RFC-Mini Arc 2: Elven Garde-05 (Patreon)

“That would ruin the surprise.” She chuckled at his frown. “Don’t be so grumpy, Atty. It ruins your good looks.”

“…it’s because you talk like that these boys think they have a chance with you.” He wanted to know what her supposed husband thought of that.

“Is it a crime to be friendly? I can be crueler if you’d like.” Her smile gained a playful edge.

Callan scoffed. She might oversee a violent gathering, but with her soft tone and caring demeanor as she cared for them, he could hardly imagine the elf as anything but angelic.

“Though I’d better not. Wouldn’t want to spoil any of you. After all, I’m expecting a few good harvests from this batch of crops.”

“Is that the reward? Something like your helpers?” He knew that the acolytes of Elven Garde who impressed the elf were given the opportunity to assist her in her classes. He’d have taken the opportunity himself but he couldn’t step into certain areas of the Hall as a non-acolyte.

“It’s really bothering you, isn’t it? Hm. Alright. Since you’re one of my favorites, I can give you a hint.” She moved closer to him, bending down. Callan stiffened as her warm breath tickled his ear. “The reward…is a place by my side.”

His lips parted with shock as any response stalled on his tongue. Kierra grinned before walking away, finding her next target to tease.

His thoughts turned chaotic. What did a place at her side mean? And was it temporary? More permanent? A crazy idea entered his head, so wild he wanted to dismiss it immediately but it refused to leave. Perhaps the rumors of her marriage had been twisted from the truth. Maybe she was looking for a husband. And she seemed to have an interest in fighters. Had she created Elven Garde to find a candidate for marriage? Was that what she meant by ‘a place by her side’?

Callan knew one thing. He would be the one to find out.

The night progressed, each of the factions making their moves. A foundation acolyte was the first to get two wins. Lucius immediately directed one of his people to take the fight, cutting off Zac. After a believable loss, he went on to challenge Brahim.

Brahim entered the ring to the roar of the crowd. Seeing his opponent dressed in nothing but dirty pants, he stripped out of the armor foundation acolytes practically lived in and pulled off his shirt, revealing a broad chest, one long scar stretching from his shoulder to his sculpted abs. “A fair fight,” he proclaimed. Callan sneered at the gesture and the way the boy held up his chin, as if expecting praise.

His opponent certainly didn’t care, throwing a punch at his face.

Callan watched them intensely. He already sat with his team to break down Brahim’s fighting style. With his towering height and impressive bulk, he never feared a direct confrontation, preferring blocks over parries. Most of the foundation acolytes weren’t extensively trained in hand-to-hand, but Brahim was an exception. He was more than comfortable in a brawl, preferring a style that focused on punches and quick footwork no one would expect from someone of his size.

He could dance around his opponent but he stepped into the blow, countering with a right hook that rocked his opponent’s head back. Brahim didn’t let up on him, following up with another hit to the face and two to the stomach after the other acolyte belatedly tried to shield his head.

His attack was interrupted as flames surrounded the acolyte, Brahim dancing away with a laugh. “Already bringing out the spells, bah! At this rate, you’ll be joining the Order of Magic Pansies. Call yourself a knight and can’t throw a proper punch.”

“Shut up!” the acolyte raised his hand and a wave of fire shot forth. At the same time, Callan felt a faint tremble beneath him as a pillar of earth rose beneath Brahim’s feet, elevating him above the flames. The acolyte followed up with two bolts of flame that Brahim easily avoided by dropping behind his pillar. There was another tremble as the pillar shot forward, Brahim running in its shadow.

The acolyte dodged the hurtling stone, eyes widening as Brahim suddenly appeared in front of him.

“You should pay—” He slammed a heavy fist into the other man’s face before he could finish his spell, knocking him to the ground. “More attention. Never take your eyes off your opponent.”

The acolyte groaned. Seeing that, Brahim backed away, giving him ample room to get to his feet. Only then did he renew his attack, dashing forward with a grin.

The match ended soon after, the acolyte not getting up the second time he went down. The crowd cheered, led by Brahim’s team, the champion egging them on by posing. Two others dashed into the ring and dragged the unconscious acolyte clear of the crowd. Callan spotted Kierra making her way toward him before his attention was caught by a hand on his shoulder.

“Our champion is as powerful as ever.” Lucius wore a rueful smile as he gave out the compliment. “That really was a poor candidate. Couldn’t even get him to expend some mana. No wonder Zac let him through. If we’re going to get anywhere, we need to coordinate with some of the stronger fighters.”

“Why tell me? I doubt I could do a better job of convincing them.”

“Yeah, your social skills are lacking.” Lucius slapped his shoulder before walking away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

The day pressed on into night. The standing torches were lit, flames brightly illuminating the ring and throwing strange shadows amongst the trees.

Brahim stood at one end of the crowd, surrounded by his team. His arrogance had cooled as the sweat on his brow intensified. He was covered in multiple wounds, sealed by dried paste applied by soldiers well-versed in first-aid in the absence of healers and his mana pool had been strained, if not exhausted.

“It’s about time,” Lucius said from above Callan who was in the middle of warming up his body with a few exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Callan jumped to his feet and rolled his shoulders, body warm and loose. “Ready.”

“Good. All of The Arms are retired. Lowe is going to send his last boy in there. Hopefully, that’ll exhaust the rest of Brahim’s mana. Then it’ll be a fair fight. Or as fair as it can get.”

Callan grunted in agreement. Despite Elven Garde’s training, the regular fighters would always be at a heavy disadvantage against the acolytes who also trained in magic.

The flagging crowd came back to life as the last member of Magicdeath, an air affinity caster who fought by manipulating his never-ending arsenal of knives, finished his third bout. He twirled a knife as he waggled his brows at Brahim. The champion scoffed at the display. One of his teammates disappeared, returning quickly to hand him a bastard sword, its steel carrying a faint hint of red.

“What is that idiot doing?” Callan swore. The challenger had the right to decide the manner of duel. Most foundation acolytes trained to be knights and hunters. That meant they were far more proficient with weapons than their fists. Brahim was not the exception and was three times as deadly with his sword.

Callan’s worries disappeared as the fight started. The air caster immediately took his distance, as much as the ring would allow, and threw his daggers. Brahim dodged with the slightest of movements, trying not to break his stance as he advanced. The caster manipulated their trajectory. Enough that they managed to cut him. Little more than paper cuts, but one became five, then a dozen. Blood oozed over Brahim’s bronze skin as the nimble caster continued to nick him.

Finally, the champion’s patience wore thin. With a yell, he dashed forward, raising his sword high before swinging it in a wide arc. The caster had to throw himself to the side to avoid the powerful blow and dance out of the way of the second, throwing a knife as he moved. Brahim, singularly focused on ending the fight, ignored the blade that dug into his upper leg, hounding his opponent. Without a question, he was faster. Just before he caught up with his opponent, the caster jumped into the crowd, shouting his surrender.

Callan wasn’t the only one who laughed at the ridiculous sight of the grown man hiding behind another acolyte’s back while Brahim fumed, nostrils flaring like an angry bull, sword raised. Zac rushed into the ring, grabbing Brahim’s arm. They struggled a bit, Zac’s lean frame looking almost waifish next to Brahim’s bulk, but he managed to wrangle the champion toward the rest of their team, an acolyte taking the sword from his hands while the other went to cleaning his wounds.

Callan saw Lucius making his way toward him. He didn’t bother to wait for his team leader, calmly pushing through the crowd to stand in the middle of the ring.