Chapter 53: The Instructor's Plight
Zmey didn't feel weak from the arrow that shot him. But it was something else. It left him with no strength. So, Nero's body slipped from his grasp. It fell without a sound onto the lush surface.
He took breaths to steady himself. But it was of no use.
He fell to his knees, his veins seeming to slacken beneath his skin. A kind of agonising warmth spread from his back, pulling down his sight with every second. Zmey clenched his fist.
"Who did this...!? Oh... he-ll..."
His tone reduced. And he finally closed his eyes on his own, yet not on his own. But... Zmey could have sworn he saw a flash of something light blue and white before everything blacked out.
***
[A few days later]
Birds chirped. The air was steady. The sun cast bright light over the houses. It created shadows of the roofs and cut through the curtains of the iron-guarded windows.
Magnus Alaric was at the window of one medium-sized room. He had a calm, yet pondering expression.
He crossed his arms behind him. He stared at the outdoor buildings, the disciples, and the towers. His gaze moved from one to the other, although it stayed on each like a long-forgotten friend.
He sighed.
The higher-ups were always right. Yes, from the moment he had also been an amateur.
Everyone was right about their decisions. This included the instructors, the stronger special disciples on important missions... and the Magi Lords.
That reason shot something at him, with each shot impacting him in a unique way compared to the others.
He thought, his calm a facade for chaos, 'This decision was too hasty. And it's very dangerous. Amateurs should undergo essential training. You can't teach and perfect this in a month and a few weeks.'
He turned away from the window. He paced himself through his sturdy office, which had a desk holding piles of scrolls. A candlestick with a blackened stem was at the desk's centre.
An above-average-sized dead candle stood atop it. To the left and side walls of the room were shelves containing nothing but more scrolls. More resources.
No one could expect the life of an experienced trainee and elite fighter either way. Cultivation and rising in ranks do not align. Not all cultivators would always rise in their ranks.
Some become attached to a Mage Body due to their inability to give ascension the respect it deserves. Talk about the heavy costs, life-threatening practices, and sacrifices.
Some even don't see either of the magic types as exactly distinct. Guaranteeing the irony only lies in the kind of person that the wielder is.
The leg of the wooden chair scratched against the pavement surface as Alaric turned it. Then he sat with ease.
He fetched a pen from a case holding many more, then retrieved a clean sheet of brown paper between the scrolls.
He understood why they had pushed the amateurs too early. It was due to the rising extinction of the Necrots again. Not that the top three amateurs were enough to slay the Necrots.
But the reason for choosing them might be what he was thinking. To motivate the others to get serious, reaching the stage of a special disciple very soon.
Also, only special disciples were fit to enter the dirty game beyond the kingdoms' borders. Becoming one was a task that required significant emotional strength... like facing the Necrots and beasts.
'I know all this. But it's too rushed. If care isn't taken, we will be sacrificing the lives of those poor souls.'
The ink of his pen drew with precision on the brown sheet of paper.
He said: 'Send men to keep a watch on the candidates before we summon them. And report to me on the condition of the second-ranked one.'
Before taking on such a task, he had to verify the candidates' abilities. And if they were worth it.
A man in a long green jacket got out of the two-storey stone building. Convex arcs edged the mean space outside the door, which was still part of the building.
He had golden hair; a sword hung by his waist. He rolled in the brown paper after Magnus Alaric ordered him, holding it in his hand. The surroundings were silent, save for the rustle of a peach tree and the chirping of birds.
He paced himself to the side of his white-furred tall horse. Before lifting himself atop it, he had inscribed the rolled message into a pouch he kept by the horse's side.
He whacked it with a thick rope, summoning the horse to run.
Its hooves flopped on the cobblestones as they passed through the admin quarters.
***
Nero walked to the side of his bunk. He was half-naked. The other roommates looked at him. He fetched his red jacket from there, and he put it on.
Still, they all were looking at him.
Maybe Zmey's warning about jealousy was right. But for the past few days, he has not caught up on any new reactions.
There were the silly Ronan and stoic Kairos inside the dorm. The day was still young, so they had no reason to light the candle yet. Lucian must be at the library or anywhere else. But Nero was sure of what Silas, the last, could be up to right now.
'He is definitely near the girl's quarters...' Nero thought.
Minding his waywardness didn't help him either. He cringed.
He then said, "I should check on Zmey at the sanctuary's clinic. I might stay there for a few hours..."
At that moment, he saw Kairos descend from his upper bunk, the bedspread rustling in a soft manner. Nero creased his brows.
"Not too much to say hello to him too, is it?" Kairos asked in his usual gentle tone.
"Ei...? Are you... seriously worried about Zmey now?" Nero asked in a loud tone, his eyes a little bit wide.
Before he knew it, Ronan had reached him. He placed his palm on Nero's shoulder.
He smirked. "Tch... what's there to not? If you, the one he took advantage on in the last stage to win, cares about him... why won't we?"
Nero's jaw dropped. "Where did you hear that from?"
"Calm your nerves, man," Ronan said, neutralising the weight of Nero's question. "Words get around, you know."
Nero replied, "Well, it might be true we were opponents. But he didn't take advantage of me. I can't beat him in a fight, after all. So..."
"Didn't ask you that much. Well, aren't we heading to the clinic any more?"
Nero grinned.
"Sure."
***
Meanwhile, the trio later reached the clinic...
However... they all froze in one position. Their eyes were wide and mouths agape.
Clashing sounds echoed; the air grew thicker and thicker.
"Ei... is that even an injured man!?" Ronan exclaimed.
Nero mumbled, "Pinch me, Ronan. I have got to confirm if I am not back in an illusion. "