Chương 7: Chapter Seven

"Why's everyone staring at me?" Verity asked warily as she paused in the act of tearing into her food, with an enthusiasm usually relegated to wild animals, to glance around the cafeteria. Just watching her, William knew he would need to help teach her proper table manners at some point. Not because her lack of them offended him personally, but because it was a skillset she'd need if she was going to be running in noble circles.

Idly, he flicked away a chunk of beef that had somehow made its way over to his side of the table. Ok, maybe her lack of social niceties offends me a little, he thought with a small grimace.

"I think it has something to do with you powderizing that girl's jaw," Bonnlyn murmured as she cut into her own food with considerably more decorum. For just a moment, the orc flushed, before muttering, "She insulted my family." William couldn't help but note that she didn't sound like she regretted her actions. Which he supposed wasn't all that surprising. He doubted she'd gotten to where she was by being sunshine and rainbows all the time.

She certainly didn't get those skills by being nice, he thought contemplatively. Sure, she was clearly a little unused to dealing with an opponent using a sword, but she wasn't unused to fighting in general. Glancing across the table, he noticed Olzenya looked to be about to say something biting, but held herself back at the last second.

"Well, you certainly made a statement," the elf said eventually. And she wasn't wrong. Only a small portion of the first-year intake had been present for their last dueling lesson, but it seemed like a decent chunk of the academy had their eyes on Team One-Seven's table. Including a few curious second and third year teams. Which was not ideal. While poaching a particularly talented student from another retinue was a considerable faux pas, buying out the service contract of a talented general intake student was not.

And if William's plans were to reach fruition, he needed all the talented teammates he could get.

"Still sulking, Will?" Marline sniped, a smirk spread across her bluish-grey features.

"Just thinking," he said without any heat, the lack of reaction making the dark elf frown. He still had no real idea what the silver-eyed woman's problem with him was, even if it seemed to only flare up at random moments. With that said, her words weren't entirely wrong. He wasn't particularly happy with his own performance last lesson, given that he'd lost. Quite convincingly at that. Which wasn't entirely unexpected.

Sure, he was bigger and stronger than most of the other attendees, sans the orcs, but as a guy he'd never been taught how to wield anything larger than a butter knife. Not becoming of a young man, his aunts had said. That particular line had never really stopped him from learning other skills not befitting his station, but sword fighting was one of the few topics he'd allowed to rest. For one thing, it wasn't exactly a quiet or easy skill to learn.

And he'd have to 'seduce' one of the guards or maids into teaching him – which would have made keeping his other 'seductions' from finding out about each other even harder than it already was. And even then it would take hundreds of hours of practice to achieve even basic competency at swordplay. Time he just… didn't have, given the sheer number of other extra-curricular activities he'd spent his youth honing. And that wasn't a metaphor for sex. Usually, he thought wryly.

In the end, the art of stabbing other people at close range just didn't seem that important. Not when the main-armament of a mage - even before accounting for their magic – was the bolt-bow. The relative usefulness of which only got more explicit once maneuver suits entered the fray. After all, combatants couldn't exactly 'sword fight' when both parties were flying all over the place like excitable grasshoppers. He sighed, placing his fork down.

He knew he might have done better against a non-noble – provided they weren't an orc - but he'd just not been that lucky. That loss probably put a dent in the growing legend of the kraken slayer, he thought. Which was… unfortunate as it was, it was a moniker he'd slowly been coming to terms with. Sure he'd railed against it at first out of sheer habit – given it was borne of an easily proven lie - but in reality the stupid title actually went some way to fulfilling one of his goals upon entering the academy.

Achieving notoriety. Notoriety enough for someone to see him as a military asset that went above and beyond the value of his ability to make babies. A difficult task indeed given this world's dearth of men. Still, it was a goal only slightly less important – and difficult - than breaking off his betrothal. Which was a move that would require his team to outperform a team with two years experience over his own.

Which will be almost impossible even with a few tech advantages, but will be a lot harder still if one of our most talented members is- His thoughts cut off as the general murmur of conversation across the cafeteria grew in pitch. Glancing up, it wasn't hard to see why. Someone was approaching their table. A third year. Dressed in red.

Perhaps if his team were part of a different house, another group of third years might move to intercept the incoming member of House Blackstone – the clannishness of the house system working in his favour. Unfortunately, the 'General Intake' house held no such loyalties. Because that wasn't a fight they'd ever win. So it was that the third year managed to reach their table without incident, unaware or uncaring of the many stares she was drawing.

He knew who she was, not because they'd ever met, but because he'd seen her portraits. At the time he'd thought them exaggerations intended to flatter the subject – and commissioner. Now though, he could see there was no need. She really was just that attractive. Part of it was her confidence. Part of it was just… her. Aged twenty-one to his – nominal – eighteen, Tala Blackstone strode through the academy as if she owned it.

Though, given that the house whose colours she now wore was named after her family, he supposed that in some small way the duchess's daughter actually did. Frizzy dark brown hair that came down to her shoulders framed a rather striking set of green eyes. Striking enough that he had to wonder if she had some dark elf in her genealogy despite her otherwise pale features. If so, it'd be quite a scandal, given the Blackstone Dukedom's long outspoken history of pro-human sentiment.

Now, if that were all they championed, he might have actually considered their union, despite his personal misgivings. I mean, give her another ten years, he couldn't help but think. And I'd consider myself a damn lucky man. Unfortunately, as he saw his betrothed's features twist into a sneer at the sight of his orcish teammate, he was reminded of the other political arguments the Blackstone's championed.

If the Royal Family was the lynchpin of the abolitionist movement, then the Blackstones were their opposite number.

"How's your little rebellion working out for you, William?" she said casually. He could admit, he was a little wrongfooted by her opening statement. It certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting her to say. He'd envisioned more angry yelling, accusations or maybe if he was particularly unfortunate, sorrow and pleading. Admittedly the latter was incredibly unlikely given their relative social positions, but still possible. Even if only feigned. Coughing, he adopted a practiced air of nonchalance.

"Well, I have new friends, new clothes, and I no longer have my mother and aunts nagging me at all hours of the day. So all in all, not bad." Sure, there were instructors now, but they had been relatively hands off thus far. Rather than a school, the academy felt more like a university, where people were expected to succeed or fail on their own merits.

The only time he'd seen the Instructors really get involved with cadets outside of lessons was to dole out punishments for failures of 'decorum' and to prevent disruptions. And this apparently doesn't count, he thought as he glanced over to the Instructors' table. One of the half-dozen women – Instructor Griffith – was idly watching the brewing confrontation, but the rest were mostly focused on their meals.

"Unfortunate, but expected given your recidivist ways. Which is why I'm here to tell you that the quality of friends is lacking." The girl's tone was entirely matter-of-fact, as if she was discussing the weather – which only served to further throw William off.

"Because while I'm aware that Countess Ashfield placed you into General Intake in the hopes of curbing your worst instincts, I sincerely doubt she actually expected you to be rooming with an… Orc. A violent one from what I've heard." He resisted the urge to point out that said violence had occurred in a practice duel. Because there was no denying that Verity had been skirting the limits of what was 'allowed' within the arena.

As the Instructor had reiterated as they were about to leave, the healers were present as a safeguard against permanent injury – not as a justification for cadets to maim one another. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Verity had only gotten away with what she'd done because her blow had been a single strike that could reasonably have been excused as her misjudging her strength.

"You never know," he shrugged.

"While my family and I have had our disagreements, I have always admired my mother's support of Her Highness's reforms. Including the abolition of the horrors of slavery." He didn't miss the way all of his teammates turned to stare at him at that. With mixed expressions. Which, fair enough, was a hot topic given the brewing conflict between the Royal Family and the Traditionalists. Despite that, he noted that none of them seemed inclined to speak.

Oh, Bonnlyn looked like she wanted to say something, but she was savvy enough to be aware of the correct time and place. Which, in front of a Duchess's daughter, was just about never. Unless you happen to be both self-destructive and a little stupid, like me, William thought with cynical amusement.

"That's her stance right now," Tala said, as if to say it wouldn't be the case forever – which she wasn't entirely wrong in thinking given their upcoming nuptials. Once the Ashfields were tied to the Blackstones by marriage, they'd be expected to toe the company line.

"I often find soft-hearted idealism tends to wither when faced with a harsh reality." Her hand idly played over her thigh at those words.

"Hearing that her only son's teammate crippled a girl in a duel may have her rethink the wisdom of your placement here." William shrugged.

"I think you'll find that Verity is quite pleasant to people who are pleasant to her."

"Then perhaps I should be doubly worried?" There was just a hint of a twitch in Tala's expression.

"Given that you haven't been particularly pleasant to me, despite my best efforts to make our relationship work?" William frowned, finally letting some of his genuine emotions slip through.

"We don't have a relationship, Cadet Blackstone. We're a pair of strangers whose parents happened to sign a contract. Food for steel. With our marriage as a convenient way of making it binding." And he could admit that it was perhaps ungrateful of him to rail against it, given that marrying was the duty prescribed to him in return for his family raising and supporting him for eighteen years. … Never mind the fact that they'd replaced him as heir due to his gender. For a bastard.

A move that would have had just about any normal person born into this world spitting blood and likely plotting murder. Ultimately it didn't matter though. None of it did. He had his own plans. Plans he was willing to suffer for. Plans he had suffered for. Because doing his duty was the easy option. He could have fallen in line and lived the life of a layabout without trouble. Being a duchess's husband would have been a pretty sweet gig. Unfortunately, his conscience wouldn't allow it. Couldn't allow it.

Sure, my plan is probably doomed to fail and it'll likely see a lot of people dead before the end – me included – but that was just how it is sometimes, he thought. Nothing is guaranteed and change is always messy. He was prepared for that. Had been for a long time.

"Is that why you never responded to my messages?" She was eying him now, he could almost see the gears in her head whirring as she sought to figure him out.

"Because those could have been the basis of a relationship. A real one, if you want to call it such."

"I don't. We're incompatible," he said honestly.

"Because everything I needed to say and know about you occurred after I sent that first message." The first and last he'd sent her. Because while he'd never read or replied to any of her letters to him, he had opened communications by sending one to her. Three actually. All saying the same thing. All using a different means of conveyance. To hopefully allow at least once to avoid being intercepted by her family or his.

'I don't like slavers and I won't marry you. Call off the betrothal.' Simple and to the point. A line in the sand.

"That silly thing?" Tala scoffed, a hint of incredulity in her tone.

"And you were twelve at the time." He smirked back, well aware of her thoughts. Because of course, a solemn choice was basically little different from a tantrum when it came from someone without power. Whatever they were protesting would still happen, just with a lot less grace on the part of the protester. Thus, resisting was pointless. Worse yet, it was awkward. It was embarrassing. It generally lacked class. And yet he was doing it anyway. And he'd keep doing it – until he had power of his own.

"You're not twelve anymore," the woman eventually sighed.

"Eventually you're going to have to grow up and accept your place in the real world." He cocked his head.

"Yes, my mother said much the same thing." He stretched his arms about.

"Thus, here we are. Here I am. Growing and learning." The brunette recognized the impasse he'd created.

"I suppose you are. Still, I'm not comfortable with you rooming with that orc. Not before this afternoon and certainly not after." She eyed him, deliberately ignoring the hurt look on Verity's face. Or rather, he doubted she even noticed it.

"Unfortunately, there'd be little point in moving you into a third year retinue, so I'll be writing to Countess Ashfield to request that you be moved into one of my vassal's retinues." Who'd all be human or elves, it went without saying.

"Never mind my wishes?" Her eyes softened for just a second.

"Fool or not, you are still my future husband. And thus the future of House Blackstone. I will see you cared for, whether you like it or not." He had a feeling she thought that sounded romantic.

"One wonders why you even came over at all?" He laughed.

"If it was just to dictate terms." She paused in the act of leaving.

"I had thought we might talk. I see now that was naïve of me." Leaving a gulf of silence in her wake.

"Fireball. Full charge. Instant Activation. Right palm. Ranged." The spell flew forth, lighting up the night sky as it flew across the range. Then William watched with muted frustration as his fireball fizzled just short of the dummy he'd been aiming at. Admittedly, that was only to be expected. The thing was covered in kraken scales, but that did little to soothe his ire as he pulled on his second contract for the evening. Smaller this time, barely a third of the one that preceded it.

"Fire-bolt. One charge. Instant Activation. Right palm. Ranged." The ball of flame that flew forth this time was significantly more condensed – and fizzled just short of his target all the same. For just a moment, he was tempted to use something more effective. An earth-lance or an ice-shard, before he quashed the impulse. The range master had signed him in before returning to her shed. The grizzled woman would definitely know who to blame if she woke up tomorrow to find a hole in one of her practice dummies.

Especially given that he was the only one out here. Probably wasn't wise to skip evening meal, he thought as his stomach grumbled rebelliously. Alas, he'd had some frustrations to work out.

"Fire-bolt. Two charges. Instant Activation. Right palm. Ranged." Once more, another spell flew out and fizzled. …And with that, he was spent. One large contract and three small ones was his limit. A rather impressive showing for a man his age – given that a single large contract was the average - but at moments like this it felt woefully inadequate. Especially with his end goal in mind.

"Well, I guess you can't be too upset." A voice called from the darkness.

"Because if that last one was trauma-boosted, then it was the weediest trauma boost I've ever seen." Turning, he saw two silvery eyes making their way over to him through the gloom, the light of the nearby gas-lanterns reflected in them.

"Marline," he sighed.

"I- now's not really a good time." He just didn't have the energy for whatever issue the Dark Elf had with him. Tomorrow, certainly, but for tonight he just needed to… think.

"Really?" the young woman said, white hair standing out vividly against her dark grey skin as she stepped into the light.

"Even if I brought food?" Sure enough, held in her hands was a small basket containing a number of small sandwiches. Once more, William's stomach rumbled at the sight.

"That's… kind of you?" he said with genuine surprise. The elf rolled her eyes, even as she all-but shoved the basket into his hands.

"Why? Can't I look out for a teammate?" Idly, picking up one of the snacks, he shook his head.

"Not at all. I'm thankful. And a little surprised. I thought you didn't like me." Marline looked like she might argue for a second, before sagging.

"It was that obvious?" He laughed around a mouthful of bread, before swallowing.

"Was it supposed to be subtle?"

"No, I suppose it wasn't." She sighed as she unshouldered a pack that was strung over her shoulder. The contents clacked together as they hit the ground. Carefully, William wiped some crumbs from his hand, resisting the urge to grab another sandwich as he regarded his teammate.

"Any chance you'll elaborate on precisely what the issue was?" She shook her head.

"No… not yet. Besides it wasn't really you. Or rather, it wasn't your fault. It just took me until today to realize that." Well, the only thing that William could really think of that happened today regarding him was his confrontation with Tala. A conversation that had dozens of implications for any curious onlooker. Ultimately, he just didn't know enough about his teammate to guess which ones had apparently improved her opinion of him.

"Fair enough," he said, grabbing another sandwich. Despite herself, the young woman laughed.

"Really? You're not going to press me for answers?"

"We'll be spending the next four years together and it's been two days." He shrugged.

"You'll probably tell me eventually."

"Probably," she muttered as she glanced down at her feet, before looking back up at him.

"Though that assumes you're actually with us for the next four years. Given what your 'fiancée' said, Olzenya's already planning on stepping into the leader role when you go." He blinked.

"Pretty sure team-leader is decided in the third week."

"You're not as subtle as you think," the girl said as she regarded his owlish expression.

"I'd say only Verity's yet to notice that you've been unofficially sliding yourself into the role." Huh, he hadn't thought he'd been that obvious.

"Well, Olzenya shouldn't be counting her chickens just yet. Even if Tala can get my mother onboard with switching my team, Instructor Griffith says that it's unlikely to happen until the end of the first semester. Which is six months away."

"And?" The dark elf cocked her head. He grinned, some of his momentary melancholy and frustration leaving him.

"A lot can happen in six months." Sure, it effectively cut his planned timetable in half, but that was life. No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy, he thought. And now that his enemy had made her first move, it was up to him to adapt. Which meant getting his team ready.

"You know, I think I preferred you when you were sulking," Marline commented. He just laughed, before his attention turned to the pack she'd been carrying.

"With that said, I doubt you came all the way out here just to bring me dinner – which I'm thankful for by the way." He placed down the now empty basket.

"I'm also noting a distinct lack of Verity present." Indeed, while the orc may not have had glow in the dark eyes like their elvish teammate, she would have been pretty hard to miss. Because here was supposed to be the meeting spot for their 'fighting lessons'. Admittedly, in the future he'd have arranged for them to be in a proper practice arena, but for this evening he knew the spell-range would be pretty much empty and he had some… frustrations to work out.

"She's not coming," Marline confirmed as she reached down to the sack to pull out two wooden practice sabres.

"It took some convincing, but she's back at the room getting meditation lessons from Olzenya." William raised an eyebrow.

"So, you're here in her stead?"

"That I am." She tossed one of the 'blades' to him.

"In return for her teaching me the same shit Bonnlyn's teaching Olzenya." How to properly wash clothes, in other words. Along with a myriad other small tasks that the two elves were accustomed to having servants for. He twirled the blade in his hand, getting accustomed to its weight.

"Oh? Were you feeling left out of the little circle of favors I was creating?" Despite his teasing, the elf just scoffed.

"Hardly. I just needed the skills she had – and I thought I'd save you a load of pointless pain and wasted time." As she spoke, she brought the wooden blade up, getting into a stance. Which William imitated with his own, before tapping his blade against hers. The universal signal to 'begin'.

"Wasted time?" he asked, as he lunged forward.

"Yes," Marline confirmed shortly as she easily deflected the blow off to the side.

"Because she's too naturally talented." William brought his blade around, trying to bring his blade across, but once more Marline's own interspersed itself.

"She wasn't trained or taught. She just does what she does naturally. A prodigy if you will." She stepped forward and he was forced to step back, maintaining his footing as best he could even as he moved into a defensive stance. Or… his best approximation of such.

"Because of which, I sincerely doubt she could explain how she does what she does." Marline's sword lashed out again, and William's was knocked wide – and then the tip of her blade was pressed against his chest.

"She just does it." A little disappointed, William sagged in surrender.

"I yield."

"I on the other hand can tell you that you just lost because I maintained total control of the centre line after that first hit." She stepped forward, hand coming over to make a dozen small adjustments to his stance.

"And I can also tell you're a total amateur who's likely held a blade all of twice in your life." He shrugged.

"That's not entirely wrong." Marline just grunted.

"Perils of being a man. With that said, we're in general intake. You'll hardly be unique in that respect. Plenty of our teammates will be starting from scratch and the Instructors will have lessons for them planned accordingly." She stepped back.

"With that said, you were wise to seek out 'extra lessons'." William nodded, noticing how much more… smoothly he could move after her adjustments.

"Feet stay on the ground," his instructor instructed.

"Glide. Don't walk or stomp. If you're in the air, you can't adjust or change course." As she talked, she demonstrated by sliding her feet across the ground, changing directions at will, sword constantly at the ready. William followed her motions. And continued to do so, for the next hour, until the end of day bell rang and the now quite sweaty pair started making their way back to their quarters.

It was only afterward as he lay his aching body down onto his bed – his contracts memorized – that he realized that he'd never actually agreed to let the dark elf be his tutor. Huh, seems I'm not the only one who can pull people into their flow without them realizing, he thought blearily as he nodded off to sleep.