Simma sauntered languidly through the dim hall that funnelled toward the recruits' sleeping wing, every step weighed down by the brutal demands of the day. He wasn't certain he'd ever feel his arms again; the strange man had been relentless, insisting he push past his limits, forcing him into sit-up after sit-up until his muscles screamed for mercy.
As if it was no yet enough...
Gbrrrrrr.
His stomach snarled, a guttural protest, as though growling in its own tongue:
"Hey, buddy, throw something down here, I'm famished."
He had consumed nothing all day, nothing but punishing drills, and the absence of food gnawed at him like a slow, insidious parasite.
Meanwhile, when they had finished training and dusk had draped its violet cloak over the city. They had passed through the door back into the big, interiored house and passed through meals of different calibres, with a decadent medley of aromas;
Roasted meats, spiced breads, and honeyed stews all arrayed on long tables, surrounded by the normal half-naked ladies. But the moment Simma's eyes lingered too long on the feast, a voice had snapped:
"Lesson ten failed… can't control your appetite."
Simma didn't want to go further and unravel the rest of what happened throughout the training day, but he would swear that if training should be held that way, then that means he is doomed.
Simma was about to take the turn that led into the males' sleeping wing when a voice cleaved the air.
"Hey… Simma… where the hell have you been?"
It was Sarah together with Chloe as they walked up to him, their faces flushing with smiles.
Simma halted, pivoting toward them. He couldn't very well admit he'd been to the Lotuses' quarter of the city; the man had sworn him to secrecy. Not that Simma even knew the man's name, but he could describe him well enough.
"Nowhere," he answered, fumbling for a convincing lie. Truthfully, he hardly knew his way around the great city; there was nowhere to claim he had been.
"What do you mean nowhere?" Lucy asked with a chuckle.
Sarah's eyes travelled over him, his slouched posture, his weary expression, and the clothes he wore.
"Don't tell me you have been at the tavern."
Simma winced in disbelief.
"How can you even think that…" He looked at their faces, which still held disbelief, and then added as though held by guilty conscience.
"You can't be serious. I don't even know any tavern around."
"Then where have you been? And don't say 'nowhere,'" Sarah pressed.
Simma deflected. "Why were you looking for me?"
Sarah shrugged, exchanging a glance with Lucy.
"I wanted to take you to training," she said, before realizing how it sounded. She quickly tried to smother the implication. "You know… so you wouldn't feel left out. Not like there's any feelings attached."
Her cheeks bloomed scarlet, she just made it worse.
Simma smirked. She always faltered when she suspected her words carried emotional undertones.
"Well, I'm fine," Simma said, "and seems like you guys had a very good day at training."
Lucy and Sarah giggled.
"Yeah, it was good, very interactive, and we learnt a lot."
For a while, Simma thought that they were trying to make fun of his own training that had turned out to be like a nightmare. But he remembered that they didn't know about it, and then said,
"Well, great. I'm off to freshen up. Catch you guys later."
He strode into the male wing and then down through the corridor, and then reached the door of his room.
But it was no longer locked; it was open.
A cold bead of suspicion slid down his spine. Someone had been here. Quietly, he pushed the door open as though it might trigger a trap.
Immediately he stepped inside...
"Oh… hey, you are back. I was about leaving and maybe come by later."
Simma stared at her, unbelievable. He needed not contemplate his reply.
"Delilah? What are you doing here? How the… how the hell did you even get in?"
Delilah looked at him as she shrugged with an answer.
"Well, you told me to drop off this huge dusty book at your room, that you will be there soon."
Simma looked at her as though she spoke a different language, the look on his face showing no clue of what she was talking about.
"I told you what…?"
Delilah sighed, confusion knitting her brow. She retrieved a small parchment from atop a massive book by the window and handed it to him.
"Here." She gave it to him and stood beside him, her voice still holding that commanding tone it held while she told them about the hints during their basic training.
Simma unwrapped the little envelope and took out the piece of paper.
-------------------------------
Hey Delilah,
Mr. Nervous here,Eem, please I'm kinda in the middle of something. Can you just drop off this book for me in my room? You are like the only one I kinda trust here.
Thank you,Love, Simma
The key is in the envelope.
-----------------------------
"You've got to be kidding me." Whoever wrote this did a very good job at manipulating his handwriting. It was a flawless mimicry of his own, it looked exactly like what he was capable of writing.
And he couldn't believe it. Even if he wanted to write to Delilah, he would never use "Mr. Nervous." Someone else is behind all this, and he really needs to know who is behind this.
Looking at Delilah's face now, he felt it was high time to reply.
"This… it… it wasn't me, I swear."
Delilah's eyes sharpened. "You've been at the tavern, haven't you?"
His mouth fell open. "Why does everyone think that?"
"You smell like liquor," she said flatly. "And your clothes… they look like something an old drunk would wear."
At that, Simma realised it. "This shitty guy," he cursed inwardly.
The realization struck him like a blade to the ribs. That bastard. The man who trained him had given him a fresh set of clothes after the leopard shredded his own, and apparently, the garments reeked of drink.
And Simma didn't even know that it was bathed in drinks, and no wonder that was the question since he now smelled like liquor.
Simma, not knowing how to say it, just found himself saying,
"This… ah… these clothes ain't mine."
Delilah winced.
"Then whose are they? Have you been stealing?"
Simma didn't know what other approach to take, and Delilah was now getting on his nerves.
"Oh God, no," he replied.
"Just know I didn't write those. I haven't even written to anyone since I entered this place."
Delilah didn't know what else to believe any longer.
"Well, nice place you've got," she said as she took the envelope from Simma and left.
Simma drew a deep breath and lay on the floor, not wanting to rub the smell of liquor from the cloth on his good lofty bed.
"That man… curse him," he muttered. The bastard was probably laughing right now.
Just then he heard the voice, as chilly and feminish as it always came:
----------------
[Weapon of the Within Beast: Sword |Reveal|]
---------------
'No way' that explains the sword that had entered his hand while he was angry. Without hesitation, he focused, and the runes in his mind's eye revealed:
----------------
[Sword Name: Sythrion]
[Sword description: formed from the dragon's scales and bathed in dragon's breath… takes energy to muster and takes a true Beast Tamer to wield; a weapon manifestation only when tamer links with the Azrax.]
[Sword depiction: when truly summoned gives imminent energy and glows with a blue radiant light and helps Simma control his ability of thermal absorption.]
----------------
Simma was now in a kind of shock. He looked again to make sure that he saw clearly, his fear was manifesting.
Since he hadn't summoned his sword truly, rather it came out of rage, that was the reason it had appeared not in the way described by the runes.
The shock from this made his soul want to jump out of his body
"Oh no…"
He breathed still in deep destitution
"am I becoming a Soulnexer?"