(TLO) Chapter 117: Less Stressful Than Explaining (Patreon)

Seth looked at it closely but couldn’t discern any more than its aesthetic appeal. “It is?” he asked.

Jim nodded. “He’s probably being sponsored by one of the houses. He must be talented.”

Seth shrugged as his minds took offense.

Is he trying to say we don’t have talent? That we’re only here because of the seminary?

You know, another joined. We don’t like the way everyone keeps looking down on us simply because we use a pure core. Do they have any idea what we’ve accomplished with it? I’d bet my support thought that they wouldn’t last one second going through what we’ve gone through.

Of every thought, only one thing had caught Seth’s attention.

“What’s a support thought?” he asked his minds.

Jim looked at him. “I can’t say I know.” He scratched his jaw as the test began below them. “Although I’d say it’s a preamble thought designed to buttress the main opinion. Why?”

Seth turned to him in silence. Unwilling to inform the man he’d wasted his words, he simply nodded. “Thank you. I heard it somewhere and couldn’t wrap my head around it.”

Is there a reason we’re answering him?

Because its less stressful than explaining to him that we weren’t talking to him.

Below them, the new examinee was going through the motions, facing the same level of humiliation as the gold mage made him look like a flailing child with every attack he made. He used twin daggers that demanded he close the distance between him and his opponent. It marked him as a front man for any team he joined.

“[propulsion trigger]” he chanted and threw one of his daggers.

His aim was true and would’ve pierced a hole in the gold mage’s head if the mage had not bent it at the last second. Then the mage frowned and bent it further to the right. Something pierced the air beside him and Seth found himself leaning forward for a better look.

Unsatisfied with the result, the boy in his fiery cloak threw his second dagger. Again, his aim was true. However, the examiner did not dodge the attack. He slapped the blade aside midair, then caught something Seth couldn’t see, and closed his hand around it. A mist the color of iron dissipated from between his fingers and he smiled in a way that seemed to praise the boy.

“You’ve gone for the path of an assassin,” he said. “I am almost impressed.”

It was clear the man wasn’t taking this seriously.

The Iron mage, however, reached into his cloak and activated another skill. “[Hale Storm]”

He dashed backwards and his hands left his cloak. He drew his hands free and with them came flying a torrent of daggers. Their sharp blades glinted in the light of the sun, but to Seth’s senses, something was off about them. Whatever he could not place, the gold mage understood at a glance.

The examiner stepped forward and struck a dagger from its path. It cascaded to the side and hit another, veering it of course. Another dagger came at him, but he ignored it. To Seth’s surprise, it went through the man, slid into his head and came out the other side. The soul mage was left unharmed.

“Illusions,” Seth muttered.

“Good ones, too, for an Iron mage,” Jim praised. “His reia control must be exceptional.”

Seth turned to him as the examiner ducked another knife. “Reia control? I thought that only came at gold authority.”

“It does. But that doesn’t mean a mage doesn’t have one. Up until gold, reia control is entirely instinctual. It’s all done by the body.”

That was new. The seminary hadn’t taught him that. Was it intentional? He wanted to ask Jim but thought better of it. Whatever the seminary hadn’t taught him, he would simply learn during his pastoral year.

As his barrage of attacks fizzled out, the Iron mage came to a halt, darted to the side and activated another skill.

“[Back Stab]”

In a surprising turn of events, he blinked out of existence, vanished entirely from Seth’s senses.

When he appeared, it was behind the examiner, dagger held out in a strike the gold mage avoided with equal ease, sidestepping from where he stood.

Fentil frowned as he landed on the empty spot, raising a mild dust from the sand. This time, when he moved, it wasn’t away from the examiner. He charged the man head on, retrieving another dagger from within his cloak.

Just how many of those does he have? One of Seth’s minds wondered.

The gold mage stood his ground, awaited Fentil’s approach.

Just when the boy was almost on him, he darted to the side so that he circled the examiner and activated another skill.

“[Death’s Carnival]”

From himself, he split into multiple numbers. Each Fentil looked as real as the single one before them. They darted around the gold mage who tracked each one’s movement with orange eyes. He stood in place and watched each one run around him, heading in opposite directions. He was encircled but unbothered.

Two flung their daggers at him and he caught one. The other slid through him without harm. Three more threw daggers of which he evaded only one.

“How long can you hold it up?” he asked.

Fentil did not answer. Only silence came from the boy.

The examiner raised a hand finally intending to attack. It had barely completed its path when an echo came from the group of Fentils. The words were a chorus that reverberated in the air.

“[Back Stab]”

The examiner stepped aside as Fentil appeared behind him. When his attack missed, he darted back into the encirclement. Off to one side of the theatre, someone rose from his seat in a haste. He was an older man than Jim, somewhere in his forties. His hair was cut short and he wore a robe of orange with what looked like runes inscribed on it.

Beside Seth, Jim smiled. “I knew he was the only one who could possibly find such a talent.”

Seth was about to ask who the man was when another skill activation drew his attention.

“[Nine Eyes]”

Something shook in the air below them and the examiner changed his stance to something combative. But nothing happened. Instead, the crowd of Fentils blew away like smoke in the wind, leaving only one of them.

The real Fentil crashed to the ground like a derailed train, bringing an odd silence like a drought.

The examiner looked at the fallen boy, unconscious on the ground, and sighed. His eyes carried a touch of disappointment but no more.

Rather than turn to the crowd, he turned to a part of the theater Seth could not see. He tried to discern what the man looked at within his senses but found it too far outside of his range. Whatever he looked at was more than fifteen feet away from him.

Before long a young lady came from where the examiner stared. She had blonde hair she packed back into a ponytail with streaks of blue in it. she wore a simple trouser and a shirt of light purple that flowed down to stop just beneath her knee.

She approached the examiner first, whispered something into his ear before turning to Fentil’s unconscious body. When the examiner nodded, she took the boy by the collar of his robe and dragged him behind her. The ease with which she pulled him marked her as either Silver or Gold.

When she had cleared the arena of herself and Fentil, the examiner returned his attention to the audience of test takers. He scratched his head as if trying to remember something important before he called out the next examinee.

“Oden Jabari.”