Chương 186: Bringing a Sword to a Mage Fight

Dragon's Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Living Room. Local Time: 0900 Hours. Emma …

"EVI?"" Yes, Cadet Booker?"

"Time elapsed since the start of the yap-a-thon?" …

"Clari—""Refer to custom command database." … [Time elapsed… 29 Minutes, 34 Seconds… 35 seconds… 36 seconds…] It had been precisely 29 minutes and 37 seconds since Ilunor had eagerly opened his deceptively small snout. Since then, he'd unleashed upon us a cavalcade of personal anecdotes, self-glorifying accounts, and an impossibly long laundry list of accomplishments accrued in the span of a single night.

The contents of which had now expanded beyond the original scope of the simple 'What happened last night' exchange, and had drifted dangerously into the shallow waters of self-aggrandization. It was time to wrap things up.

"... and then he had the gall, the flippant nerve, to—""So let me get this straight." I began, finding an acceptable enough onramp into the vunerian's soliloquy.

"In the span of a single night, you managed to…" I trailed off, preparing my best WeTube 'top ten lists' narration voice.

"Gain entry into gastronomy club by winning a cook-off—" I raised my index finger, counting up the beats of Ilunor's wild misadventures.

"Forge a rival with an upper yearsman bordering on nemesis status after he insulted your honor by claiming that cooking was 'commoner behavior'—" I raised my middle finger.

"Responded to said insult by challenging him to a drake riding 'duel'—" I raised my ring finger.

"Spicing up the situation even more by getting him to ride Chiska's drake—" I raised my pinky.

"Before finally managing to not only win, but outperform him in every metric despite using the worst drake in the flight club's stables." I extended my thumb, ending up with an open palm, with which I attempted to high-five the vunerian. This ended up just confusing him, however, as he stared at my hand with the look of a mildly inconvenienced cat. He eventually got it though, albeit reluctantly, as our hands met in a gesture that prompted both Thacea and Thalmin to tilt their heads in mild amusement.

"While I appreciate what I assume to be a celebratory gesture, you are missing the all-important sixth and seventh accomplishments of the night." He beamed brightly. I cocked my head at that, but before I could pull my hand back, the vunerian had since quickly moved to lock his fingers between my own, forming an awkward grip between our two hands.

"Er, this was just supposed to be a brief palm-to-palm contact situation, not a hand-holding gesture." I attempted to correct him through a hushed breath but ended up inadvertently following his lead as he began shaking my hand and smiling a big, self-assured grin.

"Well, I believe this is what it should be. A far more engaging gesture, rather than one of passive simplicity, hmm?"

"I—""For my sixth and seventh accomplishments!" He raised his other hand, never once wavering in this weird impromptu handshake.

"My complete deconstruction of that lesser avinor's malicious aims—" He raised a single finger, one of four.

"—and my entry into flight club!" He raised a second finger.

"However, I would be remiss if I did not count my quieter victories as part of this roster of nightly achievements! Such as…" He raised a third finger.

"The procurement of many a favor from those within gastronomy club's ranks—" Then his fourth and final finger.

"—and the replacement of the dreaded academy cloak. Oh, how to finally be free from that bland and utterly banal uniform…" He finally pulled away from our impromptu hand-holding session, if only to free up his other hand to raise a fifth finger, briefly darting his eyes between his hand and my own. There was a short 'blink and you'll miss it' moment, as his face scrunched up in annoyance. It was brief… but it was there.

And I didn't need a doctorate in xenosociology to get what was going through Ilunor's head, especially after the whole 'elvenform' discussion touched upon prior. However, credit to Ilunor's progress, he didn't kick up a fuss about it. Instead, he returned comfortably to that victor's grin, as all I could do was perform a little celebratory clap in his 'honor'.

"Thank you, thank you, oh you needn't—" I stopped abruptly. … This garnered an annoyed stare from the vunerian.

"Sometimes I wonder if the concept of pro forma is simply lacking in Earthrealm…" He grumbled back before finally acquiescing to my attempts in dialing this entire conversation back.

"Oh, performative modesty is definitely a thing. It's just something I choose not to participate in at the moment." I acknowledged Ilunor's annoyances before just as deftly swinging the conversation back to the pertinent task at hand.

"So… free day, huh?" I proclaimed with two open hands. All three nodded, with Ilunor still raising his snout at me.

"While it's indeed sad that we won't be sitting listening to Belnor for 6-8 hours… I will say that I, for one, do not mind the alternative." I teased, garnering a growing, fangy grin from Thalmin.

"It's one thing to be taught a subject of practical necessity. It's another to bask in the subjects of our mutual fixations." Thalmin acknowledged as we both gave each other a knowing nod. Thacea, meanwhile, simply darted her eyes left and right between us, chiming in once she found an opening in the conversation's lull.

"I see no issue with this." She acknowledged with a nod before raising a finger.

"Save for one."

"Yes, princess?" Thalmin questioned. However, before the princess could even respond, a subtle yet audible ruffling of paper filled the air, emanating from none other than the front door. Thalmin would be quick to investigate, walking to the dorm's entrance and pulling out a brochure wedged beneath the door in question. He unfurled it, his eyes scanning each line as something in particular caught his eye, prompting him to let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

"Fight Club expects my presence." He spoke murkily, his gaze flicking to Thacea.

"Is this what you were going to warn me about?"

"Yes." Thacea nodded.

"Though I assume the terms are more agreeable than not?"

"How'd you suppose that?" Thalmin shot back.

"Your restraint in not immediately crumpling, burning, or outright tearing the invitation." She pointed at the brochure.

"Amidst other things."

"Hmph. Read me like an open book—""That's what I keep saying!" I interjected with fingers pointed at Thalmin and Thacea.

"She's way too good at this!" The pair would let out a chuckle at that interruption, as Thalmin was quick to spill the beans shortly thereafter.

"My presence is only required until the afternoon. I intend on returning as soon as I can… before something else tears us off of the fated path." He spoke firmly.

"In the meantime…" He continued as he began armoring up in front of us, beginning with his gauntlets.

"I expect that manaless sight-seer warmed up—" Continuing to his vambraces.

"—its crystals primed and loaded—" Moving deftly to his chestpiece.

"—and the contents within curated for my viewing pleasure." Before finally finishing off with a tightening of all the magical straps which kept the enchanted pieces of armor in place.

"With all that being said, I do wish to ask that you remain in the dorms following noon. Because mark my words, I will return as soon as circumstances allow…" The prince moved forward, letting that latter line linger in the air as I could only respond with a nod.

"... and mark my words, this will happen today." He reiterated, straddling the doorframe before leaving with a confident smile. This left just the three of us to ruminate in silence.

"So… I don't need to go anywhere, right?" I questioned out loud. [Displaying Pending Tasks listed in order of Priority…]"Homework, coursework, followed by the astromancy-issued sidequest of delivering the ashen documents to Professor Sorecar." Thacea responded. [Diplomatic Activities Report (9 Incidents… Open for more details), After Action Report (5 Incidents… Open for more details), Diplomatic Profile Updates (4 Incidents… Open for more details)...]"You know what, Thacea…

I think I'm good on the Sorecar front for the time being. Astromancy is a laid-back club, after all." I responded with a tired, exasperated smile. The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Stadium of Heroes. Local Time: 0925 Hours. Thalmin My expectations were reserved. My anticipation was dulled. This was in no small part due to the promises of a second, far more engaging prospect scheduled in a few hours. Though it would be disingenuous to defer all fault to said prior engagements.

It wouldn't be a lie to acknowledge that Professor Articord's… presence left something of a sour note on perhaps the only aspect of the Academy I had previously looked forward to. And yet… I could not entirely discount her, at least not on the basis of merit. She was clearly respected amidst the ranks of an organization that would have fallen to disorder if its leadership were not the revered sort.

And that respect, that deference, could have only been garnered by the only units of social currency accepted within its ranks — magical strength and martial acumen. It was one thing to merely be a Nexian mouthpiece. It was another thing entirely to embody its core fundamentals — its enshrinement of magical strength. Or better put: while words may bare one's fangs, it's one's deeds that actually sink them.

These thoughts, amidst many others, had kept me occupied on the otherwise uneventful trek, leading me to the foot of yet another grand structure within the Academy's expansive grounds. Situated a sprint away from Chiska's Hall of Champions, it should have been a familiar sight. Yet it was not. Such a structure would have not been so easily overlooked, especially given its accompanying paths, outdoor appointments, and the lanterns that practically flanked every other step. … More Nexian trickery…

I thought darkly as I found myself staring up at this monolithic gymnasium. An open structure of trusses and pillars that gave way to a massive open-air foyer the likes of which were adorned with fountains of flowing wine and spirits alongside patches of orchards with fruit ripe for the taking. It was a surreal sight. Indeed, its architecture was unlike anything I'd seen from the Nexus — or any adjacency for that matter — thus far.

It was because of this very foreign ambiance that I found myself walking cautiously through the open foyer, ignoring those inviting refreshments, as any warrior worth their salt would, before finally encountering the actual entrance to the main structure — a large rotunda capped with a dome rising at least twenty or so floors. Its exterior was yet again rather foreign for Nexian sensibilities.

Exposed red brick with nary a hint of plaster or paint, instead adorned by vines and patches of wall-moss which thrummed with an inviting magical aura. I reached for the door handle — this ornate, spindly copper thing. But before I could open it, I found the tapestry carvings on the door's oval transom melting, morphing, reshaping like wet clay into…

"Whoooooooo—" … the face of some odd, elongated serpentine creature, one that extended from the door itself. This… creature-construct slithered towards me with a neck so long that felt disproportionate to its head.

"Ahhhhhh newblood. Enter, enter!" It beckoned with an agreeable hiss as the door cracked open, letting through the orange and yellow light within. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. I entered cautiously, my booted feet landing with a satisfying clack against the patterned granite floor, one that seemed to radiate from a round medallion which dominated the center of the space.

Though I'd be remiss if that was the only aspect of the room that immediately caught my attention. There was, of course, the gathering of club members. From familiar faces such as the fourth-year Efwin Swinsonn, to the various other members I'd since dispatched following that farce of a hazing ritual. Amidst the various students, however, was a collection of armored stands arranged in a spiral, following the radial lines tracing their way to the very center of the room.

I took slow, measured steps towards one of these armored pieces, finding myself drawn to a particularly tasteful suit of armor, one adorned with gildings and seals which weren't encrusted in a hundred jewels. … I counted only five in this one. Which, by process of elimination, made it the pinnacle of modesty amongst its peers.

Nevertheless, the armor wasn't the only item of my fixation, as my eyes instead drifted to its accompanying weapons — spears, staffs, swords, and more, all arranged neatly, hovering vertically in place by the empty sets of armor. My gaze hovered over each artifact with intent, as I tugged what appeared to be a loose thread in the manastreams. To my surprise, a miniature sight-seer appeared above each weapon.

Each instance of which displayed a small fragment of a memory, demonstrating the power and potential of each weapon at its height. Fascinating … I thought to myself, focusing first on the spear, the likes of which I'd seen and have used a great many times prior. Yet despite my familiarity with such a weapon, curiosity drove me to watch the demonstration all the same, hoping to see perhaps a unique enchantment or modification on its use.

Sadly, however, little would come of this venture, as I beheld the spear's tip launching, then separating, before finally segmenting into 27 individual needle-like points, each of which pierced through the impossibly thin gaps of even the most well-covered sets of commoner armor. Nothing I haven't seen… The next was a whip; this one I knew was guaranteed to impress. And indeed I was right.

The weapon expanded in size and scope when flicked, extending to ten times its original length, before cutting through armors of all sorts, rendering an entire attacking force cleaved before they could even react. I need that. The final weapon on display was a typical flame-enchanted blade. I practically yawned at such a basic enchantment, watching as it indeed matched my expectations. There was nothing more to be observed from the routing of an entire mercenary company.

Fire was, as Uncle would say, one of the greatest means of smoking out vermin. I continued going through other weapons in the gallery at this point, making mental note of each, and pondering with intent whether there were one-to-one analogues in Earthrealm… or whether those loud metal-slingers were efficient enough to match the creative devastation of their magical counterparts. So deep was I in the foolish haze of a squire's mind left adrift that I almost didn't notice a presence emerging from behind me.

A brief glance and a tug of the manastreams was all it took to remind the man that I did, in fact, have 'eyes' at the back of my head. A fact that the elf seemed amused by, as he spoke with a tone of untempered bravado.

"Prince Thalmin Havenbrock. You have decided to come early, I see."

"I expected more of our ranks to have done the same." I responded with a dismissive breath." Punctuality, after all, is a fundamental precursor to discipline, is it not?"

"Taken straight from the book… you really are a warrior-scholar, aren't you, Prince Havenbrock?" The man spoke with a noble's snicker.

"It would surprise me if that were the exception for this guild, and not the norm, Lord Swinsonn." I countered, keeping both my composure and posture completely still, revealing nothing but a stalwart facade to the club's most senior member.

"You read too much into my words, Prince Havenbrock. I merely wished to open this dialogue with a degree of positivity. After all, you did impress the battlemaster, and one who manages to accomplish such a feat is not to be dismissed so readily." He responded, fairly at that, prompting me to reply with a single nod, seeing as there was neither an enemy to combat nor an ally to court in this elf.

"I see you are finding Lady Vorascius' armor to be of particular interest?" He continued, attempting petty discourse as was the nature of these sorts of social affairs.

"Indeed." I nodded.

"And I assume the matter of… weapons and armor, is something of a particular interest to you as well?"

"As much as any other warrior worth their kill tally." I replied with a gruff huff.

"Why do you ask?" I continued with a blunt breath.

"Is this something to do with today's orientation meeting?"

"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort, no." Swinsonn rebutted politely, maintaining his noble smile without once flinching.

"It was merely a… point of observation I simply wished to cast light on. A matter of particular importance in your journey into the esteemed ranks of the battlemages, and one which is to be corrected early on in your path… provided, of course, you are interested in attaining such heights. I would not discount it, nor would I see you as any less, if your presence here is merely one of an observer and a hobbyist, than that of a serious battlemage." I narrowed my gaze, bearing my fangs if only momentarily.

"What's that supposed to mean, Lord Swinsonn?" The elf took a moment to pause, a social cue so painfully Nexian in its execution. He already knew the answer… he was just too bound to decorum to answer like a proper warrior.

"You will… indulge me as I attempt to elucidate, yes?"

"Go on." I urged bluntly, prompting the elf to begin walking back to the first set of weapons on display, placing a particular level of emphasis on the spear.

"Tell me, Prince Havenbrock… how many men have you killed with your blade? Or your spear? Or any other sort of weapon for that matter."

"I did not have the privilege of maintaining a tally in the midst of—""Then answer me this… have you ever, in your years of combat, dispatched of a fellow noble, a fellow mage, exclusively with a weapon in hand?"

"Not exclusively, no." I countered plainly.

"Though I have managed to land killing blows—""But you've always had to rely on your actual magics, correct?"

"Are you seriously attempting to undermine the legitimacy of my presence by virtue of my preference in combat?"

"Not at all, Prince Havenbrock." Swinsonn replied with a surprising earnestness.

"I merely wish to… correct a bad habit before you are encumbered by its inherent limitations."

"A weapon is a limitation now?"

"For your fights and your battles on Havenbrock? Perhaps not. But when against a Nexian-educated battlemage? Yes." He spoke haughtily, and with a punchable grin.

"You… do understand the limitations of enchanted weapons, do you not?"

"A weapon is only as powerful as its wielder… but conversely, its wielder is only as powerful as their weapon if equipped as a primary offensive implement." I offered.

"Correct." Swinsonn nodded.

"You see, while an enchanted weapon may be sufficient to many a mage, as most pursue a path outside of the martial arts… the same cannot be said for those who hone their inherent skillsets, sharpening a proverbial blade of a more intrinsic sort." He spoke cryptically and with an unflinching grin.

"When faced with such an opponent, your reliance on weapons will lead you to a functional… limitation. For unless your blade was enchanted by His Eternal Majesty or Thun'Yandaris themselves, you will inevitably face the functional limitations of such weapons — the skill of the bladesmith and artificer behind its smithing."

"Then why display weapons at all then, Lord Swinsonn? Why tempt a 'bad habit,' when your philosophy is so draconian in its negative perception of such articles of warfare?"

"I never said enchanted weapons didn't have their place, Prince Havenbrock." The elf spoke, raising a single finger in defiance.

"While a tossup against other mages, entirely reliant on fate and chance to determine the outcome of such an engagement, the enchanted blade is useful because of its very limitations…" I narrowed my gaze, crossing my arms as I refused to take his bait. Merely allowing him to finish on his own volition.

"Its weaknesses, Prince Thalmin. That's what's so incredibly useful when the situation calls for it." He continued, raising both hands up in a grand beckoning gesture as he did so.

"When a battlemage reaches a certain… degree of martial prowess and personal growth, they may find it troublesome — not difficult, mind you, but merely… an annoyance — to preen the weeds without devastating the harvest. You see, once certain thresholds are reached… the commoners become something of a pest to your inherent powers. So in such a circumstance where only certain elements are to be eliminated, while sparing the rest of the flock, weapons become something of a 'focus' for your awesome powers.

That, Prince Havenbrock, is why we display the pieces that we do. For they aren't primary armaments, but merely… a tactical implement to be used when the situation demands it." I… pondered the elf's words as a slow, uncomfortable realization truly hit me. There was a… fundamental disconnect between our two perspectives. It felt as if the man lacked any actual connection between the men on the ground and his own fight. Alas… I couldn't entirely discount such callousness.

For there existed a fundamental concept with which Swinsonn seemed to have taken thoroughly to heart. The separation of the war in the heavens and the war in the commons. Win the former, and the latter is guaranteed. Win the latter without the former? Well…

"Weapons, at the end of the day, are the domain of commoners. They are the tools through which magic is enhanced, or gifted. If you do not overcome such… affinities, you will forever be trapped in a dynamic of power which will always be unfavorable to you. Do you understand this, Prince Havenbrock?" The elf's eyes remained receptive in their sincerity, their frustrations, just as my eyes were.

"True power, true strength, is ultimately derived not from any enchanted piece of parchment or weapon, but the mage themselves. Those that do not understand this are doomed to fail in their path towards the coveted title of battlemage." I took a deep breath, observing with little ambiguity the fundamental discrepancy in the world I knew and understood intrinsically… … And the world that Emma had presented. Resistance, of any sort, was impossible given this configuration of power.

But the weapons, the tactics, the sort of warfare waged by Earthrealm showed something different. It demonstrated a dynamic of raw potential entirely removed from this mentality. It showed the only way to resist was to reject this reality entirely.

"Perhaps we must… take a step back as it were, Lord Swinsonn. I study the art of the blade, amidst other enchanted weapons, not merely as an extension of my own martial capacity, but also as a way to better understand the capabilities of those under my command." I countered with an earnestness that took Swinsonn by surprise, as I attempted something I hadn't yet thought was within my patience to do so — reaching a hand to a Nexian in an attempt to understand their madness.

"By mastering them, I am thus able to intrinsically connect with the men-at-arms who are at my beck and call. I can grasp their potential, their capacity, and accurately dictate the course of a battle by way of deploying them to their strengths. Strengths I would not have accurately known if I'd only studied their capabilities by ledger and logbook alone." Swinsonn took a long, quiet look at me. His eyes trailed me up and down, landing squarely on the sword in my scabbard.

"And yet… for all your talk of a warrior-tactician, you still find yourself reaching first for your crutch, instead of your soul." He shrugged, eviscerating what little hope for reason I had left.

"Perhaps you should have spent less time studying a chosen one's plaything, and instead honing your skills—""Need I remind you of the results of my candidacy, Lord Swinsonn." I immediately interjected, his words inadvertently touching on something deep, something raw that had still yet to fully heal.

"I have survived, with far less, for months on end, and still emerged victorious." I spoke viciously, bearing my fangs at one point.

"I need not prove myself, not especially to you if you still are too blind to see it." The elf, to whatever credit he could accrue, remained silent, completely stoic and unflinching to my outburst.

"Very well." He spoke plainly.

"But I do wish to impart something else, if only to impart a sense of… scale for your perception on warfare." I narrowed my eyes, shrugging, and gesturing for him to continue all the same.

"This… will require a small leave towards—""Just go." I urged, forcing the man onwards as he led the way up and towards another level of the rotunda. We eventually found ourselves on the top floor… only after climbing one flight of stairs. More spatial magic… I thought to myself.

"Your focus on your men, your soldiers, your warriors, and fellows-at-arms is indeed a noble one, Prince Havenbrock. Though I fear your… mingling amidst the rabble may have inappropriately colored your perspective as a mage. For you see, as useful as the rabble are, they become irrelevant once you attain the heights of a battlemage bordering on planar status."

The elf beamed as he summoned forth an entire amphitheatre-sized milieu, one that placed particular emphasis on a long stretch of coast, dotted by grand cities, perched upon a foreign shore.

"A good monarch sees value in the logistics and armies at his disposal. A great monarch understands the division between the realm of the battles of the common, and the battles of his fellow mages. A grand monarch, on the other hand, will understand that it is the latter that determines the ultimate outcome of a war, no matter how many battles are won with the armies of the common." Swinsonn declared, gesturing to the grand city that stretched the expanse of this entire room.

"Observe." He spoke ominously, ushering in a darkness amidst an idyllic landscape, and reinforcing something I'd known, read, and heard of… but never seen in such cataclysmic detail. … I found myself unable to voice anything. Not an objection, not an affirmation, not even a bluff or a dismissive breath. Swinsonn noticed this, as he let out a sly, noble's chuckle, before reaching his hand in mid-air. All the while, the landscape around us continued. At the corner of my eye, I noticed something.

A silhouette of someone striding towards the shorebound citadel… making their way closer as they walked above the still waters, the silhouette's steps causing massive ripples that formed dangerous tides. The figure stopped and stared at the city. And not a moment later did the sounds of warhorns and mobilizing forces fill my ears. The figure on the waves stopped and stared at the city, and the city itself seemed to stare back at them. What I witnessed thereafter, I had known of.

The concept of this expression of magecraft was taught to me. I had known of its sophistication, of its effectiveness, of its infamy. I only knew then. But now I have seen. The mere lectures and scriptions of such powers caused trepidation then; the display I had witnessed rocked my core tenfold. … The remains of the landscape soon melted and twisted in a swirl of magic, the cyclone coalescing itself into a small sight-seer crystal.

"You wished to collect such visions of war, yes? Well, take this. This is a memory shard of what I have shown you today." Swinsonn regarded me as he pointed a lazy finger to levitate the crystal towards me; the crystal I reluctantly accepted.

"Now… let us return downstairs. There is plenty more to discuss." Dragon's Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Living Room. Local Time: 1500 Hours. Thalmin I returned… with a mind much more burdened than when I had left. And yet, as I entered the room, I couldn't help but to let curiosity take over once more. A series of complex, rhythmic, almost discordant tunes emerged from behind a corner of the room.

Accompanying which was a hushed conversation between Emma and Thacea, the latter of which sounded like she was at her wits' end.

"Emma, please stop. You are embarrassing yourself."

"Oh come on, Thacea! Look! I'm dancing to the beat!" The former announced as I rounded the corner to witness… A fiasco in the making. It was Thacea first who paused as her seat was facing my direction. Though Emma, being none the wiser, moved in could only be described as the motions of a tangled marionette.

"Emma… you should stop."

"No way! This is my way of celebrating the end to paperwo—" She paused, as if sensing me from behind without yet craning her head towards me. Sure enough, she stopped mid-stride, turning to me as she moved to stretch both arms behind her neck.

"I can explai—""Emma… was that an attempt at an avinor courting da—""No!" Both Thacea and Emma shouted concurrently.

"Emma was simply curious as to the culture of both music and dance in Aetheron." Thacea explained.

"For some… inexplicable reason."

"Yeah, well, you see, we have a huge variety of birds back in my realm, and they're quite well known for—""Ahem. I… do not need to hear about this, Emma." I interjected.

"Now… are you ready?"

"For the presentation?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be." Emma beamed.

"Though… this'll be the same as always, right? You start with your thing, and then we'll head over to my sight-seer?"

"Yes." I acknowledged once more.

"Though… there is something new that I…" I paused, clearing my throat as that crystal in my pocket felt heavier following that utterance.

"Let's just get you started on the basics, shall we?"