kat''s head her strands weaved and wobbled as they created three stand alone runes. As the mana poured into them, a single thin ray of fire shot from her hand and cleanly seared one of Donnie''s chair''s legs, causing the chair to topple and throwing the boy clumsily on the ground.


    "I warned you not to look outside at the battle mages when I''m talking didn''t I?" She said with a smile.


    "Now, as you all saw, no circle was made. And yet, the spell still went on flawlesly. So, why do we bother with circles?"


    "..."


    "Ok, how about this. Everyone try to shoot such a ray, without a circle, at the blackboard. Anyone who manages it, is free from classes today."


    Instantly, everyone woke up. Mana flared all over the room as the young apprentices tried to form the runes as fast as they could. Half of them fumbled in their haste. It was a simple spell, and power was irrelevant, but Martyn watched in horror as he wasn''t even done with the first rune by the time the rest of the class had almost finished their full spell. As he focused on his weave, trying to make it move as fast as he could, he saw Kat''s own mana strands expand and split. Each strand hitting the apprentices'' runes directly, messing them up, and causing the spell to fail.


    The whole classroom turned with a puzzled look towards her.


    "The whole purpose of the circle, the only purpose of it in fact, is to protect the runes themselves from outside tampering. In order to mess an opponent''s spell, you must first break the circle, and then the runes. The circle is, thankfully, a really simple form, it has no edges, no complicated glyphs on it, it''s the simplest form you can imagine. This makes it hard for enemy threads to find an imperfection, a crack if you may, to slip through. But it can be done. It works exactly like your own mana sheath, so remember, thick and strong versus crushing attacks, and tight woven versus someone who tries to slip through. Yes Martyn?" She finished as she saw the barbarian at the back of the room raising his hand.


    "Why?"


    "What do you mean why?"


    "If it''s just a circle, can''t we still attack the runes from the front or the back?"


    Kathlyn''s color drained a bit off her face as a thought crossed her mind.


    "Try it against me"


    She saw the thin strand expanding from Martyn as it raced towards the runes that were forming above her head within her circle. As it reached the runes, the strands recoiled and stopped, like they were facing an invisible wall.


    So, still, everything else about him is normal so far she thought as she smiled in relief.


    "As you see apprentices, while what Martyn said is technically correct, it doesn''t work. Lower your hands, let me finish. Why? There are two answers, the short and the long one. The short one is, we don''t really know. The long one is outside the purview of this class, and it''s a matter highly debated between theologicians and archmages alike. Oversimplifying it, it boils down to:


    Runic magic is nothing more than using the Daeva tongue to reach their realm. Through this act, we call upon their assistance, and the pure magic of the Gods'' realm powers up our spells. Runes are not letters, they are whole sentences by themselves, they represent the will of the Gods'' manifest on our world. And the circle represents the protection of those words. So, in effect, while we only see a circle, what we really draw is a symbol representing a full protective bubble around our attempts to communicate with the Daeva. The only way to disrupt the words, thus, is to first disrupt that bubble, which means disrupt the circle itself."


    As she finished her sentance, the calm sound of a bell echoed in the room and the students shop up from their desks throwing their notes with haste in their packs, ready to rush off.


    "Stand down a minute!" Kat shouted over the noise of the classroom.


    "There is one last thing about outer mana that I need you to keep in mind. As supports, most of the time you will be using thin weaves. Strength isn''t as much of a boon as it is a hindrance for most of us. But despite that, before even thinking of becoming full fledged support mages, it should become your second nature to instantly shift from one weave to another. A mage who only uses thin strands, and a mage who only uses strong strands, are both, just, dead mages.


    Finally, I want to let you know that there IS a way that you can have simultaneously both strong and thin weave. Pouring all your inner mana outside, while retaining the calmness and finesse of the thinnest strands imaginable. This is called Mastery. And this is what you must accomplish if you ever want to reach the rank of Master.


    Go now, and train controlling your outer mana for the weekend."


    As Kat finished, she sighed a breath of relief, and as the last apprentice left, she rushed behind Martyn, catching him and tugging the fabric of his robe.


    Gone was the stern and vicious teacher Martyn has observed this last week. In front of him was the regular, smilling Kat he had come to know the past month, her head bobbing as she was trying to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed red.


    "Seriously Martyn? Your teacher hasn''t taught you anything about that?" She said overly excited. "I''m so happy that I get to be the one to show you how to use magic for real!"


    "You act... differently?" Martyn said with disbelief creeping in his eyes.


    "Aww man! I have to act serious when I''m in missions. I have to act stern when I''m teaching. I have to act serious AND stern when I''m working with father. But this is the weekend! So can''t I act as myself?" She said as she lowered her head and raised her eyes towards him, looking all pitifully towards him.


    Before he could get the chance to answer, she shot her head up again and shined him a bright smile as she continued.


    "Just kidding! Let''s go help you practice your mana manipulation together!"

 Chapter X: Reunion

    Author''s notes:


    Sorry for the long delay and the short chapter. My hand is finally ok, my vacations over, and so, I''m now back on schedule. From next chapter on, Martyn finally will have the time to show his talents!. Hope you enjoy, and as always, any critique, good or bad, is always welcomed.


    Chapter X: Reunion


    The old wooden boards of the bed creaked under the weight of the barbarian as he lazily tried to stand up. As he wore the dirty overalls that were laying in the simple chair next to his bed, he stretched his arms towards the ceiling and creaked his joints, trying to dispel his sleepiness. With his arms stretched he nearly reached the ceiling of the cramped little room, and even with just his bed, a trunk, and a chair, the room had little space to spare, just enough to navigate towards the sturdy, old, door. But as Martyn opened the door a smile showed on his face as he took in the all familliar view once again.


    His eyes wandered over the silent machinery, the neat piles of coal, the dusty sacks of material, the doused forge, and finally the trusty anvil with the heavy hammer laying on top of it. It wasn''t much, but he was grateful that the headsmith had allowed him to spend his nights here, it made him feel like he was back at home, and the door would open soon, allowing his Master to enter with that big grin of his and his shouts about why isn''t the forge lit yet.


    He went outside, picked a bucket of water, and washed his face, waking up for good. He refilled the bucket with water, grabbed another one, and went back in, using them to fill up the canister for dousing the forged metal. He grabbed the shovel and started filling up the forge with coal, before finally litting it up. It was sunday today, and that meant that the forge was officially closed, and since he spend almost the whole day yesterday with Kat, he was sure to have a little bit of peace of mind and alone time today. It was the perfect opportunity to work a bit with his own side project.


    He picked up the half-formed massive blade and threw it in the fire as he worked the bellows to fuel the ravaging flames. As the metal heated and started glowing the engraved runes became visible, a red color deeper than the outside blade, sign that the heat didn''t distribute evenly. He picked the blade with the long clamps and doused it into the hissing water, only to throw it back in. At times, he would put it on the forge, hammering the tough steel into submission, avoiding to harm the etched runes, before, once again, he would throw it back in.


    His mind was racing, images of the runes flashing with his mana as it cleaved his opponents to half, visions of fierce battles that his blade helped him through, strong as a beast, fast as the wind, light as a feather. This was why enchanting came easily to him, it wasn''t any different than actually forging the weapon. His Master had taught him to envision what he wanted to craft, and his hands would surely follow behind. This time around it was even easier, he had purposedly engraved permanent runes, akin to how the ragers'' blades were forged, but only this time, he was using the glyphs that corresponded to the effects he wanted the blade to reproduce. So, his own imagination was only reproducing, with glee, what he knew the blade could do in reality.


    It was a risky method. On one hand, the runes being there made it much easier for a single spell to be activated, since you had the etchings to follow and you didn''t have to carefully make the runes just out of your mind. But simultaneously, every imperfection on the metal was now hard written on spell, and so your magic was only as precise as the engraved runes would allow, never more, never less. The second, and most grievious problem, was that once a spell was engraved, it was all but impossible to use a different kind of magic on the item. The runes interfered with the creation of a different set of runes.


    Martyn had weighted the two negatives against the only positive, and he still found it worth it to at least try to make it work. His speed was his biggest downfall, so it didn''t really matter if he could only use one spell on his sword, a ''weighten'' spell in this particular occasion, since in a real fight, his awful speed usually meant that he didn''t have the time to cast any spell at all either way. As for the accuracy and effect of the spell, he was dead set to make the runes as perfect as he would otherwise make if he used just his mana.


    This of course meant that it would take him quite a bit of time, forging and reforging the blade till it''s perfect, and then, using very fine tools, reengraving and fixing any kind of wavering on the runes themselves every time he was finished with the day''s forging.


    By the time he was done he could already see through his windows that the sun was setting. He quenched the forge, cleaned his tools, and moved over to the, hastily put together, bathroom to wash his dripping sweat and tiredness away.


    There was still plenty of light around, still early in the fall, and the sounds over the plaza made him drift towards the assembled knights. As he approached, he could clearly see the pairings sparring with zeal, never a rest day for the military.


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    "Well, well, well, look who honored us with his precense, if it''s not a damned barbarian in our midst!" A bulky, ironclad knight, his silver insignia proudly visible in his tabard, shouted towards Martyn.


    "So, kid, what do you say, ready to get your ass whooped once again?" He finished as he was already throwing a wooden sword towards Martyn.


    "Evening Captain Gait," Martyn nodded towards the middle aged veteran. The wounds of old skirmishes visible on the grey haired man on his arms and face, his white, blind, left eye, a memento from when he fought Martyn''s people back in his glory days. "I would appreciate if you didn''t say such stuff... some of the people around may take them seriously."


    As the old man broke into a hearty laugh, his smile cracked on his face, revealing his missing front tooth.


    "Heh, those wusses? They should be honored to spar with someone who knows how to fight for his life. Those peaceful times do me no favor in training their sorry asses into shape. I''m pretty sure that half of them would pee their pants if they ever encounter a demon, never mind a raging barbarian. No kid, you are a blessing and a sight for this old man''s sore eyes. Now, get your ass here before I have to drag you here myself."


    The captain turned towards the sparring knights, and yelled, loud enough to be heard clearly on top of the clanging noises of wood hitting metal "And as far as I am concerned, you are a student here, and if anyone of my men decide to cause you trouble, they will have to go through me."


    Martyn looked around at the people who had stopped fighting for a second, to look around at what their captain was yelling at, but as they saw Martyn, they shrugged and returned to their training. As far as he was concerned, apart from Kat and Donnie, he had spent most of his time since he moved to the smithy with those people rather than his actual classmates. As normal, non magic wielding, fighters, they were a lot more grounded than the rest of the people walking around in the campus. So far, he knew most of them by their small name, and found it easier to talk to them than any other person he has met in this place. Clashing swords is an easy way to really get to know one another, he thought as he took position to fight his first opponent.


    As he was casually cleaving the legs of his fifth adversary, throwing him, bottom first, to the the ground, his mind calm and still, wandered into the cheering crowd around him. He wasn''t sure if it was the abudance of magic in the southerners, or if this was a mark of the peaceful, inner cities of their empire, but he found the actual fighting quality of the non-mages here abysmally low. For his tribe''s, for any barbarian''s tribe, standards, he wasn''t a warrior by any stretch. But here, the apprentice knights were at the level he was as a child, and he could even steal a win against some of the bronze dragons as well. Only the captain, and another silver dragon he had fought once, were able to easily defeat him, only they were, according to his evaluation, at the level of a barbarian warrior, and, naturally, miles behind even a young rager.


    The captain had quickly catch on what was happenning the first time that Martyn asked if he could spar with his knights, and his quick wits instantly saw the opportunity to use Martyn to train his crew. And for Martyn that worked as well, fighting against live people, and not the air of his room, was a much better exercise and kept him at his feet, even if the level wasn''t as high as he hoped. But after this warmup against the apprentices, he knew that there was always the chance for a bronze dragon to be nearby and grant him a real duel. Those felt nice, they reminded him of home, and it was the best way to put his mind, and body, at ease. And if not, Gait would fight him. He would always lose, but this felt like home as well.


    A voice from behind interrupted his thoughts.


    "Fight me"


    He instantly froze as he heard the voice, dripping with pure malice, behind him. It was a voice he had etched into his memory even after hearing only once in the past. He turned around and looked at the short, blonde boy that was standing, training blade in hand, behind him.


    Captain Gait was already standing in between the two people.


    "Only if he wishes Evan, and I won''t allow any sort of permanent injuries, accidents, or underhanded methods in my watch." He finished as he looked, clearly displeased, towards both of the growling men.


    "Oh... don''t worry captain, I don''t need to use cheap tricks to win against an ox." The boy said smilling


    "I won''t back down from a fight Gait." Martyn said calmly as a slight smile appeared on his face.


    Time to see if my theories work in actual combat. Time for revenge. He reassured himself.

 Chapter XI: Duel

    Author''s notes:


    Aaaaand we''re done with what we started the previous chapter. Surely but slowly, Martyn will start to realize where (some of) his own (conventional) talents lie, and I should probably stop speaking before spoiling stuff. I had a bit of trouble with the perspective changes on this chapter, I hope it''s clear enough, but I wanted to give you guys the perspective of both. And finally, it''s getting really late, so proofreading will have to wait until tomorrow. For those who read it right now, I hope that it''s not riddled with errors.


    As always, any kind of feedback is highly encouraged and welcome. Have fun and I hope you enjoy it.


    Chapter XI: Duel


    Evan was looking at his opponent across the small arena. Just looking at the man infront of him made his blood boil. He wasn''t intimidated by the size of the barbarian at all, if anything, he had beaten much higher class opponents than such a brute. But this man has clearly stolen a win out of him. He has made him a fool in front of his friends, inside his own home. And although somewhere deep inside him he realised that he had only lost because he left himself being dragged by the barbarian''s hybris, he still wanted to believe that he had only lost because his opponent had played dirty.


    He looked at Martyn''s thin and feeble weave that was surrounding him and smirked. There was no way he could lose again, he only had to keep his mind clear and the victory was his. Wooden sword in hand, he waited until the captain lowered his arm.


    In an instant he casted acceleration, choosing this time to rush straight on towards Martyn. It took him only a split second to cross the distance, but already he was almost finished with his second spell, increasing the momentum of the blade as it was cleaving the barbarian''s legs. He almost burst out laughing at his opponent''s pained expression as he was, once more, falling on his feet. This time, he didn''t let any obsrtuction get in his way, as he once more used strengthening on his own sword and sent it crushing on his opponent''s wrists. For a second, doubt filled his mind, as he felt losing control of his magic, but before the thought even registered in his mind, he felt his blade making contact with the soft flesh of his enemy.


    Martyn''s cry and his sword flying away from his grip was all that the captain needed to instantly rush between the two contestants and declare the clear victor.


    With a satisfied grin, Evan looked down at the fallen barbarian. "And stay down" he muttered as he turned his back preparing to leave.


    "Again" He heard the low voice of the barbarian commanding his from behind.


    He slowly turned, only to see the large man slowly standing up and walking towards his fallen blade. It didn''t make sense. He was sure that the force of the last blow was strong enough that the man would have to visit a healer, but the only thing he was seeing was that he was just rubbing his wrists with his hands. He realized something went wrong with the last spell, and this only furthered his confusion. He was sure it had something to do with his momentary lapse of control that he experienced in the end of the laughable match, but couldn''t pinpoint what. Regardless that, ''again'', was the man insane? He had his revenge; he could now see how pathetic even the notion of it was against such a weakling. He had no desire to further this farce.


    "Fight me again... unless you''re scared that is."


    Evan paused as he heard the last words. He felt his rage rekindling. As he forced himself to regain his cool, he answered with a voice filled with cold, calculated anger.


    "I don''t know if you are a masochist or just plain stupid, but ok. I have no problem to see you groveling on the ground."


    *


    Martyn watched the kid walking back to position. His first attempt was a devastating failure. He knew Evan was fast, he had experienced it once already, but the reality of the kid''s speed overtook him once more. At least he managed to salvage his hands the last second.


    All his calculations went wrong the moment the duel started. He had counted on Evan''s speed and strength, but he had the delusion that it would have come in expense of control. Finally being able to comprehend auras and weaves properly, he had never seen someone so gifted to be blessed with all three simultaneously.


    A minor setback, or a worthy practice target he mused to himself as he prepared once more. This time, forcing his own weave to split even more compared to the last time, becoming even thinner and much more unyielding. This way, I won''t be casting any spells it seems this fight. He wished he had his blade ready and available for the fight.


    As the captain lowered his hand once more, Martyn watched the runes of the acceleration spell flare into existence. This time he was ready. Regardless how fast one can cast, he couldn''t measure with someone simply willing one of his threads to move. And this was the only thing that Martyn did.


    His extremely thin mana effortlessly passed through Evan''s circle and disrupted his spell. Simultaneously, he lunged his body forward, putting all his weight behind his blade as he lowered it vertically towards his opponent.


    Despite Evan''s puzzled expression, the kid''s training and muscle memory forced his body to move, barely having time to move his sword into a guarding position and grabbing it with both hands in a vain attempt to block the hit.


    The strength and weight difference was too much.  As the blades collided, Martyn easily forced his opponent''s sword down, pinning it to the ground and leaving the kid defenseless. Without interrupting the momentum of his charge, he lowered his own body and slightly twisted his body to the side, connecting his shoulder with Evan''s open chest, and sending the body tumbling down breathless. He raised his blade once more, ready to strike at the stunned boy, only to find his hand immobilized by the captain''s.


    "Aaaaand that''s enough. Martyn is the winner."


    *


    Evan couldn''t breathe. He wanted to believe that it was the force of the last blow that sent him sprawling on the ground, but feeling his frustration and anger ready to burst from inside him, he knew that this wasn''t the only reason why.


    He was the undefeated prodigy. The shining star of his family. Everyone around him would shower him with compliments or retreat in fear. They would whisper that he was gifted, but no one outside his immediate family knew. They didn''t know the sacrifices he had to make to reach this point. Yes, he was from a prestigious family. Yes, he was lucky that in his veins flowed blessed, potent blood. But what they didn''t know was that despite all that magic that run in his family, his own mother was the black sheep, the untalented one. And when her children showed great promise for the art she had them both training from the moment they could speak.


    He''d never gone out just for fun with his friends. Hell... he didn''t have any real friends. From the time he was able to understand the world around him it was tutor after tutor, trainer after trainer, duels with his sister on their ''free'' time. All for the family name. Even his late entrance to the academy was a ruse so that they would impress everyone around them with their brilliant performance. The siblings who would shine in the academy as the best apprentices ever to pass through. He knew that he should have entered years ago, he knew that he was at adept level, but according to his mother, if they had entered when they should, at the age of eight to nine years old, then they wouldn''t be as breathtaking as if they entered late. A few lost years out of the long lifespan of such gifted mages is nothing to sacrifice for the family name, he used to say to them.


    But the illusion broke. The first time he lost, when he was dethroned, he comforted himself that it was because his opponent had cheated, that it didn''t count against his winning streak. But now... now there wasn''t any cheating, no insults, he didn''t lose his composure. He was plainly defeated. All those sacrifices were for naught.


    Reality crushed on him. Not once, but twice he had lost. And both times to the same man. A man barely capable of being called a mage. The lowest of the low of the supports. An ant.


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    He was aware that the captain was overhead him, talking to him, but he was stuck in the moment of his defeat. Replaying it over and over in his mind.


    His spell failed. There was no reason to but it did. He had casted the same thing a million times, practiced it till he was certain he would die of exhaustion, and never had this happened to him. No. Not never. In the first duel, the reason the barbarian had his wrists intact, the moment when he felt he lost control. It all made sense now.


    Now, that he knew what to expect, he had to witness it again, to see where and how he failed, and to correct his mistake.


    This time it was Evan who stood up from his daze, brushing the captain away and looking straight at Martyn''s eyes.


    "Again."


    *


    Martyn nodded in agreement with a polite smile on his face. In reality he wanted to shout in ecstasy, but his warrior spirit didn''t allow him to see the boy in front of him as a true warrior, regardless if he realized that the sheer amount of magical talent that the boy had would put even a few of their ragers in shame.


    His experiement had worked though. That was all that mattered to him. His theory was simply really, if he couldn''t compete in a magic duel, then he would try to make it into a martial one. And while he wasn''t at a warrior level, his opponents from what he''ve seen so far would be way worse than him.


    The moment Kat showed them how to counterspell, he instantly realized that his weak but thin mana stream was a perfect tool for that. He kept practicing, wherever he could, penetrating the protective barriers of the building during class, spending hours splitting his stream to become as thin as he could on his free time, repeating the process to become faster, ever increasing his range on how far he could reach. But his main source of training was Donnie. He pierced his outer mana sheath, and when Donnie said that he didn''t even notice it, then he asked him if he could train counterspelling against him. They spend an hour each day where Donnie would just rapid cast varied spells, even two at once, and Martyn would try to intercept them all. Unfortunatly, Donnie''s help wasn''t cheap. Martyn had to pay in dignity, since the only thing that Donnie kept asking was childish pranks, like sabotaging his fellow classmates'' chairs without them noticing the weaving or the spell, destroying a part of Eren''s bra without her realizing it, turning Margie''s robe purple... this had backfired towards both of them, and other stuff that made Martyn lose faith on the mental age of his friend. This week, he even tentatively started to approach Kat''s outer weave to see if he could pass unoticed.


    *


    Evan was looking at his opponent, his mind ready to leap to the spells the moment that the signal would be given. Recalling the previous matches, the first time, he could see the weak weave of the barbarian reaching all the way towards him, but the second time the weave seemed to reach it''s peak about half way through, this time as well it stopped midway.


    As the match started, he tried acceleration once more, only this time he put a lot more mana on his circle. He felt his spell fizzle as the barbarian was charging towards him once more. Much more composed, he knew now that blocking that beast of a man wasn''t really an option, so he tumbled to the right, barely dodging the hit.


    Son of a bitch is fast for his size he thought as he saw the long blade already turning to follow his movement.


    This time he simultaneously started to cast acceleration on himself, deceleration on his opponent''s blade and absorption on his own blade. He saw Martyn''s face twitching in frustration as he felt two of his spells fizzle. Instantly noticing which spell was cast, he brought his blade in front of him, adding his second hand as a brace, and blocked the hit. This time, the absorption taking most of the brunt and keeping his balance.


    He was already on his feet, jumping back to gain distance.


    It isn''t that his weave falls midway... the bastard''s threads are so thin that I can''t even see them. Realization hit Evan. At least it seems he can''t control them all that well. Let''s try this.


    Counting on the distance he had gained, he tried to cast four spells simultaneously, his limit and not something he could do casually. He saw Martyn lunging his unaturally long sword in a wide arc, and Evan instantly realized his mistake in calculating the distance due to his normal opponents being a few heads shorter than Martyn.


    He brought his blade to block the hit, but suddenly Martyn''s blade changed trajectory, reading his parry and making it obsolete.


    Evan had to let all of his spells fizzle away as his full concentration went into dodging the blow. But he saw the large man pressing forward, not letting him take a breath.


    Abandoning every notion of quadracasting anything under that pressure, he went back to hs previous triple casting. Acceleration, strengthening and a wind blast were all countered this time. And he saw Martyn''s face brimming with joy as Evan narrowly sidestepped another fatal blow but in doing so left himself open to the finishing strike once more.


    Loss at hand, Evan through caution to the wind, and started casting two spells. A destruction spell aimed at his opponent''s sword and a fly on his own. This time, instead of power, weaving the tightest weave he could in the circle protecting them; sacrificing most of his speed to do so.


    Even though he couldn''t see it with his sight, his weave was tight enough that he finally started to feel it as Martyn''s threads tried to penetrate it. He felt as the shatter spell was disrupted, but he barely managed to finish the flying one. And watched his blade leave his arm and blocking, aided with the absorption from before, the hit.


    He tried to dodge underneath Martyn''s hand, but the clear differance in battle experience showed its face once more as Martyn kneed him as he was passing through.


    On the ground once more, he saw Martyn''s sword rapidly descending towards him and made a desperate last effort using his previous dual casting technique; only to be awarded with the captain yelling "The winner is Evan" as he pointed towards the blade floating right next to Martyn''s neck.


    This time neither spoke as they took their starting positions once more.


    *


    Martyn didn''t know what time it was. The sun had gone down a long time now, and only an illumination spell, courtesy of their only spectator left, Donnie, allowed them to still compete. He was feeling the day''s work taking it''s toll on his body already as he wiped his sweat away with his dirtridden robe. At least Evan was seemingly in a worse condition than him, panting audibly for air.


    "Really guys... isn''t it enough already? We get it, you are both awesome." Donnie interrupted the duo as they were walking once more to their starting positions. "What makes it this round? Eleven wins for Martyn and nine for Evan? You both look like corpses. Hell, even *I* could take you on now."


    Martyn looked at Donnie, and noticed that Evan was doing so too. But his opponent wasn''t leaving, and so he was staying still too.


    He watched as Donnie casually strolled towards him, taking him by the hand and shouting towards Evan. "Sorry Sir, I don''t know what you spellswords have planned for tomorrow, but I certainly know that our teacher will kill Martyn if he looks even half as crap as he looks now. So, I''m stealing him away."


    Martyn saw Evan lowering his blade. The boys hatred and rage had transformed midway their duels to determination and zeal. And he knew that the same light shone on his own eyes as well.


    "Very well barbarian." Evan tried to sounded as menacing as he could with his small body and exhausted as he was. "This time is my loss. If you don''t show up for a rematch next sunday... I''ll make you regret it."


    Martyn smilled as he nodded. "Ha! Just don''t run crying to your mother after I beat you two weeks in a row... And the name''s Martyn, not ''Barbarian''."

 World map

    Author''s notes:


    Unfortunately, it took me longer than expected to actually transfer my hasty hand drawn map to a respectable picture, so the actual chapter will be delayed by one day. Sorry.


    Is it readable/clear/nice?


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I don''t want to clutter the map with names and such, anyone has any nice idea of how I could insert them unobtrusively?

 Chapter XII: Revelations

    Author''s notes:


    This chapter took a bit more than expected because it came out much bigger than I thought it would. I even thought about splitting it up to two, but I decided that it''s better as one piece. I hope you enjoy. As always, critique, good and bad alike, is always welcomed.


    Chapter XII: Revelations


    Martyn looked at the clear sunlight bursting throught the wide windows in the large common hall they were standing. Around him his classmates and the rest of the new apprentices were already forming pairs as instructed. The lively atmosphere created by the chattering people around him as they tried to mingle reminded him that they were, in it''s core, just a school. The intense duel a few days ago, his own harsh self training, everything else that contrasted with the peaceful and excited youth around him was dwarfed by the laughs, shouts and arguments echoing all around him.


    "Hey! I think Margie is checking you out man!" Donnie whispered next to him.


    When the teachers asked them to form pairs, the two of them were the obvious choice. People were still cold or afraid towards him, and Donnie hasn''t made things easier for himself by earning dozens of nicknames from the female populace of the academy, none of which was of the playful type.


    "The same way you said Lorrie was checking you out before she fireblasted your ass Donnie?" Martyn shot back.


    "Hey! Not cool, she was just shy. She''ll come around, you''ll see. But really, Margie IS checking you out. Look she is coming towards us!"


    Martyn looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, and looked towards where Donnie''s eyes pointed. To his utter surprise, the short redhair was indeed walking towards them, her eyes glued to his.


    As she approached, she turned her head towards Donnie, and with a deadpan stare she spoke in her usual, flat, manner.


    "Leave Donovan."


    "Wha..."


    "I''ll pair up with Martyn for this exercise. Find someone else."


    "That''s not fair! Bond with him after this! Whom am I supposed to pair with if you take up our hulking friend here?"


    "...I don''t care? Why don''t you ask that blonde you keep drooling over? Now leave."


    Martyn was dumbfounded as he kept staring at the two people arguing about him, completely ignoring that he was sitting just in front of them.


    "Eh... guys, I don''t think that..."


    Ignoring him, Margie interrutped him, still having her attention focused on the boy next to him.


    "Look, leave now and I''ll consider that incident with my robe forgotten. I''ll maybe even consider telling to the few girls I know that you''re not a complete lecher."


    A bright smile shone on Donnie''s face as he shot up from where he was standing.


    "Well, I don''t think that people see me as a lecher, but if you insist so much, I don''t see why I can''t try! Mind you, If I don''t find anyone... worthwhile... to pair up, I''ll be back!" He said as he was already making his way towards a small assemply of girls from the s5 class that seemed to be of odd numbers.


    "What was this about?" Martyn asked, eyeing the short girl suspiciously. In his mind, scenarios of her having an issue with him were already being formed. No good will come out of this he thought to himself.


    Margie calmly rearranged her robe, fixed her glasses, and looked him straight in the eyes.


    "There are rumors floating around that you defeated that brat, Evan, in a duel."


    It wasn''t a question. Martyn felt like she was just retelling facts.


    "You used counterspelling to do so, against a, so called, prodigy spellsword. Impressive."


    "...And?"


    "I want you to try to do this against me. Now."


    As she spoke, a circle started forming in front of her palm. Promted by her, almost, command Martyn releashed his mana threads, easily bypassing her thin circle. As his mind caught up with the event around him, he noticed that it was just a protection spell, although not similar to what he already knew. Instantly relaxing that she wasn''t try to kill him for whatever reason, he took a breath trying to recompose himself.


    His momentary distraction allowed the spell to finish uninterrupted. And out of nowhere, Martyn found himself surrounded by a sphere made out energy.


    "You are not taking this seriously I see. So I''ve modified my spell a bit. It''s a complete protection bubble. Not even air passes through. Simply speaking, you would suffocate in it. Any chance for you to interrupt me would also have to pass through the sphere protection as well. Giving me the upper hand to keep this going. Boom. I''ve just killed you."


    She finished as she dispersed the spell, her gaze never leaving Martyn''s, wide opened eyes.


    "Once more, focus this time. Take me lightly again, and you''ll regret it."


    Martyn, still unable to understand what, and why, this was happenning, nodded. This time, his full concentration was focused on the spell as it was being woven.


    Once more, he easily slipped through the circle, but as he reached the actual runes he was surprised to see that they were almost impeccable made, rivaling his own that took ages to form regardless if Margie made hers in an instant.


    Counterspelling was based on disrupting the runes; to do so you just had to slip your own threads into the spell. But to do so, there had to be some form of edge, tear, imperfection on the actual rune to use as an entry point. Basically, as long as you had as fine threads of mana as Martyn''s, it was almost trivial to do so in all of his tries so far, but against a perfect rune, it was impossible.


    "There" Martyn saw a tiny hole, enough for his threads to slip in after a few seconds of proding and feeling the spell.


    He split his threads even more in order for them to fit in, but before he had time to finish, his mana sight was cut as the protective bubble once more formed around him.


    "I thought I told you to take me seriously."


    "I did. I just wasn''t fast enough."


    This time Martyn didn''t wait for her. He had already seen the spell as it was being cast. His threads had already penetrated the weave of the bubble around him, and with a pull, he undid them, dissolving the spell by himself.


    "I didn''t counter you because your weaving was excellent, not because I didn''t try. There are still holes though, and I''m sure that next time it won''t be a guaranteed success for you. Even against Evan, I wasn''t able to counter all of his spells, just some. It''s the same against you as well."


    "So you''re just reaffirming what I know. That Evan is a fool. A spellsword should focus on just a few spells and make them perfect. If he had done so instead of trying to play the wonder boy and master a gadzillion spells, you would have lost... interesting."


    "I''m not sure. Even against you, who have much firmer control than him, I still found gaps in your runes. So... all this masquerade with Donnie and pairing up was just so you could test me?"


    "Perhaps. You said you found holes in my casting. Let''s try again."


    This time it was easy for Martyn. He didn''t know if he had upset her, no emotions were visible on this one''s face, but he found an imperfection on her runes almost instantly, and countered the spell with ease.


    "...I see. You''re not just words. Where was the flaw?"


    "I wouldn''t call it a flaw, but the weaving on your second rune was a lot less dense compared to the first time."


    "Hmm, then let''s..."


    "Attention apprentices."


    Kat''s sharp voice, aided with magic, echoed through the hall. Behind her, Master Tisior stood, surveying the people around him.


    "I hope you already formed pairs as instructed. We are now going to teach you the rudimentary healing spells. Remember, even if you think you know them, it is forbidden to use them unless you are given direct permission from an adept, life or death situations exluded of course. Master?"


    Tisior looked once more around him before he cleared his throat and started speaking, loud enough to be heard by all, but not using tricks like Kathlyn to enhance his volume.


    "Under my, and my adept''s, instructions we will show you how to close a simple wound on a fellow member. This is something you cannot do to yourself, hence the pairing. Even if you do know how to heal yourself, don''t even think of doing so. I trust that you found someone whom you can trust with this, since they will be directly manipulating your inner mana. Keep in mind that we are here so as to make certain you won''t do any permanent harm to your fellow apprentices, but also know that if you would indeed cause such harm, the least you need to worry about is expulsion. Anyone who fears he is not good enough may leave. Now, as for the actual spell..."


    *


    It was Martyn''s tenth try, and he was finally feeling like he was getting the hang of it. Of course, Margie easily casted a perfect version of the spell three times in a row, as she did know it, and had practiced it hundreds of times before.


    It wasn''t the lengthy, difficult incantation the problem. Nor was it the detail that it was required so as to make certain that you won''t somehow mess up with the inner mana of a person. What overwhelmed him the most was the beauty of one''s inner mana, one''s soul, in such a thorough examination as the one required by the spell. It mesmerized him as he watched its currents ebb and flow within the body.


    He located the wound and traced the mana around it. Where the solid mana was cut, tiny tendrils, like someone had hastily cut a raw, corse fabric, danced around; desperately trying to reconnect with the strands on the other side of the cut. He gently pushed them closer using his own mana, trying to make them touch each other, and started forming the incantation. When he was certain that there was not a single flaw in it, he raised his hand, never losing sight of either his own threads keeping Margie''s on place, nor the ones that were forming the dozens of runes a few centimeters above the actual wound.


    Seeing his hand in the air, an adept approached and started inspecting the runes.


    "Looks fine, complete it" He gave his permission.


    As Martyn finished the spell he saw the tendrils touch each other and, like an unstopable torrent, Margie''s inner mana rushed to fill the void and repair the damage. Within seconds, the tiny cut on her hand closed.


    Martyn reveled at the sight. The beauty of the spell lied in it''s simplicity. With just a fraction of his own mana, the patient''s own inner reserves took care of the actual repairing of the body. Always trying to bring back the body in it''s original, pristine condition, the only thing one had to do was to momentarily bridge the gap of the inner mana where it was severed, and it took care of everything afterwards.


    "Forgive me apprentice, but we need to make certain that everyone feels comfortable enough to cast this even in dire circumstances" Tisior''s soft voice echoed above both of them.


    In the blink of the eye three spells formed around his palm. The first one erased any kind of mark the hastily closed wound would have left on the skin, the second removed all feelings of pain from Margie''s hand, and the third one caused her arm, from the elbow till the wrist, to fill with ten small slashes.


    "Now, close those on your own. Call us only if you think you did something stupid."


    As the master mage and the adept left, moving on to the next pair of raised hands, Martyn heard Margie sigh.


    "Ok... this is officially boring. You know the spell, have done it already perfectly ten times, and we still haven''t finished our earlier discussion."


    Martyn, focusing on the mana, trying to find all the loose, cut, strands of her mana, heard her voice only as something akin to background noise.


    Unfazed, she continued. "So, how about it, since you''ll take like half an hour to finish, I''ll start casting shield spells and you''ll tell me where their faults are."


    Martyn had nearly moved the strands into place when out of nowhere the inner mana started bulking and swirling violently as it rushed towards Margie''s uninjured hand. Terrified he looked up, towards the point of origin of the chaotic motion, only to see it rushing out of her body and forming thin strands of mana as they started making some shielding runes. Margie''s voice was much more clear to him this time as she spoke once again.


    "Good, it seems I finally have your attention. Now, tell me, are there any flaws in my incantation?"


    "Are you crazy? I could have completely sever your mana flow!"


    "No you couldn''t. Such a tiny scar you are fixing, at most would have left a tiny hole in my outer mana sheath that would repair itself within the day. It doesn''t fit a barbarian to be a crybaby over such small matters, think of it as extra exercise, monitoring both my inner and outer mana at once. Now, tell me, or else I''m really going to pour all my mana into this spell and this will definitely mess up my inner mana."


    Her voice had her usual matter-of-fact statement tone. It wasn''t a question or an order, it was like she was simply stating what was to happen. But what made him pause was her eyes. In such a close proximity it was the first time he could see them clearly despite the thick lenses of her glasses, and despite the tone of her voice, they held countless emotions. He could clearly see excitement running wild inside them, a hint of passion and just enough mischievousness dancing within them. But what really threw him off balance was the fleeting presence of a deep caring expression as she glanced over her own spell; it was more like a mother looking her child rather than a worker his tools. For a moment he felt as mesmerized by those eyes as when he was looking at her inner mana.


    "So?" Her blant voice once more interrupted his train of thought. "Any flaws? Remember, this is training, keep checking my spell and keep trying to make your own. You''ll never be able to cast more than one spell at a time if you don''t practice such rudimentary techniques."


    *


    "The weaving on your third rune now is weak. And I can still see some flaws on the second one." Martyn told her as he was desperately trying to keep control of his own spell.


    With each cast it was becoming harder and harder to keep up. Each time he would point a flaw in her spell she would simply let it go and refine it even more, based on his observations, till he would have to thin his vision even more to spot the tiny cracks in her weaving. Of course, it wasn¡¯t a perfect method, when someone had casted a spell the same way hundreds of times it was tough to simply alter it on the spot. Old flaws would keep re-emerging and her new corrections would usually just last for a try or two. Her speed had also slowed down to a crawl as she tried to weave her threads with as much precision as she could muster.


    On the other hand, her inner mana was slowly depleting and was a swirling mass of chaos, making his own attempts to find the cut strands a nightmare.


    He heard her muttering "Good, Good¡­" but he wasn¡¯t sure if it was directed to him or her own self as she once more formed her shielding spell based on his corrections. But as she let it dissolve, without waiting for him to examine it this time, she turned to him and spoke; this time there was no mistake whom she was addressing.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Good. Consider yourself to be under the employment of the Ragrid family from now on." She declared.


    "What?" The confusion was enough for him to completely lose the few stray edges that he had find.


    "Well it is only a matter of time till people realise the value in such sharp eyes, and your stupid duel with Evan will only expedite this. It would be unfair for another, stuck up, noble to claim you, especially since I¡¯ve been watching you since you started doing that thing you do with piercing the academy wards. Not to mention that my family is one of the few around here that could actually make use of your talents in serious matters and not stupid politics."


    "I still can¡¯t understand you. Claim me? For the time being, the only thing I want is to perfect my craft and then return to my people."


    This time there was pure sympathy as she looked him straight in the eyes.


    "Poor soul.,, you still think they¡¯ll let you leave unconditionally? There is not a chance for that, especially when they¡¯ll realize your value. You are in the hornet¡¯s nest here. Most of the people you see come from the most prestigious families of the plains; even nobles from the capital. They¡¯ll wrap you up in servitude without you even realizing how it happened."


    "Like how you¡¯re trying to scare me now? I won¡¯t be manipulated so easily as you think Margie."


    "Oh? Won¡¯t you? Let me tell you then. Your good friend? Donovan? He claims he is from a minor family from the borders, right? You can relate to him, he is easy going and maybe a bit too foolish. A guy you spend all this time with. Now me? I wouldn''t trust him at all. I am from a minor family in the borders as well. I can¡¯t tell you if he is outright lying or a real fool, but no one from a minor family that I know of would ridicule himself to the political monsters that roam these halls. We are too prideful for that, and occasions such as these are one of the few ways we can forge or reinforce alliances. And without a strong ally... you die. Ridiculing oneself just for the fun of it isn¡¯t usually an option for us. And the second one? Kathlyn? I¡­ I wouldn¡¯t touch this one with a ten foot pole. But if you feel confidant that you won¡¯t be lured in, then I can simply offer you a deal."


    Martyn looked at her again. A mask of deep sadness was covering her face as her eyes wandered around, like recalling something, like this whole speech was directed to her and not him.


    "So, here¡¯s my deal shaman. I¡¯ve been granted special privileges by the countess for access in the academy¡¯s library. There is no better place for someone to study runes, no better place for someone trying to learn all the known enchantments. I can extend that privilege to those who work for me. I do not hide the fact that with your help I can perfect my own magic far beyond what I could by myself. And my magic, my shielding, is the only way I have to protect my men, the paltry amount of soldiers that keep my city safe. So here it is: If you can find an error in my next, and last, spell, I will grant you this access for free. If not, I will again grant you this access, but in turn you¡¯ll work for me. I would advice you to take the deal."


    Martyn felt like he wanted to help this girl. From somewhere within he saw her as a fragile being calling for help, and something was urging him to protect that. Regardless, while what she spoke made sense, he was confident in his ability to judge people. And sure, Donnie might be hiding something, but he had spent enough time with him to be almost certain that there wasn¡¯t anything malicious with him. And really, who didn¡¯t hide anything? Even he was holding in countless secrets. And Kathlyn? After the initial, over the top, approach, seemed to be genuinely interested in him, his magic and his progress.


    But access to the library was a big thing. Something reserved for adepts. He would save valuable time if he didn¡¯t have to wait till he rose in ranks to study there. Time that he could spend back in his homeland, seeking answers. And he had seen what the girl could do, he was certain that he could find flaws in anything she could cast.


    "Sure, let¡¯s do this."


    He saw the familiar runes forming in front of her clenched fist. No protective circle this time around them, not that it would matter. As he traced them with his own mana, trying to find the expected flaws, panic started taking over him. He couldn¡¯t see any of the previous gaps and tears in them.


    Was she luring me all along? Can she actually weave thinner than I can see? No. It doesn¡¯t make sense, she wouldn¡¯t need me if this was the case.


    His freedom and pride in the line he started splitting his threads even thinner than before. Still, the runes seemed completely perfect, not a single blemish on them.


    Impossible he thought as he kept trying to split his thread even more, his head thumbing with a brooding headache.


    And then it happened. In the blink of the eye, from his previously forgotten threads inside of her, he saw her inner mana transforming. Where there used to be a sea of solid mana, now he was seeing that in reality it was just a bungled up mess of million, barely perceptible, threads that coiled and moved, and split, and danced and constantly kept moving inside her. All around him, there wasn¡¯t a single solid source of mana. Even the weaves of his other fellow apprentices, they were just a bunch of spiraling, coiled, thin threads, even thinner than his own, that they bunched up together until they were at their perceived thickness.


    And the inner mana in front of him, the mass of uncountable tiny threads that gave the illusion of the previous solid state, he could now easily see where it was cut. What he previously thought that were the few perceivable cut strands of mana, he could now distinguish that it was because the actual hundreds of cut mana strands had bunched up together in a few, thick, bundles.


    There was something else in those edges, something just outside his perception. Ignoring his splitting headache, he willed his threads to become even thinner. And there it was.


    Each of the bundles had a slightly different texture. Some were coarser, other had a slightly different hue, others were slightly edged and others smooth. He followed them towards the mass of the strands that were the inner mana. True to his inkling, the individual strands had the same varying textures. He could count thirteen different textures and hues, the smoothest, completely round, one was the crushing majority of the threads though.


    He switched, focusing his sight on his own threads, and surely enough, The same thirteen textures were present as well. But in his own outer weave the smooth one was the minority, while the rougher one, and another, slightly edged one, was the majority of the strands.


    As in a trance, he didn¡¯t even bothered with the shielding spell. Instead he casted the healing spell on the strands he was surveying. He saw them slowly unwinding, separating to individual strands again, as they reached towards their counterparts, conjoining and repairing themselves.


    For a split second his whole field of vision blurred, but he kept looking at the strands becoming one with the mass of inner mana again. Something far away was disturbing him.


    "¡­in"


    "¡­in"


    "Martin!"


    A violent motion brought him back, as his mana sight completely closed, leaving him only with his own normal vision. He head was feeling like someone had hit it with a club repeatedly, and his eyes burned, searing pain invading through them at the sight of the abundant sunlight around them.


    Margie had turned him to face towards the wall, and positioned herself between him and the rest of the class, like she was trying to shield him from their view. There was a hint of anxiety in her motions, but unbridled excitement oozed from every pore of hers.


    "You saw something! Your threads suddenly disappeared, and then your eyes started shining and your face brightened up in pure ecstasy! What? What did you see? Are you ok now? Can you see me?"


    Her hands slightly trembled from the fear and the excitement as she reached and took out a cloth napkin and started to wipe off something wet out of his face.


    As Martyn slowly regained his senses, his eyes and head still hurting like demons were picking them apart, he saw the bloodied napkin. Margie''s akward movements seemed to have started drawing a bit of attention from other pairs around them as well, including a few of the adepts; one of which started walking towards them curiously.


    "Close your eyes now Martyn, they can''t see you bleeding now." She whispered as she wiped off all the last of the blood stains off his face.


    As the Adept reached them, Margie looked up towards him and in her casual deadpan voice barked at him.


    "Do you mind? My partner almost finished healing me as you can see. Give him some space."


    Confused at the order, the young adept moved back, muttering something about entitled apprentices on his way.


    "So? What did you see?"


    Martyn was still trying to organise the thoughts on his mind, but what mattered the most to him at this moment was for the constant nagging that only helped making his headache even worse to stop.


    "I saw you cheating."


    "Cheating?"


    "The last spell didn''t come from you. It came from a mana source within your hand."


    Margie smiled as she opened her fist, revealing a small ring with an inlaid, tiny, translucent stone.


    "You mean this? This is the signet ring of the Ragrids." She said filled with pride. "Given to us by the emperor himself to commemorate our ascendance into nobility. It''s the symbol of authority of the leader of the family. A Crystal ring that produces a perfect, personal, shield."


    "Yeah... so our deal is off."


    "How so? What part of the original agreement spoke against the usage of items?" She smirked as she continued. "I won''t hold you for that deal. Those were just words spoken between friends. But I think I made my point. Any other noble would have this agreement in writing, and would have you in their clutches by now. You didn''t even inquired what the terms of servitude would have been."


    Martyn looked up puzzled towards her.


    "Maybe you aren''t as clever as you think barbarian. People here can be vicious to take what they want. My offer to work for me stands, and I urge you to quickly make up your mind, because you will be bound to someone sooner than you think. As for what you actually saw... I''ll let you tell this to me by yourself when you want, but don''t think even for a second I didn''t realise that you saw something else when you peeked at my magic. For now, let''s talk about something different. Tell me of your homeland. You are from the savage north right? That place always amazed me!"


    *


    As the lesson concluded and Margie left, he saw Donnie casually strolling towards him. His usual expression was gone this time. Martyn could swear that it was the first time he was looking concerned. Margie''s opinion about him instantly crossed his mind.


    "You''re ok there bud?"


    "Eh... yeah. Tired from the lesson."


    "I thought I saw Margie doing something weird to you at a point, you''re sure?"


    "Yeah Donnie, don''t worry..."


    Donnie sighted as he looked at the girl''s back as she was leaving in the distance.


    "It''s a tragic story really... but don''t let her drag you in her pit of paranoia."


    "Her what now?"


    Donnie''s face twisted in a comical and puzzled grimace as he looked towards him.


    "Didn''t she tell you? Haven''t I told you about her before?"


    "Tell me what?"


    "The girl''s a mess Martyn... and it''s not even her fault. You really don''t know about her family at all?"


    "Stop being annoying man, I can clearly see that you want to tell the story, just do so!"


    "Ok, ok. She is from a small city right at the border. So, sixty years ago, during a war of her county, against some tribe of yours, they were just in the middle of all hostilities. During such a skirmish, her grandfather, a master support mage, managed to keep a whole platoon of warriors shielded, preventing the fall of the town against the barbarian assault. After this feat, he naturally assumed the leadership of the platoon, and kept the city safe, just by himself and those people, until the end of the war. The emperor then, in recognition of his talents, made him a noble and gave him control of the city.


    But as it turned out, all this was nothing but political maneuvering from the duke of the province. With her grandfather now a noble of the city, he retreated the county''s troups out of there in order to stop having to support such a distant martial force, claiming that it was her grandfather''s ''right'' to defend his area.


    Regardless the fact that everyone thought that the duke had abandoned the area to it''s fate, too close to the forest to defend properly, the Ragrids proved to be excellent negotiators; especially her father. Loved by the city folks, and through his peaceful views, he even managed a truce between them and the barbarians.


    Before long, the city prospered as a major trading route between your people and ours. And when everything seemed to be going smoothly, the disaster happened. Someone assassinated the whole family. Margaret Ragrid, Margie, was the only survivor, and the rumors say that this only happened because her father used his seal to protect his baby daughter, effectively sacrificing himself.


    Amidst the chaos of all this, the duke reemerged, leading the investigations to find the ''culprits''. Of course, since then Margie was just ten years old, he also appointed a regent of his own to run the city until she will be of age. And under the pretenses of a few guards the duke has posted, he keeps siphoning, through the regent, all the money that comes throught the commerce."


    "Her family was murdered? A noble family and no one did anything?" Martyn interupted him.


    "Everyone knows that the guy is dirty. Everyone knows that he had some sort of connection to the murder. But of course, no one will talk against one of the ten strongest families in the whole continent.


    And so Margie has slowly become a paranoid girl who thinks that every noble is dirty, that every one of us is seeking to either harm her, or that we spend all of our time simply manipulating everyone around us.


    The girl doesn''t has a single genuine friend, for her, everyone is an enemy. And it''s a shame really, they say that she is a genius when it comes to spell design, having made her own spells even from before she became an official apprentice.


    The first time I saw we were in the same class, I instantly tried to befirend her. Tried to show her that not all nobles care that much about politics and aren''t all a bunch of backstabbing assholes. But she took offence at my approach, she even thought that I was somehow trying to trick her so as to take advantage of her.


    Heh... I''m sure if you chatted with her a bit there wouldn''t be a single noble that she wouldn''t find somehow ''suspicious''


    As much as I want her to be happy... for a barbarian who people already see as an outsider... I wouldn''t spend too much time with her if I were you. Hell! People already think you are wierd because you spend time with me!" Donnie tried to finish up with a more cheerful undertone. But he quickly realised that after all this, a joke wasn''t enough to ease the atmosphere.


    "...I see." Martyn said; some things clicking into position. "Gotta go rest now Donnie, this lesson really tired me, see ya tomorrow."