Arc#3 Chapter 86: Pride (Patreon)

[Author's Note:

I've been delaying it for a long time, but I think I really need to buy a new laptop. Can you believe it? Two hours just to turn on. Then a bit more time to open Chrome. Fuck.

It's been like this for weeks, but it's steadily growing worse. I'll have to be more serious when looking around.

Anyway, here's the chapter and I hope you all have a wonderful start to 2024!

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Reivan could only bask in the afterglow of his victory so much before he finally couldn't take it anymore. With a final wave, he nodded to the citizens and made for the exit — or in this case, the entrance to the arena's waiting rooms. He was completely drained of magic power after all, so he couldn't repeat his flashy entrance by flying up to the VIP box.

As such, he had to use the good old-fashioned way that humans used to get to places: walking.

Even as he ducked under the archway leading into a dark tunnel, Reivan could still hear thousands of people cheering and calling for his name. He felt surprisingly little happiness over this, but it was significantly better than the fearful gazes he'd received earlier.

'That was a bit excessive, coming from them. I don't think I was that strong.'

And in fact, Reivan had been significantly suppressed in that match because information about his abilities had to be kept under wraps as much as possible. If he hadn't had to hold back, Reivan would have just sent flying swords to keep his opponents busy while he steadily drained them of their resources or harassed them with attacks. There was also the option of gathering his body fluids into a jar, turning it into some extremely toxic substance through [Medicine Reproduction], before vaporizing it and blowing all the fumes in his enemies' direction.

Or he could have just asked Zouros for help.

Alas, he had to go with more orthodox means. His performance today had been impressive enough that most people who had watched wouldn't even think that he had more to show.

'It doesn't hurt anymore...'

Reivan clenched and unclenched his left fist, flexing his fingers and noting the lack of pain. This meant he could now fire another one of his chaos energy beams without the risk of blowing up his arm and subsequently his entire body. As expected of a technique bound to "chaos", the period of recovery time was never the same — sometimes, he would recover after only a few seconds while sometimes, it would take up to three days. On one occasion, it had been a full week before his arm recovered from the incomprehensible damage that using chaos energy inflicted.

This time, luck hadn't been on his side. Not only was his attack entirely countered, but the recovery period had also been lengthy, preventing him from using it again for the remainder of the match.

'Useless.'

It truly wasn't a power that he could depend on, only serving as a trump card for when he was truly out of other options.

'God, that's a dumb name though.'

He mentally reminded himself to think of something better to call it than "Chaos Energy Beam". Being horrible at naming things though, he understandably didn't look forward to such a task. The initial name itself was a temporary measure. After all, naming techniques made it easier to draw up the muscle memory associated with them.

'I should definitely think of something better than Chaos Energy Beam though. Fuck, that's awful.'

Reivan walked aimlessly, deeper into the dark — more like dim, since there were a few orbs of lights here and there — hallways under the arena. Soon, he was forced to stop when he saw a figure leaning against the wall with its arms crossed.

"Donovan..."

"You forgot the Sir, boy." The ascendent raised a brow, his gaze just as chilling as ever. Soon enough, he shrugged. "No matter. It is not my place to teach you manners."

Reivan shrugged, not having anything to say as he walked past. "If you have something important to discuss, I'd rather we do it on a different day. I feel too mentally drained to hold a decent conversation at the moment."

"Understandable." Donovan sniffed and followed along behind him, his voice impassive. "Before anything else, I suggest you do something about your eyes."

"What?" Reivan stopped, his head inclining to the side in confusion. "What about them?"

"Oh, so you really were unaware. Get a mirror and find out."

Frowning as his eyes narrowed, Reivan was about to create a mirror out of ice. But just before he did, Zouros — who had been paying attention to everything around him — mentally reminded him that he usually kept a mirror in the serpent's stomach. And anyway, he also could have created a reflective surface with his [Soul Armament] as well.

'I've forgotten something so basic...'

Reivan retrieved a small hand mirror from the miniature World-Devouring Serpent's stomach before taking a look, only for his eyes to widen — subsequently emphasizing how black and glassy it was.

Staring back at him were eyes that seemed like an abyssal void — a deep dark hole leading to the depths of hell right where his eyes were supposed to be. They were like polished obsidian, utterly devoid of any discernible iris or pupil. Their glassy, jet-black hue held an otherworldly sheen, reflecting a haunting depth that seemed to draw one's gaze into an endless, unfathomable darkness. Within those shadowed orbs lay an eerie, unsettling quality that sent chills up his spine even though he knew the man staring at him was himself.

Or it was supposed to be him.

'Well, that's new.'

It would have been no exaggeration to say that he looked downright demonic. Suddenly, the audience's fearful reaction made a bit more sense to him if he looked like this. Luckily, the moment he noticed it, the darkness receded and his eyes turned to normal — bright, golden, and clear.

'Well then. That was promising. Certainly not ominous in the least.'

"Some sort of dark art that attacks someone's mind?" Donovan, it seemed, wasn't too alarmed by it. "You certainly hid your strength well."

'I don't think that's it...'

"And you certainly chose some troublesome opponents for me." Reivan sighed before grunting in annoyance and sending a glance to the knight behind him. He resumed walking as he complained. "Really? A knight with a special ability that is basically intuition but turned on all the time? A Sormon Templar that can use Resonance and Sormon's Corona? And then there's that guy who can quite literally rend space?"

'Even I wasn't able to comprehend spatial arts in the twenty years I focused on training. That's not even something a normal Ascendent can usually do... though, they can obviously cause much more raw damage in hundreds of other ways.'

If he hadn't spent that twenty years training in solitude, he probably wouldn't have been able to defeat a single one in a one-versus-one match. The knowledge of how strong his enemies were might have even broken his spirit enough for him to lose the battle before it even began.

The red-plumed knight named Sienna would have endured through whatever attacks he could muster or heal any damage he could deal. And while that was happening, she would have been able to stack halos on herself. Once the gap in power had grown enough, she would have smashed Reivan's face in with little resistance. Without a doubt, the woman also had other trump cards she couldn't pull out because Reivan took her down too fast.

Things might have been even worse with the blue-plumed knight named Villago. Reivan didn't think the knight even needed that space-rending technique. Villago could have simply avoided all his attacks by turning into mist while kiting Reivan. Reivan wouldn't have been able to land any melee attacks, which would have meant that he couldn't restore his resources through absorption. In but a few moments, he would have been full of arrows or even had one stuck into his head.

As for the yellow-plumed knight named Gwendolyn, it was the worst. Reivan eventually found out how to somewhat deal with the knight's special ability but that was because he was a version of himself that was mentally optimized for combat after spending so much time on it a day before the match. If he had been his old self, he highly doubted he would have had the skill to come up with a solution. Furthermore, he also wouldn't have had much of an answer against that gravity technique that pancaked him into the floor.

Basically, Reivan was guaranteed to lose the first of three matches no matter who he picked. The only choice he had was how badly he was going to lose in front of the entire country.

Donovan, who seemed to lack a single trace of guilt, shrugged. "You won, did you not?"

Reivan scoffed.

'At what cost...'

"It could have been worse." Donovan drolled on, ignorant — or simply indifferent — to Reivan's troubles. "As you can probably tell, the more potent a knight is in combat, the busier they are. I also had to exclude those who only had lightning, ice, or darkness attributes — which didn't include a lot of people, but still. It could have been worse. A lot worse, since combat isn't even those fools' focus."

"Is that so?" Reivan rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the front, walking deeper into the darkness. "That makes me feel so much better."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know. I was also being sarcastic. It happens a lot."

Reivan rolled his eyes.

Donovan stopped talking for a moment before clearing his throat. "In any case, I expected you to be destroyed. Having my expectations subverted in this way isn't bad every once in a while. You did well, Your Highness."

"Yeah, yeah... Hm? Wait..." Reivan's feet ground to a halt as his brain finally processed what he'd just heard. He slowly spun around. "What did you just say something nice?"

By the time he'd fully turned around, the balding ascendant was already gone.

"Damn." Reivan cursed as he resumed walking deeper into the hallway, muttering to himself. "Did he wait for me here just to tell me that...?"

'Bastard. At least let me see your face when you say it.'

Reivan clicked his tongue, feeling as if he missed out on a great opportunity.
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After a very awkward interaction with the Arkhanian Ambassador and getting strongly congratulated by his mother, uncle, and other loved ones, Reivan finally returned to his room. The others seemed to take the hint and left him alone to rest, and Reivan felt thankful for their consideration as he sent them off — the week-long festival was still in motion, after all, so his family was once again enjoying the festivities in town.

Not Reivan though. He escaped to his room and stood in the middle of it, taking in the surrounding interior.

'My room...'

For a few minutes, he strolled around the chamber, examining all the personal effects that made the room... well, his. There were a few trinkets on a shelf that he bought while strutting down streets with his friends, little mementos of the numerous dates he had with Elsa, and clothes that he'd worn but never got rid of because he had felt sentimental about them.

'It should be here...'

Reivan pulled out a locked drawer and found a number of small wooden sculptures. They were crude and likely wouldn't have been bought if someone sold them in the markets. But Reivan didn't keep them around because they were pretty. His father, who barely had enough time for anything, had made them for him from time to time to show off how much better he'd gotten — and to Reivan, that was enough to make them priceless.

He picked one of them out — a wolf, the first carving that his father ever gave him, and was also the ugliest. Reivan held it in his palm and gently closed his fingers around it, stroking it with his thumb to feel the wood's coarseness. His father hadn't even bothered to use any varnish or anything — it was just unpolished wood that carried the risk of splintering.

Nonetheless, Reivan liked this one the most.

'It's been a while.'

The piece of wood in his hand hadn't degraded in the few years of its existence, but to Reivan, it truly felt like such a long time ago since he'd received it. Twenty years was a long time, after all. Having died in his early twenties, it was the majority of his past life. It was also enough time for a newborn baby to become an adult — which was, in fact, something he wasn't.

Despite everything, he was glad to discover that he still felt like the tiny piece of wood was of great importance. And it would hurt to lose it.

Reivan gave the tiny object one last look before carefully placing it back in its own special drawer, securing it not with a key, which he had long forgotten where he left, but with the force of his willpower. Then he lumbered over to his bed and let gravity take him as his body gently landed face-first into the soft mattress. He took a long deep breath, taking in a scent — his scent, he remembered — as his body relaxed.

Just as he was about to let his mind fall into the depths of slumber, someone knocked on his door.

Reivan paid it no mind for a few moments. But when the presence behind the door didn't go away but still stayed right outside, he finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Yes? Who is it?" he called out.

"It's me." his father answered from behind the door. "Can I come in?"

Reivan mentally debated whether to simply say no. He was far too drained for anything else but sleep. "Do I have a choice? You'll go in anyway, now that you know I'm awake."

"No, I won't. You can refuse."

"Is that so..."

Reivan sighed at the softness of his bed before pushing up against it. His body felt heavier than when Dame Gwendolyn used that gravity aetherblade art on him earlier. After struggling with his mental fatigue for a few seconds, he finally sat up at the edge of his bed.

"You can come in, Father."

Rodin's chuckle could be faintly heard even from so far away and with a literal door between them, which soon opened to reveal his father in peasant clothing but with his real features revealed. "I thought you'd turn me away."

Reivan shrugged, then gestured at what his father was wearing. "Did you just get back from the town?"

His father nodded as he walked over and sat down right beside him with a grunt. "I know you're tired."

"Really? I was afraid I hadn't made it obvious enough."

"Donovan's starting to rub off on you, it seems." Rodin chuckled as he joined his hands together and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You fought well."

Reivan grunted, accepting the praise. "Thank you. With how strong my opponents were, I was under the impression you wanted me to lose though."

"I did." The king admitted almost immediately, somewhat surprising Reivan. "Well, no. I didn't want you to lose. I just... Well, it's a parenting thing."

"Is that so? Then I wouldn't understand."

"Perhaps. But you should still try. If all goes well, you'll be a parent one day too." Rodin chucked as he looked at his hands. "Rein. I feel as if I ask this a lot... But do you resent me?"

Reivan shook his head and answered honestly. "Not at all."

"Even though you would have been humiliated if you lost?"

"That would have been my fault. For not being strong enough to win. Not yours."

Rodin nodded with a pensive expression. "I see. That's... good to hear. Oftentimes, I find that I doubt myself and what I do. Your words, at least, provide some consolation."

Silence reigned in the room after his father's words hung in the air. Reivan couldn't possibly know what exactly it was that Rodin was troubled about — nor if it was just a single thing. He knew that he wasn't equipped to resolve his father's troubles with words.

And so, he would just do his best.

Reivan awkwardly placed his hand on his father's shoulder and gripped it somewhat strongly, letting the warmth of his palm speak for itself. The words of someone who hadn't experienced the same troubles were almost worthless, and perhaps even harmful. But Reivan at least wanted his father to know that he would be there, even if the king made catastrophic mistakes.

If Reivan's intentions got through, he didn't know. But Rodin took a deep breath and spoke. "My father always told me... that being a parent wasn't just providing the best for your children. One also had to make sure that they were as equipped as possible to take on adulthood — even if it meant being a bit too harsh on them."

"He was a good father, then."

"Yes. Yes... he was. I loved him, bless his soul..." Rodin exhaled through his nose. "And that's why I wanted you to lose."

With a frown, Reivan asked. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly...?"

"You are too excellent, Rein. One can even say you are too excellent for a father like myself." Rodin shook his head. "Even this early in your life, you have everything a man could ask for, no? Riches. Looks. Women. Authority. And power — real power. And I feared it would corrupt you... even though you turned out better than I could ever imagine — not that I can boast about that, since I'm not even present in most of your childhood. But as a king, I couldn't live with the risk of you falling into evil."

'I see. Well, that is understandable. Characters who turn out badly because of all their early blessings growing up are certainly common in stories...'

"Well, one couldn't fault you for a lack of effort." Reivan elbowed his father, a small smile on his face. "I had to go above and beyond to barely win."

Rodin said nothing for a moment before continuing, his voice somber. "But now I realize that perhaps I've made a grave mistake."

"And that is?"

"Now, I've become a father that's barely there. And when I am, I make things hard for my son." Rodin pinched the bridge of his nose with his face twisted into a grimace. "Is that not a recipe for disaster? I'm a fool..."

"Oh..." Reivan was lost for words once again. How would he know what being a parent with a troublesome son was like? He naturally didn't have any advice for this so he simply patted his father's back. "Ah, well, don't worry. Didn't things still work out...? Uhm, this sounds strange to say about myself, but I turned out pretty well on the personality side of things... At least, I'm not raging lunatic levels of bad. And in the end, I came out of this ordeal significantly stronger... Plus, I could never resent you, Father."

"Never resent me, huh? That makes me feel even worse about how hard I've been on you..." Rodin shook his head and sighed. "I didn't come here for this... I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. Even though you were initially supposed to lose."

"Your congratulations are accepted." Reivan chuckled softly and tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Human interaction was hard when you were mostly alone for twenty years. It was a good thing that his affection for his family ran quite deep, so the desire to be with them still remained after all this time. And that was enough to repair what had been lost.

Rodin nodded to himself, a smile finally starting to reappear on the king's face. "I'll leave now. I didn't want to talk for too long anyway."

"Thank the Sun God for that. I'm so tired I feel like I'll pass out any second now," Reivan joked.

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Rodin gave Reivan's shoulders one final clap before standing up and heading for the door.

Reivan didn't bother to watch him. His heart was already set on his bed. He picked up a pillow and fluffed it up nice and thick so he could bury his face in it. But just as he was about to pick up another one...

"Rein."

"...Yeah?" Reivan looked up to see that his father hadn't left yet, and was waiting by the door. Only half of the man's body was visible though. It appeared as if his father had just remembered something important and came back in a hurry.

"Well, that... Uhm..." Rodin scratched his cheek in hesitation, his eyes darting this way and that. "I almost forgot to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I'm... Well, I'm proud of you."

Reivan's arms twitched and he almost let go of the pillow.

"I..." Rodin didn't seem to notice though, seemingly too embarrassed to even look at him. "I just wanted to let you know that... I may have had to be hard on you as a king because the repercussions of someone from our family going out of control are just too high. The strength you've shown and the power you'll no doubt achieve in the future emphasize this fact. And that isn't even considering how my royal armament's absolute authority won't affect fellow members of the royal family."

"Right..." Reivan nodded as he continued to fluff his pillow, trying his best to hide how his fingers trembled. "I understand."

"Yes. I know you do" Rodin cleared his throat, his voice taking on more strength. "But as a father... Well, it felt nice. I know you're amazing, Rein. And watching as the rest of the kingdom discovered that too... Well, I couldn't be any prouder. My heart swelled and if my position allowed it, I would have been cheering at the top of my lungs too."

Rodin chuckled. "I wanted to tell everyone that 'That right there... That boy is my son. Isn't he amazing?'"

Reivan said nothing. He couldn't say anything. Staying still was all he could muster at the moment.

"I just... Well, I just wanted to tell you that." Rodin cleared his throat to clear the awkward air and then muttered to himself. "Gods. This was harder than I thought... And endlessly more embarrassing than I anticipated..."

After a few moments though, he said. "I'll leave now, son. Rest well."

"Yes, Father..." Reivan croaked, barely at that. And once he finally heard the door close shut, he sat down for a moment and ruminated on his father's words.

Proud.

'He's proud of me...'

Perhaps it was a small thing. Just a couple of words arranged in a specific order when all was said and done. But that particular arrangement of words was something Reivan had never heard in his past life.

Before Kyouka came along and before that big stupid rat ruined his life, Reivan had been just another boy who wanted to please his parents, thinking that if he showed them he was good at things, they would spend more time with him.

But alas, no matter how well he did at school, no matter how many friends he made, and no matter how good he was at whatever sport he played, nothing he did could ever repair a marriage that neither party wanted to be a part of. And it was only after years in the hospital without a single visit from his parents did he finally gave up.

Reivan's fingers dug into the pillow, gripping it firmly as he played the words in his head over and over again.

Finally.

Finally, his hard work was recognized — praised, even. And all it took was dying and being reincarnated.

A happiness he had never truly experienced until today welled up inside him and soon, he heard the soft sounds of his tears falling into the pillow. He tossed it aside and quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, internally glad that he'd answered the door instead of going to sleep.