Arc#4 Chapter 46: Orb Cracking (Patreon)

[Author's Note]

Long chapter alert. I couldn't find a good enough place to stop.

Enjoy~

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After being persuaded by Aldimir, Reivan decided to accompany the youth in staying another night.

Fortunately, he didn't have to awkwardly spend the entire day with a man since a few local girls offered to show them around town. Of course, these local girls were of the paid variety, and the two young men were free to do what they pleased with their female escorts — a privilege Reivan couldn't refuse to take part in, as that would be very strange from his secret observer's perspective. It was a tragedy, it truly was. But Reivan had to do it, albeit reluctantly.

There was already an incident with Valter and Dame Mordred interrupting the observation to speak with him, so Reivan didn't want to give the Tower even more grounds for suspicion. In the meantime, he had to perfectly play the role of a sad young man who was trying to take his mind off the death of a woman he was getting close to.

Ironically, it wasn’t really a lie.

Reivan and Aldimir returned to the establishment that refused them the previous night and enjoyed a truly extravagant experience. Though he didn't see anyone he knew, Reivan marveled at how many stunning young women the establishment employed. He technically owned the place but even he was surprised at how... enthusiastic they seemed about their job.

And that was why his guilt in enjoying their services was alleviated a little. It also helped take his mind off his most recent misdeeds.

'What a night...'

Reivan sighed as he sat down on his bed at the Spirit Tower. After a night of bliss with some very gorgeous, very experienced, and very well-compensated young ladies, he and Aldimir caught the train back to Vel Ayala the next morning.

Both of them were understandably exhausted from the exertion and mutually agreed to split up and rest. Aldimir even mentioned avoiding women in general for a while, seeing as his balls were starting to get sore and he had begun shooting blanks at some point—information he volunteered, much to Reivan's dismay.

There was no rest for the wicked though, and Reivan was as wicked as they came. He ran a finger through the buckle of his belt, and a heartbeat later, silver rings appeared on all five of his right hand’s fingers, each one connected to a silver bracelet by thin little chains.

With a grunt, he stood up and flexed his fingers, trying to familiarize himself with his newest tool — the Wizard’s Claw. He ran his magic power through it and tried to cast a very basic spell, causing the entire ensemble to glow softly with blue light.

A moment later, a small white wisp appeared in the middle of his palms, swaying in the air from side to side.

‘Using it seems simple enough… The arrangement of the runes is similar to a wand’s, so they’re easy to find. That said, people who depend on muscle memory for spell casting will have quite a bit of adjusting to do.’

Reivan then summoned two purple kite shields, both of which sported sharpened edges that could rapidly vibrate when fed with the tiniest bit of magic power. He gripped the handles firmly and noted that having so many rings didn’t impede him in any significant way.

While battlemages of the past usually held a wand on their dominant hand and a shield on their other during combat situations, their batch of recruits would be doing things differently — both hands were now free, after all. Historically, battlemages used special swords in tandem with their shields in cases where they ran out of magic power, misplaced their wands, or their enemies got too close.

But after some deliberation, the powers that be in the Tower decided that it was much better to give both hands maximum protection. With the way wizard claws worked, enemies would aim to sever the wizard’s arms rather than take the wand away.

Obviously, making it hard for the enemy to do that would be to a battlemage’s advantage.

Hence, it was decided that this batch of recruits would be the pioneers of a double shield style. The sharpened edges were an addition that was all but required. Otherwise, the shields lacked too much lethality to be a viable offensive weapon in close combat.

‘I guess they understand that defense can only go so far.’

“Hm…” Reivan hummed to himself as he studied the shields carefully, paying particular attention to their enchantments.

After a few seconds of thought, he shrugged, deciding that despite the enhancements to durability stacked on them, his real self could probably break them with simple brute force. And surely, most knights could do it too.

Dippy the mysterious furry blob probably couldn’t do any damage no matter what it tried though, but that was fine since the blob's main use was being cute.

‘So these shields are only for the bog-standard battlemages that are practically foot soldiers. I don’t think there are a whole lot of materials that can make weapons for Ascendants, so they’ll have little changes. Presumably, that is.’

It was one of the reasons why knights had such a big advantage the stronger the level of the combatants were. On an Ascendant's level, most enemies may as well be naked and weaponless while Aizen’s warriors were wrapped in very durable armor partnered with powerful weapons.

Soul Armaments ascended with their hosts, after all. And each knight had one.

‘Oh right, I should make sure the battle robes fit me well.’

Other than the claw and the pair of shields, Reivan’s ornate belt buckle also contained emergency spellballs, his employment papers, some emergency medical supplies, and two sets of battlemage robes used for different occasions.

One set looked extremely similar to the robes he saw in a certain movie series that featured a boy wizard with a lightning scar on his forehead — except these were light purple and undecorated, typical of trainees. They were equipped with a hood, were thick to protect against Arkhan’s cold climate, and billowed like a wizard’s robe should. Wearers could choose to wear them opened at the front or closed, though they were told to keep them closed in official settings.

The other set of robes were battle robes, and Reivan wasted no time in comparing them to military greatcoats — just like the German military wore in just about every movie where Nazis appeared. He questioned why they were still classified as robes, but he didn’t make the rules, so he just shrugged off his questions. He didn't forget how the republic was actually a result of Aizen's meddling, so finding a clothing piece like this here wasn't as illogical.

To confuse enemies, all battlemages of every rank wore the exact same style of battle robes, sporting no decoration of any kind. So while one’s official robes were modified every time they climbed ranks, battle robes stayed the same even if they became the Gold Cloak — Arkhan’s most powerful battlemage, standing just below the Sage King in power.

Reivan thought that this would also confuse their allies as to who to protect and whatnot, but again, he didn’t make the rules. Hell, he didn’t even plan to fight on Arkhan's side if a war broke out, so it hardly mattered to him if they failed to properly safeguard their leaders on the battlefield.

‘I hate that they don’t give us any helmets or something. Seriously, people underestimate just how vulnerable the head is…’

Though the battle robes were heavily enchanted, offering much better protection than ordinary steel, there was barely anything to protect the head. Except for a hooded mantle that was enchanted as well, though a few levels below the battle robes themselves.

He was used to having a great helm securely covering every inch of his head and face so a plain old mantle that flapped in the wind left him feeling very vulnerable indeed.

‘Well, their fighting style doesn’t involve charging in, so I guess it’s kind of understandable…’

The idea was to prevent the enemy from closing the distance. Close combat, for battlemages, was a last resort rather than the most reliable way to dispatch an enemy. Perhaps it was for that reason that they avoided helmets—maintaining a wide field of vision was imperative to casting the right spells at the right time.

“These fuckers are heavier than I thought…” In full battle regalia, Reivan hefted the kite shields and swung them around, purposely keeping his form amateurish but steady. He gradually “got better” at welding them before trying to cast a few basic spells from varying places.

He started slow, first shooting a few harmless spells from the edge of his kite shield. Then he moved on to more difficult angles, like from slightly above his head or from the shield’s flat side as he defended against an invisible enemy. And once, just because he was curious, he tried shooting spells from his crotch.

Reivan quickly got the hang of it and believed that if Clover was in his place, the results would have been the same or better — the man was a genius, after all, despite his shortcomings. As such, it wouldn’t be strange for Reivan to advance quickly.

Rather, with a perfect score in Magical Application and a near-perfect rating in combat adaptability, it would have been suspicious if “Clover Salwyn'' didn’t advance quickly. Luckily, Reivan would have no problems on that end.

“That should be good enough…”

After practicing various basic spells while simultaneously moving around with the shields, Reivan deposited the shields back into the spatial storage artifact it came from and walked over to the side table next to his bed, picking up the heavy tome that lay on it.

‘Let’s take a crack at this orb-cracking thing.’

Other than the special spell to force contracts with imprisoned spirit beasts, there were four other spells in the tome, all of which were spells he already knew:

First, was the Penetration spell, which was a versatile attack spell that would have warranted a dirty joke of some kind from someone like Aldimir. The reason for its versatility was due to how the spell left a lot of its control to the wielder, meaning that depending on the sorcerer’s skill, it could do a lot more damage.

Next was the Resonance Bulwark, a defensive spell that has been a staple in most battlemages’ repertoires for a very long time. It was a relatively easy spell to learn that formed a dome around the sorcerer, protecting them from attacks of a physical or supernatural nature. What truly solidified its spot as the go-to defensive spell was how it combined with other bulwarks nearby, forming an exponentially stronger defense that protected a much larger area.

Another spell was the Binding Light spell, which was, as its name suggested, a spell that restricted a target. In particular, it wrapped them with a rope of light, impeding movement. The spell wasn’t particularly strong though, and was apparently more suited to restraining hostile civilians without harming them.

The last spell was quite famous in Aizen — The Scrying Spell.

‘The ultimate spell for voyeurs.’

That said, the scrying spell in the textbook he was given was the most basic one that even Aizen knew of, only allowing the caster to get a bird’s eye view of a far-off location. One of the spells Reivan wanted to steal from Arkhan was the type of scrying spell that let him see the past, but it seemed he would be unable to check that box on his list for a while.

‘One at a time.’

Of the five spells in the grimoire, he already knew all but the spell to crack orbs, so he just had to pretend to learn the others and succeed at appropriate times. Fortunately, just skimming through the pages told him that the orb-cracking spell wouldn’t be too hard to learn, just as Elder Bernadine said.

“Alright, I’ll give this a shot.” Reivan opened a nearby drawer and took out the orb housing a miniature white panther. He peered inside, immediately noticing that it was curled up and sleeping. “Hey. Wakey, wakey. I’m getting you outta there… if I succeed, that is.”

Perhaps because it got used to solitude after Reivan literally left it in a drawer for two days, the spirit beast woke up at the first sound of his voice and wasted no time in scratching at the inside, making its desire to mutilate his face clear.

Reivan walked over to the kitchenette in his room and took out one of the many cooking knives that were there, carefully placing the sharp edge on the pad of his left index finger, just above the whorls of his fingerprint.

He had a role to play, so even though he wasn’t scared of cutting himself up a little, he pretended to. It was only after taking a few deep breaths to steel himself did he press down on the blade gently, just enough to draw blood.

Obviously, Clover wouldn’t have been accustomed to the process of self-mutilation, so Reivan pressed down a little more than he should have, drawing an unnecessary amount of blood that dripped down to the floor.

“Shit!” he cursed, but hastily smeared as much of the blood on the amethyst orb. Finished, he looked down at his bloody finger and brought it up to his lips, sucking on it.

The taste of iron filled his mouth and he knew the bleeding wouldn’t be stemmed with just spit, so he took out the emergency medical supplies in his belt buckle. Luckily, there were some bandages inside and a salve to help disinfect wounds while fostering recovery.

‘That should do it. Damn, acting sure is hard work…’

After wrapping up his finer, Reivan drew his wand in a practiced motion. Though he was growing better at using the claw, none of the newcomers in his batch of recruits would opt to use the new tool for such an important spell — and it was highly likely that the higher-ups didn’t expect them to either.

As such, Reivan decided to use the wand for this one, taking off the wizard’s claw to prevent it from interfering with his wand.

“Hoo…” Reivan closed his eyes as he sucked in a breath, and for a while, the only noise in the room was the sound of air slowly escaping his lips. Suddenly, his eyes opened and his wand flashed with the light of magic, creating some kind of glowing string between the tip and the orb.

The thread-like light passed right through the orb’s glass-like surface, snaking its way inside and tying itself to the white kitten, who was quite understandably shaken by the event and was doing its best to run away from the string — to no avail, of course, as there wasn't anywhere to run to inside.

After securely fastening the string around the spirit beast, the tether flashed with light and vanished, leaving an intact orb and a very confused white kitten behind.

“Huh.” Reivan frowned and stared at the orb, the arm holding his wand falling to his side. “I failed… Fuck.”

He could feel his cheeks burn from the embarrassment. Doubly so, for he didn’t fail on purpose.

Reivan cleared his throat and smoothed out his clothes to calm his heart, raising his wand to try once again.

It was only after three more failed attempts did he stop to take a seat, resting his forehead on his palm.

‘Wow. Why isn’t it working? Am I actually bad at this…?’

Despite his failures, Reivan defiantly rose up once again. He wouldn’t let a few blunders stop him. But after ten more failures, Reivan gripped his wand with a trembling fist, trying very hard not to snap it in two.

‘I can’t believe it… I’m actually bad at this, aren’t I? Wait, but it seems so simple in the book though… Is it maybe because I smeared too much blood on the orb? The book said a drop of blood would do, but did it actually mean that anything beyond that wouldn’t work?’

If that was the case, Reivan would have to approach the author to counsel them on how to properly word instructions.

He used his thumb to clean off the excess blood on the orb and tried again. Reivan half-expected to fail once more and was just about to curse when he realized something.

“Whoah!”

Reivan had succeeded.

‘Yes! I knew there was nothing wrong with me!’

Instead of the thread disappearing, it grew taut, pulling on the spirit beast. The poor little kitten was pressed up against the purple sphere until eventually, the orb cracked open like an egg.

The spirit beast turned into a white blur as it was sucked out through the gap, rapidly growing in size. In the blink of an eye, there was a full-sized juvenile panther with snow-white fur right in front of him, looking very dizzy from the whole affair. So dizzy that it failed to realize Reivan was in range of its claws.

Not that it would have been able to do anything to him, given how the tether between them served as a temporary bond, meaning their fates were now intertwined — and the beast would come to instinctively know that soon enough.

‘Interesting… I expected [Supreme Insight] to react in some way, but it’s not…’

Despite that, Reivan could feel the connection between him and Sen, the white panther. It was nigh incomparable to the connection he had with Dom and Dippy, and rather than a bridge built with mutual trust, the connection felt more like a leash.

A leash that imposed the sorcerer’s will on the spirit beast.

Despite the domineering nature of the connection, it seemed about ready to break any minute. Luckily, if the book’s information was reliable, he had roughly a year from the moment the beast was captured in the orb.

‘Speaking of the orb…’

Reivan ignored the unresponsive white panther and walked over to the orb, which had fallen to the floor at some point. He picked it up and examined it, caressing the crack with his finger—which was, he realized, a bad idea if he didn't want to make another finger bleed.

According to the book, the orb didn’t become useless upon success. Rather, it became paramount to protect it and keep it on the sorcerer’s person.

This was because while the tether between them existed, the spirit beast couldn’t return to the spirit world or the sanctuary. The beast had to remain in very close proximity to the sorcerer, even while not in a materialized state.

The orb was basically a replacement for the spirit world — a mobile version of it that could be carried in one’s pocket.

If the spirit beast perished in battle or needed to recover its wounds quickly, it would not go to the world of spirits or in their anchor’s soul. They would instead reside in the cracked orb to regenerate.

‘It seems this has all been a great success. Now I can help the others use their orbs once I return home. Just have to remember not to use too much blood...’

Reivan placed a hand on his lips to stop himself from smiling at the thought of home. While he gave Valter all of the unused orbs, he kept all the ones with something in them.

Since they were gifts, he felt inclined to give them to their receivers personally. Furthermore, he wasn’t sure how dependable the textbook was, so he wanted to make sure the orb-cracking spell worked just in case the folks back home messed it up somehow.

Now that he was relatively sure there were no downsides, he would personally help his loved ones back home with their orbs.

‘Plus… Zouros stops time for the stuff inside its stomach, so if my thoughts are correct, the one-year timer for the orbs inside are paused until I take them out.’

That would give him plenty of leeway. After all, he didn’t miss the constant implication that the Tower had some way to entice spirit beasts to form permanent contracts with their operatives.

Reivan had to find out what that was and secure at least enough for Elsamina.

Helen, Hector, and Gwen came after, since they were all beasts in their own right and didn’t need a spirit beast. Elsa, on the other hand, needed it for immortalization purposes.

‘I cannot believe I live in a world where I’m planning to immortalize someone else. Just a while ago I was on my deathbed with no hope of recovery.’

Reivan grinned to himself. Fate was truly a mysterious and whimsical thing. Hopefully, it wasn’t whimsical enough to ruin his life in one fell swoop, not allowing him to do anything to stop it.

“Congratulations, Brother Salwyn.”

“...Yes, thank you.” Reivan slowly turned around and met gazes with an Elder Ozran Esteros, trying very hard not to show how surprised he was, though it upset him how much he was getting snuck up on these days.

Valter was still the best at scaring the living fuck out of him though. Reivan liked to think that years together helped him get used to his guardian knight’s playful antics, but the man was unnecessarily good at catching him when his guard was down.

Reivan supposed it was simply because Valter, as his personal guard, spent much more time watching him than the other way around.

“Is there something I can help you with, Elder…?” Reivan tried very hard not to sound annoyed at the blatant disregard for privacy. They were in his personal quarters and an old man just appeared from out of nowhere, blatantly announcing that the elders were watching and could enter at any moment.

‘I mean, a spy still got in the Tower despite all their precautions, so maybe they're on the right track with all this paranoia.’

Ozran grunted, disregarding Reivan’s implied irritation. “Just a surprise inspection of your spirit beast.”

“A surprise inspection…?”

“Yes. Do not worry, I’ll make it quick.”

Saying so, the elder knelt down right next to the white panther and took out what seemed to be a silver feather.

Reivan was just about to use [Supreme Insight] to look at what the feather was, but he was forced to turn his attention to Sen, who snapped out of her stupor and hastily made a break for it. The terror in the beast’s countenance was apparent, and even its tail was hidden deep between its hind legs as it ran as far away from the elder as it possibly could.

“That’ll do.” Ozran stood up, the feather gone. He nodded toward Reivan with a neutral expression. “Again, good work.”

“...Yes, elder.” Reivan dipped his head and resisted the urge to curse, having missed his chance at knowing whatever that silver feather was. Still, he felt like, as a supposedly curious youngster, he had the right to at least ask. “Uhm, that thing you just took out…”

“You don’t need to know, boy.”

“...Yes, elder. My apologies.”

‘Yep, that’s about right. This one’s not as loose-lipped as Elder Bernadine.’

Ozran sniffed and his gaze narrowed as he scanned Reivan up and down. Eventually, though, his face softened — as much as stone could soften, that is. “Curiosity isn’t a bad thing, boy. But not all questions need to be asked. Understood?”

“I understand, Elder.”

“Good. Now, I’m sure you’re exhausted from your… forays with your friend, so get some rest after calming your beast down.”

“Yes… Ah.” Reivan scratched the back of his head and acted guilty.

As expected, Elder Ozran knew exactly what he was about to ask. “Yes, we know what you and the other idiot did out of town for the past two days. And no, you won’t be punished for breaking laws that haven’t been conceived yet. Just make sure to stop using whatever you’re using when the laws do get put up.”

Reivan cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, elder. I’ll be sure to remind myself and, uh… my friend.”

“Good lad.” The old man nodded with a grin. “And don’t worry, despite your actions, the Tower has great expectations for you and that dolt. Your practical results and adaptability are top-notch. And I see you are taking steps to improve your own shortcomings.”

“Yes, elder. I’m working on it, but…”

“Ah, yes. The Hardeling…” Ozran paused for a moment to give him a look before sighing. He placed a heavy hand on Reivan’s shoulder and gripped it tightly. “The nightmares don’t get any better, if you’re wondering. Sometimes I dream about the comrades I lost hundreds of years ago. Drugs and booze help… but you can’t be high and drunk all the time. Especially to get to a certain point of strength. So aim to get used to it. Not now, of course. Slowly. At your own pace.”

Reivan looked at the gnarled hand on his shoulder and then back at the elderly man, who, despite the sharp and strict appearance, was softer than he initially thought. It was enlightening to know that despite coming from two different nations, Valter and Ozran had very similar views and troubles as long-lived beings.

'Am I going to turn out that way too...?' Probably, huh?'

“Thank you, elder. I’ll… uh, try not to resort to drugs too much though.”

“Smart lad. Bottles and women are better, in my humble opinion. As long as you’re careful where you get drunk since there are crazy bastards who’ll take the chance to stab you in your sleep just for being a battlemage. All sorts of people out there."

“Yes, elder.”

“And be careful where you shove your dick into. The claps won’t kill you. But you won’t like it all the same.”

“Uh… Yes, sir. I’ll be careful…”

Ozran let go of his shoulder and waved a lazy hand to shoo away the seriousness. “Now, go get your beast. I’ll be leaving now.”

“Yes, e—” Reivan paused, his conversation partner suddenly vanishing. He shrugged to himself and scanned the room, finding the white panther staring at him from under his bed. “C’mere, little guy.”

Sen hissed, baring its tiny little fangs — a very obvious way of saying “No way, you crazy human! Did you not see what that old dude pulled out...!? I’m staying right here! And that's final.”

His newfound connection with it also gave him some understanding of what it meant, though maybe not word for word. He reserved the right of creative freedom when translating pure thoughts that only he could understand.

Reivan scratched his head and took out the orb, showing it to the terrified little panther. “Just hide here then. You’re not hiding in the dark with that fur. I'd see you even with my eyes closed.”

Now that it was outside of the purple-tinted orb, Reivan could see Sen for all its glory.

Despite being small because of its immaturity, it had beautiful white fur, though not in the same way that Dom did. The wolf’s white leaned very close to blue, while Sen radiated a golden aura. On its tail were rings of glowing gold and its eyes were a similar color.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you…?” Reivan commented as the beast slowly crept out of the bed’s shadow.

It inched closer with deliberate steps, making sure to survey its surroundings for any old men with scary feathers. Once it reached Reivan’s feet, it squinted at him and then growled.

“Yes, yes, I know you don’t like me very much.” Reivan shrugged, sitting on the floor next to it. He then showed it his palm, letting it know he wasn’t holding any feathers. Only when it seemed used to seeing his hand did he reach forward to stroke its tiny head. “There we go… I’m not here to hurt you. We’re friends. Friends.”

Sen snorted in doubt, but didn’t seem to outright dislike his touch.

While his hand moved, Reivan’s gaze went to the string of light connecting them. Fortunately, it wouldn’t stick around forever. According to the book, the string would turn invisible to everyone’s eyes after a few hours.

It would only reappear if he recast the orb-cracking spell or as a warning when he was too far away from his spirit beast.

After a few more minutes of stroking, Sen expressed a desire to go into the orb. Apparently, it didn’t like the material world very much because it “felt weird”. The confines of the orb were actually preferable. He felt his heart stir when it asked, with all the politeness a beast could manage, to be allowed to go home.

Sadly, however, he couldn't grant its request.

Reivan watched the little white panther turn into a blur of white as it was sucked back into the orb through the crack. He then socketed the orb in a special necklace to be worn around his neck so that the beast could watch the human world from its orb.

‘I’m getting kind of hungry, now that I think about it…’

He and Aldimir boarded a train first thing in the morning despite how groggy they were from all the drugs and alcohol in their system, then proceeded to pass out on the way there.

As such, they hadn’t actually eaten any breakfast yet.

Reivan checked his pocket watch and confirmed that it was way past noon, so that meant he’d skipped two meals. How he missed the growls of his stomach was a mystery to him.

‘Guess I was too focused on studying.’

Taking a moment to get properly dressed, Reivan donned the official robes they were just given and headed out to the Mess Hall, Sen’s orb hanging from his neck.

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The moment he walked into the Mess Hall, he was met with a surprisingly large amount of people. He had never seen it so full outside of official gatherings, but it seemed most if not all the first years were there for some reason.

‘The hell are they all doing here at four in the afternoon…?’

“Oh, hey there, Winny,” someone said in a gravelly voice from behind Reivan.

Glancing behind him, Reivan was met with the sight of a very horrible-looking Aldimir, who sported bags under his eyes and unhealthily pale skin.

Reivan, of course, wasted no time in telling the young man how horrible he looked. “You look like shit, Imi.”

“Gee, thanks for trying to cheer me up…” Aldimir snorted before walking past him, gesturing for Reivan to follow. “Also, I told you I don’t like the nickname you picked out.”

“I don’t like the nickname you picked out. Change it.”

“No.”

“I’m not changing mine either then, Imi. Imi. Imi. Im—”

“Fuck you, Winny.” Aldimir chuckled with a smirk but suddenly groaned, cradling his head as he sat down at an empty table. “My head… Ugh, fine. I’ll call you Win instead. Happy? I think it’s English for victory, right?”

Reivan hummed to himself as he sat down too. “That’ll do, Aldim.”

“I don’t really like that one either…”

“Stop being such a bitch, Aldim. Aldim, Aldim, Aldim.”

While ordering and waiting for their food to be delivered, they both argued about the nicknames — something they decided to do to honor a dare with one of the escorts they drank with the night before.

Apparently, Clover’s name was weird because it was English. And Aldimir’s was too long to say while fucking, which was somehow accepted by the youth rather easily once pointed out.

That’s why they, under the influence of alcohol, decided to choose a name for each other and compete on how loud their partners could shout it while they… exercised.

Drunk as they were, they still had the sense to choose horrible names for each other. The girls just giggled and went along with it anyway though, but on the train ride home, the two young men decided to choose something better for next time.

‘Next time…’

Reivan licked his lip, anxiously thinking about how absolutely fucked he would be if Helen found out about his antics as Clover Salwyn. She'd mellowed out a little after they grew closer, so he wasn't really scared about her resorting to violence of some kind, though that was still on the table. But what he was actually concerned about was how she would feel.

No doubt she would accept it in the end, but he knew she loved him, and deep inside, she wouldn't like what he'd been doing. And in classic Helen fashion, she would bottle it up and act unconcerned.

Surely, Valter wouldn’t include any of his antics in his report.

Surely.

Hopefully.

‘If he does, I swear to the Sun God, I’ll ask for a new guardian knight… Well, maybe not, since he's grown on me too much. But I’ll still be pretty upset.’

As the golems arrived with their food, an unexpected visitor walked up to their table.

“Hello.” A young man with short black hair and dark brown eyes nodded toward Reivan. “You’re Clover Salwyn, right?”

Reivan put down the fork he was about to stab into his food. “Yes. Who might you be?”

“I am Kantor Targov, from the Targov Clan.” Kantor said so, as if Reivan was supposed to know of the clan.

“Right… Well, I’m Clover Salwyn from the Salwyn clan, I suppose? How can I help you?”

“Straight to the point. I appreciate that.” Kantor nodded with a small smile. “I was wondering if you had time for a duel with me.”

“A duel…?” Reivan frowned, scratching his head. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember doing anything to offend you. Could you remind me?”

“...Huh?”

“Huh?”

The two looked at each other in silent confusion before Kantor seemed to realize something, scratching his cheek with a sheepish smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I appeared confrontational. I meant a friendly duel. Just to exchange pointers and measure each other’s skills. I'm not looking for trouble, I assure you.”

Reivan nodded in understanding. “I see. That's a relief. Why me, though?”

“Well, I heard you scored full marks in Magical Application and Adaptability. I was curious how skilled someone with full marks would be and the fastest way to sate that curiosity would be to ask for a duel.”

“You heard…?” Reivan’s eyes narrowed in thought. Aside from elders, only one other person knew about his marks. “Imi. You fucking rat…”

“Don’t just switch back to the crappy nickname, the other one was just growing on me.” Aldimir massaged his temples. “In my defense, you didn’t ask me not to tell anyone.”

“It was implied,” Reivan spat, but he wasn’t all that mad about it. The information wasn’t that sensitive, and he did, in fact, not explicitly tell the youth to keep it a secret. “Whatever, man. Now I know who not to share secrets with.”

“Brother, sorry.” Aldimir placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, the agony of a drug-infused hangover staining his raspy voice. “Earlier at lunchtime, this guy came up to me for a duel too and I kinda just blurted out your information to get rid of him. He was kind of annoying and I had a headache too.”

“I’m still here. You're not talking quietly enough.” Kantor frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. “I merely asked you — politely, if I may add — if you were open to doing it on another day. if you had simply refused, I wouldn’t have pushed the matter.”

Seeing as how [Essence of Falsehood] didn’t react, Reivan confirmed that Kantor was in the right here and Aldimir was a loose-lipped rat when hungover.

‘I’m glad I found out about this sooner rather than later.’

Loose tongues had their uses, but a safe to keep truly sensitive secrets wasn’t one of them. Leaking information was one of them though, and Reivan made a note of it in his head.

“So?” Kantor raised a brow at Reivan. “Are you available? After your meal, of course. I’ll wait. Or if you’d prefer another day, then I won’t mind. If you don't feel up for it, then that is, of course, perfectly acceptable as well.”

After a bit of thought, Reivan shrugged. “You know what? Why not? Just let me finish my food. I haven’t eaten breakfast and lunch.”

“Wonderful. Actually, let’s do this just before dinner so you have time to digest.”

“That’s very considerate of you. Thank you.”

“Considerate?”

Kantor smiled as he turned around.

“I just don’t want any excuses when I beat you.”