Thirty... thirty-one.
Mavros kept track of the Yukain's lightning bolts he had dodged or deflected with his staff on his current round.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡclLnSr8HHe
Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five...
Suddenly, the sphere increased its firing frequency and adopted more unpredictable movements. However, they posed no significant problem for the knight, who either repelled or avoided most of them. Like raindrops sinking into a lake, the projectiles melded into faint, delicate sparks against the walls.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLZ2G64sWtt
After a while, the Yukain emitted a faint beep, coming to a halt. It generated an intangible scoreboard before Mavros.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ18jGBxWTG
35 deflections
13 evasions
2 failures
Score: A.
He interpreted the numbers and characters on the screen. He had achieved the second-best rating on its scale.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLSdrGUgrHW
What boredom I carry. But rather than pleasing him, that positive streak annoyed him. Regardless of his fatigue, he had been so comfortable up to that point that he allowed himself to relax a bit in that last round: the only one in which he had made mistakes. Practicing with the Yukain had become as simple and tedious a task as a chore.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKzG0tJ5CI0
The device awaited new instructions.
"Yukain, jabá!" Mavros commanded it to deactivate in the Tarburian tongue.
The Yukain gently descended to rest on the ground. All its lights went out. It had returned to "sleep."
Six rounds. That was the number General Chatel Chatel had asked him to complete as part of that training session. He had done at least ten.
Satisfied with the task completed, he stowed away his staff and headed towards the door of the room.
It can't have been more than an hour… He calculated as he opened it with the key the general had lent him. He stepped out into the corridor of the building where he was. As expected, Ser Chatel Chatel was nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to return in two hours.
He told me there's a library on the third floor… Mavros remembered. He located the stairs and ascended them eagerly. Before devoting himself to martial arts, books were his first and greatest passion. Indeed, it was through a book that he learned about the Way, the code to which he had sworn to adhere until the end of his days.
Upon reaching the floor, he encountered something unexpected.
There's more than one! He realized as he read the signs on the doors of their libraries, each vying to persuade him to enter like a legion of voracious merchants after his money.
However, he opted for one in particular.
Martial Arts Library.
Its title read.
Do they have a library solely dedicated to martial arts? That was the first thing that caught the knight's attention. In his homeland, martial arts books were so rare that the few he had access to weren't even cataloged in public libraries.
Perhaps it's worth coming here after all. He smiled. He pushed its door and entered.
His joy grew with each new full bookshelf he spotted. But he couldn't afford to treat it as just a leisurely stroll.
I should look for something to help me in the tournament. Mavros reasoned. He scanned a row in a nearby bookshelf. All these look interesting, but it's not what I need most right now. Most were works on very specific subjects. I'd be better off with something more related to the Eh-Nam Tournament... some recent edition chronicles or something similar.
Just on that shelf, the number of texts was overwhelming. He quickly realized it could occupy him for the entire afternoon to find what he wanted.
Guess I have to consult a librarian. The knight acknowledged. He moved away from the shelf. As he walked down the aisle, he bumped into someone familiar.
Olivrin?
There was no doubt, it was the general's youngest son. The boy was pulling a book off a shelf, not yet aware of the knight's presence. Mavros moved towards him to greet him. The boy turned his head at the sound of his steps.
"Ser Marlon?" he whispered, moving closer to meet him. "Why are you here? Weren't you with my dad?"
"Yes, but he brought me here to see the university." The knight told him.
"What a coincidence!" the boy exclaimed, nearly exceeding the tolerated volume level. He shook his head, as if searching for someone behind Mavros whom he expected to see. "Isn't he with you?"
"He had to leave. Didn't say where, just that he'd be back in a couple of hours," he replied. "What about you? Are you alone?"
"No, I came with my brother and mother," he denied. "We were showing the university to my cousin."
Mavros crossed his arms. "Luciara?"
Olivrin nodded. He turned to one side, thinking she was next to him, but there was no trace of her.
"She was just looking at some books with me..." the boy said, scratching his head a little. "Come on. I think I know where she went."
He fixed his gaze on a corner of the hallway. He headed towards it, followed by the knight. A space with several reading tables appeared before the two. Mavros was the first to spot Luciara, sitting at one of the tables.
What is she doing? he wondered, echoing his cousin's thoughts. She was controlling with abnormal concentration a small flame she generated with a finger inches from her face.
Hmm? Almost immediately, he noticed someone else's presence. It's her!
Her new haircut didn't prevent him from identifying her. She was one of the corrupt Holy Warriors he had faced upon his arrival in the city. The officer he had spat in the eye out of contempt.
ACCURSED BITCH! YOU BURNED MY HAIR!
Sublieutenant Docemin Batrand stared at Luciara with the wrathful expression of a hungry beast. Her hands clenched so tightly around the book she held that they threatened to tear its cover. Her first impulse was to scream and lunge at her, but she had to contain it instantly. There were other students around, and the library was not the place for such acts. Despite having the protection of her mother and the king, she didn't want to be exposed again with a new —and unnecessary— scandal.
She hasn't seen me yet. She's as distracted as a fool with whatever she's reading.167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPUy7bDb1UQ
She studied her target, analyzing a more appropriate way to proceed with her revenge. A wicked smile curled her lips. She stealthily stepped back to slip between bookshelves, where no one could see her clearly, and extended her right hand to point her index finger at the unsuspecting Luciara.
I knew it...
Her intentions went unnoticed by everyone except the wandering knight.
"Olivrin, stay here. Don't move," he ordered, very serious.
"Huh? Why?" the boy asked, completely unaware of what was happening.
Wait a second… As he approached where Mavros was heading, he began to piece things together. Isn't she that annoying prick?
The boy knew Docemin from the few times he had seen her at the university. Those few encounters, and the stories he had heard from his family, had created an unfavorable image of her in his mind.
What is he doing? Why is he pointing at my cousin?
In his innocence, he was unaware that his finger wasn't merely pointing, but aiming.
From its tip, blue flames emerged, enveloping into a tiny fireball.
Now we'll be even. Say goodbye to your hair, wretch!
With a muted detonation, the ball shot towards the aspiring Holy Warrior's ponytail. But the ball met an open palm. Its flames died after a harmless impact.
Ser Marlon?! Olivrin had just witnessed how, with a single swift leap, the knight positioned himself between Luciara and the projectile's path.
"Huh?!" Drawn by the small yet noticeable sound of the maneuver, the onlookers turned towards the scene.
What's going on?! Tense, Luciara was the last to do so. This had represented a hateful interruption to her study session. Mavros?! Though she was facing away from him, his armor left no room for confusion. And that lunatic?! As well as the face of the woman he was confronting.
Docemin bit her lip. She redirected all her resentment towards the knight. He lowered his hand and regarded her with disdainful silence.
The sublieutenant threw her book to the ground.
"YOU!" she yelled, no longer caring about decorum. She advanced towards him. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, YOU BASTARD?!"
"I think I was clear with thee at the station," he replied with calm yet resolute firmness, "I answer not to beasts of thy ilk."
Such a response drew a grimace of disgust from the Holy Warrior, who didn't take long to turn it into a cynical curve.
"That's right! You're still escorting that slut!" she said aloud, pointing at Luciara.
Slut?!
Luciara stood up violently. Mavros restrained her with an arm, preventing her from confronting the officer.
"She told me you are her...."
"SSSSH!" The knight silenced Docemin with a characteristic gesture. "'Silence is Golden,'" he recited. "It's a rule thou should learn before entering a library."
Docemin heard several students murmuring. Instead of showing indignation, most contained their laughter, entertained by the audacity of the unknown visitor.
"You pretentious jerk!" The sublieutenant's hands opened like claws. This new mockery complicated her effort to restrain herself and resist the urge to incinerate him.
Mavros went on guard, sensing her new intentions.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Docemin lunged towards him. The knight stood firm, ready to respond to her attack.
But...
"BE QUIET!" A librarian yelled, delivering a thunderous blow to a table, which managed to startle everyone. Docemin abruptly stopped a couple of meters from her enemy.
"You'll be expelled if you don't behave!"
The librarian reaffirmed his scolding, pointing at them with a flat rod as if it were a sharp sword. That warning was enough to finally make the sublieutenant reconsider her actions.
"I'm sorry," she apologized quietly to the librarian.
Then, she advanced towards Mavros until she stopped a few steps away from him.
"Enjoy the little time you have left before the tournament," she said softly. "Because its arena will be your grave, and I will be the one to bury you."
Before he could respond, the Holy Warrior turned around, picked up the book she had thrown on the way, and hurriedly left the library.
Tournament?
Grave?
Luciara and Olivrin raised their eyebrows. They turned their gaze to the wandering knight, seeking explanations.
'Its arena will be your grave, and I will be the one to bury you,' Mavros recited those words to himself. I see..., he deciphered their meaning. I am looking forward to encountering worthy opponents in the tournament, but I highly doubt that you will be one of them. In fact, I highly doubt that we will even meet in a round, he thought, not at all concerned. I couldn't care less about the boasts of a small fish. If anything will be 'buried' under the sand, it will be your childish arrogance.
"Mavros!" Luciara's voice snapped him out of his brief reverie.
Mavros? His cousin blinked a couple of times, thinking he had misheard.
"What was that all about?" The young woman added, with a new whisper of demand. The knight turned slowly, facing away from her.
"I just saved you from an urgent visit to a beauty salon," he summarized, looking at her over his shoulder. "It seems she already knows what you did to her at the station. She's as stubborn as you, so you'll have to be very careful from now on," he raised his hand in a gesture of farewell. "You're welcome."
Just as he was about to part from her, Olivrin caught up with him and stopped him by standing in front of him.
"My dad arrested that prick and her friends this morning, didn't he? Why is she walking around here as if it were her house?" he asked.
The knight's prolonged silence was not the answer he wanted to receive.
"Have they been released from prison?" Luciara joined the conversation.
Mavros nodded coldly, further adding to their disappointment.
"What was that she said before leaving?" Luciara added.
"Yes!" Olivrin followed. "Something about a 'tournament' and a 'grave'."
The knight let out a small sigh.
"General Chatel Chatel asked me not to say anything about it until he did it himself, but I think there's no point in hiding it anymore," he announced cautiously. He looked around suspiciously at the curious onlookers. "Let's step outside for a moment. I think it's best if I tell you out of the library."
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***
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An elder read a series of letters at his expansive desk, made of polished translucent glass. One by one, he signed them and set them aside into well-defined filing cabinets. Once finished, he lifted his head to survey his room, filled with antiques and neatly arranged contrivances. It could easily be mistaken for a museum, were it not for the fact that he and a select few were the only ones aware of its location.
With some clumsiness, the elder rose to his feet with his hands behind his back and walked over to a large globe of the world. He stood before it and gently spun it without touching it.
Mater is going to change, he judged, stopping the globe at a particular section. Mater was the name of the world depicted on its sphere. The home that he and millions of other humans inhabited.
It's been almost three years since Sincer, 'The Blessed,' was crowned heir to the Kingdom of Anglion and the Holy House of Magnolia, he recapped, focusing on a large island. He shifted his gaze southeastward, over the margins of a great continent. The Confederation of Sulfnats of Ayaria is at its zenith. Under Elkan's leadership, it has managed to overshadow Grianz, and what was once the Kingdom of Lebias as the foremost exporter of Nefeshic crystal. The rhetoric of war against the heretics is becoming less persuasive in maintaining support within a decadent Grianz and in the other realms of Elvira. Power without a strong economy is a sandcastle. An army and an oppressive bureaucracy barely manage to sustain it, but trade accomplishes what both cannot: transcending borders and differences between ancestral beliefs; creating prosperity through unity and diversity. Renardin's days are numbered.
He stroked his long, smoothed beard, which brushed against his white tunic with black sleeves, regal and elegant like himself.
Sincer and Elkan... two leaders separated by over a thousand leagues, yet united by their prodigious talent... and hatred for the statu quo. Since the Mining Guild's coup, the formation of a clandestine alliance between Magnolia and the Sulfnats of Ayaria has been a matter of strong speculation in the Magnos Sea bloc. But now, with Sincer, sooner rather than later it will become a reality.
The elder stepped away from the globe. He walked calmly through the room, navigating among his relics until he stopped at one in particular: one of the most valuable in his collection.
There is nothing the Order of Lebias can do to prevent such an event. The fracture of a balance that lasted for centuries is already a fact, but the fall of this city can still be avoided. We have a ray of hope: the possibility of reviving a hero up to the turbulent times ahead.
He lowered his head, gazing at the ground with his emerald eyes, brimming with melancholy.
What an irony. Out of so many candidates, he was chosen by its will, just as it did with you against all odds... I wish you had never left, I wish things had been different, my son.
Someone entered the room, forcing the elder to regain his composure. An individual stopped beside him.
“Mev”, he said with formal reverence, addressing him by one of his honorary titles. “We have sorted everything out. We just have to wait for him.”
“Good. Punctuality has never been one of his strengths, but I trust that this time will be an exception,” the elder said to him with a sober but warm smile, which soon faded. “Have you been able to find out more about those former guild members?”
“For now, all we know is that they are staying at the Vallinton. We haven't found anything incriminating, but by tonight, we should have more information.”
The elder adopted a look of unease. Vallinton was a chain of inns spread throughout Elvira. Its owner was a clan of the same name; one of the wealthiest and most influential in Anglion, the largest rival kingdom of Grianz.
“They'll need to be closely watched. Anglion and Magnolia might be up to something with them,” he opined. “What about that supposed knight who stood up for them at the Ahmal station? Were you able to have a word with him?”
“Yes. It turned out to be ‘him,’ the Abiyr...”
“The false ‘Abiyr’ my daughter mentioned?” the elder said, furrowing his brow slightly. “Tell me more.”
KNOCK KNOCK
A couple of hurried knocks on the door of the room interrupted his inquiry. The report he was about to receive could wait. The visitor he had been expecting had just arrived.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
