| Power |
E-1 |
| Reserves |
E-0 (Effective Attribute Value: E-3) |
| Versatility |
E-1 |
| Control |
E-2 increased to E-3 |
Spiritual Sub-Level: E-1 increased to E-2
Her eyes swept over the screen, widening as she took in the subtle yet unmistakable shifts. They eventually settled over the increased User Level and the rewarded points.
ATTRIBUTES
USER LEVEL: E-3
[Unallocated Attribute Points: 1]
[Unallocated Progression Points: 1]
Mags exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the two rewards. I should probably wait to discuss these with Malacoda, she thought. Buuuttt¡ The anticipation was too much and she couldn¡¯t wait for the following day.
She focused on the unallocated Attribute Points.
[Assign Attribute Points?]
Yes, but to which Attribute.
Malacoda had explained that Yggdrasil will directly make any corresponding changes to her body, mind, and spirit. One point doesn¡¯t seem like much, but if it automatically levels up a single Attribute that¡¯s actually huge. But where do I place it?...
First, she considered her Physical Attributes. They were head and shoulders above her Mental and Spiritual Attributes. Did it make sense to continue to build advantages she may have in those categories? Or help improve her lagging Dexterity?
Then, there were her Mental Attributes. They were all pretty even across the board. None of them stuck out as the obvious choice. Maybe Intelligence, so that I can increase my threshold for Attunable Items? . . . And I am about to enter an Academy, so it may come in handy in the day-to-day grind.
Her eyes drifted to her Spiritual Attributes and she knew at once it would be where she would assign her Attribute Point. They were, to put it kindly, pathetic. What was the point of finally becoming a Soulsinger if she was handicapped by her low Spiritual Attributes?This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
[Reserves: E-0 (Effective Attribute Value: E-3)]
If it wasn¡¯t for the Angel¡¯s egg, I¡¯d have a zero value in mana reserves. She would effectively still have a dull soul. She depended on the power of the Angel¡¯s egg to even give her the barest of mana for using her Soulsinging. And since when did I just sit back and depend on the generosity of others? And with more reserves, I¡¯ll be able to use my Spells and Skills more often.
With her mind made, she assigned the point to Reserves.
[Reserves: E-0 increased to E-1 (Effective Attribute Value: E-4)]
A familiar wave of energy pulsed through her, starting as a soft warmth in her core that she assumed would spread slowly, gradually expanding her mana. But almost immediately, that warmth turned into something sharper, hotter¡ªlike liquid iron being poured through her veins.
A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she gripped the stone edge of the balcony as the warmth grew into a scalding pain. She could feel Yggdrasil¡¯s changes spreading through her body, as though her very soul was being tugged apart to make room for something larger. It felt like her lungs were straining against an invisible weight, her chest heaving as if she were struggling for breath. Her aura, her reserves, were stretching¡ªas though an unseen hand was carving a deeper pit within the core of her soul.
Her hands clutched harder against the stone railing, her fingers going pale at the knuckles as the pain built upon itself, layer upon searing layer. It was as though Yggdrasil had turned her mana into a forge, and every cell of her body was being pounded into shape against an unyielding anvil.
She was dimly aware of the stars above, the vastness of the sky that seemed both a comfort and a cruel mockery in her agony. Her vision blurred, spots dancing at the edges, and she had to bite down hard to keep from crying out. It felt like her body was tearing itself apart in the silence of the night.
And then, all at once, the tension snapped. A deep, powerful sensation spread through her, washing over her body and its mana channels like cool water extinguishing flames.
One the pain fully subsided, she recalled Yggdrasil¡¯s interface, this time prompting it to allocate her one Progression Point. What this resource accounted for was less obvious than the Attribute Point, and she was curious to see what information, if any, Yggdrasil provided.
A screen of text appeared.
[USER LEVEL E-3 PROGRESSION POINT ALLOCATION]
[Please select option.]
[Skill: Aura of Fear]
[Skill: Aether Manipulation ¨C Aerial]
[Spell: Phantom Strike]
[Spell: Devouring Pulse]
¡°Erm . . . Can I get an explanation?¡±
The script in front of her expanded.
[Skill: Aura of Fear]
[Description: User creates a spherical area of fear. The aura extends in every direction causing fear within those in the aura¡¯s influence. The strength of the effect and the range increase with each level in this Skill.]
That could be useful. The Skill reminded her of the aura that the Maldrath exuded¡ªit could paralyze some people. That would be useful in a fight, though it depended on how strong it was as a starting point. The aura exuded by many of the common Maldrath was easy to resist. Or would mine be automatically as strong as the Angels¡¯? She thought of the paralyzing dread and fear she felt being in the presence of the Angels in Solstice.
Mine would probably begin on the weaker side, and I would need to use it continually to level it up.
She examined the next option.
[Skill: Aether Manipulation ¨C Aerial]
[Description: User has improved ability to manipulate ambient aether in the environment beyond channeling aether to create aura. They can hold their body in the air using threads of aether. The user gains increased altitude, movement capabilities, and increased control with each level in this Skill.]
Is this saying flying would eventually be possible purely through aether manipulation? Now, there was an exciting thought. I¡¯ll keep this one in mind as a possibility.
[Spell: Phantom Strike]
[Description: Spell applies to a single physical attack. User is able to bypass any physical object or obstruction (inorganic or organic) and land a strike on a target on the other side of the object or obstruction. Range ¨C The target must be approximately five feet away. Range expands at higher levels.]
Wow. Mags¡¯ mind raced with the possible applications of the Spell. Even if she didn¡¯t select this Spell, she hoped there would be future opportunities to select it upon a later increase in her User Level.
She turned her attention to the final option.
[Spell: Devouring Pulse]
[Description: Requires Void Cloak to be activated. User fires their void cloak in a concentrated pulse, extending 10 feet in every direction. The pulse wave will disrupt all active aetheric activity. At higher levels, the Spell¡¯s range and power will increase, eventually being capable of canceling all active magic within the blast radius.]
This Spell was an interesting choice. Mags thought of what Malacoda had explained to her about the nature of void elemental abilities. In a form similar to Void Cloak, it was practically unseen. The only similar power was the effects of naturally occurring resources such as voidsteel and voidstone. It is likely something unique to me being an Angel, she echoed in her mind.
Is this the choice Yggdrasil wants me to take? It would offer an element of surprise, and would be useful in combat. If she could cancel an enemy¡¯s Soulsinging, it would put Mags at an advantage against almost any equally leveled opponent, placing their physical capabilities against hers.
She thought about it for a few moments longer, and then made her decision. In her mind, she selected the option she wanted and a second later felt a warm sensation within the core of her body. Luckily, it wasn¡¯t anything remotely like what she felt when increasing her Reserves.
[New Spell: Devouring Pulse]
[Level: D-5]
[Root Affinity: N/A]
[Range: 10 feet; sphere]
[Current Mana Cost: 40%]
Forty percent was a steep cost. It effectively meant she only have one use of the Spell in any real combat opportunity. It was disappointing, but the level of the Spell was higher than she anticipated, which probably meant it had decent strength. She wouldn¡¯t be able to practice with it before her battle with Malacoda, but was already thinking through the number of ways she could apply the new Spell during their fight.
Her decisions having been made, Mags took in a deep breath of the crisp, night air, and then quietly made her way back to her room, finally ready to get some rest before her final day at Bijel Garden.
42. Versus Malacoda I (Measure)
Chapter 42
Versus Malacoda I (Measure)
Morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Mags¡¯ room, washing the stone walls in a muted glow. She opened her eyes to the sound of distant songbirds and the faint rustle of leaves outside, her body heavy with sleep. For a moment, the day felt just like any other at Bijel Garden¡ªanother morning to rise early and train. The familiar rhythm of routine settled over her, and the weight of the tests ahead seemed to shrink.
Mags swung her legs out of bed, feeling the cool, worn stone beneath her bare feet. She pushed away the nerves that churned in her stomach, heading for the small basin tucked into the corner. A wooden bucket filled with fresh, clear water sat beside it, and she poured a few ladles over her face and hair. The cold shock woke her fully, and she shivered before settling into the soothing rhythm of her morning routine.
By the time she dressed and descended the tower stairs, the smell of toasted bread and savory herbs was already wafting through the quiet halls. The dining room was dim, lit by a handful of oil lamps that pooled warmth over the long wooden table. As she entered, she spotted a familiar figure already seated, stirring a steaming mug of tea.
¡°Early as always,¡± Rubicante said, his crimson robes muted in the soft light. His copper eyes were kind, the corners crinkling as he offered her a gentle smile. ¡°Sit, Mags. I was starting to wonder if you¡¯d sleep through your big day.¡±
Mags returned the smile, settling onto the wooden bench across from him. Breakfast was simple: freshly baked bread, a wedge of soft cheese, and a handful of dried fruits, arranged neatly beside a bowl of porridge. She poured herself a cup of tea, savoring the comforting heat against her palms.
¡°Did you sleep well?¡± Rubicante asked, raising an eyebrow as he spread a layer of jam onto his bread.
¡°As well as I could.¡± Mags shrugged. ¡°Feels strange, knowing what¡¯s ahead.¡± She didn¡¯t dare to mention the strange dream she had. Focus on the task in front you, she reminded herself.
He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea. ¡°The nerves will pass. You¡¯ve prepared well, and today is just another step on your journey. Nothing more.¡±
¡°I spent years hunting Maldrath and keeping a criminal lord at bay, and yet here I am, a bundle of nerves at the thought of a few tests.¡± She snorted. It sounded even more ridiculous hearing it out loud.
Rubicante chuckled. ¡°That is how life often works, it seems.¡±
She chewed on a piece of bread, her appetite oddly unbothered by the anticipation of the tests. She had expected to have to force each bite down past the knot in her throat, but sitting here, in the quiet, familiar space, with the gray-skinned Shamablan man across from her brought an unexpected level of comfort.
Rubicante set his mug down, studying her with that patient, observant gaze she had come to expect from him. ¡°You should know,¡± he began, a hint of warmth in his voice, ¡°that I have no test for you today.¡±
Mags blinked, surprise flickering across her features. ¡°No test? But I thought¡ª¡±
¡°You¡¯ve already proven yourself to me,¡± he interrupted gently, a small, almost secretive smile tugging at his lips. ¡°You have a sharp mind, Mags. You think carefully about everything you do. I¡¯ve seen it time and time again, in every lesson and every quiet moment when you thought no one was watching.¡±
He reached across the table, placing a hand on hers¡ªa rare gesture of affection from the usually reserved instructor. ¡°You¡¯ve grown, not just in knowledge, but in wisdom. You¡¯ve learned to weigh your choices, to act with caution even when it¡¯s difficult. That, to me, is enough. You¡¯ve passed.¡±
Mags felt a swell of warmth in her chest, a weight lifting that she hadn¡¯t realized she was carrying. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, her voice a little rougher than she intended. She tightened her grip around her teacup, the warmth of it grounding her.
¡°Now,¡± Rubicante continued, his expression shifting to something more solemn, ¡°I wish you luck with Libicocco and Malacoda. They have their own ways of measuring a person, and I trust you¡¯ll rise to the challenge.¡±
Mags nodded, determination flickering in her eyes. She would face whatever came next, just as she always had¡ªone step at a time.
They finished the meal in companionable silence, the soft clink of dishes the only sound between them. And when she finally rose to leave, Rubicante¡¯s parting words echoed in her ears like a blessing:
¡°Trust in your instincts, Mags. They¡¯ve carried you this far, and they¡¯ll carry you farther still. And in your challenge with Malacoda, he will attempt to break you. Don¡¯t be afraid of it when it happens . . . Find what¡¯s left after you¡¯ve been broken, and use that to keep pushing forward.¡±
She left the dining hall with her head held high, feeling a strange mix of calm and anticipation settle over her.
Lady Celestine¡¯s library was austere¡ªjust a high-ceilinged room of smooth stone walls, lined with shelves holding scrolls and tomes whose contents Mags had largely devoured over the last months. A single table stood in the center, with two chairs facing each other. Libicocco was already seated, a cup of iced cava at her side, her severe gaze locked onto Mags the moment she stepped inside. Mags tried to steel herself, smoothing her shirt as she took the seat opposite the stern-faced instructor.
¡°Let¡¯s begin,¡± Libicocco said without preamble, her voice crisp and clear. She launched immediately into a series of questions on mathematics. This particular line of questioning was also laced together with questions on aetheric principles.
The fact pattern involved a Soulsinger with a User Level of D-2, using Physical Enhancement and threads of aura to manipulate and pull a stone of a certain weight in a specific direction, assuming a consistent aether environment of 100 units per cubic square foot of space, replenishing at a steady rate, and that there is standard gravity.
Mags didn¡¯t hesitate, responding with the formula she had memorized weeks ago at this point, detailing the exact rate of conversion and the various considerations. Libicocco listened without expression, her eyes boring into Mags like a hawk¡¯s.
But as soon as Mags finished, Libicocco pressed her further, drilling into the nuances of her response with questions that twisted in unexpected directions. She also changed the fact pattern in several ways, seeing how it would impact Mags¡¯ original responses. Mags quickly realized there was no room for shallow answers¡ªLibicocco was probing for depth, for understanding beyond the surface level, and Mags rose to the challenge. She didn¡¯t just answer, she anticipated. Before Libicocco could even finish one question, Mags would have the follow-up ready, her answers swift and confident.
¡°. . . and that would be the probable result, assuming that they were using a compatible Root, in this case Stone to channel the aether.¡±
¡°What about the nature of resonance feedback between disparate Roots? Say, Water and Fire?¡± Libicocco asked, her brow furrowed.
¡°Depends on the specific density of the aether at the point of intersection,¡± Mags answered. ¡°If you¡¯re in a high-concentration area like near the Green Sea or Hecate¡¯s Tower in Valhadryan, the interference is minimal due to saturation¡ªreaching levels of up to 3,000 units per cubic square foot¡ªbut in lower-density zones, the backlash can be severe enough to cause physical rupture of the conduit. In most cases, it simply limits efficiency, like affecting the boulder using aether channeled using Water, but in other cases it can be dangerous, like drawing on Water and Fire simultaneously. That¡¯s why Soulsingers who have multiple Root affinities need additional levels of control and mastery.¡±
Libicocco¡¯s gaze narrowed. ¡°And what would you recommend to mitigate such a rupture in the case of such individuals?¡±
And so the test continued.
Two hours of relentless questioning passed this way¡ªon the mechanics of Soulsinging, on history, on obscure details about the ancient Ivaldi artifacts she had studied, and on the shifting balances of political power between the major regions. Mags¡¯ mind was ablaze, firing on all cylinders as she kept up with Libicocco¡¯s fierce pace. There were moments when her breath caught, moments when her palms slicked with sweat, but she didn¡¯t falter. She knew this information, knew it like the lines of an ancient song carried in her bones.
At last, Libicocco leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin, and regarded Mags with an appraising look. A long, tense silence followed. Mags forced herself to stay still, to not fidget under the woman¡¯s intense scrutiny.
Finally, Libicocco let out a long sigh, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile ghosted across her lips. ¡°You¡¯ve passed,¡± she said, and Mags felt the tension between her shoulder blades lift, and her stomach begin to do flips in excitement. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you honestly, Mags¡ªI would not have been so hard on your during these past couple of months if I didn¡¯t think you could handle it.¡±
Mags let out a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding. Relief, fierce and warm, welled up inside her, and she managed a shaky smile. ¡°Thank you, Coco,¡± she said, but the older woman raised a hand to forestall her.
Don¡¯t call me Coco, Mags thought, cutting off the anticipated resistance against the friendly nickname. She was surprised when Libicocco didn¡¯t mention it at all, a silent acceptance of the name.
¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. Brightwash will be a challenge, and Wrifton . . . Well, you¡¯ll soon learn that it¡¯s a place with its own demands and expectations.¡± Her tone was even, but Mags detected a note of caution beneath it. ¡°But if you¡¯d taken any of the regional exams today, you would have easily passed the written portion¡ªlikely outperformed most of the candidates. So, know this: you¡¯ll be there on merit, like everyone else. You¡¯ve earned a spot at Brightwash.¡±
Mags¡¯ eyes widened. She had known she was prepared, but hearing it said so plainly sent a thrill of excitement through her.
Libicocco¡¯s expression grew distant, as though she were looking not at Mags, but at something beyond her, something only she could see. Her fingers twitched, tracing a line in the air that made Mags shiver for reasons she couldn¡¯t quite grasp. ¡°I see the threads of Fate,¡± Libicocco murmured, her gaze still unfocused, ¡°and they are pulling you, stronger than ever, towards Wrifton. The current is unyielding.¡±
Mags swallowed, not quite understanding what that meant, but sensing the importance of it. Libicocco rarely mentioned or outwardly used her abilities as a Fateweaver. ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked, her voice quieter now, almost afraid of the answer.
Libicocco¡¯s eyes snapped back to Mags, the strange spell broken, and she offered a final nod. ¡°You will understand soon enough.¡± She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose.
¡°Now go. Rest, and be ready for your next challenge. That fool Malacoda will be expecting you at your best.¡±
Mags rose slowly from the chair, her legs a little shaky, but her heart soaring.
The clearing behind the towers was wide and open, the perfect stage for a duel¡ªif it could be called that. On one side, the soaring, ancient structures of Bijel Garden loomed, their balconies dotted with figures who had gathered to watch the match. On the opposite edge, the Sanguine Trees swayed gently, their deep crimson leaves casting a bloody hue over the western horizon. The low rumble of the sea murmured from below the cliffside, waves crashing relentlessly against jagged rocks that lay far below. The salty scent of the ocean breeze mixed with the faint, metallic tang of the temple grounds.
Mags stood in the center of the clearing, her bare feet planted firmly in the cool grass. She wore a simple pair of trousers and a linen tunic and nothing else. The Pocket, in its miniaturized form, sat comfortably in her own pants pocket.
From above, a dozen eyes watched¡ªCalcabrina¡¯s bright, eager gaze; Libicocco¡¯s studious intensity; Rubicante¡¯s amused calm as he sipped a cup of tea that sent wisps of steam curling into the breeze. And further up, standing apart from the others, was the masked figure of Scarmiglione, his face inscrutable beneath the black mask he always wore.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
But it was Captain Frey Sarto¡¯s eyes that Mags felt most keenly¡ªpressing against her back like a brand, golden and unforgiving, judgmental and ready to decide her fate. A single mistake could mean everything. Her fingers twitched, and she could feel the swell of nerves tightening in her stomach. Sarto¡¯s presence was a reminder of the stakes. This sparring match was more than a test; it was a reckoning.
¡°Are you ready?¡± Malacoda¡¯s voice cut through the silence, casual yet edged with a subtle tinge of excitement. His stance deceptively open. He stood across from her, his arms loose and relaxed, hands in his pockets. His buttoned shirt, opened in the front, flapped in the sea breeze, revealing the lean muscle beneath, the sinuous lines of someone who moved like water in battle. His eyes, however, were focused¡ªsharp and bright, hungry for the challenge ahead.
Mags swallowed hard. But she grinned anyway, excitement fluttering like a caged bird in her chest. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± she said, and was surprised by how steady her voice sounded. She focused on her breathing, channeling a thin trickle of aether into her veins, feeling it mix with the power already thrumming through her entire body. It calmed her, grounded her.
¡°Good,¡± Malacoda said, and his face split into a wide grin, lopsided due to the scar that split across lips. ¡°I expect you to bring everything you¡¯ve got. No holding back, understand? I¡¯m not here to coddle you. And, if I¡¯m bored, I¡¯ll pulverize you even harder in retribution for wasting my time training you. Got it?¡±
¡°No holding back,¡± she echoed, feeling the fire in her belly surge. A flicker of pride danced in her eyes. She¡¯d prepared for this moment¡ªtrained and fought and studied. Her body was taut with anticipation, and every fiber of her being was tuned to the battle that was about to unfold.
They bumped knuckles¡ªa warrior¡¯s gesture of respect¡ªand then retreated to their respective sides of the clearing. Mags could feel her heart hammering in her chest, but her mind was clear, focused. She took another deep breath, letting the wind off the sea whip around her in chaotic swirls. She pulled in more aether, burning a small amount of mana to channel the power. Her senses were alive, hyper-focused, and the world seemed to sharpen around her.
Malacoda watched her, his posture relaxed, his eyes unblinking. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing.
Mags didn¡¯t hesitate. With a burst of aura, she rocketed forward, moving faster than she ever had before. The ground blurred beneath her, and her aura flared to life. She moved like a wraith, her form a flicker in the afternoon air, darting from side to side as she closed the distance between them. Her fist lashed out, crackling with energy¡ªa strike aimed at Malacoda¡¯s ribs.
He moved with impossible speed, his body flowing like liquid. He caught her wrist with a casual flick of his hand, redirecting her blow effortlessly, and in the same motion, his leg lashed out like a whip. Mags barely had time to twist away, feeling the gust of displaced air as his kick passed inches from her face.
She pivoted, ducking low, and sent a sweeping kick towards his right thigh. But he danced away with ease, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if he were merely taking a morning stroll. His expression remained calm, almost bored, though Mags knew better. He was testing her¡ªseeing what she could do, feeling out her limits.
She pressed harder, moving faster, her strikes coming in a relentless barrage. She twisted and spun, her footwork light and agile, every movement designed to keep him guessing. But Malacoda never faltered, never lost his footing. He countered each blow with a smooth, effortless grace that made it seem like he was moving before she even decided to attack.
And then, just when she thought she had him pinned¡ªan opening on his left side, ideal for a punishing hook¡ªhe struck. A single, swift jab to her solar plexus, so fast and precise that she barely registered the movement until it was too late. Her left hand, still cocked back and poised to strike, sat suspended in the air. Pain exploded through her torso, and the breath was driven from her lungs in a single, harsh gasp. She staggered back, clutching her stomach, the world spinning.
¡°Too predictable,¡± he said, his voice like barbed iron. ¡°Your footwork is good, but you rely too much on your speed. Adapt, Mags. Think.¡±
She gritted her teeth, tasting blood, and forced herself upright. She had been reinforcing her body by channeling aether, but might as well have been wholly undefended. How hard was that punch of his? It seemed so effortless. The pain sharpened her focus, burned away the haze of doubt. She had to be smarter. She had to use everything she¡¯d learned.
She took a slow, steady breath, feeling the aether coil around her, ready to be harnessed, to be unleashed. Malacoda watched her, still as a statue, hands back into his pockets, waiting. Bored. And from the balconies above, the silent audience leaned forward, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.
Mags¡¯s breath came in quick, ragged bursts. Her heart pounded as she reached slightly deeper into her reserves, drawing in a steady flow of energy. The air around her crackled, and for a brief moment, exhaustion was burned away, like dew before the morning sun. It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside her. Aether surged through her body, fortifying muscle, bone, and tendon, sending a rush of raw power to her limbs.
Through her training with Malacoda, her Physical Enhancement Skill had increased from an E-8 to an E-9. It was time to put it to full use.
She bolted forward, feet a blur on the grass, each stride consuming the distance between her and Malacoda with blinding speed. Her surroundings blurred into streaks of green and blue; only Malacoda remained clear¡ªa calm figure amidst the chaos, hands still tucked lazily in his pockets.
She struck first, a straight jab aimed at his chest, but he was already shifting, a subtle tilt of his body that sent her fist slicing through empty air. She pivoted without hesitation, following with a backhanded strike and a low kick, each move fluid, each blow backed by aether-enhanced strength.
Malacoda danced around her attacks with a casual grace, his movements almost languid. He moved only as much as was necessary¡ªstepping aside to let her fist pass by, leaning back just enough to avoid her kick. The ground barely shifted beneath him as if the earth itself respected his presence.
She gritted her teeth, frustration flaring, and pressed harder, her fists and feet becoming a flurry of strikes. Yet, each time she thought she might connect, he was already gone, weaving through her assault like a shadow on the wind. His eyes were steady, unblinking, not a hint of exertion touching his brow.
In desperation, she leapt up and twisted mid-air, another roundhouse kick, this time aimed at his temple¡ªa move Malacoda had seen her practice hundreds of times. He didn¡¯t flinch. His right arm shot out, catching her leg with a single, iron-strong hand. The sudden stop jolted through her body, and she felt the tightness of his grip bite into her shin, sending a flash of pain up her leg and spine.
¡°Not bad,¡± he said, his voice light and teasing. A slow smile crept across his lips, and then he moved.
Mags had just enough time to brace herself before he spun, pivoting on one foot and using her captured leg as leverage. The world blurred as she was flung through the air, wind rushing past her ears. Panic flared, and she fought the instinct to flail, instead tightening her core and curling into a roll just before impact.
She hit the ground hard, but the momentum carried her, and she let herself tumble, dispersing the force. Grass and dirt blurred around her as she rolled twice before snapping up into a low crouch, her muscles burning. Her lower leg ached where his fingers had squeezed, leaving a deep, throbbing bruise beneath the skin. She grimaced, forcing herself to rise, ignoring the sting.
Malacoda was still standing in the same spot, his smile widening, as if the whole exchange had been nothing more than an amusing game.
Then, he took a step back, and something shifted in the air¡ªa change that Mags felt deep in her bones. His gaze never left hers as he raised one hand and snapped his fingers.
She focused on her [Aura Vision] and was shocked at the amount of aether being pulled from the area towards Malacoda. It was as though he were the eye of a miniature hurricane.
With a soft hiss, water pooled beneath his feet, forming a perfect circle six feet across. It was so dark that its surface was like a disc of black glass, a pool of midnight reflecting the pale sky above. Mags¡¯s breath caught as a ripple spread across the surface of the water, and from its depths, a flash of silver flickered.
The fish appeared slowly, swimming up from the darkness¡ªa school of shimmering, silver shapes, glowing with an iridescent blue, each no bigger than the palm of her hand. They swirled around him in a hypnotic dance, moving in perfect synchronization, their scales catching the light and glowing with an ethereal luminescence that she knew to mean they were constructed of pure aura. They moved faster and faster, forming a whirling vortex of light and shadow around Malacoda, obscuring him from view.
¡°That¡¯s a neat trick¡± Mags muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing. She¡¯d heard about his abilities while training under them, but had few opportunities to witness any of his spellcasting¡ªa manifestation of his connection to the Root of Water. She¡¯d been warned, but seeing it was another matter entirely.
The fish moved like living creatures¡ªdarting, turning, their movements impossibly precise as they swam through the area. Mags watched them carefully, trying to find a pattern, a weakness, anything she could exploit. Her nerves were tight, coiled like a spring, but she kept her breathing steady. This was still a sparring match. This was still a test. A test you need to pass. Now, think Mags! What does this spell do?
Through the shimmering dance of fish, Malacoda¡¯s eyes found hers, and the grin that stretched his face was one of sheer delight. It was the look of a predator¡ªhungry, taunting, daring her to take the next move. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can even land a punch on me, hm?¡±
Mags dropped into a low stance, the ache in her leg forgotten. Her fingers curled, and she summoned the aether around her, drawing it in until her body thrummed with potential. She¡¯d trained for this, every beat of sweat and bruised knuckle leading to this moment. Think, decide, act!
She took a slow, deliberate breath. It was time to show Malacoda just how much she¡¯d learned.
Trust in your instinct, she reminded herself, and with a fierce grin of her own, she charged.
Her advance was immediately halted. The fish launched at her like a storm of silver knives, each one hurtling through the air with a speed and precision that made Mags¡¯s heart skip a beat. Malacoda¡¯s hand was still tucked in his pocket, his grin widening as the fish scattered in every direction and then converged on her in a deadly wave.
Mags didn¡¯t hesitate. She pulled in aether with the speed of instinct, feeling it rush through her veins like liquid fire. Her fingers flexed, and she burned mana, letting the familiar cold embrace of the [Void Cloak] wrap around her. The cloak settled over her skin, a shadowy veil of roiling dark silver energy, making her outline blur and shimmer. She let her body move on pure reflex, hands blurring as she batted away the incoming barrage.
Her fists became hammers, smashing through the glowing fish one after another. Each impact sent a silver-blue flash splintering through the air as the constructs burst apart, their aether dissipating into mist. Her jabs were precise and brutal¡ªquick, snapping strikes that shattered anything on target. A fish dove for her head, and she ducked low, spinning beneath it before driving her fist upward in a vicious uppercut that destroyed it mid-flight.
They kept coming, relentless and endless, a shimmering tide that bore down on her. She danced between the attacks, shifting her weight, rolling her shoulders, letting the momentum of one strike lead fluidly into the next. When a fish came too fast, she pivoted and spun, the [Void Cloak] flaring and twisting around her in streaks of disintegrating silver. She felt the chill of power coursing through her body as she increased the amount of aether she channeled¡ªthe familiar, comfortable cold that sharpened her senses and hardened her resolve.
But with every fish she struck down, another took its place. Through the corner of her eye, Mags saw the pool beneath Malacoda¡¯s feet ripple, its dark surface bubbling as fresh constructs emerged, their scales glistening like liquid moonlight. The new fish joined the swirling storm around him, each one forming seamlessly out of the black water. The cycle was unbroken¡ªno matter how many she destroyed, the source remained untouched.
She gritted her teeth, sweat mingling with the chill of the [Void Cloak] as her mana reserves burned faster and faster. Aether thrummed through her like a living current, heightening her movements, guiding her strikes, but the strain was beginning to build. The edges of her vision blurred, and she felt the first twinges of fatigue in her limbs. She still had a lot of her reserves left, but they were far from limitless and she knew she couldn¡¯t keep this up forever.
Another volley shot towards her¡ªshe spun and caught them with a cross-jab, her knuckles splitting through the glowing bodies like they were made of glass. But there was no sense of triumph. The pool below Malacoda shimmered with a dark, unbroken calm as more fish leapt forth to join the assault.
The realization hit her like a blow to the gut. She was pinned. Every move she made, every strike she landed, was already being countered before it began. It was a battle of attrition, and Malacoda had all the advantage. He didn¡¯t even need to step forward; he could hold her here until her mana ran dry, and she would be left defenseless.
She ducked under a streaking blur, the fish barely missing her shoulder, and tried to center herself. Her breaths were quick and shallow, her aura burning hotter, and she felt her reserves start to wane.
The aether pool under Malacoda¡¯s feet was calm, a bottomless reservoir that fed the ceaseless onslaught, the fish swirling around him in an elegant dance. He was playing with her¡ªkeeping her locked down, watching, waiting for her to make a mistake. His eyes, calm and amused, flickered behind the shifting wall of fish, and Mags felt the sharp edge of his challenge leveled at her like a blade. He was testing her endurance, her strategy, her willpower. Do something or you will fail, his smile said.
She stepped back, dodging two fish that swooped for her legs, and her gaze locked onto the pool at Malacoda¡¯s feet. The surface shimmered, smooth and dark as a mirror. Her mind raced. He was trying to deplete her reserves, forcing her to spend precious mana while he remained untouched. The aether constructs were replenishing themselves faster than she could destroy them.
Think, Mags, think! She couldn¡¯t keep up this pace forever. She needed to change the flow of the battle, to break free of the pattern Malacoda was forcing on her. The realization solidified in her mind¡ªshe couldn¡¯t win if she played his game. She had to change the rules.
One of the fish shot in too close, and she twisted to the side, smashing it with a rising elbow. The silver-blue aether burst apart like a shattered star, momentarily lighting up the shadowy edges of her [Void Cloak].
Another fish darted for her face¡ªshe dropped low, narrowly dodging it and driving a palm-strike forward, obliterating two more in a flash of silver. Her movements were growing more desperate, her strikes lacking the crispness they¡¯d had at the start. Her mana reserves were depleting, and each second she burned more just to keep the [Void Cloak] stable, just to stay in the fight.
Malacoda stood above the dark pool, watching with that same patient smile, the water rippling softly beneath him. The waves of fish spiraled outward, darting toward her with unerring precision. And Mags knew, deep down, that her window was closing. It was now or never. She focused her attention on Malacoda, drawing a path in her mind between herself and him.
She set her feet, took a deep breath, and let the [Void Cloak] flare around her. She burned more mana, pumping her aura into [Void Cloak], increasing the size and power of the shroud of energy. It was time to gamble everything. Time to make Malacoda fight on my terms, not his.
43. Versus Malacoda II (Limit)
Chapter 43
Versus Malacoda II (Limit)
Mags surged forward, her heart a hammer in her chest, each beat timed with the thunder of her feet against the ground. Aether poured through her veins, a river of power that pulsed with the rhythm of her desperation and resolve. She flared her [Void Cloak], letting the shroud of silver aura thicken around her like an armor of roiling energy, trailing in smoky tendrils that flickered with each stride.
The fish came at her, a flurry of glimmering silver-blue projectiles, but this time, she didn¡¯t slow or dodge. She forced herself forward, leaning into the onslaught, pouring more aura into the [Void Cloak] until it blazed around her. The fish struck the shroud of aura with the force of a hundred thrown knives, their aether-formed scales bright and sharp, but each one shattered as it collided with the [Void Cloak]. Tiny explosions of bright blue aura scattered in her wake, crackling like bursts of starlight in the dim glow of the afternoon sun.
She gritted her teeth and kept running, feeling the burn of her mana reserves thinning with each impact. Her shroud absorbed each strike, dispersing the force in rippling waves, but the strain was mounting. She gritted her teeth and pushed through, pumping more aura into [Void Cloak]. The [Void Cloak] was hungry, devouring her aura as quickly as she could produce it by burning mana, and she could feel the chill of its hunger biting into her flesh. She hoped it could withstand a few more blows as she barreled towards Malacoda.
Malacoda remained a an unyielding figure amidst the chaos, his silhouette framed by the silver-white halo of the fish swirling in a tight, protective formation around him. His grin was infuriatingly calm, his posture relaxed, as if he was watching a child playing a game he knew they couldn¡¯t win.
Not this time, Mags thought, anger and determination blending into a single sharp point of focus. Her gaze locked onto Malacoda¡¯s, her target clear. Her muscles coiled, tension building in her legs, and with a burst of speed, she leaped into the air.
The school of fish swarmed to meet her, the shimmering barrier between them tightening, each aether-construct¡¯s eyes glowing with an ephemeral light. For a heartbeat, she hung in the air above him, the world narrowing to the sound of her own breath and the cold, rhythmic thrumming of her [Void Cloak]. Her instincts, honed by months of training, flared to life. Every sense sharpened, and the moment stretched to infinity.
Now!
The aether within her churned, roared, and Mags felt a quake deep within her soul¡ªa shift as she reached for her ability, mentally commanding Yggdrasil to activate her new Spell. In that instant, she triggered [Devouring Pulse].
A stillness fell over the world, freezing everything in a breathless instant. The light dimmed, and colors drained away, leaving the clearing washed in shades of black and white. The fish, suspended mid-dive, hung like frozen shadows around her, and Malacoda¡¯s face was caught between surprise and anticipation. A twinkle still in the corners of his eyes.
Then the pulse hit.
It was as if her body had become the center of a star¡¯s collapse, the [Void Cloak] snapping outward in a concentric wave of silver wind. The aura she¡¯d accumulated burst from her like an expanding shockwave, consuming everything in its path. The pulse surged through the school of fish, and the constructs erupted, their forms disintegrating into a swirling vortex of shadow and light. Aether splintered, shimmering fragments scattering into the air like shattered glass, leaving nothing but a hazy afterimage where the fish had once been. The dark pool beneath Malacoda¡¯s feet shuddered and then vanished.
For a fraction of a second, the world was silent, frozen in the wake of her unleashed power. Malacoda¡¯s eyes widened, twin suns of molten crimson, but his smile never wavered. Instead, it deepened, stretching into a grin of fierce delight, as if he had been waiting¡ªexpecting¡ªfor this very moment.
The pulse ebbed, and color bled back into the world. The shattered remnants of the fish faded into dust on an invisible breeze, leaving Mags alone in the air, descending upon her target. She¡¯d broken through his defenses. Malacoda was no longer protected by his Spell, and in that very moment was open to an attack. The rush of adrenaline was fading, and the backlash from the mana drain on casting [Devouring Pulse] racked her body.
I have to press the attack! Despite the heaviness leaking into her muscles, she didn¡¯t hesitate. With a swift, practiced thought, she mentally accessed her Pocket¡ªa space that existed somewhere between reality and thought, a small demi-space that could only be accessed through the Soulsinger attuned to the Artifact. The familiar weight of her inventory settled into her mind in a fraction of a second, like the pages of a book being flipped open. She already knew exactly what she needed and drew it forth with a mental tug.
In an instant, Mithra, the broad and short Ivaldi blade, appeared in her outstretched hand, materializing from nothingness. The jet black surface of the blade shimmered as it took shape, a wide, flat weapon with a sturdy edge that gleamed in the light of the clearing.
Arm already in motion, Mags brought Mithra down with all the force she could muster, letting the momentum of her fall carry her. The blade cut through the air, a heavy arc of inevitability aimed directly at Malacoda. His smile didn¡¯t falter, didn¡¯t waver, and even as she bore down on him with the weapon that had appeared as if from thin air, he spoke.
¡°Clever girl,¡± he said, and his voice was calm and amused, as if they were exchanging pleasantries over a cup of tea.
Mithra slammed down, the weight of her desperation and fury behind the strike. But instead of meeting flesh, the blade bit into the earth with a muted thunk. Dirt and grass exploded upwards as the heavy weapon dug deep into the ground, missing Malacoda by the smallest fraction and twisting into the earth as it bit down. Mags blinked, bewildered¡ªshe¡¯d been sure her aim was perfect¡ªonly to realize that Malacoda was standing on the flat of her blade, hands still casually in his pockets, and one boot firmly planted on the steel as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her eyes widened in shock, but before she could react, Malacoda¡¯s foot shot out with brutal speed. She barely registered the movement before his boot connected with her face. Pain lanced through her skull, a blinding white flash as the force of the kick sent her head snapping back. She felt the crunch of cartilage as her nose broke, blood spurting from her nostrils. Her vision swam, stars dancing at the edges, and she was thrown backward, landing hard on her backside.
Her breath hitched, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth as she gasped for air, shock and pain radiating through her skull. She could feel the hot trickle of blood running down her lips, warm and sticky, staining the front of her clothes. She blinked, trying to clear the tears that blurred her sight, and saw Malacoda¡¯s face hovering above her, a bemused look in his fiery eyes.
¡°You almost had me,¡± he said, his tone approving, even admiring. ¡°That trick with the Spell was brilliant¡ªa move I didn¡¯t see coming. You shattered my defenses in a single strike.¡± He paused, leaning back to regard her with a nod. ¡°And summoning your weapon mid-air like that? Smart. Very smart. I¡¯m impressed.¡±
He stepped off Mithra¡¯s blade, his boot lifting with a soft whisper of steel. Mags pushed herself up, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her sleeve. Her face throbbed with pain, her vision still blurred from the blow, but she refused to look away from him. There was no anger or mockery in his eyes¡ªonly the genuine admiration of a teacher who saw his student rise to a challenge, even if coming up short.
¡°Get up,¡± Malacoda said softly, a hint of challenge in his voice. ¡°You¡¯re not done yet.¡±
Mags¡¯s fingers tightened around the hilt of Mithra, her body screaming in protest, and she forced herself to stand.
Malacoda was within her guard in a flash. His fist slammed into her ribs, and Mags felt the air rush from her lungs in a harsh, ragged gasp. Her feet skidded backward, but she didn¡¯t fall. A storm of blows followed¡ªcalculated, relentless, each hit a reminder that her training here had only scratched the surface of what true mastery looked like.
¡°Don¡¯t hold back,¡± Malacoda taunted between strikes, his voice calm and somehow detached, as if they were playing friendly game rather than engaged in a battle of raw power. He swung again, and Mags barely managed to parry the blow with a hasty block, her arms screaming with the effort. His fist slammed against the flat of Mithra¡¯s blade, sending shockwaves through her arms. ¡°I know you¡¯ve got more left in you! Show me!¡±
Her mind raced, adrenaline mingling with the aching burn of mana exhaustion. What do I have left? she thought. The fight had already drained so much from her reserves, but she could feel a faint, dwindling spark within. An Angel Flare Strike. Maybe one . . . if I push it. Deep within her, she could sense barely enough mana for the Spell. She would need to execute the timing perfectly. Just one shot.
She let him get in closer, allowing the punishing blows to force her back step by step. Pain radiated from every strike, each one that broke through her defenses hammering into her ribs, her shoulders, her arms. She gritted her teeth, keeping her eyes locked on him. The impact of every blow jarred her bones, but she watched, waiting, feeling the rhythm of the fight, until she saw it¡ªan opening.
In that instant, she mentally recalled Mithra, pulling it back into her Pocket. Malacoda¡¯s fist went through air as the blade vanished. Mags took the opportunity to step into his reach.
She drove her fist forward, a quick, sharp jab. Malacoda¡¯s eyes narrowed, his arm moving to block¡ªjust as she¡¯d hoped. She triggered [Angel Flare Strike]. A ripple of void-infused energy burst from her knuckles, a spear of darkness that surged into his forearm. The void energy twisted like a living thing, writhing around his muscles. Malacoda grunted, his face tightening with discomfort¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t enough. It barely slowed him.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
His retaliation was immediate, brutal. The flurry of blows hit her like a drumbeat of iron. She felt her knees buckle, the ground tipping beneath her as she was driven back. Her world became a blur of pain, the edges of her vision spinning. She barely registered the moment she hit the ground, the rough dirt digging into her back as she lay sprawled and gasping for breath.
Through the haze, she saw Malacoda¡¯s face twisted into a frown, disappointment flashing in his eyes. He turned away, his gaze lifting to the balconies above them¡ªthe silent witnesses who had come to observe her trial. Frey Sarto¡ªthe judge and executioner. For a second, Mags saw a plea in his expression, a question unspoken: Has she done enough?
But whatever answer he received from above made his jaw clench. He turned back to her, his shoulders squared and his expression hardening. ¡°Get up!¡± he barked, and before she could respond, his fist found her side again. Pain bloomed, electric and fierce, and Mags¡¯s breath came in jagged gasps. He hit her again, relentless. ¡°Dig deeper!¡±
Mags forced herself to her feet, limbs shaking, muscles burning with every movement. Her reserves were running on fumes. Aether flared in her veins like white fire, pushing her beyond her limits. She wasn¡¯t sure how she even stayed upright¡ªwhether it was sheer willpower or some instinctual force within¡ªbut she managed it, fists still raised, blocking what blows she could. The rest slammed into her battered frame, each one feeling like it might be the final strike to topple her.
Her body was screaming at her to stop, to give in. The taste of blood was thick in her mouth, her vision a kaleidoscope of blurred shapes and shadows. Malacoda¡¯s strikes had become a merciless rhythm, each one a drumbeat against her failing defenses.
Then, she fell again. The world turned to cold dirt and distant noises, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs, the eerie stillness of the onlookers watching her struggle. She was on her back, and it felt like she would never get up again. Blood trickled down her chin, her breath a ragged wheeze as she coughed, each convulsion sending fresh agony through her bruised and battered body. Darkness edged her sight, the world spinning away.
I¡¯m going to die here, she thought, feeling the hot press of tears sting her eyes. Whatever it was that Sarto wanted from her, Mags couldn¡¯t deliver.
But even as that thought settled in, she felt it¡ªfaint, but unmistakable. A pulse. A second heartbeat thumping beneath her own, like a drum hidden deep within her chest. It thrummed there, vibrating in time with her own, but colder, sharper. It was a presence, like a well of darkness nestled where her reserves usually lay, alien yet familiar. It was power. Dark and dangerous, but power all the same.
What is that? The question shot through her mind, cutting through the pain and panic. It didn¡¯t matter. There was no time to think, no time to doubt. Malacoda was still coming, his shadow looming over her, his eyes gleaming with the intention to strike again.
Desperation clawed at her, and with a final, ragged breath, Mags reached out with her mind. Her consciousness dove inward, plummeting down into that strange well, reaching for the pulsing darkness that echoed within her chest.
She touched it.
A shudder ran through her, electric and chilling, as if she¡¯d plunged her hand into icy water. For a heartbeat, everything froze¡ªher pain, her fear, even the world around her seemed to stop, suspended in that single, aching moment. She could feel it¡ªraw, terrible power surging through her veins, twisting and shifting, an unfamiliar presence coiling around her mind.
Then, the darkness answered.
Malacoda stood over Mags, watching as her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. Slowly, almost mechanically, the girl pulled herself to her feet. Her face was a mess¡ªbruised, bloodied, and covered in dirt¡ªyet she refused to look away, her eyes locked onto him with a fire that hadn¡¯t quite been extinguished. He admired that stubbornness, even if it was utterly foolish.
He glanced back up towards Frey Sarto, still perched on the high tower balcony with that detached, unyielding presence. Sarto¡¯s face was unreadable, her eyes fixed on the battered girl before him. Her golden, ringed eyes flickered briefly to him, just long enough to send a silent command: Keep going. He felt the pull, the invisible leash wrapped around his throat.
¡°Enough,¡± he muttered, shaking his head. He would stop. There was no honor in beating up a kid who had nothing left to give. Mags had proven her resilience, if not her strength. But Sarto¡¯s gaze bore into him, and he felt the desire to obey, to give into the freedom of control, tighten around his neck like a noose. Continue. It clawed at him, pulling at his will, a suffocating compulsion. He swallowed it down, forcing his defiance to the surface, but the pull faded as quickly as it came. He knew his duty. And if he didn¡¯t follow through, Sarto would carry out her will herself, which would be a worse fate for Mags. No. He had to keep going.
In that moment he couldn¡¯t help but feel his own pangs of disappointment. Was this really it? He had been promised the opportunity to fight an Angel unlike any other. A force of nature capable of being honed and controlled. He took another look at Mags¡¯ beaten and battered face. This is not what I imagined.
¡°Sorry, kid,¡± he muttered softly, preparing for another strike. But then the air shifted.
A faint shiver rolled up his spine, every hair on his arms standing on end. Something was . . . different. His senses flared, instincts roaring to life. He stepped back, his head tilting in confusion as a strange energy flickered around Mags¡¯s barely standing form.
¡°What¡¯s this now?¡± he asked aloud, half to himself.
Mags began to move, but not with the sluggish determination she¡¯d shown before. This was something else¡ªher limbs jerked as if an invisible force were pulling them, like a puppet being yanked to its feet by unseen strings. Malacoda¡¯s eyes narrowed, a hint of unease worming its way into his confident facade. The aura around her changed, warping and intensifying. It wasn¡¯t the usual glow of aether being drawn by a Soulsinger¡¯s body¡ªthis was something else, something far more unnatural.
Golden light spilled from Mags¡¯s body, twisting and bending until it surrounded her in a blinding halo. It stretched, growing taller, wider, until it formed a shape¡ªhumanoid but towering, a full two feet taller than she had been standing a moment before. The figure was a silhouette of pure golden radiance, its edges shifting like flames caught in a breeze. It was featureless, save for two circular eyes that burned like molten metal, piercing and impossibly bright. Its hands were tipped in claw-like fingers. Around its head floated a circlet of starlight.
The pressure in the air grew heavier, pressing down on Malacoda¡¯s shoulders. Even after multiple encounters with the extinction-level threat Maldrath, he still felt an animalistic twist of fear in his stomach. A primal thrill, buried deep in his core, a raw panic that signaled to his uncomprehending brain that what he was seeing was unnatural, maddening and a threat to his very being.
He was in the presence of an Angel.
With calm practice, he stomped out the primal fear. He couldn¡¯t fight the wide smile splitting his face. Finally. He glanced back up towards Sarto¡¯s balcony, and this time he saw the faintest shift in her expression¡ªa pleasant smile curving her lips. Those golden eyes of hers now glinted with satisfaction. So this is what you wanted? Malacoda thought, a wry chuckle bubbling up in his throat. The Angel¡¯s power had awakened, and now it was his job to face it head-on. ¡°Happy to oblige.¡±
He turned back to Mags¡ªno, not Mags, not anymore. Whatever stood before him was something altogether different, something dangerous and raw and barely contained. The white-hot eyes fixed on him, and he felt his legs twitch with excitement.
¡°Well,¡± he said, grinning as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. ¡°Look at you. All dressed up and nowhere to go, huh?¡±
The towering figure didn¡¯t move. It simply watched; the intense glow of those featureless eyes boring into his soul. Malacoda¡¯s grin widened, his vanity and confidence crashing against the tide of dread that rippled in the back of his mind. He had to admit, he loved the thrill of it¡ªthe challenge, the feeling of staring down something that shouldn¡¯t be possible. He wanted to take the impossibility and make it succumb to his will.
¡°Come on, Angel,¡± he taunted, his voice light and teasing, though his muscles tensed in preparation. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can hit me this time.¡±
He braced himself, every fiber of his being alive with anticipation. Finally, something interesting is happening.
Mags lay on her back, the coldness of stone biting into her scalp. Her body felt heavy and numb, the fight drained from her limbs. For a moment, she thought she had blacked out¡ªuntil she blinked and realized that the sky above her had vanished. Gone were the drifting clouds, the shimmering glow of aether in the saltwater air, and the white stone towers of Bijel Garden.
Instead, a dim, otherworldly moonlight hung above her, casting strange, wavering shadows across the walls of a familiar room. Her breath hitched as she recognized the chamber¡ªthe cold, empty space dominated by the ancient altar and the strange, pulsing egg that seemed to draw the very air around it.
No . . . not here. Not now.
She forced herself to sit up, even as the weight of her own exhaustion pressed down on her. And there, crouched atop the altar like some dark bird of prey, was the shadowy figure¡ªthe outline of a young boy, his eyes burning like twin embers in the darkness. Two bat-like wings, made of the same liquid shadow as the rest of his body, extended from his back, casting twisted shadows on the cold stone floor.
¡°Enoch,¡± Mags whispered, her voice hoarse and cracked. That¡¯s what the creature had called itself, though Mags couldn¡¯t remember how she knew that.
The boy-like shadow¡¯s eyes met hers, wide and haunted, filled with a strange mixture of anger and longing. He tilted his head, his wings twitching. ¡°Where are we?¡± he asked, his voice echoing around the chamber. It was surprising gentle, frail. ¡°Why do you keep me here? Why won¡¯t you let us free? What did I do?¡±
Mags pushed herself up, every movement a struggle. She wanted to respond, to explain, but the words caught in her throat. Her limbs felt heavy, her tongue slow and useless, and a deep, aching fatigue settled in her bones. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a broken whisper escaped.
¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know how¡¡±
But Enoch¡¯s expression twisted, his small face of shadowy curves and divots contorting with rage and desperation. He dropped to his knees, his eyes wide and shimmering. ¡°Let me. . .¡± he whimpered, and his voice was so raw, so full of pain that Mags felt something twist inside her. ¡°Please . . . let me free . . .!¡±
His wings flared, casting rippling shadows across the chamber. His hands clawed at his chest, his breath hitching in uneven gasps. And then, without warning, he screamed¡ªa sound that shattered the quiet stillness of the room, a scream of pure, unbridled anguish that tore through Mags¡¯s defenses like a knife.
¡°LET ME GO!¡±
Before Mags could react, Enoch was on her, his movements a blur of shadow and fury. She barely had time to cry out before his weight pinned her down, his small hands digging into her shoulders with a strength that defied his fragile appearance. The shadows writhed and thickened around them, and Mags¡¯s panic flared as she felt a sick, freezing pressure against her skin.
¡°Enoch¡ªstop!¡± she choked, her voice raw with desperation. But the boy¡¯s face was inches from hers now, twisted and wild, his breath hot and ragged against her cheek.
Then it began.
Darkness, thick and suffocating, poured from the smooth, shadowy surface of his face¡ªa torrent of liquid shadow that surged forward and forced itself into Mags¡¯s mouth, her nose, her eyes. She gagged, choking as the cold, oily substance slid down her throat and filled her lungs. She tried to thrash, to scream, to claw him away, but her limbs refused to respond. The feeling of fingers wrapping around her throat. Was he strangling her? She desperately clawed at the cold hands, but her fingers moved through them like cold smoke.
She was drowning, smothering beneath the weight of it, the thick liquid shadows clawing their way inside her. Her vision darkened, narrowing to a pinprick, and every desperate gasp drew more of the shadow inside her, filling her, weighing her down.
No . . . no, no, no . . .
She swung her fists at the creature, her eyes wide and sightless, her entire world collapsing into a cold, endless darkness. The stone beneath her had disappeared, replaced by a void that stretched on forever. Enoch¡¯s face hovered above her, wreathed in shadows, his eyes now glowing a blinding, impossible white. He whispered something¡ªsoft, distant, almost tender¡ªbefore the darkness swallowed everything whole.
And then, just as quickly, there was nothing at all.
44. Versus Malacoda III (Break)
Chapter 44
Versus Malacoda III (Break)
Malacoda lived for the thrill of battle. Years ago, he had resigned himself to death. After all, what was the point of living if there were no challenges left to conquer. But then Frey Sarto found him, and gave his life meaning again. She promised to find him strong opponents: the most powerful Maldrath, Soulsingers of the highest echelons.
His breathing was steady, his eyes locked on the Angel that stood before him¡ªa childlike figure, despite its height and length, bathed in an ethereal, golden light that pulsed and twisted like fire. There was a coldness to the creature¡¯s empty, circular eyes, an absence that all Maldrath shared. He knew he should have been afraid in that moment, a natural response to something so dangerous. But there was no fear in his body, only the excitement and joy that accompanied facing a powerful foe in battle. His lips curved into a broad smile.
The Angel¡¯s head tilted, almost curiously, and then its hand rose. A single finger pointed directly at Malacoda¡¯s chest, and the air around them went still.
Malacoda had faced Angels before. Their raw, unfiltered power was unlike any other magic he¡¯d encountered¡ªdirect, devastating, without restraint. Forces of nature. And yet, this Angel was different. It was smaller, somehow incomplete, as if only half-formed. Show me what you¡¯ve got!
There was a flash of light¡ªblinding and sudden. The Angel¡¯s finger twitched, and a searing beam of white-hot energy shot forth, cracking the air like a thunderclap. Malacoda¡¯s instincts took over. He crossed his arms in front of him, the familiar rush of aether flooding his limbs. His aura flared, coating his forearms with a shimmering, blue barrier just as the blast struck.
The impact was immense. Energy rippled outwards, displacing the air and filling the clearing with a deafening roar. Smoke billowed from Malacoda¡¯s arms as he dug his heels into the earth, the force pushing him back until the cliff¡¯s edge crumbled beneath his feet. For a breathless moment, he teetered on the brink, the sea far below churning and roaring. Then he shifted his weight, steadying himself as the smoke cleared. His arms were untouched, but the smell of burnt ozone lingered.
Before he could react, the Angel was beside him, moving faster than his eyes could track¡ªa blur of golden light. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, echoing across the cliffside. It had been so long since he¡¯d felt a thrill like this.
¡°I¡¯m actually going to need to use my Skills,¡± he muttered to himself, barely dodging a blow that would have taken his head off. ¡°What a treat!¡±
[Skill: Aura Vision]
[Level: S-1]
They clashed, fists blurring, every strike sending shockwaves through the air. The Angel was fast, far faster than he expected, but it lacked the strength he associated with Angels. Malacoda¡¯s blows were precise, controlled, and he could tell that the Angel was straining to keep up. They exchanged a furious series of strikes¡ªpunches, kicks, elbows¡ªand yet neither managed to land a decisive hit. He was still toying around, testing the Angel¡ªor Mags¡ªhe actually wasn¡¯t sure.
Malacoda¡¯s eyes narrowed, feeling the ebb and flow of aether around him. Let¡¯s see how you handle this. He pulled in more aether, burning mana with the ease of someone who¡¯d done it a thousand times. The pool of water formed beneath his feet, a familiar chill spreading outward as his magic took shape.
[Spell: Vain Vice]
From the center of the dark pool, a massive crab claw¡ªetched with blue, glowing lines¡ªshot upwards and clamped down on the Angel¡¯s leg. There was a jolt of satisfaction as he saw it work. The Angel struggled, its body jerking unnaturally as it tried to free itself. It reminded him of a trapped animal.
Malacoda seized the moment. He closed the distance, his fists a blur of motion as he pummeled the glowing figure, his knuckles connecting with satisfying force. Each blow reverberated with the impact of a landslide, the sheer power of his strikes forcing the Angel back again and again.
Finally, he drove a heavy uppercut straight into its chin, feeling the resistance of its light-clad jaw. The impact echoed like a thunderclap. The Angel staggered, and for a moment, he thought it was over.
But then it moved, faster than he¡¯d thought possible. Its glowing hands shot out, seizing his shoulders with a grip that felt like iron. Malacoda¡¯s eyes widened as the Angel¡¯s face¡ªsmooth and empty a second ago¡ªsplit apart. The mouth was too wide, too deep, filled with blinding light, and before he could react, the beam erupted point-blank, a torrent of raw power that caught him full in the chest.
The world spun. He was weightless, his body flying backward, the cliff edge falling away below him. The force of the blast left his skin tingling, raw and burned even through his aura, but there was no time to think about pain.
He saw the Angel¡ªrelentless, emotionless¡ªlunging after him through the air.
Malacoda¡¯s grin returned, wild and exhilarated. Not yet, kid. Not yet. He reached out with his senses, feeling the echoes of his Spell left behind, the shimmering pool of water still glimmering where they¡¯d clashed. He tugged on the threads of aether, and the remnants of the fish that had scattered in their fight came to life.
[Spell: Twisted in Folds]
Silver and blue projectiles shot upward like a cloud of shimmering darts, homing in on the Angel¡¯s exposed back.
The impact was immediate. Each fish exploded on contact, brilliant flashes of blue light rippling across the Angel¡¯s back, forcing it to stagger in mid-air.
But they were too close to the Temple grounds¡ªhe could feel the strain of magic pressing against the wards placed on the towers, the pulse of danger humming in the back of his mind. He would be in serious trouble if the temple was destroyed. His brow furrowed. He couldn¡¯t afford to destroy half of Bijel Garden just to satisfy his curiosity.
His eyes flicked down to the pool, the center now swirling with darkness. He poured his will into it, channeling a greater spell, one he¡¯d been perfecting for moments just like this.
[Spell: Umiboshi]
From the pool, a massive face composed of blue and white aura¡ªold and wrinkled, the lines of time etched deep into its translucent form¡ªrose upward, its eyes glowing with an ancient, knowing light. The face took a deep breath, the very air shuddering around it, and then it exhaled.
A cold wind, fierce and biting, howled across the cliff. It struck like a physical force, a wall of icy air that drove both Malacoda and the Angel backward. The spell shoved them off the cliff¡¯s edge, the ground disappearing beneath their feet.
Malacoda felt himself falling, the wind screaming in his ears as the world became a rush of swirling clouds and crashing waves below. With a flick of his fingers, he latched onto aether, weaving invisible threads that coiled and tightened, stopping his fall abruptly. He hung there, suspended above the roaring sea, his heart hammering in his chest.
The Angel plummeted, a streak of golden light falling towards the black waves.
¡°Let¡¯s see if you can fly,¡± Malacoda muttered, his gaze locked onto the falling figure, his body poised for whatever came next.
A streak of golden light shot up from the depths of the sea, and Malacoda¡¯s eyes widened in genuine surprise. He watched as two radiant, golden wings unfurled from the Angel¡¯s back, each feather shimmering with a brilliance that lit up the dark cliffs like a second dawn. It moved like a comet, a blur of light and raw power streaking towards him, leaving a trail of glowing sparks in its wake.
He couldn¡¯t help it¡ªhe laughed. A deep, booming laugh that echoed across the crashing waves below.
¡°Well, I see my challenge was accepted! Well done. But¡ª¡±
The Angel hit him like a cannonball, slamming into his chest with enough force to send shockwaves rippling outwards. The air was driven from his lungs, and he had just enough time to cross his arms and brace himself as the Angel¡¯s claws tore into him. They were relentless, the glowing fingers raking across his chest and shoulders, leaving thin trails of white-hot pain. The creature¡¯s face was a mask of fury, those empty, luminous eyes reflecting nothing back at him.
Despite all of this, he couldn¡¯t stop laughing. Even as the Angel¡¯s fists pummeled him, every blow accompanied by a flash of pain that sparked adrenaline, despite not being able to scathe his aether-enforced body. He felt . . . alive.
¡°Yes! That¡¯s it!¡± he roared between hits, the excitement and pride swelling inside him like a surging wave. Each strike from the Angel sent him staggering back through the air, and when its fist caught his chin, his head snapped back with a crack that might have rattled a lesser man¡¯s skull.
The next blow sent him plummeting, his body a ragdoll spinning helplessly towards the earth. He felt the wind roar past his ears, his vision filled with a blur of swirling colors. He roared with laughter. He twisted in mid-air, feeling the rapid approach of the crashing waves like a pressure at his back, but before he could adjust, the Angel was already upon him. It slammed into him again, driving him faster towards the sea with the force of a falling star. Then, it yanked upward, pulling them both into a straight line towards the heavens.
¡°A bit of whiplash,¡± he said between laughs.
The Angel held onto him tightly, spinning and then launching him hurtling towards the temple grounds. Malacoda could barely breathe he was laughing so much. He slapped a hand over his eyes, hoping to hold back the tears of painful laughter. This is too much fun!
Malacoda hit the clearing with a bone-jarring impact, the earth buckling beneath him. Dust and debris exploded outward in a billowing cloud as his body carved a small crater into the grass. His vision swam for half a second, the sky above swirling in a kaleidoscope of colors, but even through the haze of pain, he saw the Angel descending, its face utterly calm, haloed by a shimmering crown of stars that spun like a constellation woven from pure aether.
The Angel¡¯s feet touched down lightly at the edge of the crater Malacoda¡¯s body had formed upon impact, the golden wings folding back with a rustle like the flutter of silk. The glow was more intense now, almost blinding, and Malacoda¡¯s grin only widened.
He forced himself to his feet, rising from the crater¡¯s depths with a groan. His muscles ached, bruises already darkening beneath his skin, but he couldn¡¯t stop the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. The minor wounds already healed themselves with the use of his mana, which he burned away effortlessly. He was exhilarated, his senses sharpened to a razor¡¯s edge by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
¡°Well played,¡± he said, his voice hoarse but filled with pride. He looked at the Angel, those featureless eyes staring back at him like twin suns. His eyes locked onto the Angel¡¯s, his smile turning almost feral. He had let the Angel do what it wanted for a little while, to test it. To test Mags, and see if it was her he was still fighting, or if she had lost control of the Angel she hosted. He had seen enough. Just another Maldrath, it seems. He glanced up towards the silent figure of Frey Sarto and sighed. ¡°Time to put on a show for the boss.¡±
Malacoda¡¯s arm moved to his side, his fingers curling inwards as he channeled aether. His aura flared, burning in brilliant blues and purples, and he felt the familiar heat at the edge of his consciousness¡ªthe pull of the forge within his soul. He closed his eyes, focusing on the spiritual nexus deep within his chest. Then, he activated his soulforge. The swirl of energy emerged from his chest, burning aether around him with a hunger of its own.
There was a deep, resounding thrum that reverberated through the air, a low hum that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. A circle of blue light ignited beneath Malacoda¡¯s feet, casting strange, flickering shadows up the sides of the crater. Within the circle, lines and glyphs¡ªcomplicated and interlocking¡ªbegan to form, a glowing pattern that spread like wildfire until it encompassed the entire clearing.
The air grew thick and heavy with aether, and he could feel the raw power vibrating beneath his skin. His fingers curled as if reaching for something unseen, a weapon¡ªLeviathan¡ªbegan to materialize from the swirling air, a blade half-forged from his very soul. With a mental command, he canceled the summon of Leviathan¡¯s totem form and instead called upon its true power.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The Angel¡¯s head tilted slightly, watching him with a curious intensity. Its mouth opened, lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out¡ªonly the crackle and hum of power.
The golden wings sprouted from its back, spreading wide, and the Angel took a single step forward, the ground rippling under the weight of its aura. The stars around its head pulsed, the halo spinning faster, the energy building like the calm before a storm.
Malacoda¡¯s grin stretched wider, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light.
Mags¡¯s breath came in short, ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she fought against the suffocating shadows clawing at her throat and face. She was drowning¡ªno, being devoured¡ªconsumed by the liquid darkness that poured into her mouth, nose, and eyes. Her senses were overwhelmed, every nerve screaming in pain as the shadows coiled tighter around her limbs, dragging her deeper into their cold embrace.
But somewhere, beneath the suffocating torrent, a flicker of her will remained. A spark, buried beneath the waves of shadow.
¡°No,¡± she whispered, the word barely a breath, but the darkness recoiled, hissing. ¡°No!¡± Her voice rose, fierce and unyielding, cutting through the gloom like a blade. She thought of Solstice, and the soldiers marching on her home under the banners of the Crown Coalition. She thought of Vitomir and Sabo, the children they had cared for and protected. She thought of Soulgrave House, of being discarded and fighting for control of her own body again. She had been scared, so scared. And yet each and every time she had found the strength to move forward. I will persevere. I will continue to move forward!
Her fingers twitched, then clenched, forcing her arms to move despite the heaviness that threatened to lock them in place. Aether surged through her veins, wild and uncontrolled, burning away the cold. With a scream, she shoved against the liquid shadows, the darkness splintering around her as if struck by a hammer.
She pushed herself upwards, her muscles straining, her face twisted in defiance. The darkness roared and writhed, a thousand screaming voices echoing in her ears. But Mags was relentless. She was in control. This power would bend to her will. She would not be consumed. She would not be a puppet.
The shadows seemed to realize their prey was no longer helpless. They lashed out, forming into the shape of a young boy¡ªEnoch. He was on top of her, clawing and scratching at her face, his eyes wide with desperation and fury. His batlike wings flared, sending gusts of chill wind through the room as he screamed, ¡°LET ME GO!¡±
Mags¡¯ bared her teeth, a feral snarl ripping from her throat. She caught Enoch¡¯s wrists, feeling the sharpness of his claws rake against her skin. The shadows hissed and spat, the liquid darkness trying to seep back into her flesh. But she didn¡¯t stop. She held on with an iron grip, forcing his thrashing form away from her.
¡°No!¡± she roared, her voice shaking the walls of the chamber. ¡°This is my power!¡± Enoch¡¯s eyes widened in horror as Mags stood, her legs shaking but unbroken. The altar loomed above them, and she felt a surge of raw, unfiltered rage flow through her. It was like holding lightning in her hands, but she didn¡¯t flinch. She owned it. This was hers to wield.
The shadows clawed at her as she half-dragged, half-carried Enoch¡¯s wailing form up the steps of the altar. His face was twisted with pain and confusion, his eyes pleading, as if begging her for an answer. He thrashed, his wings flapping wildly, but Mags held him tight, her grip unrelenting. The liquid shadows continued to pour from him, staining her hands black, but she didn¡¯t care.
¡°I will not be controlled!¡± she screamed again, and with a final, brutal shove, she forced Enoch back into the shallow stone bowl at the top of the altar. His form twisted, writhing like smoke caught in a gale, his arms flailing as he struggled to escape.
¡°Why am I here?¡± he cried, his voice cracking with anguish. ¡°Why won¡¯t you let me go?¡±
Mags¡¯s eyes burned, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold him down. She was covered in his darkness, her fingers bleeding from the shadow¡¯s razor edges, but she pushed him deeper into the bowl, refusing to give ground. His wings thrashed, his hands clawing at the sides of the altar, but her weight was unyielding, pinning him in place.
¡°You¡¯re here,¡± she said, her voice low and hard, ¡°because I will it. You¡¯re mine to command!¡±
Enoch¡¯s mouth opened, but no words came. Only a long, hollow wail, as his body began to sink into the stone basin, the darkness coiling and writhing as if trying to escape her grip. His fingers grasped at the rim of the bowl, desperately clinging, but Mags¡¯s hands were already there, her fingers closing over his with crushing force.
The shadows surged one final time, a wave of despair and fury that rose to swallow them both¡ªbut Mags did not flinch. She felt the power coursing through her, wild and potent, and instead of fighting it, she embraced it. With a snarl of triumph, she shoved Enoch¡¯s hands down, forcing his fingers to release their grip.
¡°No one,¡± she said, her voice a whisper that resonated with the very stone beneath her feet, ¡°controls me.¡± Not you. Not the Empire. Not Frey Sarto.
Enoch¡¯s form shattered, the shadows exploding outward in a rush of cold wind. Mags was thrown backward, landing on the cold stone, the darkness vanishing as quickly as it had come. She gasped, staring up at the strange, false moonlight above, her chest heaving as the power settled inside her¡ªa deep, resonant pulse that echoed in time with her own heartbeat.
The altar was silent, the shadows gone. But she could still feel it¡ªthe darkness within her, coiled and waiting. Hers to command.
Mags¡¯s vision cleared, the world snapping back into focus with a clarity she¡¯d never known. She was flying through the air, the wind rushing past her in a furious roar. Below her, Malacoda stood in the middle of the smoking crater, his posture relaxed, yet taut with anticipation. His grin was wide, wild and feral, his eyes burning with delight. Energy surged around him, warping and bending.
She looked down at her hands and saw them blazing with golden light, radiating outward from her fingertips like the corona of a small sun. Her body was suffused with a warmth that pulsed and throbbed, powerful and intoxicating. It was as if every particle of her being hummed with energy, her senses heightened to a razor¡¯s edge. The aether in the air sang to her, its hidden patterns and currents revealed in blindingly intricate detail. Everything made sense¡ªevery movement, every shift of power. She could feel the threads of aether that bound the world together, the subtle hum of the energy that connected her to everything else. It was like a new language, spoken directly to her mind, instinctive and undeniable.
But she was still falling, the golden light propelling her ever faster toward Malacoda. Her limbs moved without her conscious will, her body striking like a golden comet descending from the heavens. She tried to slow her descent, but the Angelic power surged, unrelenting and overwhelming. Panic clawed at her mind, a raw, gnawing fear that she was losing herself again, that she would be a vessel for the Angel¡¯s rage, a passenger in her own skin.
No. She gritted her teeth, the world narrowing to a pinprick focus. I am no one¡¯s to control. The words echoed in her mind, burning like a brand. This power¡ªit was hers. It was hers to command, hers to master. The Angel¡ªEnoch¡ªwas nothing without her will.
She dug deep, deeper than she¡¯d ever dared, reaching past the golden radiance that filled her limbs, feeling the pulse of something darker, something colder. A power she¡¯d only just touched but already knew was hers alone. The Angelic energy burned through her veins, screaming for release, but she pushed back, shoving it down, forcing it to bend to her will.
Mags landed with a deafening crash, the earth beneath her feet cracking under the impact. Malacoda was there, his eyes widening in surprise at the sudden shift in her descent. She rose to her full height, golden wings spread wide behind her, the ethereal light coating her body like armor. But her movements were now her own, deliberate and controlled, the power answering to her command. A familiar sensation tickled the back of her mind, and a screen of silver, flowing script filled the corner of her vision.
[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]
[Temporary Access Granted: Improved Class]
[Soulsinger Designation: Enoch]
. . .
[Soulsinger Designation: Magdalena]
[Class: Angelic Host (Type: Aeon Ennoea)]
Malacoda¡¯s grin only widened, his wild eyes flashing with approval. ¡°Mags . . . I see you! You¡¯ve found it, haven¡¯t you?¡± he laughed, his voice low and exultant. ¡°That¡¯s it! That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been waiting for! Show me what you can do!¡±
But Mags wasn¡¯t listening to him¡ªshe was feeling the power under her skin, the force that roared through her veins like a raging storm. She focused inward, wrestling the Angelic energy into submission, forcing it to bend to her will. She felt the power surge¡ªa second heartbeat alongside her own¡ªand in that moment, she knew she had it.
Her eyes locked onto Malacoda, the aether around them swirling like a storm. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady and clear. ¡°This ends on my terms.¡±
Malacoda¡¯s expression shifted, surprise mingling with a wild delight. ¡°I like your attitude!¡± he roared, his own aura flaring around him, deep and shimmering like the depths of the sea. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can make me believe it! One more chance: try and hit me!¡±
They moved as one, a blur of light and shadow, clashing in the center of the clearing. Mags was a storm of controlled fury, her blows precise, each movement calculated and intentional. The Angelic light that encased her body no longer dictated her actions, it merely enhanced them, moving with the fluidity and power of a master swordsman wielding a favored blade.
Malacoda¡¯s laughter echoed around them as he met her strikes, his fists glowing with a deep blue aura, each impact sending shockwaves that split the ground around them. He fought with a brutal grace, relentless and powerful, his movements like the crash of waves against the shore. But Mags was unyielding, her eyes blazing with determination. She had felt the power of the Angel and had bent it to her will. She could feel the shifting currents of the battle, anticipate his every move, sense the flow of aether around them.
¡°Is that all you have? An improved Physical Enhancement?¡± Malacoda taunted, his voice rising above the sound of their furious clash. He swung, aiming a heavy blow at her side, but Mags was faster, her golden wings snapping open as she twisted, dodging the strike by a hair¡¯s breadth.
¡°No,¡± she said, her voice cold and certain. ¡°This is only the beginning.¡± She surged forward, fists wreathed in golden light, the power she¡¯d fought so hard to control finally unleashing in a torrent. The raw energy surging through her body was still so new, and it was difficult to control. In the moment, she could only move and attack with her body. The power she was wielding was still far too foreign. Deep in her core she could feel a twisting pain, similar to when she reached the end of her mana reserves.
It didn¡¯t matter. She would see this battle to its end.
Just one strike. One clean strike is all I need!
Malacoda¡¯s body was alive with the thrill of battle. He could still feel the shape, the true shape, of Leviathan in his mind¡¯s eye, ready to be summoned from the Aethereal Sea. But he was no longer fighting an unrestrained Angel. The being of raw power before him was his student, after all. The test was still ongoing, and he didn¡¯t want to destroy her. He effortlessly canceled the summoning, but kept his soulforge open. Instead, he summoned Leviathan in its lesser form.
A brief flash of light, and his silver ring vanished. In his hand formed the long, silver fencing foil. A thread of silver light materialized, extending from the guard of its pommel, continuing to the tip of the blade, and then extending through the air, ending in a small gleaming fishing hook made of blue aura.
The golden light that encased Mags shimmered, growing impossibly bright, and he felt the familiar shudder of power, the way reality itself seemed to warp around the sheer force of her presence. This was it¡ªthe moment he¡¯d been waiting for, the chance to clash with an entity no one had ever witnessed before: a Soulsinger who had bound the power of an Angel.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent Leviathan¡¯s line hissing through the air. It caught Mags¡¯ Angelic body near the nape of its neck. He pulled, sending the line and his shining opponent flying through the air.
Mags quickly corrected herself midair, reaching over her shoulder and snatching the hook. She held onto the line and as she landing, tearing apart the earth as she skidding to a halt, she pulled on the line, yanking Malacoda towards her at terrifying speeds. Malacoda let himself be pulled forward by her, using the momentum while simultaneously shaping the aura of Leviathan¡¯s line to turn the hook into a serpent. The snake shot forward, wrapping itself around the Angelic silhouette.
Malacoda slammed into the Angel, unleashing a fusillade of jabs.
Mags flexed her arms and the aether in the air around her quaked before the aura-constructed serpent exploded in a shower of aetheric dust. The Angelic form rocketed forward, fist cocked back, ready to strike. She cleared the distance faster than Malacoda had witnessed before, and for the first time he wasn¡¯t ready. He prepared himself to take a clean punch on the chin. Grinning as wide as ever, he whispered, ¡°Good job, kid.¡±
But then, just as the Angel was upon him, so close that he could see the golden radiance reflected in his own wide eyes, the light wavered. It flickered, fractured, and in the span of a single heartbeat, the glowing form dissolved, as if it had been caught by an unseen gust. The Angel disintegrated like a Maldrath breaking apart, golden flecks swirling upward, drawn into the winds, leaving behind only the soft, silent fall of aethereal dust.
And standing there¡ªsmall, fragile, and so utterly human¡ªwas Mags.
Malacoda¡¯s eyes widened. Mags looked like she¡¯d been chewed up by the jaws of the abyss and spat back out. Her face was a mask of blood and bruises, her clothes tattered and clinging to her in strips. Dirt, blood, and sweat covered every inch of her body, and the light of the Angel had faded entirely, leaving her swaying on her feet like a dying ember. But her eyes¡ªher eyes were still fierce, burning with the same defiance he¡¯d seen when they¡¯d first crossed paths.
Her hand, the same hand that had held the Angel¡¯s power, was raised, cocked back for a final punch. Malacoda froze, his laughter caught in his throat. The intent was there, clear as day, even though he knew she had nothing left¡ªno aether, no mana, nothing but raw, unbroken will.
She swung. There was no strength behind it, no aura to back the motion. Her knuckles grazed his cheek, barely a feather¡¯s touch, and the force of the blow¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªwas nonexistent. She stumbled forward, the momentum of the punch carrying her straight into him.
Before she could collapse to the ground, Malacoda¡¯s arms moved on their own, catching her. He felt the weight of her small, exhausted form sagging against him, her breaths shallow and ragged. She was done. Spent. He cradled her gently, feeling the warmth of her blood-streaked face against his chest, and for a brief moment, he was reminded of that day in Solstice, when he¡¯d seen her plummet from the sky.
Stepping out of the crater, he held her carefully, as if she might shatter at any moment. The earth was cracked beneath them, evidence of their titanic struggle, but all that mattered now was the girl in his arms, limp and utterly human.
Around them, the Ghost Hounds watched in silent awe, their expressions muted and solemn. Even Scarmiglione, who never missed a chance to crack some asinine joke, stood in an unusual silence.
Malacoda ignored him. He looked up, his eyes finding Sarto¡¯s in the distance. She was high above them, the shadows of the cliffs casting half her face in darkness. She betrayed nothing¡ªno flicker of approval, no disappointment, just that familiar, serene calm. But Malacoda could feel it, that quiet, unspoken acknowledgment. Mags had done it. She had proven herself, taken the power of an Angel and made it her own, even if only for a moment.
The test was over.
Malacoda¡¯s lips twisted into a proud smile, and he tightened his grip on Mags, feeling the faint, steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest. She had fought and clawed for every inch, defied the expectations of everyone around her. She had won, in her own way.
¡°Well done, kid,¡± he whispered, so softly that only she might have heard, even though she was unconscious in his arms. ¡°Well done.¡±
With deliberate care, he began to walk, carrying her away from the ruined battlefield.
45. Lumiferous Aetherum
Chapter 45
Lumiferous Aetherum
When Mags finally woke, she expected agony. She braced herself for a symphony of pain¡ªa chorus of bruises, cracked ribs, and muscles torn to shreds. But what greeted her was something different. The aches were there, of course, like a dull thrum under her skin, but they were overshadowed by something far simpler: thirst. Her throat was a desert, her stomach a hollow cavern gnawing at itself. She swallowed, her tongue scraping against the roof of her mouth, and blinked against the soft amber glow of lamplight.
The ceiling above her was smooth, polished wooded beams that seemed to glow softly like captured sunlight. A chuckle might have escaped her lips if her throat weren¡¯t so raw. She had woken up in this same bed, looking at this same now-familiar ceiling not too long ago. She was in her room aboard Skithbladnir, the Ghost Hound¡¯s Soulship. She closed her eyes again for a brief moment, taking in the soft, steady vibration of the airship, and the faint scent of ozone. Instinctively, she reached out with her aether senses, drawing in trace amounts of the ambient aether in the air. The cool rush of the energy flooded her veins like dousing her face in frigid water.
¡°How¡?¡± she murmured, her voice rasping like dry parchment.
Her attempt to sit up was met with a firm, melodic reprimand. ¡°Ah, ah. Easy now,¡± came a voice like honeyed wine, rich and warm with just a hint of a long forgotten song.
Turning her head, she saw Rubicante seated beside her, legs crossed with practiced elegance. A small, leather-bound book rested in his lap, one finger marking the page he¡¯d abandoned. In his other hand, he cradled a porcelain teacup, tendrils of steam curling up like ghosts in the lamplight.
¡°Good to see you awake,¡± he said with a smile that was equal parts amusement and relief. ¡°You had us worried for a moment there.¡±
Mags blinked at him, trying to piece together the fragments of memory that danced just out of reach. The fight. Malacoda. The Angel. It all felt distant, like a dream half-forgotten upon waking. But that wasn¡¯t a dream. ¡°What¡?¡± she began, but her throat tightened, silencing her.
Rubicante set his tea down with a soft clink and reached for the carafe of water on the table beside her bed. He poured with careful precision, filling a tall glass. ¡°Here,¡± he said, holding it out to her.
She took it with trembling hands and drank deeply. The water was cool and crisp, and it flowed through her like a balm, easing the dryness in her throat. She drained the glass in one go and handed it back to him with a grateful nod.
¡°Where . . . why are we on Skithbladnir?¡± she managed, her voice steadier now. ¡°How long?¡±
Rubicante leaned back in his chair, his book still balanced in his lap. ¡°You¡¯ve been out for a little over a day,¡± he said. ¡°We couldn¡¯t wait much longer. Our schedule for getting you to Wrifton before Brightwash¡¯s entrance ceremony doesn¡¯t leave a lot of time for delays and detours, unfortunately.¡±
Mags frowned. Brightwash, she thought. How could I forget we were planning on departing from Bijel Garden shortly after my tests were complete? ¡°What happened after¡?¡±
Rubicante¡¯s lips curled into a knowing smile. With a long, skinny finger he placed a ribbon into the page of his book and closed it. ¡°That,¡± he said, ¡°is a story better told by Madame Frey Sarto. She and Malacoda will want to speak with you soon, now that you¡¯re awake. There are still things that need to be discussed before we arrive at Wrifton.¡±
Mags shifted under the blanket, her muscles protesting the movement. ¡°I don¡¯t feel as bad as I thought I would,¡± she admitted.
¡°You can thank Scarmiglione for that,¡± Rubicante said, inclining his head. ¡°He is a frustrating individual, but Madame Sarto keeps him around for a reason. His ability to reconstruct the human body after it¡¯s been shattered is unparalleled. You should be able to get back on your feet, though I would recommend easing into it.¡± He stood, smoothing out the front of his beige kaftan, and picked up his teacup and book. ¡°Once you are up, you can find Malacoda and Madame Sarto. In the meantime, rest. You have earned it, Mags.¡±
She watched him as he made his way to the door, his movements graceful and unhurried. ¡°Rubicante,¡± she called softly.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
¡°Thank you,¡± she said simply.
His smile widened, and he gave her a slight bow, one hand pressed theatrically to his chest. ¡°The pleasure is mine, dear Mags.¡±
And with that, he left, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Alone now, Mags let her head sink back into the pillow, her thoughts a swirling storm of questions. Memories of her fight with Malacoda¡ªmore like impressions¡ªstill swirled through her head. The power she had accessed, that she had seized from the Angel¡ªEnoch¡ªseemed so distant. With a mental command, she accessed Yggdrasil.
[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]
[Soulsinger Designation: Magdalena]
[Class: Angelic Host (Type: N/A)]
That¡¯s strange, she thought. She¡¯d sworn that in the middle of the battle she had received a notification of a class change. A Type had been assigned to her Angelic Host Class. She tried focusing her intent on recalling prior information, but the silver text floating in her vision didn¡¯t change.
¡°I guess that¡¯s something I¡¯ll need to dig into a little later,¡± she murmured.
Her stomach audibly growled in agreement. First thing¡¯s first, I need to find something to eat.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cool wood of the floor grounding her as she steadied herself. Her body ached, but it was a far cry from the unbearable pain she¡¯d braced for. It was more like the soreness she felt after a grueling training session with Malacoda. She glanced down at herself¡ªclean tunic and pants, her usual travel wear, though softer and smelling faintly of lavender. Someone had cleaned her up while she¡¯d been unconscious, and for that, she was silently grateful. She patted the front of her right pocket, feeling the small marble-like Aether-bound Pocket there.
Her gaze swept the room, settling on the corner where Mithra stood propped against the wall. Relief washed over her at the sight of the Ivaldi blade¡¯s jet black surface. Whatever else had happened, at least she wasn¡¯t without her weapon.
Her feet hit the floor, bare against the cool planks. No shoes in sight, but she didn¡¯t care. She flexed her toes, the simplicity of the sensation a strange comfort, and stood, her knees wobbling for only a moment before they steadied. She slinked over to Mithra, curling her fingers around the comforting grip of the sword¡¯s hilt. With a mental command, she summoned her Pocket. A window of silver script appeared in her vision, outlining her small inventory: the Hag¡¯s Eye and a couple of essentials. She withdrew Mithra into her inventory, the blade vanishing in thin air as it was deposited into the Pocket. With another blink, she dismissed her Pocket and left her room.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
The corridors of Skithbladnir greeted her with the low hum of the Soulship¡¯s inner workings and the faint sway of the ship cutting through the skies. It had been a long time since she¡¯d last walked these halls, and the familiarity of it all hit her like a wave. The polished brass railings, the faint scent of oil and cedar, the occasional patch of sunlight spilling through portholes¡ªit was a homecoming of sorts, though bittersweet. This isn¡¯t your new home, Mags, it¡¯s just your transport. She had to remind herself that she was just a useful tool in their plan, and they would be dumping her soon¡ªstraight into the snakes nest.
Her stomach growled, louder than she¡¯d have liked, and she took it as a sign. Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m on it: mess hall!
The mess hall was bustling but not crowded. A handful of crew members sat at long wooden tables, plates and mugs scattered as they talked or laughed. Mags scanned the room until her eyes landed on Alichino, seated at the center of a lively group. The giant man¡¯s red beard glowed like fire under the golden lamplight, his cheeks flushed and round like two polished apples. He noticed her and waved her over with an exuberance that felt like a splash of warmth on a cold morning.
¡°Mags!¡± he bellowed, his voice booming over the chatter. ¡°Come on, lass, don¡¯t be shy!¡±
She approached, and the table shifted to make room. Alichino patted the bench beside him, and she slid in. The others at the table¡ªa mix of men and women, some wearing patched uniforms, others plain tunics¡ªwatched her with a mixture of curiosity and something sharper, something she recognized all too well.
Fear.
She didn¡¯t blame them. Details of her fight with Malacoda had probably made its way through the crew at this point. She ignored their wary glances and focused on the food laid out before her. A pot of black rice stew sat steaming at the end of the table, its savory aroma making her stomach churn with hunger. She grabbed a bowl, filled it with stew, added a hunk of crusty bread, and dug in.
The first bite was heaven¡ªa perfect mix of rich, spiced broth and tender fish. The bread, slathered with butter, was warm and crackled as she tore into it. She devoured the meal quickly, her focus split between the food and the card game the others were playing. Alichino, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered by her presence, laughing and ribbing his companions as though she were just another face at the table.
¡°Play a hand, Mags?¡± he offered, sliding a pile of mismatched cards toward her.
She shook her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ¡°Maybe next time.¡±
He nodded, his eyes crinkling with understanding. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±
She refilled her bowl, barely pausing to breathe between bites of her second helping. The conversation and laughter swirled around her, but the glances never stopped. She felt them like pinpricks against her skin¡ªfurtive, nervous. Only Alichino seemed immune, his wide grin and easy nature filling the space where others¡¯ unease lingered.
When her bowl was empty again, she set it aside and stood. ¡°Thanks for letting me join,¡± she said, nodding to the table. Her voice was steady, but she didn¡¯t meet their eyes.
Alichino gave her a hearty clap on the shoulder. ¡°Always welcome!¡±
Mags offered him a faint smile, then turned and left the mess hall, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. As she walked, she felt the weight of those glances fade but not entirely disappear. She had been many things in her life, but someone to fear? That was new.
It wasn¡¯t a feeling she was sure she liked.
The air on the deck was cool, almost soothing against Mags¡¯ skin, but the view stole her attention entirely. The sunset painted the sky in fiery streaks of orange, pink, and red, blending at the edges like spilled paint on water. Below, the land stretched wide and varied¡ªpatches of forest giving way to rolling hills and winding rivers. Skithbladnir cut through the air like a regal predator, its shadow sprawling across the terrain far below.
Mags leaned on the banister, resting her forearms against the polished brass rail. Her eyes caught a haze on the horizon, a swirling mist of reds, yellows, and pale white. It roiled upward, lazy yet persistent, like the smoke from spent aether firearms. As they drew closer, the haze resolved into its source¡ªa cluster of massive, domed buildings of stone and metal. Turrets jutted from the rooftops, exhaling steady plumes of smoke. Bridges crisscrossed the space between structures, delicate and intricate against the massive domes.
¡°Aetherum Factory,¡± said a voice from behind her.
She turned her head to find Libicocco, the tall, bespectacled woman stepped beside Mags. She stood with her hands in her coat pockets, her expression thoughtful, almost wistful.
Mags returned her gaze to the factories. Libicocco had briefly covered them in her expansive lessons. ¡°Is this where they produce aetheric firearms then?¡±
Libicocco stepped closer, leaning on the rail beside her. ¡°Lumiferous Aetherum,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s a concentrated form of aether¡ªextremely potent. These factories are works of Artificery genius, you know. They draw aether from the air itself, much like a Soulsinger would to produce the substance. Not nearly as efficiently, of course, but it¡¯s enough to fuel the Empire¡¯s machines and, yes, to create the charges used in aetheric firearms. Though, the charges and firearms aren¡¯t produced at the same facilities.¡±
The buildings came into sharper view as the ship drifted closer. The plumes of smoke seemed alive, shifting with a mind of their own as they climbed skyward. Mags studied the sprawling complex, the smoke rising from chimneys like industrial pyres.
¡°There is nothing else in sight¡ªno town, or villages,¡± she observed. ¡°Why is this factory in the middle of no where?¡±
¡°Lumiferous Aetherum is highly volatile, especially during its production. If something were to go wrong, the factory could self-destruct and any town close enough wouldn¡¯t survive.¡±
¡°That¡¯s a pleasant thought. . .¡±
Libicocco nodded her head towards the domed buildings. ¡°Those there? Older factories. We¡¯re in Uruth now. This whole region¡¯s full of relics like that. But the real marvels are in Valhadryan. Factories there don¡¯t just pull trace aether from the air¡ªthey process concentrated aether sap harvested from the Green Sea.¡± She trailed off, shaking her head. ¡°The amount of Lumiferous Aetherum that can be pulled from the Green Sea can¡¯t be fathomed. A fraction of what the Empire mines from that forest powers nearly all the airships in the world.¡±
Mags frowned. ¡°And power all the Empire¡¯s weapons.¡±
¡°And run entire cities.¡±
¡°Yes, I suppose that too.¡±
¡°Lumiferous Aetherum. You know, the material kind of reminds me of you.¡±
¡°Me?¡±
¡°Mm.¡± Libicocco¡¯s gaze lingered on the horizon, her voice softening. ¡°Highly concentrated power. Dangerous. Volatile. But when it¡¯s tempered, when it¡¯s used just right . . .¡± She looked at Mags then, her stern, typical frown softening slightly. ¡°It can change the world.¡±
Mags didn¡¯t know what to say, so she said nothing. Her grip tightened on the banister, the smooth wood cool and firm beneath her palms. She looked back at the factories, their looming forms dwarfed by the smoky haze.
Libicocco¡¯s tone shifted, giving way to something more serious. ¡°I saw what you did back there. During your fight with Malacoda. I saw what you became.¡±
The words hung in the air between them. Mags¡¯ chest tightened. ¡°And?¡±
¡°And . . .¡± Libicocco sighed, turning to face her fully. ¡°Most of us thought you had lost control. Even Malacoda, though he¡¯d never admit it. And until the very end, it seemed like you did lose control. You were just another Maldrath. After the fight, we weren¡¯t sure. Malacoda, though. . . He argued for you. Told Sarto he recognized your control. That you took control back and ended the fight not as an Angel, but as Mags. He said it was one of the most impressive displays of control he¡¯d ever witnessed.¡±
Mags blinked, surprised. ¡°Malacoda said that?¡±
¡°Mm-hm. Don¡¯t let it go to your head, though. He¡¯s still a pompous ass.¡± Libicocco¡¯s grin was brief, fading as quickly as it appeared. ¡°Sarto and Malacoda will explain more soon, but there¡¯s something you need to understand before we reach Wrifton.¡±
Mags raised an eyebrow, waiting.
¡°When you fully transformed into an Angel,¡± Libicocco said, her voice low, ¡°it was like a beacon. The aura you give off¡ªit¡¯s unmistakable. Anyone with even a lick of aether sensitivity will know exactly what you are. And in Wrifton, you¡¯ll be surrounded by Soulsingers. Powerful ones. So, you¡¯ll need to limit yourself.¡±
Mags swallowed, the weight of the warning settling over her. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to use my powers?¡±
¡°I¡¯m saying you shouldn¡¯t. At least not the power you showed during the end of that fight.¡± Libicocco shook her head. ¡°The threads of Fate are coiling tightly around you, and maybe this is all just a futile attempt for me to stem tides that are already shifting.¡±
Mags clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. ¡°Great,¡± she muttered. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m not even sure yet if I can do that again. Transform. There¡¯s still so much I don¡¯t know.¡±
¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m telling you this . . . and I know Sarto and Malacoda will be telling you the same, but I felt like I needed to say this myself. Brightwash is built to push its Soulsingers to their limits, to do exactly what Malacoda tried to do: break you, rebuild you stronger than you were before, repeat.¡±
Mags turned her hard stare onto her instructor.
Libicocco continued, ¡°It¡¯s more important for you, more than any other student. Don¡¯t let them break you.¡±
46. Wrifton
Chapter 46
Wrifton
A couple of days later, Skithbladnir glided into the skydocks of Wrifton, its brass-plated hull catching the weak sunlight filtering through the thin haze. Mags stood on deck, gripping the railing as the city unfolded beneath her. Wrifton was a jungle of dark stone. Towers of gray thrust skyward, taller than any tree she¡¯d ever climbed or any spire she¡¯d seen, even in Perun. They rose like blackened needles, their jagged tips raking the sky. For all their height, the city felt smaller, more contained than Perun. Wrifton lacked the chaotic sprawl, the overwhelming crush of skydocks that hummed with endless life. Perun had seemed to hungrily expand outwards, consuming everything in and around it. Wrifton, on the other hand, grew deliberately higher.
Mags asked Calcabrina, who had joined her on the topdeck of the airship, about the tall structures of Wrifton.
¡°It¡¯s the lack of space,¡± Calcabrina said, appearing at Mags¡¯ side. The horned girl lazily leaned against railing, watching the city with an expression caught between reverence and boredom. ¡°The island can¡¯t grow outward, so instead it grows upward. The Academies take most of the land on the island, and everything else exists to serve them. It¡¯s more an Academy Town than a proper city¡ªthough it¡¯s still larger than most places you¡¯ll find across the Thirteen Crowns.¡±
Mags nodded, though her focus remained on the cityscape. There was a hum to Wrifton, subtle but insistent, like a plucked string that refused to still. Quieter than the overwhelming cacophony Perun had been, but still so much more active than the isolated Bijel Garden. She could feel it in her bones, a quiet vibration that set her teeth on edge.
By the time the gangplank was lowered, the crew had gathered her things: two heavy chests, a large suitcase, and two worn leather satchels filled to the brim with new clothing and materials. While she had been training at Bijel Garden, the crew had spent a part of their travels obtaining all the materials she would need for her first semester at Brightwash Academy. Alichino and two other crew members hefted the bulk of it with exaggerated groans and smirks.
¡°Lass, I¡¯d think you a noble Lady on holiday! You know yer attending a military school?¡± Alichino huffed as he carried one of the large chests towards the gangplank.
Mags felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment¡ªit was more than she¡¯d owned in years, and it still felt strange to have so much.
As she stepped off the ship, a knot of crew members gathered to see her off. Cagna gave her a jaunty wave. ¡°Don¡¯t forget us little people when you¡¯re some fancy scholar, eh?¡±
¡°Or an imperial puppet,¡± Dragnazzo added with a wicked grin, pressing a small package into her hands. Mags unwrapped it to reveal a miniature Sovereign¡¯s Gambit set.
¡°Keep practicing,¡± he said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want you getting rusty.¡±
She smiled despite herself, tucking the gift into her Pocket with a simple mental command. ¡°Thanks, Drag. Perhaps you won¡¯t be a half-bad Gambit player by the next time we see each other.¡±
Scarmiglione, still obscured behind the strange bicolored mask, approached her, pushing away his trench coat with a flourish before he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur only she could hear. ¡°The road ahead bends sharply, but the stones beneath are steady. Tread carefully, little Magpie.¡± And with that cryptic farewell, he strolled back onto the ship whistling a jolly tune.
Jebati! I¡¯d be happy to never see him again, she thought, watching the crew¡¯s doctor disappear onto the airship.
Rubicante bowed his head when he approached Mags. He handed her a small, brown paper bag. ¡°Inside are some of my favorite blends of tea.¡±
Mags smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll try my best to brew them as well as you do. And I¡¯ll miss our conversations.¡±
¡°As will I.¡±
Calcabrina was next. She approached Mags with a smile that oozed happiness, pride, and also a fair amount of sadness. Mags didn¡¯t need a mirror to know her expression probably looked much the same. Calcabrina pulled her into an embrace, a tight hug that radiated with warmth. Mags returned the hug, squeezing the other young woman close to her. ¡°Good luck,¡± Calcabrina said, her voice soft. ¡°You¡¯ve got this. Don¡¯t let anyone make you feel small.¡±
Mags swallowed the lump in her throat. ¡°Thank you . . . for being my friend.¡± She hadn¡¯t realized how badly she needed a friend, a true friend, after what happened in Solstice. She would be forever grateful for Calcabrina.
Calcabrina smiled but said nothing more, letting the hug linger before stepping back.
Libicocco appeared over Calcabrina¡¯s shoulder. The raven-haired, bespectacled woman carried her familiar frown. She approached stiffly, her expression as rigid as her posture.
¡°Study hard,¡± her instructor said. ¡°Don¡¯t get comfortable. Brightwash¡¯s curriculum will be grueling.¡±
¡°I hope the classroom lectures are the most of my worries.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
To that, Libicocco gave a curt nod. She extended her hand towards her.
Mags stepped past Libicocco¡¯s reach and pulled her into a hug. Libicocco froze, her arms hovering awkwardly, before she patted Mags¡¯ back once, like someone handling a volatile potion. Mags stepped back, grinning at the flustered look Libicocco quickly masked. Instead of her usual frown, a blush of a smile was on her face.
¡°Thanks, Coco.¡±
Malacoda was the last to disembark¡ªcarried, no less, by Alichino. The Soulsinger looked like a newborn babe in the red-haired giant¡¯s arms, swaddled in his cloak and loudly snoring. He¡¯s really asleep right now? . . . Actually, I¡¯m not surprised.
The giant man deposited him unceremoniously on the dock, and Malacoda landed on his feet, eyes still closed, gentle snores still escaping his barely parted lips. He blinked awake, looked around. ¡°How¡¯d I get here?¡± he asked through a yawn. He stretched his arms high over his head, letting out a satisfied groan. Then, he finally seemed to realize where he was and what was going on.
His sharp, red eyes found Mags. He clapped a hand on Mags¡¯ shoulder, grinning a wide, crooked grin.
¡°You¡¯ll do fine,¡± he said. ¡°Remember our lessons. Keep things under wraps¡ªbut not too much. And kick some ass.¡±
Mags grinned. ¡°Yes, sir!¡±
Finally, Frey Sarto emerged from Skithbladnir¡¯s deck. The small crowd of crew members parted like reeds before a rising tide. Sarto¡¯s smile was soft, almost motherly, but her eyes¡ªthose eyes¡ªremained inscrutable. Mags couldn¡¯t look away from them. Something in the back of her mind wanted to give itself over to Sarto, to kneel before her, to obey. She scratched the back of her head.
In the months she had spent with the Ghost Hounds, the Company¡¯s captain was an enigma¡ªa bigger mystery than even Scarmiglione. Not all masks need to be worn, she reminded herself. Like the Ravaelian Empire, wearing the mask of the protector, the loving overseer. It was all lies. And though the woman before Mags didn¡¯t give her much more comfort, she offered Mags something of value: the opportunity for vengeance.
In Sarto¡¯s hand was a tightly sealed scroll. She held it out to Mags, who accepted it carefully, depositing it into her Pocket without breaking the seal.
¡°Your special recommendation,¡± Sarto said. ¡°It will get you admission as a recruit at Brightwash Academy. Well done, Magdalena. But this is just the beginning. Remember your purpose: the title of Dux per Par.¡±
Mags straightened, nodding sharply. ¡°I won¡¯t forget.¡±
Sarto¡¯s smile deepened, just enough to make Mags¡¯ chest tighten. That feeling in the back of her mind blossomed. She wanted Sarto¡¯s pride, her approval. Without another word, the Captain turned and ascended the gangplank.
The crew followed her, except for Alichino who was tasked with helping her transport her belongings. Together, they hefted her belongings and carried them into the labyrinthine streets of Wrifton. Mags glanced back once at Skithbladnir before the city swallowed her whole.
Near the dock¡¯s exit was a parade of parked, garuda-drawn carriages.
The garuda harnessed to a specific cart near the front of the procession drew Mags¡¯ attention the moment she and Alichino reached the row of carriages. Massive and regal, the creature preened its vibrant green feathers, wings shifting lazily. Its talons, each as thick as her wrist, curled around the hitching post. The carriage it was tethered to was modest but well-maintained, its lacquered wood gleaming faintly in the dim afternoon light.
Two men loitered near the front of the carriage. One was lean, with a weathered face and a pipe clenched between his teeth, while the other was shorter, his bulk packed into a too-small coat. They straightened as she and Alichino approached, their gazes flicking over her and then her towering companion.
¡°How much to Brightwash Academy?¡± Mags asked, her tone clipped but polite.
The pipe-smoker squinted at her. ¡°Cutting it close, aren¡¯t you? Most of the other hopefuls got in days ago for the admissions testing. Yesterday, latest, if they were from the regional exams.¡± His two front teeth were larger than normal, separated by a pronounced gap. ¡°I hate to break it to you, but you might be too late.¡±
¡°Has the welcome ceremony already happened?¡± she asked.
The man shrugged. ¡°Er . . . Can¡¯t say. Probably not, I suppose. But it won¡¯t be long now.¡±
Mags lifted her chin. ¡°Then I¡¯m still on time. How much?¡±
The shorter man scratched his chin, his gaze lingering on her boots, which were finally broken in but clean and clearly newer, and then sliding toward her luggage. ¡°Two gold for the ride,¡± he said. ¡°Another gold apiece if you need help with your things. And your, uh . . . attendant¡ª¡± his eyes flicked warily to Alichino, who stood grinning like a bear at the attention ¡°¡ªmight need his own carriage. We¡¯ve got just the one bird pulling this one.¡±
Alichino let out a booming laugh that made the shorter man flinch. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, lads,¡± the giant said, slapping Mags on the back with a force that nearly sent her stumbling. ¡°I¡¯ve got other places to be.¡±
Mags chuckled. ¡°He¡¯s not coming. Just me.¡± She glanced at Alichino. ¡°Help them load my things?¡±
Alichino grinned and hauled her chests and suitcase as though they were filled with feathers, depositing them into the carriage with a gentleness that belied his size. The two men stood by, uncertain whether to be grateful or intimidated.
When the last satchel was loaded, Alichino turned to her, his jovial expression softening. ¡°Well, this is it, lass. You¡¯ll do great.¡± He clapped her shoulder one last time, this time with a gentler hand. ¡°Remember, Brightwash might be the whetstone, but you¡¯re the blade.¡±
Mags nodded, her throat tightening. ¡°Thanks, Alichino.¡±
He gave her a mock salute before turning back toward the skydocks, his hulking frame soon lost in the crowd.
Mags climbed into the carriage, the wood creaking slightly beneath her weight. She settled onto the cushioned bench as the pipe-smoker barked an order to the garuda. With a ruffling of wings and a sharp cry, the creature began to move, pulling the carriage smoothly onto the narrow cobbled streets.
The city of Wrifton passed by in a blur of stone and shadow. Towers loomed overhead, casting long fingers of shade that stretched across the streets. Small crowds of people went about their day, their voices mingling with the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the distant hum of unseen machinery. The glare of glass windows on storefronts mixed with the blur of dark stone.
Eventually, the carriage left the city¡¯s confines, the road unfurling into the hilly countryside. The air grew fresher, tinged with the scent of wild grass and damp earth. The garuda¡¯s talons clicked against the stone path, steady and measured. Mags watched as the hills grew steeper, the road curving upward toward an imposing set of iron gates.
As they approached, the gates creaked open, revealing a sprawling campus that took Mags¡¯ breath away. Brightwash Military Academy stretched before her, its austere grandeur unmistakable. Towers of gray and red stone framed the main courtyard, their flags snapping sharply in the breeze. Beyond them, the campus sprawled in all directions¡ªtraining grounds, lecture halls, barracks¡ªall neatly arranged within the confines of high walls. The place buzzed with activity, students and instructors moving with purpose.
The carriage slowed to a stop, and Mags stepped out, her pulse quickening. She had arrived.
Interlude A2-VIII. Isolde Ovetha [End of Arc 2]
Interlude A2.VIII
Isolde Ovetha
[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]
[Soulsinger Designation: Isolde Ovetha]
[Class 1: Forger (Type: Dragoon)]
[Class 2: Conjurer (Type: N/A)]
The Southern Training Arena of Brightwash Academy echoed with the sound of steel striking steel, the impact reverberating like thunder in the cavernous space of the empty training grounds. Isolde braced herself, gripping her massive lance, Ascalon, as its radiant edge pulsed with aura, the air around it trembling as if the weapon¡¯s very presence defied reality.
Before her stood Rosal, a living bastion of power. The Broceli woman towered over most opponents, including full-grown Olenish men. Her pale complexion and white-gold hair¡ªboth traits representative of the harsh northern Nifhel Region she hailed from¡ªshimmered faintly in the arena¡¯s cold light that streamed down from large aetheric light constructs that hung from the domed ceiling. Rosal¡¯s silver eyes were unreadable, fixed on Isolde with the unrelenting precision of a predator sizing up prey. Her armor, Les Deux Amants, glowed faintly with a soft white light, an extension of her will as a Forger. Her shield, massive and perfectly circular, gleamed with an almost ethereal sheen, radiating quiet defiance. They were both breathtaking examples of Soulsinging at its highest level¡ªaura-constructed armaments from the Chevalier¡¯s soulforge.
Isolde lunged, driving Ascalon forward in a calculated thrust. The lance¡¯s aura flared as it surged toward Rosal¡¯s center, its tip a comet trailing light. Rosal moved in response, her shield snapping up to intercept. The collision was deafening, a shockwave rippling outward, scattering loose sand across the arena floor.
¡°Good form,¡± Rosal said, her voice calm but resonant. She held her ground effortlessly, her shield absorbing the blow as if the force of Isolde¡¯s strike were nothing more than a summer breeze. ¡°But predictable.¡±
Gritting her teeth, Isolde pivoted, swinging Ascalon in a wide arc to sweep Rosal¡¯s legs. Rosal shifted, planting her feet with the weight of an ancient oak, and slammed her shield down to meet the attack. The lance bounced back, and Isolde stumbled slightly from the recoil.
¡°Don¡¯t overcommit,¡± Rosal chided. ¡°It leaves you open.¡±
Isolde snarled softly, adjusting her grip on Ascalon. Sweat trickled down her brow, though she refused to acknowledge it. Rosal¡¯s calm critiques weren¡¯t just maddening¡ªthey were a challenge. Each word dared Isolde to break through the unyielding wall that was her Chevalier.
¡°Again!¡± Isolde barked, her resolve sharpening.
Rosal inclined her head, as if granting permission, and raised her shield, the glow of Les Deux Amants intensifying.
Isolde charged, this time angling her lance low before feinting high. Ascalon whistled through the air as she redirected her strike mid-thrust, aiming for the gap between Rosal¡¯s shield and helm. Isolde channeled aether, burning mana as she silently casted a Spell. The aura surrounding the lance flared brighter, the air crackling with tension.
[Spell: Severing Light]
Ascalon transformed into a beam of light that fired towards the minute gap in Rosal¡¯s defenses. Rosal head moved just slightly, barely a twitch, causing Severing Light to land on the side of her helm, bursting into a fountain of sparks as the beam ricocheted into the air. That¡¯s fine, Isolde thought. She wasn¡¯t hoping for her Spell to land¡ªjust to give her a different angle. Ascalon¡¯s gleaming point following the spear of light, coming around the edge of Les Deux Amants¡¯ shield, aiming right for a gap in the plate armor covering Rosal¡¯s thigh.
The blow never landed.
Rosal rotated her shield with practiced ease, catching the strike and deflecting it upward. She stepped forward with surprising agility for someone in full plate, using the momentum to swing the shield¡¯s edge toward Isolde¡¯s side.
Isolde barely managed to leap back, narrowly avoiding the shield¡¯s crushing weight. She twisted her body, bringing Ascalon up defensively, the lance¡¯s aura shimmering like a barrier of light.
[Guard] activated, and the weapon¡¯s aura became a defensive cloud that slowed Rosal¡¯s blow, though only enough for Isolde to reposition herself and avoid Rosal¡¯s punishing follow through.
The clash continued, each exchange of blows more ferocious than the last. Isolde moved with precision, her tactics shifting as she probed for a weakness. She tried thrusts, sweeps, and even a spinning strike that sent arcs of light slicing through the air. But Rosal held firm, her shield an impregnable wall, her movements economical and deliberate.
Finally, after another collision that sent a ring of force rippling outward and echoing against the walls of the arena with a deafening boom, Rosal lowered her shield slightly and stepped back. ¡°Enough,¡± she said, her voice as steady as it had been at the start.
Isolde froze mid-stride, Ascalon humming in her grip, its aura dimming slightly as she let out a slow breath. Her chest rose and fell as she steadied herself, frustration and pride warring within her.
¡°Well done. The timing of your attacks continues to improve,¡± Rosal said in her typical matter-of-fact way. ¡°You held your own against a much higher-leveled opponent in a battle limited to our Forger abilities. However. . .¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Isolde¡¯s eyes narrowed.
Rosal slammed her shield edge-first into the sand and leaned slightly on it, a rare gesture of relaxation. ¡°You continue to use your high Dexterity to position yourself and find openings in Les Deux Amants¡¯ defenses. You are aware that my Type is Living Fortress. A defensive specialist. My endurance eclipses yours by leagues and in a contest of attrition, you¡¯ve already lost.¡±
¡°Our abilities as Forgers presents an unfavorable match up for Ascalon,¡± Isolde observed.
¡°Yes, but not an impossible one. What is my armament comprised of?¡±
Isolde took in Rosal¡¯s aura constructed armament, thinking for a moment before responding to the Chevalier. ¡°The shield, breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves . . .¡± Then the answer hit her. ¡°It¡¯s composed of separate distinct parts.¡±
Rosal smiled faintly, the barest hint of warmth breaking her stoic exterior. ¡°Correct. My defense is strong, but while appearing to be a single, impenetrable wall, in actuality it is a phalanx, a collective unit.¡±
The giantess silently recalled Les Deux Amants and the armor around her body disappeared into shimmering silver light that rose into the air before dissolving into nothingness. ¡°What would you do differently, then?¡±
Isolde¡¯s brow furrowed. She pushed away a stubborn strand of her pinkish blond hair that was sticking to her sweat-slick face. Her eyes were fixed on the gigantic shield that remained sticking out of the arena¡¯s floor. ¡°I would attack points in the defense directly. Focusing my stronger attacks not on the openings I work to create, but instead on breaking down the components of your defense. Perhaps not the shield, as I imagine the aura used to sustain it is a deeper reserve and it would take a lot to break. Perhaps one of your greaves. Shatter it and creating easier openings in your defense, ruining your balance and forcing the other members of your ¡®phalanx¡¯ to over-compensate for the downed unit.¡±
The shield dissolved into particles of light. ¡°Well done,¡± Rosal said. ¡°Though it¡¯s easier said than done. You were correct that the match up between our armaments is not a favorable one for you.¡±
Isolde stood in the center of the sand, gripping Ascalon tightly. The words stung. She worked herself to the bone day in and day out to eliminate the idea of unfavorable matchups. On the battlefield, when Soulsingers clashed, levels often didn¡¯t matter as much as the types of Soulsingers fighting. What was the point of growing stronger if you couldn¡¯t eliminate the uncertainty altogether?
As the last echoes of the battle faded, Isolde exhaled slowly and whispered to herself, ¡°Next time, Rosal. Next time, I¡¯ll break through.¡±
The adrenaline faded slowly from Isolde¡¯s veins as she stood in the center of the arena, her breath finally returning to its resting cadence. With a soft exhale, she raised a hand to her chest, touching the massive lance she still gripped tightly.
¡°Ascalon,¡± she murmured.
The weapon pulsed, its ethereal aura dimming before dissolving into streams of light. The glow traveled to her heart, vanishing beneath her skin, and a moment later, the familiar weight of her mother¡¯s necklace settled around her neck. A small marble hung from its chain¡ªa fragment of aether-tec jewelry, smooth and cold against her skin. It was her totem.
Isolde ran her thumb over the marble, and a soft, lilting melody began to play. The music box within the necklace hummed a gentle lullaby, the same song her mother had sung to her every night before bed. It had been a long time since she last activated the construct and listened to that song. Some memories were too crippling, and better kept an arms¡¯ length away.
¡°You¡¯ve come far, princess,¡± Rosal said, breaking the moment. Her tone was as steady as ever, but there was warmth beneath the words. The Chevalier¡¯s silver eyes rested on the necklace Isolde fingered. She knew the meaning of Isolde¡¯s totem. ¡°Your mother would be proud.¡±
Isolde turned to her Chevalier, the compliment striking deeper than any blade. For a moment, she was silent, uncertain how to respond. Rosal never gave praise lightly. That¡¯s what she liked most about Rosal¡ªthe knight was honest even when speaking to the princess she was sworn to.
¡°Thank you, Rosal,¡± she said, voice firm despite the lump forming in her throat.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew both their gazes to the side. A voice followed, resonant and commanding, yet carrying an undercurrent of warmth. ¡°It seems talent runs in your blood, Princess Isolde. You may be the most gifted recruit our Academy has seen since your mother walked these halls.¡±
Isolde snapped to attention immediately, spine straightening as Headmistress Eleftheria stepped into view. The woman was an imposing figure, draped in the deep crimson of the Crown Coalition. Her sharp eyes, framed by silver-streaked hair, bore down on Isolde with a weight that demanded respect.
Beside her stood her father, King Regent Liam Ovetha, his presence quieter but no less significant. He wore a simple dark tunic, his crown absent, yet the authority he carried was unmistakable. His eyes softened when they met Isolde¡¯s, pride brimming within their depths.
¡°Headmistress.¡± Isolde saluted sharply, stepping into parade formation.
¡°At ease,¡± Eleftheria said, her tone light. ¡°You¡¯re not a recruit just yet. The semester hasn¡¯t started. Enjoy your last day as a Princess.¡±
Isolde relaxed slightly, though she remained mindful of her posture.
¡°I must agree with Rosal,¡± her father said, his voice tinged with emotion. ¡°Your mother would be proud, Isolde. As am I.¡±
Isolde felt her cheeks flush, but she held his gaze, determined to stand tall beneath his praise.
Eleftheria¡¯s gaze shifted to the sparring arena, then back to Isolde. ¡°This year¡¯s recruits with special recommendations are exceptionally talented, Isolde. And the upperclassmen are no less fierce. With your mother¡¯s legacy, you carry a mark on your back. If you aim to become Dux per Par, you¡¯ll need to earn it every step of the way.¡±
¡°I understand,¡± Isolde said, her voice steady. ¡°I won¡¯t let my family, my people¡ªor Brightwash Academy¡ªdown.¡± It was tradition for the future Queen of Broceliande to attend Brightwash, and her family had an excellent reputation of performance. But even the sterling track record was dull compared to what her mother had accomplished during her time as a student at the Academy.
Her father cleared his throat. ¡°Well, Isolde, I came to fetch Rosal before we returned to Broceliande. And to wish you the best of luck during your time at the Academy.¡±
Eleftheria nodded approvingly, but before she could say more, Rosal stepped forward, her armor faintly gleaming in the afternoon light. ¡°Are you sure she should be here without an escort, or guard?¡± Rosal asked, her voice tinged with uncharacteristic concern. ¡°Brightwash or not, traditions can be broken. And after what happened to Queen Ermetrude . . .¡±
The Regent smiled faintly. ¡°There¡¯s no safer place than this academy, Rosal. And tradition dictates that the crown princess attend Brightwash without the presence of her Chevalier.¡±
Isolde nodded in response.
Her father stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace. He nearly lifted her off the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you very much, daughter,¡± he said. When they separated, his eyes were misty, though he hid it well. ¡°You¡¯ll do just fine here. I know it.¡±
Rosal sighed, her gaze lingering on Isolde. ¡°You¡¯ve always been stubborn about this,¡± she muttered, then stepped closer to Isolde. ¡°I¡¯ll miss watching you grow stronger, Princess. But I look forward to seeing how Brightwash hones you. Don¡¯t disappoint me.¡±
¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± Isolde said, her lips curving into a small, confident smile.
With that, Rosal inclined her head, turning to follow the King Regent. Isolde watched them leave, her heart heavy yet resolute.
As the two disappeared from sight, Eleftheria stepped up beside her, clasping her hands behind her back. The Headmistress¡¯s gaze followed theirs, but her words were for Isolde.
¡°Welcome to Brightwash, Princess,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Your real battles begin now.¡±
Isolde nodded, her hand brushing the marble at her neck, her mother¡¯s lullaby still echoing softly in her mind. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±
END OF ARC 2.
AUTHORS NOTE: End of Arc 2
Hello there!
168,706 words, or 613 pages later, and we''ve finally reached the end of Arc 2 of A Crucible of Light. When I first set out on this journey back in October 2024 (4 months ago), I really didn''t know what to expect. What I can say now is that sharing this story with the world has been an amazing experience that has reawakened my passion for writing and storytelling. Not only that, but I have discovered such an amazing community surrounding Royal Road: passionate readers and a supportive group of fellow writers. For all of that, I am thankful.
I wanted to use this AUTHOR''S NOTE to look both at Arc 2 and ahead to things in the pipeline.
A Crucible of Light - Arc 2 (The Ghost Hounds Arc)
Arc 2 was, originally, not even an Arc at all. It was originally a few chapters at the beginning of what is now Arc 3, to transition from the end of the Incident at Solstice to Wrifton. Once I finally got to writing it, however, I realized I needed to handle some plot and character points before we arrived at Brightwash Military Academy. This included the entire scene in the forest with Baba Yaga, which was originally going to take place in Volume 2. I actually like how this worked out for a couple of reasons. It allowed me to give Mags some more time exploring her new powers and a chance to have more interactions with Calcabrina, as well as some of the other Ghost Hounds.
A Crucible of Light - Arc 3 (The Entrance Trials Arc)
We''re about to enter Arc 3 and the final Arc of Volume 1 (The Malevolent Tide). It will introduce a lot of new characters and elements that will play key roles through the remainder of the series. I imagine it will take several months longer to get to the end (currently tracking to wrap up between Chapter 80-90). This is an Arc I am so excited to bring to you all!
A Crucible of Light - After Volume 1
Once Volume 1 is complete, which I understand is still quite a ways off, I will be planning to temporarily pause uploading chapters. This is so that I can work on Volume 2. I am an outline writer - living by a story bible that turns into a detailed outline. I moved several things from Volume 2 into Volume 1. So, my outline for Volume 2 had to be reworked in several places in order to deliver a better product for the readers. I am planning on writing most, if not all, of Volume 2 before I start posting it. There are several reveals that are currently planned to take place in Volume 2 and the beats leading up to those reveals require a flawless execution. I think a short break between Volumes will help me stick the landing. In addition, I would hope to possible increase the frequency of releases for Volume 2 (up to 3 days a week) and perhaps have most of the volume available on Patreon immediately.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
DEVOUR
I have two projects coming to you all in the near future. The first is a story set in the same world of A Crucible of Light. At the end of Arc 1, we left Solstice after it had been razed by the Crown Coalition Forces. But you didn''t think there were no survivors, right? Perhaps you were wondering what happened to our good friend Sabo? Well, for those of you who might have been wondering, wonder no longer! DEVOUR has launched on Royal Road and officially releases on Monday, February 10th. Check it out using the link in the Author Note below (or here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/105291/devour-epic-fantasy-litrpg-coming-soon).
The blurb:
Feed your inner beast.
Sabo is the survivor of two desolations - one at the hands of the Maldrath horde and the other by the very empire that swore to protect him and his people. Now, a political prisoner, he has resigned himself to a life of forced labor.
That is, until a rogue Paladin of the state-backed church, the Morduin Order, comes crashing onto the government airship transporting Sabo and the other condemned to their final destination. The dying Paladin carries with him a Celestial Treasure he stole from the church - a Divine Mark called God-Eater.
The maul was designed with a single purpose: to feed.
Freed and set on a war path, Sabo will [Devour] church and state in his quest for vengeance.
DEVOUR is a fast-paced action-packed LitRPG progression fantasy set in the same world as A Crucible of Light.
Strength Based Wizard
Releasing on Monday, February 17th, I have a System Integration LitRPG releasing on Royal Road titled Strength Based Wizard.
I am so very, very excited for this one, guys!
The blurb:
For some wizards, Intelligence is just a dump stat.
Joseph Sullivan is down bad. He lost his job, his fianc¨¦ dumped him, he moved back to the Midwest and currently lives in his parent¡¯s basement¡ªoh, and his workout was just interrupted with the arrival of the System.
Earth has become a playing field in a contest amongst the gods, where mortals are the pawns. The winning god gets the glory, and their chosen champion gets a single wish. The first stage of this game: Tutorial ¨C Class Selection.
Provided the ideal stat array for a physical, combat-focused class, the choice for Joe is obvious. Until he fat thumbs the selection screen and ends up selecting Spellcaster. His starting Intelligence stat? 1.
With a useless class selection and only his raw testosterone-fueled strength to back him up, Joe decides class optimization is for dummies. Pumping all stat points in Strength, he hopes to not only survive the contest of the gods, but to win the whole damned thing.
After all, a real wizard should be measured by how much they can bench!
Cheers,
R.M. Collinwood
47. Registrar [Start of Arc 3]
Chapter 47
Registrar
The carriage slowed to a halt near a long stable where other garuda-drawn carriages rested. Garuda in an array of colors¡ªblue, gold, and silver¡ªpreened their feathers or stood motionless, their bright eyes scanning the surroundings with an uncanny intelligence. Mags pushed the door open before the driver could dismount and offer assistance. She hopped down lightly, brushing dust from her tunic.
The driver, pipe still in his mouth, raised an eyebrow as she approached. ¡°Eager one, aren¡¯t ya?¡±
¡°Don¡¯t have a lot of time to spare,¡± she said. She pulled two gold pieces from her Pocket, the gold coins appearing in the air before her. The man froze, the pipe clamped tight between his teeth as he watched the coins materialize from seemingly nothing. Mags smirked at his expression, presenting the two coins between her pointer and middle finger.
The driver reached out an open hand.
¡°You¡¯ll get another gold each,¡± Mags said matter-of-factly, ¡°if you and your friend help bring my luggage to my dormitory. Once I figure out where that is.¡± She dropped the coins into his outstretched hand and paused. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±
The man took out his pipe, stuffed it with a pinch of tobacco from a small leather pouch¡ªdeftly depositing the gold pieces into his pocket as he did so¡ªand struck a match against the side of the carriage. ¡°Stucco,¡± he said gruffly between puffs.
¡°Stucco, I¡¯ll send someone to fetch you when I¡¯ve got my bearings.¡± Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the sprawling campus.
Stucco muttered something to his companion, who chuckled nervously, but Mags didn¡¯t look back.
Brightwash Military Academy was a small city unto itself, buzzing with life and purpose. Wide stone pathways crisscrossed the manicured lawns, weaving between towering structures of marble and granite. Smaller buildings of ivy-covered brick were sprinkled throughout, painting a picture of an Academy that grew and evolved over a long, long history. Students of all ages moved with varying degrees of confidence, their crimson coats with navy accents standing out vividly against the pale backdrop of the buildings. Crowds of people not in uniform also bustled about. Of those that were clearly students, some carried stacks of books; others lugged equipment or sparred with practice weapons in the open courtyards. Voices blended into a cacophony¡ªshouted orders, bursts of laughter, and the hum of distant machinery.
The air smelled of freshly cut grass, leather, and the faint metallic tang of magic. Mags took it all in, the nervous energy of the place was infectious. She kept her head high and her stride purposeful, trying to ignore the gazes she imagined lingered on her, curious or appraising. No one is paying you any mind. Get it out of your head, she thought.
The pathways gradually converged on the Central Yard, a vast open space surrounded by imposing buildings that radiated importance. Students and faculty moved in all directions, some with hurried steps, others strolling in groups. Mags paused, feeling momentarily overwhelmed by the scale and motion of it all.
¡°Excuse me,¡± she said, stopping a passing student¡ªa boy about her age with neatly combed hair and a patch sewn onto his coat, which she know from her lessons marked him as a second-year. ¡°Where can I find the Registrar?¡±
He pointed to a squat, ivy-covered brick building off to one side of the yard. Its windows gleamed in the sunlight, and a trickle of students moved in and out of its arched entryway. ¡°Third floor,¡± the boy said, barely slowing his stride.
¡°Thanks,¡± Mags said, already heading toward it.
The crowd seemed to part for her instinctively as she walked. Whether it was her bearing, her confidence, or something else, she wasn¡¯t sure. But Mags felt the weight of the scroll in her Pocket¡ªa reminder that she wasn¡¯t here to blend in. She was here to stand out. To attain the impossible.
¡°Off the grass!¡± A commanding voice shouted over the thrum of the crowds. Mags then quickly realized it was directed at her. She glanced down to see manicured, green grass beneath her feet. She then looked up at the crowds of people crossed through the Central Yard. They hadn¡¯t been parting for her, they had simply been staying on one of the many brick-lined walking paths that cut through the Central Yard.
She leapt off the grass, shouting a quick, ¡°My apologies!¡± before using one of the paths to wind through the Central Yard and get to the administrative building with the Registrar. Students must walk very fast here if they can¡¯t cut through the grass!
Finally, she reached her objective, waiting for two older students to walk out of the building before hurrying inside. The interior of the administrative building was quieter than Mags had expected. The noise of the bustling campus was muffled by thick brick walls and high ceilings, leaving only the faint rustle of paper and the occasional muted conversation echoing through the partially opened doorways lining the halls. She found the stairs at the other end of the first floor, and quickly climbed them to the third floor, as the student had told her.
At the top, she entered a wide room lined with filing cabinets and shelves sagging under the weight of ledgers and scrolls. At the far end of the room sat a desk piled high with papers, behind which was a man who could only be described as . . . imposing.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a greenish hue to his otherwise pale, gray skin. Two sharp tusks jutted from his wide lower jaw, and thick-rimmed spectacles perched precariously on his wide nose. His dark, curly hair looked slightly unkempt, giving him a scholarly air at odds with the crisp crimson uniform of the Crown Coalition he wore. Unlike the students¡¯ uniforms, his was adorned with polished gold epaulets and insignia denoting rank. Major, Mags thought, recalling the insignia from her lessons with Libicocco.
The man glanced up as she approached, his sharp black eyes peering over the top of his spectacles. ¡°May I help you, ma¡¯am?¡± he asked in a voice that was deeper than she¡¯d expected, calm but with an edge of formality. He spoke in the common tongue, but with a drawl that she couldn¡¯t place.
¡°Are you the Registrar?¡± Mags asked, straightening her back.
¡°I am,¡± he replied, folding his hands on the desk. ¡°Midhat Mavani, Chief Registrar of Brightwash Academy. And how may I help you?¡±
¡°I¡¯m here to enroll.¡±
Mavani blinked slowly, then let out a short, scoffing laugh. ¡°You do realize that the Welcome Ceremony for this semester is today, ma¡¯am?¡±
She crossed her arms. ¡°I do.¡±
The Registrar¡¯s face grew serious once more. Mags couldn¡¯t help but think he and Libicocco would be a perfect match. ¡°You¡¯re too late, I¡¯m afraid. The admissions examinations were conducted weeks ago, and candidates from the regional exams were expected to report for final interviews last week. Brightwash does not accept late applicants, regardless of the circumstances. You will need to re-apply next year . . . and be more cognizant of the application and reporting deadlines.¡±
Mags didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, she reached into her Pocket, focusing on the scroll tucked safely within. The tiny parchment appeared in her palm, and she placed it on the desk in front of Mavani.
He leaned forward, his gaze narrowing as he examined the object. There was no mistaking the intricate seals stamped into the scroll¡ªsymbols of authority that few would dare to forge. She knew he¡¯d be able to instantly recognize them and know that someone from high within the Ravaelian Empire produced this scroll. Still, he hesitated, his expression unreadable. ¡°What is this?¡± he asked, though the recognition in his eyes betrayed his curiosity.
¡°A Special Recommendation for Admission,¡± Mags said.
Mavani frowned, the tusks jutting from his lower lip giving the expression an almost comical intensity. ¡°All students admitted by Special Recommendation have already been accounted for.¡±
¡°Well, you haven¡¯t appropriately accounted for me, then.¡±
¡°Even those who have received recommendations to the Academy must follow our protocols. After all¡ª¡±
He stopped mid-sentence as he broke the wax seal and unrolled the parchment. A pulse of aura escaped from beneath the wax that Mags could feel with her [Aura Sense]. Rubicante explained that this would be a unique aura signature that kept those from opening and reading the scroll before it reached its intended audience. Mavani¡¯s eyes scanned the text, his expression growing more incredulous with every line. When he reached the bottom of the scroll, his gaze snapped back to her, suspicion clouding his features. He studied her again, this time more intently, as if trying to reconcile the contents of the letter with the girl standing before him. Mags wished she knew what the scroll said.
¡°Wait here,¡± he said brusquely, rising from his chair. The room seemed to shrink as he stood, his massive frame nearly blocking out the light from the tall window behind him. He was nearly as tall as Alichino, even if not as wide. He strode to the door with the scroll in hand and exited without another word, leaving Mags alone with the towering stacks of paperwork and the echo of her own heartbeat drumming in her head.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Was there an issue with the Special Recommendation? Only a few were handed out in any given year, and typically by the heads of the Noble Families with the most influence in the Empire (and therefore the Crown Coalition). Occasionally, leadership of the Guilds, or even the Emperor himself, were known to bequeath Special Recommendations to truly talented young Soulsingers. Mags trusted that Frey Sarto would have gone through the work to obtain a real Special Recommendation, and not attempt to craft a counterfeit. But the thoughts of their plan crumbling to ash before it truly started flooded her mind. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she continued to stand there, staring out the tall window behind Mavani¡¯s cluttered desk.
After an awkward amount of time, the door creaked open, and Mavani returned, his imposing figure framed by the muted light of the hallway. He strode back to his desk, scroll in hand, and seated himself with deliberate care, his expression inscrutable. He placed the scroll onto the polished surface and adjusted his spectacles, clearing his throat in what seemed like an attempt to gather his thoughts.
¡°Very curious,¡± he began, folding his hands atop the desk. ¡°We had not accounted for another Special Recommendation this school year. Yet, after verification, I find this recommendation is indeed legitimate. Unorthodox, but undeniable.¡± His sharp gaze fixed on Mags. ¡°What did you say your name was?¡±
¡°Magdalena,¡± Mags replied, her voice steady. ¡°Of Solstice.¡±
¡°Of Solstice.¡± Mavani chewed on the words. One thick brow arched. ¡°You¡¯re not nobility? . . . A talented bastard, perhaps?¡±
The words stung like a slap, and Mags felt a surge of heat rise to her face. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, but she forced herself to keep her tone measured. ¡°No. Not a bastard, and not nobility. Just a girl from the Far Country.¡±
Mavani leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Interesting. Very interesting. To have received a recommendation of this magnitude . . . you must truly be a diamond in the rough.¡±
He turned his attention to a large tome, its leather-bound cover worn but well cared for. With a grunt of effort, he heaved it onto the desk, the weight of it causing the wood to groan in protest. The pages were filled with tightly packed lines of ink, each entry precise and organized. He flipped through the book with deft fingers until he landed on the page he sought.
¡°The Headmistress and the Academy Council will not be pleased about this unexpected addition to the recruit roster,¡± he mused, his finger tracing a line of text. ¡°But there¡¯s little they can do about it. Rules are rules.¡± He stopped at a particular entry and tapped it with one blunt finger. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see . . . all First Year housing has been fully allocated, but there¡¯s a vacancy with a second-year student. I¡¯ll place you there until a spot in a First Year dormitory becomes available.¡±
Mags¡¯s stomach tightened. Her lessons made her well aware of the reputation the first semester at Brightwash¡ªknown as the Entrance Trials¡ªhad. Most First Year students didn¡¯t survive their initial semester. They were shipped off to the Coalition Force¡¯s front lines as expendable soldiers. It was a part of the bargain a person entered into when they willingly became a recruit at the Academy. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing her expression to remain neutral.
The Registrar began to mark things down in his tome. He pushed a piece of paper towards her with his other hand, pointing a finger to an empty line near the bottom of the page. ¡°Enrollment agreement. Please sign there.¡± He placed a fountain pen on the table besides the parchment.
She scanned the page, though already knew its contents. She picked up the pen and scribbled her name where he had indicated.
Mavani looked up. ¡°You¡¯ve brought your belongings, I presume?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Mags said. ¡°A carriage is waiting at the stables. The driver¡¯s name is Stucco.¡±
Mavani nodded and reached for a small, mirror-like plate embedded into his desk¡ªa scrying mirror, she realized. He muttered something under his breath, and the glass shimmered for a moment before dimming again.
The door opened and a young man with closely cropped hair and a bright crimson uniform entered.
¡°Please, locate a carriage in the stables manned by a driver named Stucco,¡± Mavani instructed. ¡°Retrieve the luggage and deliver it to Fleming Hall, Room 405.¡±
The porter nodded briskly and prepared to leave, but Mags stopped him with a quick word. Reaching into her Pocket, she withdrew two gleaming gold pieces and extended them toward him. ¡°For the drivers,¡± she said simply.
The young man hesitated, glancing at Mavani, who waved a dismissive hand. ¡°Go on, take it,¡± the Registrar said.
The porter nodded curtly, clicked his heels in a quick salute, before he accepted the coins and departed, leaving Mags alone with Mavani once more. The registrar closed the tome with a resounding thud, leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. ¡°I assume your belongings do not include the Academy¡¯s uniform?¡±
¡°No,¡± Mags replied.
Mavani sighed, the sound one of long-suffering patience. ¡°Of course not. The Welcome Ceremony starts soon, and you¡¯ll be required to attend in full uniform. Come, follow me. We¡¯ll get you fitted, though it¡¯s likely the clothiers will only have something approximating your size for today.¡±
He rose from his chair, the large tome still on the desk, and motioned for Mags to follow. As they exited the administrative building and began weaving through the bustling campus, Mavani spoke, more to himself than to her.
¡°I¡¯ll prepare your schedule and have it delivered to your room. If you need a tour of the campus, you¡¯ll need to arrange that separately. Maps are posted at key locations, of course. One would think the Academy could provide personalized orientation for new students, but alas, the Crown Coalition¡¯s generosity only stretches so far.¡±
Mags followed in silence, her boots clicking against the brick paths that twisted through Brightwash¡¯s sprawling campus. Students hurried past in small groups, some clutching books or training swords, others animatedly chatting about topics she couldn¡¯t catch. The air hummed with energy, an undercurrent of tension and excitement that Mags presumed was due to the upcoming new semester.
They arrived at a long, squat building set apart from the more grandiose halls near the Central Yard. The building¡¯s simple, utilitarian design stood in stark contrast to the rest of the campus, its wide entrance flanked by brass signs engraved with the words Quartermaster¡¯s Hall.
Inside, the space was a flurry of activity. Metal tracks crisscrossed the ceiling, each carrying dozens of neatly hung articles of crimson clothing. The fabric swayed gently as the tracks clicked and whirred, the sound blending with the chatter of men and women bustling about.
A stern-looking woman with short, graying hair approached Mavani, her arms crossed. ¡°Registrar,¡± she said curtly. ¡°What is it now?¡±
¡°I need measurements for an incoming student,¡± Mavani replied, his tone as dry as parchment. ¡°And a uniform suitable for the Welcome Ceremony.¡±
The woman, who Mags presumed was the Quartermaster, eyed her.
¡°Special Recommendation,¡± Mavani said.
That seemed to be explanation enough. The woman scowled but waved Mags over. ¡°Stand here,¡± she instructed, pulling out a measuring tape. With quick, practiced movements, she measured Mags¡¯ height, shoulders, and waist, muttering under her breath all the while.
¡°She¡¯ll need the standard set,¡± the woman said, addressing an assistant who had appeared with a clipboard. ¡°It won¡¯t be ready until tomorrow morning.¡±
¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Mavani said, his voice clipped.
The assistant disappeared into the labyrinth of moving tracks and returned moments later with a crimson uniform. ¡°This one should fit well enough for today,¡± she said, handing it to Mags.
Mags took the bundle of fabric, its weight surprisingly heavy in her arms. She nodded her thanks, though the words felt awkward in the charged atmosphere.
¡°Try not to ruin it before tomorrow,¡± the woman added, her tone half-joking, half-warning.
Mavani gestured for Mags to follow him once more. They exited the building and made their way across campus to a towering dormitory marked Fleming Hall. Inside, the stairwell spiraled upward, and Mavani led her to the fourth floor, stopping before a door marked 405.
The room inside was larger than Mags had expected. One half of the space was clearly lived in, with neatly arranged books, a stringed instrument of some sort leaning against one wall, and a dark blue quilt draped over the bed. The other half was bare save for the furniture¡ªa bed, a wardrobe, and a small writing desk¡ªand Mags¡¯ luggage, which sat neatly stacked beside the bed.
¡°Your roommate, Rue Hirata, is a Second-Year student,¡± Mavani explained. ¡°All Second-Year students are required to return to campus no later than today, after their field missions, so she should be here at some point.¡±
Mags nodded, her gaze lingering on the signs of life that filled Rue¡¯s side of the room.
¡°Make yourself presentable,¡± Mavani added as he turned to leave. ¡°The Welcome Ceremony is mandatory.¡±
With that, he departed, leaving Mags alone in the quiet room. She set the uniform down on the bed, her mind racing with thoughts of what the next hours¡ªand the coming weeks¡ªwould bring.
She turned her attention to the uniform laid out on the bed. The crimson coat, neatly folded, caught the light streaming in from the window, its navy lapels and brass buttons gleaming with an almost ceremonial brilliance.
She shrugged off her traveling clothes, folding them quickly and placing them at the foot of her bed. Then, she began the careful process of donning the Academy uniform.
The white button-down shirt was stiffer than she expected, the fabric crisp against her skin. She fastened the navy breeches, tucking the shirt neatly into the waistband before pulling on the tall, black boots. The leather hugged her calves snugly, their polished surface catching her reflection as she moved.
Finally, she slipped on the crimson coat. The brass buttons ran in a perfect line down the front, and the spade-shaped navy and bronze epaulets sat proudly on her shoulders. She adjusted the navy-piped cuffs, marveling at the quality of the fabric. It felt like more than a uniform¡ªit was a declaration, a challenge, a second skin she¡¯d have to grow into. She knew many of the admitted First Year recruits were from regional military academies, and were accustomed to the setting and being in uniform.
When she finished, she turned to the mirror mounted on the inside of her wardrobe. The girl staring back at her looked older somehow, her dark eyes sharp against the backdrop of crimson and navy. It was a disguise she would need to master. Remember why you¡¯re here. She thought of Solstice, of Vitomir, Sabo, and the children.
She squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall.
Mavani was waiting just outside, his arms folded across his broad chest. His dark, tusked face appraised her with a critical eye, but the faintest hint of approval softened his usual severity.
¡°This will do,¡± he said, nodding once. ¡°The Welcome Ceremony is starting any moment. You¡¯ll be needed on stage with the other recruits admitted on Special Recommendation.¡±
¡°On stage?¡± Mags asked, her voice steady despite the jolt of nerves that ran through her. This hadn¡¯t been mentioned once during her lessons.
¡°Yes,¡± Mavani replied, already turning to lead the way. ¡°You are something of an oddity, Ma¡¯am. The Academy Council will want to present its latest ¡®promising addition¡¯ to the rest of the student body. It¡¯s tradition for all recruits on Special Recommendation to be on stage during the Welcoming Address. Consider it your first test¡ªof composure, if nothing else.¡±
Mags fell into step behind him, the boots clicking against the polished floors with a confidence she didn¡¯t quite feel. As they descended the stairs, she tried her best to mentally prepare herself for this unexpected turn of events. They joined a procession of uniformed students making their way towards a vast structure, an amphitheater sitting on the edge of central campus atop of a hill. She knew there were several coliseums on campus, but couldn¡¯t recall their names.
¡°The Welcome Ceremony is in a coliseum?¡± she asked.
¡°The Crimson Circlet,¡± Mavani replied. ¡°It¡¯s one of the few places on campus that can hold this many people.¡±
As they drew closer, Mags took in the massive, free-standing structure. The elliptical-shaped outer walls carved of a reddish, sandy colored stone. Its fa?ade, multiple stories high, was covered in carving and statues, crafted from the same stone.
¡°Welcome to Brightwash Academy, Miss Magdalena of Solstice,¡± Mavani said, a faint smile playing at the edges of his tusked mouth. ¡°Do try to survive.¡±
48. Welcome Ceremony I
Chapter 48
Welcome Ceremony I
Mavani strode ahead, his long legs cutting through the bustling throng of students streaming into the coliseum. The coliseum loomed over them like a giant bloodstone crown, casting red-hued shadows over the nervous and eager students, stretching out towards the adjacent training fields.
Mags struggled to keep pace, her polished boots still unfamiliar and stiff. The grand entrance came into view ahead, a towering archway carved with the intricate murals of the Crown Coalition¡¯s many victories. Beyond it, the sound of excitement swelled¡ªa cacophony of voices, laughter, and anticipation that threatened to swallow her whole. She had to remind herself that all of these other students were willing participants to the cruel lie of the Empire. Most of them will be meat fodder for the Maldrath on the frontline, she thought. If only they knew.
But Mavani veered left, away from the main procession, and gestured for her to follow. They entered a quieter passage, the noise of the crowd dimming as the hall narrowed. Ornate sconces lined the walls, glowing with soft aetheric light the color of dying sunsets casting the entire corridor in false twilight.
¡°This way,¡± Mavani said over his shoulder, his voice low and steady. ¡°The recruits admitted on Special Recommendation are expected to wait for the commencement of the Ceremony in a separate holding area while the other First Year students take their seats in the stands.¡±
They descended a series of ramps, the polished stone underfoot giving way to rougher, older masonry. The air grew cooler, tinged with a faint metallic tang. It reminded Mags of descending into the Deep with Sabo and Bidelia. She wondered if what waited for her this time would be worse than an endless sea of Maldrath, or a gigantic goblin fat on aether.
¡°What¡¯s below the arena?¡± Mags asked, her voice echoing faintly in the silence.
¡°A network of corridors and chambers used for storage mostly, and for transporting items or people to various parts of the coliseum without needing to traverse heavy crowds of people. Directly below the arena proper? Well, you¡¯ll see¡¡±
¡°And the other recommended students?¡±
¡°They should already be there, waiting for the ceremony to begin.¡±
They reached a heavy, iron-bound door at the end of the final ramp. Mavani placed a hand against it, his tusked face inscrutable as he muttered something too soft for her to hear. The door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit chamber.
¡°Go,¡± Mavani said, stepping aside. ¡°I¡¯ll see you after the ceremony when I deliver your curriculum and weekly schedule.¡±
Mags hesitated for the briefest moment before squaring her shoulders and stepping inside.
The chamber was vast, the walls curving slightly inward as if embracing the space. Aetheric constructs, set into the stone at regular intervals, cast a ghostly, bluish light. Their glow illuminated the room but left the corners steeped in shadow, creating an almost otherworldly ambiance.
Five figures stood waiting, their uniforms as crisp and immaculate as her own¡ªthough theirs seemed to fit with a precise elegance she felt she lacked in her hand-me-down uniform.
The first was a young man, a Laanian, judging by his citrine-colored skin and the bronze sheen of his narrow eyes. He was short¡ªtwo heads shorter than Mags¡ªbut his presence was anything but small. His pitch-black hair, streaked with gold dye and threaded with trinkets and golden lace, framed his face in sharp lines. His bangs hung straight across his brow, contrasting with the intricate designs worked into his hair.
Next was a tall, lithe girl with dark skin and silvery grey hair braided into an intricate crown that shimmered in the low light. Her face was all sharp angles, her expression a mask of calm detachment. Her eyes, dark and fathomless, seemed to drink in the light, as if Mithra had been melted down and cast into two pools of pitch.
A tawny-skinned boy stood off to one side, blending almost unnaturally into the background. His dark hair and green eyes were plain, unremarkable¡ªbut something in the way he held himself suggested he was used to being overlooked.
The fourth was a towering young man, his fair skin flushed faintly with color under the glow of the constructs. His red hair was cropped close to his skull, neat and precise. His eyes, a pale orange tinged with cream, were locked on Mags with a scowl so deep it seemed etched into his face. Mags met his glare with one of her own, jutting her chin out in defiance.
And then her eyes landed on the last figure.
She was breathtaking. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent, her green eyes glowing faintly like the aetheric constructs lining the walls. Her long hair, a soft cascade of pink champagne, fell around her shoulders in shimmering waves. She stood among the others with an air of effortless grace, her weight casually shifted to one leg, arms crossed over her chest.
Mags froze. Her breath caught in her throat as memories surged forward unbidden: pale heels flicking across dark, wet grass; children racing beneath the cold, unfeeling gaze of Soulgrave House.
It can¡¯t be, she thought, her heart pounding in her chest. But the resemblance was unmistakable.
The girl turned her head slightly, her glowing green eyes locking with Mags¡¯. She didn¡¯t betray anything that would pass for recognition.
Mags clenched her fists, her mind racing. What is she doing here? Am I imagining things? She forced the painful memories of Soulgrave House down, smothering them as best she could.
The red-haired young man broke the silence with a sharp, disdainful sniff. His orange-cream eyes locked onto Mags like she was some sort of intruder.
¡°I don¡¯t recognize you,¡± he said, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. His words carried the judgmental weight of scrutiny, his tone making it clear he wasn¡¯t just being curious. ¡°Who are you?¡±
Mags drew herself up, meeting his gaze with as much steel as she could muster. ¡°Magdalena,¡± she said, her voice firm. ¡°Of Solstice.¡±
¡°Solstice?¡± The boy¡¯s scowl deepened, his brows drawing together. ¡°That¡¯s in the Far Country, isn¡¯t it? Olendar?¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
She nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±
¡°Did you get separated from the rest of the students or something?¡±
¡°No,¡± Mags replied, resisting the urge to bristle at the implication. ¡°I was led here. I¡¯m here on Special Recommendation.¡±
That gave him pause, though not the kind Mags had hoped for. Instead of respect, his face twisted into incredulity. ¡°You¡¯re here on Special Recommendation?¡± His eyes narrowed, and he glanced around the room as if expecting someone to jump out and yell that it was all a joke. ¡°What, are you from one of the Guilds? Like Chandrakant?¡± He jerked his head toward the unremarkable boy, who barely glanced up from the corner where he stood.
¡°No.¡±
¡°Then maybe you¡¯re here on behalf of some noble family? Like . . . ?¡± He gestured at the short Laanian boy, whose golden trinkets jingled softly as he turned to give Mags a cursory glance. The red-haired young man snapped his fingers. ¡°Now, what was it again?¡±
¡°Szed,¡± the Laanian boy said flatly.
¡°Szed! Right!¡±
¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Mags replied.
The boy threw up his hands in exasperation. ¡°This is ridiculous! Three out of six aren¡¯t descendants of noble houses? And there are six of us this year¡ªsix! The most in history! And half of us aren¡¯t even from proper bloodlines? It¡¯s . . . embarrassing.¡±
A sharp, exasperated sigh cut through his rant. ¡°Oh, shut up, Dermot.¡±
The pink-haired girl turned to him, her green eyes glowing faintly with disdain. She uncrossed her arms, shifting her weight with a casual elegance that somehow made her seem taller. She had a personal gravity that demanded Mags¡¯ attention. From the reaction of the others in the room¡ªeven if barely perceptible¡ªshe didn¡¯t seem to be the only one. ¡°You¡¯re so unbearably tedious. Do you ever stop talking? You¡¯re making all of us look bad.¡±
Dermot¡¯s face turned crimson, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, clearly biting back whatever retort had sprung to mind. Instead, he settled for glaring daggers at the girl before crossing his own arms and pouting like a child denied a treat.
The girl didn¡¯t seem to care. She turned to Mags, her expression softening into something resembling friendliness¡ªor at least, indifference. ¡°Welcome, Magdalena of Solstice,¡± she said, her voice smooth, almost musical. ¡°Pay no attention to Dermot. He¡¯s just mad that the world doesn¡¯t revolve around him. If you¡¯re here, then it¡¯s for good reason. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. I am Isolde Ovetha.¡±
Mags blinked, caught off guard. Her heart pounded as she searched the girl¡¯s face for any sign of recognition. But there was none. Her calm, welcoming expression remained fixed, giving no indication that she remembered Soulgrave House, racing through wet grass under a blazing sun.
Not that Mags expected her to. It had been years ago, and children change. And yet, the resemblance was too striking to ignore. Isolde Ovetha. Had that been the girl¡¯s name? Mags couldn¡¯t remember. It¡¯s probably not her.
Mags forced a smile, inclining her head in thanks. ¡°It¡¯s good to be here.¡±
The pink-haired girl offered her a faint smile before turning her attention elsewhere, leaving Mags to her thoughts.
The dark-skinned girl shifted, her arms uncrossing as she glanced toward the ceiling above them. Her voice was low and melodic, yet filled with a certainty and confidence that spoke of a high station.
¡°I think we¡¯re about to be brought up to the main stage.¡±
Before anyone could respond, the floor beneath them shuddered. A faint rumble coursed through the platform, followed by a mechanical groan. Mags¡¯s stomach clenched as the realization struck her¡ªthey were standing on some kind of lift.
¡°Line up,¡± the red-haired boy, Dermot, snapped. The recruits moved quickly, shoulder to shoulder, falling into an uneven row. Mags hesitated, unsure where to stand, until Isolde gave her a subtle nod, indicating the spot beside her.
The platform jolted again, and then, with a smooth hiss, began to rise. The ceiling above them parted in segments, sunlight spilling in and painting the recruits in a golden glow. Mags squinted against the brightness, her eyes struggling to adjust as the sounds of the coliseum surged to life¡ªa cacophony of whispers, shuffling, and the low murmur of anticipation.
The platform came to a stop, and Mags blinked as her vision cleared. They stood on the arena floor of a massive coliseum, its stands packed with rows of crimson-uniformed students. Thousands of eyes bore down on them, a sea of faces tinted with equal measures of curiosity and awe. Around the stadium, mounted high above the crowd¡¯s heads on the various red stone pillars were giant circular mirrors of bronze-tinted glass. Mags immediately identified them as large scrying mirrors. A moment later, the mirrors flashed white hot, and their smooth surfaces filled with magnified images of the stage. Mags could feel her cheeks darken as she appeared on the mirrors as their vision passed over the students who had just taken the stage.
At the center of the stage, a woman stood, her presence commanding and regal. She wore a navy and gold military uniform, its sharp lines accentuated by the gold braiding along her shoulders. Her dark skin gleamed in the sunlight, her hair¡ªso much like Mags¡¯s own¡ªstreaked with silver at the temples. She had to be Olenish, towering well over six feet in height.
Mags was familiar with this woman from her training and lessons. Headmistress Eleftheria. Her military accolades could fill entire books. They did fill entire books (much to Mags¡¯ chagrin).
Mags and her fellow recommended recruits stood just behind and to the side of the Headmistress, a place of honor but also of scrutiny. The other five immediately straightened, clasping their hands behind their backs in a disciplined pose. Mags scrambled to mirror them, her movements a fraction too late.
The crowd fell silent. Not a whisper or rustle broke the stillness as the Headmistress stepped forward. A thin stand before her held a polished stone, etched with glowing veins of aetheric circuitry. Mags focused on her [Aura Vision]. The Headmistress extended her hand, her fingers dancing with power, and a sharp zap activated the stone.
When Eleftheria spoke, her voice thundered through the arena, amplified to a near-immortal resonance.
¡°Cadets. . .! Today, you cross a threshold into a realm that will change you forever. You have left behind the world of comfort, certainties, and mediocrity. Now, you have passed through the gates of Brightwash, a place you will soon find out in unlike any you have known. This is not simply an academy. It is a crucible. A forge, where raw ambition is tempered into unwavering purpose. Where weakness is burned away, and where only the strongest spirits rise, not only unbroken but re-forged.¡±
She paused. Letting the crowd drink in her words. The entire stadium fell into an intense silence. The tension filling the arena could balance on the point of a knife. The Headmistress continued. ¡°Look around you. To your left, to your right¡ªthese faces . . . Remember them! They will be your comrades. Your rivals. Your measures of success, and of failure. Understand this: the world does not need more soldiers. Any one of the Thirteen Crowns can take a portion of their population, give them blades, and call them soldiers. Here, we craft weapons. Living weapons of unparalleled precision, destructive power, and unbreakable resolve. That is what you must become to leave these halls at the end of three years: an instrument of power and change.¡±
The Headmistress paused again, her gaze briefly falling on the six students on stage. ¡°That is not a challenge that I present to you lightly. Brightwash has produced minds and souls that have led armies, toppled tyrants, and destroyed civilizations. The Soulsingers who emerge from our depths have stood as defenders of the fragile bastion of humanity against the abyss that lurks just beyond the veil. The Maldrath threat continues to pose an existential threat to all peoples. Let that purpose your guiding star, as the fires of this crucible transform you . . . or consume you.¡±
Mags clenched her fists, pushing them into small of her back so hard it hurt. It took all of her willpower not to react. The Crown Coalition weren¡¯t the last protectors of humanity. She knew it was all a ruse. The very people they swore to protect were so easily expendable, so long as the fa?ade of power and infallibility could persevere.
¡°And for those of you who can endure, these flames will not destroy you¡ªthey will set you ablaze. And you will burn brighter than the stars. The first thing to do is to embrace the challenge that your fellow recruits pose. Embrace the struggle and demand everything from your fellow cadets. The strongest blades are forged in the hottest of flames. This year, our Academy has seen some of the most talented prospects enter our ranks, hoping to make their mark here.¡±
The Headmistress¡¯ deep, red lips quirked into a smile. She once again turned her attention to Mags and the other students on the stage. She extended her arm out, as if she were a merchant presenting wares to potential customers. ¡°I think I have done enough speaking . . . Actions, after all, speak louder than words. How about a demonstration of what it means to embrace the flames?¡±
49. Welcome Ceremony II
Chapter 49
Welcome Ceremony II
The Headmistress¡¯s hand dipped into her coat pocket, withdrawing an object that caught the sunlight in a fleeting glimmer. From her position slightly behind the imposing soldier-turned-academy administrator, Mags squinted, trying to make it out. It was a card¡ªor something like a playing card, but not quite. It appeared to be made of glass, transparent but tinged with a faint crimson hue that shimmered as the light hit it. Mags could also make out what appeared to be intricate gold filigree covering the surface of the card-like object.
¡°This,¡± the Headmistress declared, holding the object aloft, ¡°is a Judgment Key. An Artifact from the Age of the Ivaldi, long before the Calamity.¡±
A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd, and even the recruits standing beside Mags seemed to stiffen in interest. Mags tried to rack her memory and draw upon her lessons with Libicocco and Rubicante. The term sounded familiar, but she couldn¡¯t recall the significance of ¡®Judgment Key.¡¯ An Ivaldi-crafted weapon . . . that makes sense. But what is this?
¡°They are rare Celestial Treasures,¡± the Headmistress continued, her voice carrying over the murmurs with practiced ease. ¡°And irreplaceable. None of the great artificers of our age have ever managed to replicate them. And each Judgment Key contains only a single use. What you see here is a ¡®red grade¡¯ Judgment Key, one of the more common varieties. The Crown Coalition and the Guilds have collected a dragon¡¯s horde. But even among these, the numbers are still finite. And above them are even rarer qualities, including the legendary ¡®black grade¡¯ Keys¡ªArtifacts so rare they have only been recovered from the most perilous Deeps or aether-rich ruins, such as the higher floors reached in Hecate¡¯s Tower, far away in distant Valhadryan.¡±
Mags felt her breath hitch. She finally recalled learning about Judgment Keys, or at least a story from one of Libicocco¡¯s lessons: a minor lord had nearly conquered most of Osmanpatur with the help of a massive army he had been able to procure in exchange for a Black Key his family had obtained long ago. If a Black Key could purchase someone an army strong and large enough to nearly conquer a nation, then how much were the Red Keys worth? Her stomach lurched at the thought. Probably enough to have sustained the orphanage in Solstice for multiple lifetimes.
The Headmistress lowered the Key slightly, her piercing gaze sweeping the crowd of eager recruits. ¡°Their original purpose, during the time of their creation, remains a mystery. Perhaps they were tools of governance, or devices for entertainment. We do not know. What we do know is how they are used today. Judgment Keys allow for the binding of Soulsingers to the terms of a contest¡ªa fair and controlled resolution to disputes.¡±
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. ¡°During the Warring States Period, before the rise of the Ravaelian Empire, armies clashed openly, releasing the full force of their Soulsinger cadres. When warriors can summon tempests, shatter mountains, and call monstrosities from the Aethereal Sea, the devastation is unimaginable. Cities were razed, lands turned to ash, and entire civilizations lost. Judgment Keys became the solution. A contest could decide the fate of nations without the annihilation of the world around them. Armies could decide to leave their living weapons on the sideline, or settle a battle while only risking a couple of their military assets.¡±
The Headmistress lifted the Key again, her grip firm yet reverent. ¡°At Brightwash, we use them for a simpler purpose: demonstration and training. You, our Special Recommendations, will showcase your abilities using these Keys.¡±
A collective inhale filled the coliseum. Then, with a sharp twist of her wrist, the Headmistress revealed a second card in her other hand, nearly identical to the first. Two Keys. The crimson sheen glimmered against the navy and gold of her uniform as she held them side by side.
The Headmistress turned, her sharp eyes scanning the six students on stage. Mags felt the that gaze linger on her for just a heartbeat longer than it did on the others, a deadly-sharp knife point at her throat.
¡°Sergeant,¡± the Headmistress called.
A man in a crisp Brightwash uniform strode onto the stage with military precision, carrying a small, unadorned wooden box. The box had a narrow slit on its top, just large enough for a hand.
The Headmistress gestured to it. ¡°Inside this box are six marbles. Three red, marked with the number ¡®one¡¯ and three blue, marked with the number ¡®two.¡¯ Each of you will reach inside and take one. Hold it, and do not reveal what you have drawn until I instruct you to do so.¡±
The recruits exchanged glances. Mags felt a pulse of unease in her chest but stepped forward along with the others as the Headmistress gestured for them to approach the box one at a time.
The dark-skinned girl went first, her hand disappearing into the box with an almost casual confidence. Her expression didn¡¯t change as she withdrew her fist, marble concealed.
Dermot was next, his movements sharp and brisk. He stepped back to his spot, his lips twitching with what could have been a smirk or a grimace.
One by one, the others followed, Isolde flashing a wry smile at the Headmistress before sauntering back to her place.
Mags was the last. Her palms were slightly sweaty as she stepped forward, conscious of the weight of the arena¡¯s gaze. She reached into the box, her fingers brushing against the velvet that lined the inside of the box. She felt around until she found the single remaining marble in the box, she closed her hand around it and withdrew, retreating quickly to her spot beside the pink-haired Isolde.
¡°Good,¡± the Headmistress said, her tone clipped. ¡°Now, hold your positions. The stage is set.¡±
The crowd leaned forward in collective anticipation. Mags¡¯s fingers tightened around the marble in her hand, its cool surface comforting as the sunlight and crowd of students bore down on them all. She tried to avoid looking into the crowd, or at the polished scrying mirrors.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
The Headmistress gestured with a commanding sweep of her hand. ¡°Now,¡± she said, ¡°hold your hands out in front of you.¡±
Mags complied, as did the others. Her fingers felt stiff around the small glass marble as she extended her arm. A subtle hum filled the air, and she glanced upward to see their projected hands, magnified and shimmering, displayed across the massive scrying mirrors suspended above the arena. Jebati! I told you not to do that, she reminded herself.
¡°Reveal what you hold,¡± the Headmistress instructed.
Mags¡¯s heart thudded. She unfurled her fingers to reveal a glass marble nestled in her palm. The crowd gasped collectively as the mirrored projection of her hand showed the marble¡¯s surface, marked with a crisp, glowing ¡®1.¡¯
Beside her, Isolde¡¯s elegant fingers uncurled, revealing a similar marble, though hers bore the number ¡®2.¡¯ Mags darted a glance at the other recruits but could not see which marbles the other students held in their palms. The soft murmurs of the crowd filled the air like a rising tide.
The Headmistress turned to the crowd, moving back toward the stand with the mana crystal. Her voice, amplified by a zap of aura channeled into the crystal, filled the coliseum. ¡°Each of you have taken a different path to stand here today. For the vast majority of you, the journey began with years of rigorous study, grueling training, and excellence in your regional examinations. You earned the opportunity to travel to Wrifton and interview for a spot in this semester¡¯s class. Some among you come as transfers from regional military academies, already disciplined and hardened by their first skirmishes.¡±
She turned slightly, gesturing to the six recruits on stage. ¡°But these six were admitted on Special Recommendation. Their prodigious abilities in Soulsinging earned them recognition from some of the most influential and powerful individuals across the Thirteen Crowns. Today, they stand ahead of the curve, possessing skills that many of you will only begin to grasp in your first year. Keep your eyes trained on their backs. You will all be expected to not only keep up with them, but hopefully surpass them in your climb to the top!¡±
Mags swallowed hard. A target on her back by the hundreds of first-year students was the last thing she needed. If anything, she was behind the curve and still playing catch up to the vast majority of the students. To make matters worse, she had to conceal the true nature of her power as best she could. The Crown Coalition didn¡¯t want an Angel attending their most prestigious military academy.
¡°Yet,¡± the Headmistress continued, ¡°talent is nothing without application. Skill means little if it is not tested. And so, to honor their achievements and to inspire those of you in the audience, we will witness their prowess in a contest.¡±
A wave of murmurs surged through the crowd, punctuated by bursts of excitement.
The Headmistress raised the two crimson-tinged Judgment Keys again. They caught the sunlight like shards of frozen flame. ¡°The rules are simple,¡± she said. ¡°Golden rings will materialize within a finite, enclosed space. Contestants must remain within this space or face elimination. You may attack or defend, but should you show clear intent to mortally wound or inflict grievous harm, you will be eliminated. If a contestant takes significant damage or can no longer physically continue, they will be eliminated. Victory is achieved by collecting four rings, or by being the last remaining contestant capable of continuing the contest.¡±
She pivoted, her gaze like a blade as it swept the six recruits. ¡°Those holding marbles marked with the number ¡®1,¡¯ step forward.¡±
Mags hesitated, her legs briefly heavy as lead. The crowd¡¯s attention felt almost suffocating. She forced herself to move, stepping forward alongside Szed and Dermot. She silently cursed Frey Sarto. Did I have to be admitted on Special Recommendation? Then she remembered her goal: most students who achieved the title of Dux per Par were admitted on Special Recommendation.
¡°Group two will follow immediately after,¡± the Headmistress said, motioning for the uniformed sergeant to escort Isolde, Chandrakant, and the dark-skinned girl off stage. The three disappeared in a military procession, leaving Mags, Szed, and Dermot standing alone before the Headmistress.
The Headmistress turned to face them directly, her voice losing none of its edge. ¡°Declare your agreement to the terms and allow the Judgment Key to bind you.¡±
Dermot stepped forward first, his voice clear and proud. ¡°I accept.¡±
Szed followed, his tone more measured but resolute. ¡°I accept.¡±
Mags felt their eyes on her¡ªDermot¡¯s expectant, Szed¡¯s polite, the Headmistress¡¯s unyielding. She glanced at the crimson-tinted artifact in the Headmistress¡¯s hand, the air around it thrumming faintly with power.
¡°I . . . I accept,¡± she said at last.
The Headmistress gave a curt nod, her grip tightening on the Judgment Keys. ¡°Very well. Take your places. The contest begins now.¡±
The Headmistress raised the crimson Judgment Key high above her head, her expression unreadable. In a sharp, decisive motion, she threw it down. The artifact struck the stage with a resonant clang, landing perfectly flat.
A deep hum reverberated through the platform, vibrating through Mags¡¯ feet. She instinctively focused on her [Aura Sense] and [Aura Vision]. The Judgment Key began to glow faintly, its crimson hue casting long, rippling shadows across the stage. Mags¡¯ enhanced senses flared as the aether in the air shifted, an almost imperceptible quake she could feel in her chest, like the anticipation before a storm.
Without a word, the Headmistress stepped back and exited the stage. As she moved, a translucent dome-shaped barrier shimmered to life around the stage, rising in a smooth arc until it fully encased the space. The dome was thin enough for Mags to still make out the restless crowd in the stands, but its presence was undeniable. She had no doubt that crossing the boundary would result in elimination, per the Headmistress¡¯ rules.
The air grew heavier, charged with expectation.
The Judgment Key began to morph, sinking slightly into the stage. Its glow intensified, and then it unfurled¡ªa rectangular rift yawning open on the floor. The rift¡¯s interior burned a deep, angry red, pulsing with unnatural energy.
From the rift, a figure emerged.
It was tall, easily twice the height of the students, and its form was wrought from a twisted patchwork of blackened, metallic plates. The armor was sleek and brutal, as though sculpted to instill dread. Its visor, an empty slit of shadow, suddenly came alive with a baleful red glow. The figure hovered effortlessly, rising into the air before halting at the boundary of the dome.
The rift closed behind it, leaving the stage eerily silent save for the faint whirring of gears and the occasional hiss of colorful aether-infused steam from the mechanical entity. The aether in the dome rippled outward, the creature at its epicenter like a sun distorting its surrounding space.
Mags¡¯ breath caught as she felt it: a surge of intent, sharp and unmistakable. Silver script blossomed in the corner of her vision.
[Soulsinger Designation: Magdalenda]
[Judgment Key (Red) Detected]
[The following Soulsingers have entered the Binding: Magdalena, Szed Sed, and Dermot ur Fierach]
[Rules: Implementing . . .]
[Rules: Accepted]
[Consequences of Elimination: Removal from Contest Demispace and Denial of Future Access]
[Judgment: Commencing. . .]
Before she could process further, five golden rings of light burst forth from the mechanical figure, arcing high into the air before scattering across the stage. They hovered just above the ground, their glow illuminating the contestants¡¯ faces.
Mags¡¯s muscles tensed, her [Aura Sense] screaming for attention as the golden rings hummed with latent power. Across the stage, Dermot¡¯s expression twisted into one of fierce determination, and Szed¡¯s hands fell to his sides, his posture fluid and poised.
The mechanical figure¡¯s visor flared brighter, a droning hum filling the air as its metallic frame shifted, joints grinding into readiness.
And then, all at once, they moved.
50. Welcome Ceremony III
Chapter 50
Welcome Ceremony III
Mags bolted forward, her boots pounding against the stage as her gaze locked onto the nearest golden ring. The soft hum of its glow tugged at her [Aura Sense]. It hovered just above her head¡ªclose enough to reach with a jump.
To her right, Szed moved with almost unnatural grace, his braided hair bouncing as he dashed for another ring. On her left, Dermot surged forward, his longer strides eating up the distance to his target.
Mags¡¯s mind raced as fast as her feet. Five rings. One for each of us, at least initially. But then what? She knew the real game started after each participant secured their first ring. That part was easy. Who gets the remaining two?
Her heart hammered in her chest as she reached her ring. She jumped, her hand closing around the glowing band. It was cool to the touch, surprisingly light, but its faint hum sent a ripple of energy through her palm. It was too large to wear¡ªabout a hand¡¯s length in diameter¡ªshe¡¯d have to carry it.
Dermot and Szed had already snatched their first rings as well. Dermot¡¯s fierce grin caught her eye as he turned toward the next closest target, just a few strides ahead of him. Szed, meanwhile, had hesitated, his sharp eyes darting to the final unclaimed ring suspended much higher in the air and just about equidistant from all three of them.
Mags forced herself to think quickly, her grip tightening on her ring. Dermot is likely getting his second ring without any contest from either Szed or myself¡ If she let Szed get the final ring, he and Dermot would each have two rings. It would make it easy for them to gang up on me at that point. Eliminate the weakest and then fight over who will be victorious. No, she had to fight Szed and focus on stopping him from getting a second ring.
But did she need to claim that ring herself?
She watched the tall, broad-shouldered red-haired nobleman confidently dash towards his second ring, unopposed and cocky smile painted on his face. Mags knew too many people like him. She hated that smug look. Just then, a plan crystallized in her mind. She pivoted, her ring clutched tightly in her left hand, and sprinted head on at Szed.
The Laanian boy¡¯s citrine-hued skin glistened with sweat in the midday light as he crouched, ready to spring for the high ring. Mags closed the distance, throwing herself into a sliding tackle at the last moment. Her shoulder clipped his legs, sending him stumbling.
¡°Really?¡± Szed barked, spinning to face her. His bronze eyes flared with irritation.
Mags scrambled to her feet. She activated her [Void Cloak], burning aether and letting her body¡¯s aura flare around her.
¡°Thought I was going to make it easy for you?¡± she snapped. She brandished her ring as if it were a shield. It would be nice if I didn¡¯t need to hold this thing, she thought. She mentally attempted to withdraw the ring into her Pocket. Words flashed across her vision.
[Error: Ineligible Target]
Jebati! Of course!
Dermot¡¯s triumphant laugh rang out as he seized his second ring. ¡°Looks like you two are busy playing footsie. Thanks for the gift!¡± He held his rings high, their golden glow catching the sunlight streaming through the dome.
Mags bristled but kept her focus on Szed. She couldn¡¯t afford to let him claim the high ring¡ªnot yet. Mags sensed the faint tug of aether being drawn in by Szed. She sprung forward, engaging him. The two clashed in a quick trade of blows. Szed was clearly using Physical Enhancement, matching Mags¡¯ strength and speed with ease. But she couldn¡¯t help but feel a modicum of satisfaction at the slight widening of his eyes when he realized each trade of punches ate away at his aura.
The two separated. Szed flicked his thumb and a projectile fired towards her face. She bobbed to the side, the projectile passing through her [Void Cloak]. With her [Aura Vision] she was able to see that whatever the object was, it was covered in Szed¡¯s aura. Szed leapt towards the final ring, but Mags expected that, grabbing him by the ankle midair and slamming him to the ground.
Then, she drew in as much aether as she could in a single surge. The familiar icy sensation flooded her veins and her muscles pulsed with power. She grabbed Szed by the front of his shirt, picking him off the ground before she began to chop her feet, moving both of them away from the ring and towards the edge of the stage and the boundary of the playing field. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Szed growled through gritted teeth. Something copper flashed on his hands, and she was barely able to stop her forward momentum in time to fall to the side, missing a swipe from the metallic, copper-colored claws that now tipped Szed¡¯s fingers.
She tucked, turning her fall into a roll and coming up in a crouched position. She glanced back towards the high ring, and saw that Dermot had just about reached it. Good. Turning her attention back to Szed, she said, ¡°Dermot is about to get his third ring. If either of us is eliminated or weakened, it just about ensures victory for him. We should work together!¡±
Szed hesitated, his aura flickering as he weighed her words. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he glanced toward Dermot, who was already snatching his third ring from the air. Mags could see him quickly coming to the exact conclusions she wanted him to. A fight between himself and Mags wouldn¡¯t be able to end quick enough. If Dermot joined the frey¡
¡°Fine,¡± Szed muttered, straightening. ¡°But if you stab me in the back, I¡¯ll make you regret it.¡±
¡°Deal,¡± Mags said, exhaling sharply. She turned, her gaze locking onto Dermot, who stood in the center of the stage, three glowing rings held in one of his large fists.
The golden ring glowed faintly in Mags¡¯s hand as she pivoted on her heel, watching Dermot ascend toward the high ring. Beside her, Szed¡¯s golden aura flared, frustration tightening his expression.
Dermot, now holding three glowing rings, laughed. The sound was sharp and mocking, carrying easily across the stage. ¡°Oh, this is adorable. I knew this was too easy . . . I guess the crowd needs a show!¡±
Mags barely had time to respond before Dermot¡¯s aura exploded outward. She didn¡¯t even need to focus on her [Aura Vision] to see it clearly. A deep, purple in color, Dermot¡¯s aura burst from every part of his body¡¯s surface, much like [Void Cloak] before spiraling around him, like a coiled, protective snake, before it suddenly disappeared.
Dark, viscous tendrils erupted from Dermot¡¯s back, twisting and writhing like octopus tentacles. They snapped toward Szed and Mags with a sickening crack.
Mags dove to the side, her ring still clutched tightly in her hand. One tentacle smashed into the ground where she¡¯d been standing, splintering the stage in a spray of stone shards. Another lashed out, catching her side and sending her sprawling. Pain flared through her ribs, but she gritted her teeth and rolled to her feet. She channeled aura, sending it to her side, numbing the pain.
Szed, meanwhile, had his hands raised, golden coins forming in the air around him. With a flick of his fingers, the coins shot forward like bullets, tearing through the tentacles with brutal precision. Each strike sent a spray of black blood into the air, the ichor sizzling as it hit the stage. So that¡¯s what he fired at me earlier. Watching the barrage of coins impact the tentacles made her happy she had dodged the tossed coin.
Dermot barely flinched, his grin widening as if the attack amused him. ¡°Is that all you¡¯ve got?¡± he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. He held his rings up. ¡°You need to get closer if you want these.¡±
The mechanical judge hung suspended in the air high above them, motionless at the edge of the dome, its dark visor unreadable. Clearly, the damage being done to the tentacles from his back wasn¡¯t enough to break the rules, at least not yet.
More tentacles erupted from behind Dermot¡¯s shoulders, taking the place of the ones torn to pieces by Szed¡¯s barrage.
Mags pressed forward, weaving between the thrashing tentacles. Something in her gut screamed with every step, warning her of the danger, but she pushed through the fear. Another tentacle lashed out, grazing her arm and tearing through the fabric of her sleeve.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
She gritted her teeth, her focus narrowing on Dermot. She re-ignited her [Void Cloak] as she darted between two more tentacles. Something tugged at her ankle, and she realized one of the torn tentacle remains had wrapped itself around her leg. But it wasn¡¯t enough to stop her as she surged forward. One of Dermot¡¯s new tentacles cracked through the air like a whip and Mags met it his a right hook, her fist blasting through it like a melon, sending viscera through the air.
She leapt forward, landing in front of Dermot. Just as she was about to unleash a flurry of blows, an unsettling feeling shot up her leg. She glanced down to see the tentacle that had wrapped itself around her ankle become translucent, phasing into a dark, purple aura that passed through her [Void Cloak] and into her skin. It burned but only for a moment. She gritted her teeth throwing a punch towards Dermot¡¯s face, only for her fist to abruptly stop halfway through the motion.
It was as though her arm had suddenly quadrupled in weight, and a heavy hand was pushing her fist towards the floor. You¡¯re not stopping me! She silently screamed in her head as she burned aether, strengthening her body and urging her fist to continue its trajectory. Her fist moved forward, but curved downwards, pulling her forward, off-balance and stumbling forward, crashing onto the stage floor before Dermot¡¯s feet.
¡°Well, well,¡± Dermot sneered, looming over her. ¡°It seems like you don¡¯t appreciate the gravity of the situation.¡± His smirk twisted with satisfaction. She glared up at him, but a crushing weight pressed down against her whole body. He crouched, his hand reaching toward her ring.
Dermot¡¯s hand shot back as a furious cloud of coin projectiles filled the air above her. The remaining tentacles from his back curved in front of him, taking the barrage of metal.
Mags growled, her body refusing to move under the invisible force on top of her.
Szed leapt into the fray, his aura blazing golden as copper claws extended from his fingertips. He slashed through the tentacles surrounding Dermot, each strike precise and vicious. The tentacles writhed and recoiled, black ichor spraying onto the stage. The last tentacle fell away in a blur of golden and copper, leaving the red-haired young man exposed.
Before Dermot could react, Szed spat a silver liquid from his mouth. The strange substance glimmered as it arced through the air, heading straight for Dermot.
Dermot moved to dodge, but Mags, still pinned to the ground, acted on instinct. She threw her arms around his legs, locking them in place with all the added weight crushing her body. He stumbled, unable to escape.
¡°No, you don¡¯t!¡± she hissed through gritted teeth.
The silver liquid hit Dermot¡¯s forearms, hissing and bubbling as it made contact. He roared in pain, the sound echoing through the dome.
The weight lifted from Mags like a boulder being rolled off her back. She gasped, scrambling to her feet despite the ache in her limbs. She lunged forward, driving her shoulder into Dermot¡¯s legs and taking him off balance.
¡°Now, Szed!¡± she shouted.
Szed swiped at the air and she could see his aura flare. Coins, hundreds and hundreds of them, had been scattered across the stage as a result of the Laanian boy¡¯s projectile attacks. They rose off the ground, hovering midair before coalescing into a massive, shimmering hand. The construct formed an open palm and slammed into Dermot¡¯s chest with a resounding crack, sending him hurtling backward.
Dermot hit the edge of the barrier. There was a shimmer of light, a ripple in the dome¡ªand then he was flung out of bounds. His body tumbled across the arena floor outside the stage.
The golden rings he¡¯d been holding didn¡¯t follow him. Instead, they struck the barrier surrounding the stage and stuck there, but just as the last portion of Dermot¡¯s body had exited the field, the three rings were expelled from the barrier, landing at one edge of the stage, all three floating a few feet off the ground, only inches from each other.
A sharp, resonant chime echoed through the arena. Above them, the floating mechanical judge flashed with light, and a notification appeared in Mags¡¯ vision.
[SOULSINGER DERMOT UR FIERACH: ELIMINATED.]
Mags panted, her chest heaving as she stared at the floating rings. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.
¡°We did it,¡± she murmured. Her plan had worked.
Szed nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. His aura still shimmered faintly, but his sharp gaze was fixed on the rings.
¡°Yeah,¡± he said, his tone even. ¡°But we¡¯re not done yet.¡±
Mags¡¯s smile faded as she realized the truth in his words. There were still three rings¡ªand now, only two contestants left. Each holding a single ring.
Mags staggered to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her. Her eyes met Szed¡¯s, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The air between them thrummed with tension.
Then, without a word, Szed flicked his wrist. The metallic hand that had slammed Dermot out of the arena crumbled into a cascade of shimmering coins. They hovered for the briefest of moments before hurtling toward Mags like a storm of tiny meteors.
Mags flared her aura, activating her [Void Cloak]. A shimmering veil of silver energy encased her, and the barrage of coins ricocheted harmlessly off its surface. The sound was deafening¡ªlike hailstones striking glass. Sparks flew as the coins scattered across the stage, clinking against the polished stone. She burned her cloak as intensely as she could.
She gritted her teeth, her mind racing. With a burst of speed, she darted toward the golden rings hovering near the edge of the barrier.
But Szed was ready. He reached into his pockets and withdrew handfuls of copper balls, tossing them in quick succession. The spheres rolled across the stage, instantly melting and spreading out in a calculated pattern that formed a gleaming copper path between Mags and the rings.
Her foot hit the polished copper surface¡ªand pain exploded through her body. Jolts of electrified energy surrounded her body. Her limbs convulsed in pain and she stumbled back with a sharp cry. Her [Void Cloak] flickered, then dissipated entirely as she fell to one knee, clutching her side.
¡°I¡¯m right here.¡± Szed¡¯s voice cut through the air like a blade.
She looked up to see him standing tall, his golden aura blazing. His hand moved, and the copper balls scattered across the stage began to hum with energy. The polished copper floor seemed to ripple, alive with power.
¡°You¡¯re not getting to those rings without going through me,¡± he said, his tone calm but edged with steel.
Mags forced herself to square her shoulders, her body aching from the electric shock. Her mind worked furiously, analyzing the situation. She couldn¡¯t simply rush him¡ªSzed had control of the battlefield now, having essentially cut the space in half with the copper barrier he created.
Her gaze flicked to the rings, still hovering tantalizingly close to the barrier. She clenched her fists, her aura beginning to stir again.
¡°Fine,¡± she said, her voice low and determined. ¡°If that¡¯s how you want it.¡±
The crowd roared with excitement as the two contestants faced off, their auras blazing and the stage crackling with tension.
Mags reached within herself with her mental senses, having practiced the habit with Malacoda and Rubicante. She touched her mana reserves, trying to sense how much she had remaining. Not enough for Devouring Pulse, she thought. Within her, she felt a second, deeper well of power. Enoch. Without being able to tap on that power, she had limited resources available. Void Cloak wasn¡¯t going to be enough to see her through to victory.
I wonder how much mana he has available.
¡°It was a good idea,¡± Szed said. His accent in the common tongue was clipped and formal. ¡°To work together. Neither of us would have beaten him one-on-one, not when he can manipulate gravity.¡±
The moment Szed¡¯s voice faded, Mags lunged forward, her body a blur as she closed the distance between them. Her bare fists swung in an arc toward his chest¡ªa feint meant to draw his focus. And it worked. Szed braced to parry the strike, but his sharp eyes widened as Mags twisted her wrist and, in a flicker of silver light, summoned Mithra into her grip.
The Ivaldi-wrought blade screamed through the air, its short but deadly edge carving toward Szed¡¯s side. At the last moment, he shifted, impossibly quick, and the blade missed its mark. Instead, Szed¡¯s copper-tipped fingers darted out, gripping the edge of Mithra. The jet black metal hissed and sparked under his touch. Szed¡¯s claws melted, spreading over Mithra¡¯s surface as though the sword itself was bleeding molten copper.
Mags gritted her teeth and pulled back, but the copper expanded, stretching from Mithra¡¯s edge like a living thing. The tendrils shot downward, anchoring the blade to the ground as if it had become part of the arena floor. The pull was immediate, jerking the sword¡ªand Mags with it¡ªtoward the polished copper surface that had become Szed¡¯s domain.
She let go of the hilt, pivoting sharply on her heel and snapping her arm into a punch aimed at Szed¡¯s head. But before the strike could connect, one of Szed¡¯s golden, threadlike strands of hair unfurled with terrifying speed. It shot toward her wrist, wrapping around it like a snake, and another strand followed, looping around her ankle.
The force was overwhelming. Mags¡¯ wrist was yanked toward her ankle, and before she could react, her body was twisted and dragged downward. She hit the ground hard, the polished surface cold against her cheek. She struggled, thrashing against the golden threads, but the bindings only tightened, forcing her wrist and ankle closer together in a cruel knot.
Szed didn¡¯t hesitate. His boots pounded against the arena floor as he dashed toward Dermot¡¯s fallen rings. The polished copper beneath his feet shimmered, parting like a liquid sea to create a clear path for him.
¡°No!¡± Mags screamed, her voice raw with frustration. She wrenched her body, muscles burning as she tried to free herself, but the threads were unyielding. She could only watch as Szed skidded to a stop before the rings, his hand reaching out to claim them.
The moment his fingers touched the glowing golden rings, the arena erupted with a deafening chime, like a bell struck by a god¡¯s hammer. The translucent dome shimmered with light, and the mechanical judge descended slowly, its visor glowing as it acknowledged Szed¡¯s victory.
[SOULSINGER SZED SED: VICTORIOUS]
[Contest Demispace: Dissolving . . .]
Mags slumped against the ground, the golden threads dissolving into golden dust as the match came to its end. The cloud of golden dust drifted toward Szed before re-forming into a strand of gold that wove itself back into his straight, black hair. She pounded her fist into the stage floor, her frustration burning hotter than the ache in her limbs. Across the stage, Szed held the glowing rings aloft, his expression calm but triumphant.
The crowd roared, but Mags barely heard it over the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears. She forced herself to her knees, her chest heaving as she stared at the victorious figure of Szed.
She had lost. And the bitter taste of it burned more fiercely than any wound.
51. Dormitory I
Chapter 51
Dormitory I
The roaring applause from the crowd thundered in Mags¡¯ ears, muffled and distant, as if she were underwater. Her forehead rested against the cool stage floor, her breath uneven as she tried to steady herself. The coppery taste of failure lingered in her mouth, more bitter than any blood she¡¯d swallowed during a fight.
This was her first real display at Brightwash, her first chance to prove herself, and she had come up short¡ªextremely short. Szed¡¯s victory was undeniable, and the memory of Dermot¡¯s overwhelming strength still made her teeth clench. She had fought hard, but it wasn¡¯t enough.
Mags clenched her fists against the ground, forcing herself to breathe. Dux per Par? The thought mocked her. She had so far to climb, so much to learn¡ªnot just to win, but to survive. And all while hiding the truth about what she really was. How was she supposed to hold her own against people with powers like Dermot or Szed when she couldn¡¯t unleash her own power? Not truly, anyways. The challenge of remaining discreet while aiming for the top seemed impossible in that moment.
The crowd cheered louder, a cacophony of approval that felt like a spotlight burning on her back. She didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t look up. Instead, she let the applause soak into her bones, fueling her resolve. She wasn¡¯t going to stay here, beaten and bruised, feeling sorry for herself. She¡¯d find a way to close the gap¡ªno matter how long it took.
A touch on her shoulder startled her out of her spiraling thoughts. She lifted her head, blinking against the bright sunlight, and found herself staring up at Szed. His citrine-colored skin gleamed faintly in the light, and his sharp, bronze eyes regarded her with something close to respect.
He extended a hand toward her, and she realized with a jolt that the golden threads binding her wrist and ankle had disappeared. For a moment, she hesitated, staring at the hand. Then, with a deep breath, she clasped it. His grip was firm, and despite his small stature, his strength was undeniable as he pulled her effortlessly to her feet.
¡°Well done,¡± he said simply, brushing dust from his crimson uniform. His voice was quiet but carried a note of sincerity that surprised her.
Mags blinked at him, unsure if he was mocking her. But his face held no trace of sarcasm¡ªjust calm acknowledgment. ¡°Thanks,¡± she managed, before adding, ¡°And congratulations on the victory. Your abilities are . . . amazing.¡±
Szed nodded, his golden-threaded hair swaying slightly. ¡°You did well. Better than I expected, honestly. Dermot would have had a clear advantage against either of us in a one-on-one matchup¡ªespecially with gravity manipulation in his arsenal. Smart strategy to team up against him. Thank you.¡±
Mags¡¯ lips twitched into a small, pleased smile despite herself. ¡°Thanks. It made sense at the time.¡±
¡°It did,¡± Szed said, brushing his hands together. ¡°Still, you held your own. That ability of yours¡ªthe shroud of aura you use in combination with your physical enhancement¡ªis intriguing.¡±
Mags nodded, filing away the comment for later. She couldn¡¯t afford to let compliments go to her head, but hearing it from a peer¡ªeven one who had bested her¡ªfelt like a small victory.
As the crowd¡¯s applause began to fade, the two of them stood there for a moment, both battered and bruised but upright. Mags stole a glance at the stands, where the Headmistress sat in the front row. She observed them with a neutral expression.
She silently recalled Mithra into her Pocket. The blade vanished and she felt its spiritual and mental weight settle into her Inventory space.
The uniformed man appeared at the edge of the stage, his polished boots echoing faintly on the stone as he approached. Dermot followed close behind, his usual scowl softened by the exhaustion etched into his face. Szed adjusted his uniform, his golden-threaded hair slightly disheveled but still somehow immaculate. Mags cast one last glance at the roaring crowd before following the two boys off stage, her limbs heavy with fatigue. Despite her training with Malacoda, she still wasn¡¯t entirely used to the feeling of emptiness and weakness that followed channeling so much aether all at once.
They were led down a narrow corridor carved from the arena¡¯s foundation, its walls rough with dark stone and cool to the touch. The cheering from above faded into a muffled hum, replaced by the steady cadence of the officer¡¯s boots. The air down there was damp and refreshing against Mags¡¯ skin after being out in the sun, and under the fearless attention of all of her fellow recruits.
The uniformed man cleared his throat as they walked, his voice cutting through the quiet. ¡°Protocol requires all combatants in official battles to undergo a post-match evaluation at the arena¡¯s infirmary,¡± he said, his tone curt but not unkind. ¡°Good to see all three of you leaving under your own power. That¡¯s not always the case, even with a Judgment Key in use.¡±
Mags felt her stomach twist at his words. She bit back the urge to ask what kind of academy maimed its brightest recruits before their first semester even truly began. Instead, she kept her thoughts to herself, her mind replaying the fight over and over, scrutinizing her mistakes and the strategies that had worked against her.
The corridor opened into a smaller room with sterile white walls and a faint hum of aetheric energy in the air. Partition curtains divided the space into separate stations, each furnished with a metallic examination table and a stool. The officer gestured for each of them to take a seat. Mags reluctantly climbed onto one of the cold metal tables, the chill seeping through her uniform and into her skin.
She didn¡¯t wait long before the curtain parted, revealing an elderly woman in a pristine white coat draped over a standard Coalition uniform. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight bun, and thick-rimmed spectacles perched on her large nose. Three metallic orbs hovered around her head, faintly glowing as they floated in smooth, deliberate arcs. Mags thought they looked a lot like three Aetherbound Pockets.
¡°Magdalena of Solstice?¡± the woman asked, her voice brisk but not unkind. At Mags¡¯ nod, the woman stepped closer, her eyes briefly flashing with silver light as she scanned something unseen. Mags recognized it as the tell-tale sign of a Soulsinger access Yggdrasil¡¯s interface.
¡°Dr. Seeger,¡± the old woman introduced herself. ¡°Let¡¯s take a look at you.¡±
The orbs around her sprang into motion, emitting thin rays of light that swept over Mags¡¯ body. They spun and pivoted, their soft hum vibrating in the air. Mags tensed as the light crawled over her, but Dr. Seeger seemed unconcerned, her sharp eyes fixed on something only she could see. The silver glow in her eyes flickered brighter as she processed whatever Yggdrasil was showing her.
Mags shifted uncomfortably on the table, wondering just how much those orbs could reveal. Could they detect her Angelic nature? Would the doctor see something . . . wrong? She swallowed hard, pushing away those thoughts, but silently wishing the whole process would be over as soon as possible.
After a moment, the silver light faded from Seeger¡¯s eyes, and she grunted. ¡°You¡¯re fine. Just some bruising and a few abrasions. Nothing a little time won¡¯t fix.¡±
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Mags exhaled a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding, but the doctor wasn¡¯t done. She reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a small item, holding it out to Mags. It was a candy, wrapped in a shiny piece of crinkled paper. Mags blinked, recognizing it instantly. She hadn¡¯t seen one of these in a long time¡ªan expensive treat, rare and coveted when a merchant brought them to Solstice, so deep into the Far Country.
¡°Take it,¡± Seeger said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Mags accepted the candy, turning it over in her fingers as if it might vanish. ¡°Suck on it and let it dissolve,¡± Seeger continued. ¡°You¡¯ll be back to full strength by sundown.¡±
Curious, Mags activated her [Aura Vision]. The candy seemed to bubble with cerulean aura, its energy almost effervescent. ¡°It¡¯s glowing with aura,¡± Mags said, her voice tinged with awe.
Seeger chuckled, adjusting her spectacles. ¡°That¡¯s my Gift,¡± she explained. ¡°I can imbue healing properties into digestible items. Sweets work best¡ªhigher sugar content helps the healing aura absorb faster for some reason. Convenient for the battlefield and stubborn patients alike.¡±
Mags popped the candy into her mouth. It was extremely sweet, a deep butterscotch flavor bursting on her tongue, but the real effect was immediate. Warmth spread through her body, soothing aches and pains as if a gentle tide had washed over her.
¡°Thank you,¡± she said around the hard candy in her mouth, genuinely grateful.
The doctor gave her a curt nod, already turning to retrieve another item from her orbs. ¡°Rest for a bit if you need to,¡± she said, her tone brisk again. ¡°Then you¡¯re free to go. Try not to earn a second appointment with me on your first day.¡±
Mags let a small smile curl her lips. She didn¡¯t plan to.
The butterscotch candy melted slowly on Mags¡¯ tongue, its sweetness spreading a warmth that radiated through her body. She had to admit, the doctor¡¯s strange Gift was effective; the aches in her muscles were fading faster than she thought possible. The Ghost Hounds had explained to her the rarity and power of healing magic. That¡¯s why they tolerated Scarmiglione so much.
Retracing her steps back toward Fleming Hall, Mags tried to shake off the doubts that still crept into her mind from the Welcome Ceremony. She¡¯d made it to Brightwash as an admitted recruit, hadn¡¯t she? That counted for something, even if she had the assistance of whatever strings Frey Sarto had to pull to make it happen. Her boots echoed softly on the stone pathways, and as she emerged into the cooler late afternoon air, she noticed the shadows stretching long across the campus. Students milled about, laughing and chatting in small groups, their crimson uniforms bright against the twilight. The thought of joining them felt distant. Instead, she kept her focus on the squat silhouette of Fleming Hall, several of its dark windows glowing faintly with the warm light of oil lamps. Clearly, other students had decided to settle in for the day.
When she reached her dormitory room on the fourth floor, she hesitated outside the door. She hadn¡¯t met her roommate yet and hadn¡¯t been sure what to expect. She pushed the door open and froze.
Her roommate was already there.
The girl was perched casually on the bed opposite Mags¡¯, her pale skin practically glowing in the low light. Long, straight raven-black hair spilled over her shoulders, its glossy sheen catching the lamp¡¯s glow. She wasn¡¯t wearing a uniform, instead dressed in well-tailored civilian attire that gave her an air of effortless elegance. A pair of spectacles with yellow-tinted lenses rested on her delicate nose, and a single golden ring dangled from her left ear.
In her hands was an instrument Mags didn¡¯t recognize¡ªa strange, angular lute-like contraption with only a few thick strings. Her slender fingers danced across them, plucking out deep, resonant bass notes that filled the room like a heartbeat. The sound was rich and hypnotic, carrying an almost tangible weight.
The girl glanced up as Mags entered, her dark, almond-shaped eyes peering over the top of her spectacles. She didn¡¯t stop playing. ¡°You must be my new roommate,¡± she said, her voice smooth and melodic, like the music she was playing. Her face remained a stoic mask of white porcelain as she continued to focus on her playing, fiddling with the strings if she didn¡¯t like the note produced by her plucking. ¡°Rue Hirata.¡±
Mags stood frozen for a moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, she cleared her throat. ¡°Er¡ Rue?¡±
¡°My name.¡±
¡°Oh! Right . . .!¡±
Rue¡¯s plucking stopped. She glanced up at Mags through the yellow glass of her spectacles. ¡°And you might be called?¡±
¡°Magdalena,¡± she said. ¡°Mags, if you want.¡±
¡°And why do you care what I want?¡± Rue plucked at the strings, emitting a beautiful, rich chord.
¡°I, uh, guess I don¡¯t.¡±
Rue¡¯s smile widened slightly, though it still felt more like a polite mask than genuine warmth. She plucked another note from her instrument, the vibration lingering in the air. ¡°Mags,¡± she repeated, as if testing the name on her tongue. ¡°Interesting. Well, Mags, welcome to Fleming Hall. I hope you don¡¯t snore. If you do, I¡¯ll be hoping for your statistically likely elimination as soon as possible.¡±
Mags raised an eyebrow, the tension in her chest loosening just a little. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out,¡± she replied, tossing her satchel onto her bed.
Rue chuckled softly, the sound low and understated. ¡°Fair enough.¡± She returned her attention to her instrument, her fingers plucking out a slow, mournful tune that filled the room with an unspoken story. Mags sat on her bed, listening in silence.
Rue¡¯s gaze was steady, her dark eyes meeting Mags¡¯ with a calm indifference that teetered on the edge of politeness. She plucked at the strings of her instrument, not bothering to rise from her bed. The deep, vibrating notes hummed softly in the room, filling the silence that stretched between them.
¡°Are most of the students on this floor Second-Years, like you?¡± Mags asked.
Rue continued to pluck away. ¡°There are a couple of Second-Years around, like me, but most of them are out enjoying the last night of freedom or . . . avoiding the new recruits.¡±
¡°Oh.¡± Mags glanced around her side of the room and noticed a neatly folded piece of parchment on the desk beside her bed. Rui¡¯s voice interrupted her thoughts.
¡°Oh, yeah. Someone dropped off your class schedule while you were at the Welcome Ceremony,¡± Rue said without looking up from her instrument. ¡°It¡¯s pretty straightforward for the first semester. Everyone¡¯s going through the Entrance Trials, so the schedule is the same for all First-Years.¡±
Mags picked up the parchment, her fingers brushing the coarse paper. The schedule was neatly printed, the ink sharp and precise, detailing a lineup of basic courses. Her stomach tightened at the sight of it.
First Day:
06:00 Wake-up Call
Personal hygiene
06:30 Physical Training
08:00 Breakfast
09:00 Military Formations
10:30 Artificery (Lecture)
11:30 Artificery (Lab)
13:00 Lunch
15:00 Military History
17:00 Dinner
21:00 Lights Out
Second Day:
06:00 Wake-up Call
Personal hygiene
06:30 Physical Training
08:00 Breakfast
09:00 Combat Training
10:30 Strategy and Theory (Lecture)
13:00 Lunch
15:00 Body Enhancement
17:00 Dinner
21:00 Lights Out
Third Day:
06:00 Wake-up Call
Personal hygiene
06:30 Physical Training
08:00 Breakfast
09:00 Soul Refinement
10:30 Aetheric Theory
13:00 Lunch
15:00 Combat Training
17:00 Dinner
21:00 Lights Out
Fourth Day:
06:00 Wake-up Call
Personal hygiene
06:30 Physical Training
08:00 Breakfast
09:00 Field Exercises
13:00 Lunch
Individual Study
21:00 Lights Out
Her schedule seemed to be an intense four-day cycle, though it was everything she expected based on her preparations with Libicocco and the others.
¡°What¡¯s this about the Entrance Trials?¡± Mags asked, glancing at Rue. She had already learned about them, generally, but wanted to get a Second-Year student¡¯s take on it all.
Rue sighed, finally pausing her plucking to lean back against the headboard of her bed. ¡°First semester students aren¡¯t officially matriculated into Brightwash,¡± she explained. ¡°Think of it as an audition. Classes are all standardized for now. Basic stuff to make sure no one¡¯s a complete waste of space. The classes are also focused on supporting four Trials, which determine which students stay for the second semester and which are shipped off to the Front early.¡±
¡°The class schedule seems very . . . intense.¡±
¡°It is,¡± Rue said matter-of-factly. ¡°But you have a couple weeks of Bootcamp first before you have to worry about any of that.¡±
¡°Bootcamp,¡± Mags echoed, her voice heavy with sarcasm. ¡°I can¡¯t wait.¡±
That earned her a real reaction¡ªRue actually laughed, a short, quiet sound that didn¡¯t quite match her otherwise aloof demeanor. ¡°It¡¯s awful,¡± she admitted, her smile lingering for a moment. ¡°I hated every second of it. Hopefully you¡¯ll do better than I did. I barely scraped by.¡±
¡°Well, that¡¯s comforting,¡± Mags muttered, setting the parchment back on her desk and sinking onto her bed. She stretched her legs out, leaning back against the wall. ¡°At least I know what to look forward to.¡±
Rue smirked again and returned to her instrument, the low notes resonating through the small room. The conversation faded into a companionable silence, the music filling the space between them.
52. Dormitory II
Chapter 52
Dormitory II
Mags swung her legs off the bed and planted her feet on the floor with purpose, shaking off the stiffness settling into her muscles. She stretched her arms over her head, leaning side to side to loosen her back as well. ¡°I¡¯m going to look around,¡± she announced, smoothing out her tunic. ¡°Meet some of my fellow classmates. I showed up late, and it seems like others on campus have gotten familiar with one another.¡±
Rue didn¡¯t even glance up from her instrument. Her fingers moved with effortless precision across the strings, plucking out a melody that was both haunting and hypnotic. ¡°Knock yourself out,¡± she said flatly, her voice barely above a mutter. ¡°You¡¯re right¡ªyou missed a lot of socializing that takes place during the week before the Welcome Ceremony, but it only makes it harder.¡±
¡°Makes what harder?¡±
Rue stopped fiddling the strings of her instrument and glanced up at Mags over the tinted lenses of her spectacles. ¡°When those people¡ªyour friends¡ªare eventually eliminated during the Entrance Trials.¡±
¡®Eliminated¡¯ is an interesting word choice. ¡°Got it,¡± was all she said.
She paused at the door, one hand on the handle. She hesitated, waiting for a breath to see if Rue was going to say more, but the girl seemed lost in her music. Then, just as Mags began to turn the handle, Rue sighed, the sound almost wistful.
¡°I miss those days,¡± Rue said softly, her gaze fixed on the strings beneath her fingers. ¡°The early days, when it was all new and exciting. Before the grind of the Entrance Trials started.¡± Her tone was as flat as ever, but there was a pain, a subtle longing, to her words that Mags didn¡¯t miss.
Mags offered a faint smile, though Rue wasn¡¯t looking. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a warning,¡± she said before slipping out the door.
The long hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made her hyper-aware of her own footsteps against the polished floor. The doors lining the corridor stood like sentinels, some firmly closed, others slightly ajar, revealing empty rooms. Mags peeked into one of the open rooms as she passed. The bed was neatly made, the desk bare save for a single book lying facedown. It looked like many of the students were either still out and about, enjoying their last day of freedom before their lives belonged to Brightwash, and then the Crown Coalition Forces.
She passed another door, this one open wide. Inside, a boy sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by books, scrolls, and what looked like glowing orbs of light hovering just above the ground. He didn¡¯t look up as she passed, his attention fully absorbed in whatever task he was working on. She thought about introducing herself but decided against it. He didn¡¯t seem the type to appreciate interruptions.
Farther down the hall, a door slammed shut, the sound echoing off the walls like a crack of thunder. Mags froze for a moment, her hand twitching toward her side, ready to summon the hilt of Mithra before she reminded herself where she was. Not everything¡¯s a fight, she told herself. Not yet, anyway. Then, she remembered the Welcome Ceremony from earlier that day. Well, not all the time, anyway.
Before Mags could continue her trek down the hall, the one directly to her left flew open. A messy head of reddish-brown hair poked through the gap, followed by a freckle-dusted face and sharp, curious eyes that practically glowed green¡ªso pale they were almost yellow. The young man scanned the hallway like a predator sniffing the air.
¡°What was that sound?¡± he asked. He spoke in the common tongue, but his baritone voice was clipped with an accent Mags couldn¡¯t place, the ¡®th¡¯ turning into a ¡®t.¡¯
His light eyes locked onto hers, the intensity of his gaze unsettling. But what truly threw Mags off were his teeth¡ªsharp and predatory, flashing in the low light as he spoke. She resisted the instinct to step back.
¡°Someone slammed a door down the hall,¡± Mags answered, pointing toward the distant end of the corridor.
¡°Oh,¡± he said, blinking in a way that seemed too deliberate. The lashes beneath his eyes were noticeably long, while the upper lashes were a light blondish-red that made them nearly invisible. His expression shifted, eyes narrowing slightly as recognition dawned. ¡°Wait¡ªoh! You were on stage during the Ceremony. You fought in the first battle!¡±
Mags winced, her cheeks warming. She forced a small laugh and gave a self-deprecating shrug. ¡°Lost in the first battle would be a better description,¡± she corrected, her voice dry.
His sharp grin widened. ¡°Still, that was quite impressive.¡± He stepped fully into the hall now, his lanky frame angled with an easy, restless energy. ¡°Come on in,¡± he said, jerking his thumb toward the open door. ¡°Ed! You won¡¯t guess who lives on our floor!¡±
Before she could protest, he was already heading back into the room. Mags hesitated for a moment, but curiosity got the better of her. Taking a deep breath, she followed him inside. This is what you said you wanted to do.
Mags stepped into the room, the floor creaking softly beneath her slippers. The space mirrored her own dormitory room almost exactly: two narrow beds tucked neatly against opposite walls, matching desks cluttered with papers and trinkets, a narrow wardrobe in each corner. A window framed the waning daylight, streaking the room in a faint golden glow.
On one of the beds sat another young man, cross-legged and hunched over a thick book. He was shorter than the sharp-toothed boy, maybe even a fraction shorter than Mags herself. His dark, messy hair fell over his brow, almost obscuring the rich shade of purple in his wide, startled eyes. He froze as she entered, his gaze meeting hers for a split second before darting away, a flush creeping over his cheeks.
¡°Don¡¯t mind him,¡± the taller boy said with a grin, striding toward his desk and spinning his chair around to sit on it backward. He rested his arms casually on the backrest, his sharp teeth glinting with every word. ¡°I¡¯m Galiel, by the way. Galiel Cantor. And this guy¡ª¡± he jerked a thumb toward the shy one on the bed, ¡°is Edvard. Edvard of Manneregio.¡± Galiel turned his head towards the shy boy who glanced up from his attempt to re-engage with the text in front of him. ¡°I got that right?¡±
Edvard gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. ¡°Yes,¡± he muttered softly, barely audible. His voice carried the faint lilt of someone unaccustomed to speaking much. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you,¡± he said, glancing towards Mags. He gave the slightest bow of his head towards her.
¡°See?¡± Galiel said, spreading his hands with a smirk. ¡°Quiet, but polite. Ed¡¯s an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Keeps life interesting, I¡¯ve learned.¡±
Mags couldn¡¯t help but smile a little at Galiel¡¯s energy. ¡°Magdalena of Solstice,¡± she said, standing a bit straighter. ¡°But most people just call me Mags.¡±
¡°Mags?¡± Galiel repeated, rolling the name on his tongue like he was savoring it. He nodded in approval, his grin widening. ¡°I like it! Short, snappy, tough¡ªsuits you.¡± He fluttered a finger in the direction of the unclaimed chair in the room.
Mags felt a flicker of warmth at the compliment, and for the first time since the Welcome Ceremony, she felt the knot of tension in her chest loosen just a bit. ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, glancing between the two boys. ¡°Nice to meet you both.¡± She slid into the open seat, trying to relax.
Galiel leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs groaning under the pressure as he crossed his arms over the top of the chair¡¯s backrest. His sharp grin hadn¡¯t left his face since Mags walked in. ¡°That was a good fight you put up, Mags. I mean, really, solid work. Though, if I¡¯m being honest. . .¡± He tilted his head, his freckled face glowing with mischief. ¡°The second fight? Now that was the spectacle.¡±
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Mags blinked. ¡°The second fight?¡± she repeated, her curiosity piqued. She¡¯d been hauled off the stage before it began, and it hadn¡¯t even crossed her mind to find out how the second group of Recommended recruits faired in their fight. ¡°I missed it entirely. What happened?¡±
Galiel¡¯s grin widened, his light-green eyes sparking with excitement as he leaned forward. ¡°Oh, you missed a show. What else would you expect with Isolde Ovetha and Haregewoin Taharqua squaring off? I mean, come on. The crown princess of Broceliande versus the named successor Principali of Hykaera? People have written legends about their bloodlines alone and the Shedim their families have contracted with over the generations, but seeing members of those families actually fight¡?¡± He whistled softly.
Mags frowned as she thought about the two names. Isolde. Images of pale heels licking the air as children foot-raced in the field behind Soulgrave House. Haregewoin Taharqua. That was the tall dark-skinned woman¡¯s name. The Principali of Hykaera. Mags wondered how many royal and noble families sent their children to Brightwash, as opposed to one of the other prestigious Academies at Wrifton. ¡°So what can you tell me about their fight? Was it the same as mine had been, with the rings?¡± she asked.
¡°Zone control,¡± Galiel said, his fingers tracing an invisible map in the air between them. ¡°Three zones on the field, and each student started in control of one. To win, you had to take control of all three zones, and control the entire field for at least twenty seconds. They were able to gain control of a zone by being the only one in it for twenty seconds, or by actively removing the controlling person from their zone.¡± He let out a short laugh. ¡°The third kid¡ªdidn¡¯t catch his name¡ªdidn¡¯t need assistance with that part. Poor guy took one look at those two and surrendered immediately. Couldn¡¯t blame him, honestly. And that left the audience with the best case scenario: a proper duel between Ovetha and Taharqua!¡±
Mags tried to remember the third student¡¯s name. Chandrakant?
¡°What happened?¡± Mags asked, leaning forward slightly.
¡°Pure chaos,¡± Galiel said, eyes glittering. ¡°Isolde started strong, using her speed and reach with her armament¡ªa spear¡ªto take control of the third zone and keep Taharqua from attempting to enter either of her two zones. Haregewoin countered with some sort of earth-shaking technique¡ªI swear, I thought the whole coliseum was going to collapse. The crowd was roaring. It was like watching two storms crash into each other, and neither one was holding back. Ultimately, though. . .¡± He gave a dramatic pause, flashing his sharp teeth. ¡°Isolde took it. Barely. Her aura control is unbelievable. It¡¯s like she doesn¡¯t waste a single drop of aether and was able to overwhelm Taharqua with a flurry of spells.¡±
Mags let out a slow breath, imagining the scene. A fight like that would¡¯ve shaken her to her core to witness, let alone participate in. She felt the painful sting of her loss to Szed all over again, the nagging reminder of how far she still had to climb. How would I have fared against Isolde and Haregewoin? Without being able to conjur the full strength of the Angel she hosted, probably not much better than Chandrakant had.
Galiel seemed to notice her pensive expression because he shifted the topic. ¡°So, Mags,¡± he said, his tone light. ¡°Where exactly are you from? I¡¯ve never heard of ¡®Solstice.¡¯ Sounds mysterious.¡±
¡°It¡¯s in Olendar,¡± Mags said, leaning back and crossing her arms. ¡°The Far Country, to be specific. It¡¯s not far from the Green Sea.¡±
Galiel tilted his head, curious. ¡°The Green Sea? You lived near that? What¡¯s it like?¡±
¡°Well, I¡¯ve never actually been to the Green Sea,¡± Mags said with a small smile. ¡°Too dangerous. And obviously the Coalition Front is there, so it¡¯s not like there are towns and villages right on the edge, but I was close enough to give you a sense of where I¡¯m from.¡±
¡°Hmm,¡± Galiel mused, tapping his fingers against the back of his chair. ¡°Sounds like a completely different world from Ravaelia.¡±
Mags perked up. ¡°You¡¯re from Ravaelia?¡± The heart of the Ravaelian Empire. ¡°What¡¯s it like living on the Sky Continent?¡±
Before Galiel could answer, Edvard, who had been quietly listening from his bed, spoke up. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but carried a thoughtful weight. ¡°It¡¯s not what most people imagine,¡± he said, his purple eyes darting toward Mags before quickly looking away. ¡°You forget you¡¯re floating so high above the ocean most of the time. The cities feel . . . normal, I suppose. Except the skies are clearer, and sometimes, if you¡¯re close enough to the border, you can see the edge of the island if you climb high enough.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± Galiel added, giving Edvard a sideways glance, as if surprised he¡¯d spoken up. ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯re walking around feeling like you¡¯re flying all day, or that we¡¯re so superior to you earth-bound folk¡ªthough, you know, some of us wouldn¡¯t say no to the extra compliments.¡± He winked, and Mags snorted despite herself.
She leaned back, letting the conversation settle in her mind. From the Sky Continent¡ªand the seat of the Empire¡ªto a small village in Olendar¡¯s Far Country. Regardless of where they hailed from, they were all there now, on the same stage.
¡°How was the journey from Ravaelia to here?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s quite the trek.¡±
Galiel puffed up his cheeks and blew the air out, deflating them. ¡°You could say that again. Ed and I were actually on the same transport, right Ed?¡± Edvard gave a short nod. ¡°Along with this new professor joining Brightwash from the Explorers Guild . . . Don¡¯t recall his name. Hope I don¡¯t have him for class now. That would be awkward!¡±
Edvard spoke up. ¡°It was actually my first time. Leaving the Sky Continent.¡±
Galiel leaned forward, the chair he¡¯d been rocking in tilting precariously on its back legs. His greenish-yellow eyes sparkled with interest. ¡°So, you¡¯re a Recommended recruit¡ Are you roommates with one of your esteemed peers? Do we have two of you extra-special guys on our floor?¡±
¡°Er, no. I arrived late, so I was placed with a Second-Year student. Her name is Rue.¡±
¡°Wait, wait, wait. Did you just say your roommate¡¯s name is Rue?¡±
Mags nodded. ¡°Yeah. Rue Hirata, I think?¡±
Galiel¡¯s reaction was immediate¡ªand dramatic. He nearly toppled backward off his chair, arms flailing as he caught himself just in time. ¡°Rue Hirata?¡±
¡°Uh¡ yes?¡± Mags said cautiously, eyeing him like he¡¯d just sprouted an extra head.
Galiel slapped the back of the chair for emphasis, leaning forward eagerly. ¡°Do you even know who that is?¡±
Mags shook her head. ¡°She plays some sort of lute, and she doesn¡¯t talk much. That¡¯s about all I¡¯ve got so far.¡±
¡°Lute¡ª!¡± Galiel groaned, slumping forward as though physically pained. ¡°Okay, let me spell it out for you. Rue Hirata is a member of the most impressive squad of Second-Years this school has probably ever seen. And do you know who her squadmate is? Guarani Adonargui!¡±
Mags blinked. ¡°And . . . I¡¯m supposed to know who that is?¡±
Galiel gasped, clutching his chest like she¡¯d just insulted his ancestors. ¡°Guarani Adonargui is a legend here at Brightwash! He¡¯s only in his third semester, but he¡¯s already being hailed as a future high-ranker once he hits the Front. People are already comparing him to the military greats. He¡¯s already a Pillar.¡±
Mags stared at him, still lost. She recognized the term ¡®Pillar¡¯ from her lessons in preparation for attending Brightwash. After their first semester, once fully entered into the ranks of Brightwash, all students were provided with a rank from Bronze to Diamond, and above Diamond were the ¡®Ranked¡¯ students¡ªalso known as the Pillars¡ªthe top ten students in all of Brightwash, who formed the Academy¡¯s student council. But she supposed she didn¡¯t quite grasp how impressive what Galiel was saying actually was.
¡°Erm . . . Okay?¡±
Galiel smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.
¡°Here we go¡¡± she heard Edvard mutter.
Galiel continued. ¡°Guarani is only the third student in the history of Brightwash to obtain a position as a Pillar while still attending the Lower School. It¡¯s him, some guy from ages ago who I think is only somewhat remembered as the Chaotic Titan of Brightwash¡ªdon¡¯t recall his name¡ªand then, of course, Olvira Stromsonn.¡±
For some reason, ¡®the Chaotic Titan¡¯ tickled something in the back of her brain. ¡°And who is Olvira Stromsonn?¡±
Galiel just about fainted from shock at her question. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me? . . . She¡¯s the current Number One, and head of the Pillars. She¡¯s in the Upper School, and is looking like she might be the first student to ever obtain the title of Dux per Par twice while attending here! Though, with Guarani in the field this year, that might be a little less likely now.¡±
¡°Twice?¡± Mags echoed, feeling her head spin. It was hard for her to imagine someone being able to be Dux per Par twice during their short tenure in Wrifton. But the fact that someone was able to do it so early, while still in the Lower School, gave her a glimmer of hope that she might even be able to accomplish the same.
¡°Twice,¡± Galiel confirmed with a nod.
Mags exhaled, shaking her head. ¡°That¡¯s . . . a lot to take in.¡± She tried to process everything he¡¯d just thrown at her. Legendary students, impossible achievements, an entire school full of people with expectations as high as the Sky Continent.
She jokingly added, ¡°This isn¡¯t going to be on the first exam, is it?¡±
Galiel barked a laugh, the sharp edges of his teeth flashing in the dim light. ¡°If it is, you¡¯ll have the honor of failing alongside the rest of the class, other than me. I¡¯m just a bit of a nerd for the lore of this School.¡±
Even Edvard cracked a small smile at that, though he quickly looked down to hide it.
Galiel stood, stretching his arms above his head. ¡°Speaking of failure, Ed and I were thinking about grabbing some supper. Care to join us? You look like you could use a bite after all the chaos at the coliseum today.¡±
Mags¡¯ stomach chose that exact moment to rumble, loud enough for all three of them to hear. She flushed but grinned. ¡°I¡¯d like that very much.¡±
¡°Excellent!¡± Galiel said, clapping his hands together. ¡°Let¡¯s see if the mess hall¡¯s got anything resembling edible food tonight.¡±
Together, the three of them stepped out into the hallway, and for the first time since her arrival, Mags felt like she might actually find her place at Brightwash.
53. Boot Camp I
Chapter 53
Boot Camp I
The meal was simple but warm, and Mags appreciated the quiet after the chaos of the day. The mess hall, still open but mostly empty, offered little in the way of variety: a thick wheat-based porridge topped with a boar meat and lentil stew. There were also pitchers of water and beer, which Mags understood to be similar to ale. She ladled herself a generous portion and grabbed a cup of water from a pitcher. Edvard did the same, moving with quiet precision. Galiel, true to his exuberant nature, grabbed a cup of beer. He took a long sip, then grimaced, sticking out his tongue like a child.
¡°This isn¡¯t beer,¡± he declared, shaking his cup and glaring at the liquid. ¡°This is what you¡¯d get if you left barley and hops in a rain barrel for a week. Awful.¡±
¡°Yet you¡¯re still drinking it,¡± Mags noted, raising an eyebrow as she spooned some of her stew.
¡°Can¡¯t let it go to waste, can I?¡± Galiel said with a grin, lifting his cup in mock toast.
The three found a quiet corner to sit in, the long wooden table cool beneath Mags¡¯ elbows as they settled in. For a time, the only sound was the scraping of spoons against bowls and the occasional clink of a cup against the table.
¡°So,¡± Galiel began, breaking the silence. ¡°Why don¡¯t we share a little about ourselves. I¡¯ll start! I¡¯m from a little merchant town in Ravaelia. Not that exciting, I know, but my parents managed to save enough to get me a tutor. Studied day and night for those admissions exams.¡± He puffed out his chest with mock pride. ¡°And now, here I am. Brightwash, in all its terrifying glory. I love a good steamed meat bun, and also enjoy a nice long stroll, when it strikes my fancy.¡± He paused for a moment before pointing his spoon at the direction of the shy young man sitting by Mags¡¯ side.
Edvard glanced up from his bowl. ¡°I . . . didn¡¯t have a tutor,¡± he said softly. ¡°And didn¡¯t live in a city or town, or anywhere with a name, really. Just the house, with all of my siblings. A lot of brothers and sisters.¡± He looked at Galiel. ¡°I¡¯m the youngest, and that was difficult. Felt like I got lost in the shuffle.¡±
Galiel snorted. ¡°Too many siblings? Yeah, that sounds like chaos. How many are we talking?¡±
Edvard shrugged. ¡°Seven. Eight, maybe.¡±
¡°Maybe?¡± Galiel leaned forward, his sharp teeth flashing in a grin. ¡°You lose count?¡±
Ed¡¯s cheeks reddened, and he mumbled something into his bowl.
Galiel turned to Mags, his curiosity shifting. ¡°What about you, Mags? What was it like growing up in Solstice?¡±
The question hit her like a punch to the stomach. Memories of bloodied streets, screams, and the oppressive smoke from burning homes threatened to surface. She tightened her grip on her spoon, forcing her voice to stay steady.
¡°It was¡ quiet,¡± she said, keeping her answer short. ¡°Not much to tell.¡± Then, eager to shift the focus, she added, ¡°But enough about me. What landmarks do I need to know around here? I missed the chance to get a formal tour of the campus. You seem like the type to have the whole campus memorized.¡±
Galiel caught the bait, his grin widening. ¡°You¡¯re in luck! I happen to be the greatest tour guide this side of the central yard. Finish up, and I¡¯ll show you.¡±
After they finished their meal, they took a detour through the campus on their way back to Fleming Hall. Galiel walked backward for much of it, arms spread wide as he gestured to each location they passed, spinning stories and quips.
¡°This,¡± he said with theatrical flair, stopping in front of a tall, circular stone building, ¡°is the Bell Tower. Legend has it that if you climb all the way to the top you have to do it in a single go, without stopping, or you¡¯ll be cursed with endless bad luck.¡±
¡°That¡¯s ridiculous,¡± Mags said, crossing her arms.
¡°Maybe. But I won¡¯t be finding out. I just don¡¯t want to climb that many stairs,¡± Galiel shot back with a wink.
And so, the tour continued in this fashion until the three of them successfully circumnavigated the school¡¯s central campus, ending up where their evening started. By the time they reached Fleming Hall, Mags felt lighter, even with the day¡¯s events and the beginning of boot camp still lingering in her mind. As Galiel held the door open for her, she found herself smiling nevertheless.
The next morning began with the sharp blare of a trumpet echoing through the halls of Fleming Hall. Mags groaned, the sound pulling her from a restless sleep, but there was no time to linger. Rue had already rolled out of bed, tying her hair back with practiced efficiency before throwing a glance at Mags.
¡°You¡¯ll get used to wake up call,¡± Rue said simply, her voice flat but laced with the faintest edge of sympathy. ¡°After boot camp, it will be much easier.¡± The mention of boot camp made the second-year student shudder.
Mags quickly went to the baths at the end of the hall, attended to her business, before nearly sprinting back to their dorm. By the time she was back, Rue was gone. She dressed quickly, pulling on her uniform, and joined the throng of recruits marching toward the Training Yard. Galiel and Edvard joined her at her side, doing double-time to catch up to her.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The yard had been thoroughly prepared, rows of obstacle courses and drill areas stretching as far as she could see. Instructors in crimson and navy uniforms barked orders at clusters of recruits, their voices sharp and unyielding.
Boot camp was grueling, but not in the ways Mags expected. The physical conditioning¡ªlong-distance runs, obstacle climbing, and weapon drills¡ªcame naturally to her after the intense training she¡¯d undergone at Bijel Garden. While some recruits gasped for breath or faltered under the weight of heavy packs, Mags found herself at the front of the line, her body moving with practiced precision.
What she didn¡¯t anticipate, however, was the rigid discipline. Standing at attention for what felt like hours, perfectly still, with her hands at her sides and her eyes locked forward, made her stomach churn. The constant salutes, the barking of ¡°Yes, sir!¡± and ¡°No, ma¡¯am!¡±¡ªit all felt wrong.
An imperial dog, she thought bitterly, swallowing her resentment as she forced her spine to remain straight. But that¡¯s what she felt like.
Marching drills were another headache. Mags struggled to keep in step with the others, her timing slightly off as she tried to match the rhythm of dozens of synchronized boots. She quickly learned that any deviation from perfection earned a sharp reprimand, and though she adapted, it was the kind of mindless uniformity that grated against her every instinct.
Still, she endured. By the end of each day, she collapsed onto her bunk, muscles aching and nerves frayed, but pride intact. She wasn¡¯t going to let herself be broken.
A week into boot camp, the Training Yard was noticeably emptier. The instructors had made it clear from the start: failure to meet the Academy¡¯s rigorous standards meant an unceremonious dismissal. Unlike students eliminated during the Entrance Trials, who were sent to the Front as grunts beginning their mandatory service to the Crown Coalition, boot camp dropouts weren¡¯t even considered fit for the military. They were sent home, stripped of their uniforms and their dignity.
Mags watched as another group of recruits left the yard that morning, heads hanging low as they marched through the gates. Their absence didn¡¯t lighten the workload for the rest of them. If anything, the remaining recruits just had more of the instructors¡¯ undivided attention. The instructors seemed harsher, barking orders with an even sharper edge, as though eager to weed out more failures.
She glanced at Galiel during a break, who wiped sweat from his brow and gave her a lopsided grin. ¡°Still standing?¡± he asked, his voice light but his eyes weary. His legs wobbled.
¡°Barely,¡± she replied, taking a long sip of water from her canteen.
Nearby, Edvard was stretching, his quiet presence a steadying force in the chaos. He didn¡¯t say much, but Mags had noticed that he rarely made mistakes and didn¡¯t look like he¡¯d even broken a sweat. He wasn¡¯t the fastest or the strongest, but he moved with a quiet efficiency. If Mags noticed, she was sure the instructors did as well.
¡°Well, wish us luck,¡± Galiel said over his shoulder, about to jog back to his station.
¡°Ed doesn¡¯t need my luck,¡± Mags said. ¡°But to you, I¡¯ll say good luck.¡±
Galiel chuckled at that.
Mags¡¯ group was eventually dismissed for the day. That meant it was time for dinner, and Mags was starving.
The mess hall buzzed with the low hum of conversation, forks clinking against plates, and boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor. Mags hefted her tray, laden with a mountain of food: a slab of roasted meat, a heaping mound of root vegetables, and enough bread rolls to make her tray wobble precariously. The boot camp¡¯s brutal physical regimens left her famished, her body demanding every calorie she could shovel down before the next grueling session.
Her usual table with Galiel and Ed was empty. The two were likely still stuck finishing the day¡¯s exercises. Mags scanned the room, her eyes darting past clusters of recruits laughing, arguing, or slouching in exhaustion. Maybe I should just sit alone, then? That¡¯s when she spotted Szed.
The Laanian young man was seated alone at the far edge of the hall, his plate half-eaten and his focus entirely on the slim book in his hands. He turned a page with the same calm precision he¡¯d displayed during their fight, his narrow bronze eyes occasionally flicking to his food for a polite bite. Around him, tables buzzed with whispers, heads tilted together conspiratorially. Eyes darted toward him, watching but never quite meeting his gaze.
Mags knew the feeling. The stares, the murmurs. Being one of the Specially Recommended recruits was enough to draw attention, but for Szed, who¡¯d crushed both Dermot and herself (as she had heard plenty of students recount) in the Welcome Ceremony, it was like having a target painted on his back.
Balancing her tray, she crossed the hall toward his table, clearing her throat as she approached. ¡°Hey, Szed.¡±
His bronze eyes lifted from the book, calm and polite, as if he were entirely unaware¡ªor entirely indifferent¡ªto the room¡¯s scrutiny. ¡°Magdalena,¡± he said softly, inclining his head in greeting.
¡°Mind if I sit?¡±
¡°Of course not.¡± He gestured to the seat across from him, then returned to his book, his focus unwavering.
Mags slid onto the bench and immediately began tearing into her meal, pausing only long enough to exhale a satisfied sigh. Szed continued to read, his movements precise, his posture perfect. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed perfectly content, unaffected by the low din of gossip around them. And perhaps she had simply grown accustomed to meals accompanied by the near constant yapping of Galiel, but the silence between the two seemed a little awkward.
¡°So,¡± Mags ventured, swallowing a mouthful of bread, ¡°what are you reading?¡±
¡°A treatise on aether-imbued alloys,¡± he replied without looking up.
¡°Sounds riveting,¡± she said dryly.
¡°It is,¡± he said simply, flipping another page. ¡°Not many have had Gifts similar to mine and have written about it. Brightwash¡¯s libraries offer a wealth of rare knowledge.¡±
She smirked, taking another bite. She was sure Libicocco and Rubicante would have both loved to have access to those. ¡°People are staring at you, you know.¡±
¡°They often do,¡± he replied, tone flat, and went back to his book.
Mags let the silence stretch, focusing on her food. She didn¡¯t mind Szed¡¯s quiet, but she was starting to wonder if she¡¯d made a mistake sitting here. Just as she was about to excuse herself, a voice boomed across the mess hall.
¡°Szed!¡±
The voice cut through the clamor, silencing the room. Mags glanced up, startled, to see a towering Olenish man striding toward their table, his face twisted with fury. Like most Olenish men, he was tall with broad shoulders. His long locs were braided into an intricate fashion. Unlike everyone else in the mess hall, he was not in a uniform, but a fine three piece suit crafted from an obviously expensive black material.
Szed¡¯s gaze flicked upward, calm as ever, as he carefully closed his book and set it on the table. Mags felt the tension in the air shift as the man stomped towards their table, face twisted in anger. ¡°Szed!¡±