Seth stood up and gently woke Nightmare, then checked once more to be sure the pup would stay out of the Wicked Forest while he was gone. Afterwards, he grabbed his old leather bag, which contained everything he needed for his trip: clothes, his father's encyclopedia, his hunting knife, bow, quiver, and some arrows.
Since he would be away for at least three days, Seth covered his small shelter with branches and leaves, hiding it the best he could. With a sigh, he slung his bag over his shoulder and left for Sunatown.
For the past two weeks, he'd managed to avoid almost everyone except Sericar by going to the market early in the morning. But his awakening wouldn't stay a secret forever—sooner or later, word would spread. And he knew it would be better if he told Mael himself.
After the selections, he thought.
Sticking to his usual routine, Seth practiced his aether control as he walked, casting Identify on various things around him while keeping his Well below twenty percent. The moment Sunatown's wall came into view, he changed course to head toward the west gate—the meeting point with Renwal, Mael's master and the town blacksmith.
The man visited Arthuri once every four weekends to sell his extra tools, which, unfortunately, happened to coincide with the start of the selections this month.
As Seth reached the large wooden gate, he spotted Renwal standing beside an old, covered wagon, two brown horses harnessed at the front. The bald man was short but massive—thick thighs, broad shoulders, and a sizable stomach. Probably from too much beer. It would be a great idea to switch to drinks made with Marcus' pure alcohol instead.
"Hey, Renwal," Seth said, approaching.
The blacksmith turned, and Seth noticed instantly how the buttons of his linen shirt struggled to somehow contain his belly, receiving barely any help from the two loose suspenders attached to his belt. Sadly, the man's long, braided, red beard only covered the top half of the shirt's bulging gaps, leaving his hairy belly button exposed for all to witness. "Hey, boy. Good to see you."
"Good to see you too," Seth answered. "Need help with anything?"
"No, I was just waiting for you. Let's get moving." Renwal climbed up onto the front seat behind the horses, where his large hips took ninety percent of the available space. Obviously Seth would have to walk. "It would be best if we get there before dark."
Seth dropped his bag under the wagon's worn white cover, which was riddled with holes. "Have there been any recent attacks?"
"There have, yes. So better be safe than sorry," Renwal replied, tugging on the leather reins.
Both horses instantly began to advance, dragging along the loaded wagon. Looking at the blacksmith and the goods behind, Seth felt bad for the horses. That's quite a lot of weight.
Walking beside the left front wheel, Seth stayed close enough to Renwal to converse. It would be better to tackle the inevitable questions about the incident with the tax collector now, rather than endure twelve hours of awkward silence.
Despite his looks, Renwal was known for being quite a talker—especially when it came to others' lives. His smithy was practically a rival to Sunatown's tavern in terms of gossip and news, covering everything from the local love affairs, to serious matters like conflicts between Kastal's royalties and the nobles.
"Everyone's been guessing at what truly happened," Renwal began, his voice carrying evident concern. "You disappeared, and the next thing we know, your house is seized and up for auction. Are you okay talking about it? People are worried, myself included."
Seth's footsteps faltered for a moment, and his shoulders felt more heavy as he took a deep breath in. Two weeks hadn't been enough to completely dull the guilt, grief, and burning anger.
"I got fined for something absurd," Seth said, keeping his golden eyes on the road ahead. "The tax collector thought I was lying about something and demanded I pay an exorbitant sum on the spot."
"You should have asked for the community fund!" Renwal exclaimed. "We would have covered it until you got back on your feet… Did you try to explain yourself? Even if he's serving that nasty House, the tax collector is sometimes reasonable."
"I did, but... things got out of hand," Seth replied, recalling the scene in front of his house. "He suddenly got... scared? I think he spotted someone from House Faertis or something. After that, he turned into a complete prick."
Seth paused, rubbing the side of his neck. "He seized the house and wouldn't even let me grab my things. Then he burned the only painting I had of my parents. Probably to impress those nobles. And he declared that anyone who'd shelter me would be fined too, so I left. I didn't want to drag others into this mess."
"He burned your parents' painting?" Renwal's voice cracked with disbelief, his knuckles whitening around the reins. "That's... that's evil."
"Yeah."
"You should've fought back!" the blacksmith snapped, throwing one hand in the air. "He always has that fancy sword right? Bet you could have chopped that bastard's hand with it."
"Forgetting for a minute that I'd have no chance of actually disarming a wielder. I'd still have ended up like the Iron Thief the moment I swung that sword."
Renwal's eyes widened, and a look of embarrassment spread across his face. "Oh, right. I forgot about that."
Saying the name instantly took Seth back to his childhood, seeing himself in bed while his mother sat next to him, a book in her hands. How many times had she read him that story? He could almost hear her voice now, recounting the tale. During an after-war celebration, when everyone had been distracted, a Rank-60 Rogue had stolen the Platinum sword of Kastal's king. With the new weapon at his belt, the man had begun to pillage towns and cities; the citizens fleeing without offering any resistance, afraid of the blade's might.
One day, a Wielder had decided to stand up against the Rogue and fight, forcing him to use the sword. But halfway through his first swing, the thief had suddenly died.
In the version of Seth's mother, his body had turned into dust before being swept away by the wind. Mael's mother, on the other hand, claimed a gigantic flame had shot up from the ground and burned him down in seconds, leaving only a pile of ashes behind. Every mother had their own version, but despite the differences, the end was always the same: the thief died.
And it had been entirely his fault.
Wielders could use many enchanted items and spells, but they couldn't go above their Tier. The thief had learned that the hard way. Even for a Rank 60 at the peak of the Iron Tier, using even a Silver weapon would have been fatal—let alone a Platinum one.
As they continued down the road, the initial tension eased, and Renwal's natural inclination toward small talk kept the silence at bay.
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"Mael's pretty jealous of you," Renwal said with a crooked smile. "He's been asking me all week to bring him along so he could come watch the selections with you."
Seth bit the inside of his lip. Lying to his only friend made him feel awful.
"Sericar told me the first ones of the year are quite boring," he said, trying to make sure the blacksmith stayed away from the selection. "Only the weak Wielders participate in those. He'd be better off coming next month to see the good ones."
Renwal chuckled. "You'd better watch that mouth in Arthuri, boy, or you'll get your ass kicked. There's no such thing as a weak Wielder. They're all powerful."
Seth and Renwal had covered a little over three-quarters of the total distance in the last nine hours, yet the monotonous landscape remained unchanged. Flat, weedy plains stretched endlessly to the horizon, devoid of any hills, trees or streams.
Since they had left, Seth had been discreetly using Identify on herbs and rocks along the dirt road, hoping to improve his aether manipulation without Renwal noticing. So far, he'd made good progress; the spell now only took him three seconds to cast. Sure, it wouldn't be useful against rich nobles with concealment artifacts, but he knew it would make a difference in the Wicked Forest.
"Hey, boy," Renwal said, still sitting on the wagon's front seat. "How much longer are you going to keep your awakening a secret?"
Seth's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"
"How dumb do you think I am?" Renwal asked, smirking. "You've been staring at random stuff every few seconds ever since we left. If you aren't Identifying them, then you need Vandric's help, and fast."
Seth gulped and gave the man an awkward smile. There was no point in hiding it any longer. "Sorry, I just… didn't want anyone to know yet."
Horizontal wrinkles appeared on Renwal's forehead. "And why's that?"
Seth turned his gaze to the road ahead. In the distance, he saw how numerous tall trees rose on both sides, forming a dark wall along the horizon. Finally, they would get some time away from the relentless sun.
"I don't know, I… uh, I just didn't want to deal with people's reactions on top of everything else," Seth said, hesitating. "Despite my efforts I awakened as a Primalist, and you know what people think of them. All that nonsense about being cursed and being madmen"
Renwal turned sharply toward him. "That's your reason? Because you awakened as a Primalist? That's ridiculous. Folks in town wouldn't react that badly."
Seth let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Really? Old Hemsley has been telling everyone that Primalists bring death wherever they go. And plenty of people seem to believe him."
"Hemsley's a superstitious old coot," Renwal answered while throwing his hands up.
"Maybe. Still, I figured I'd tell people later," Seth said as he looked at the forest ahead. "And… it wasn't just the class. If I told anyone, I'd have had to explain the whole thing with the tax collector. I know you and a few others would've made a fuss. There's no doubt someone would've offered to shelter me, fine or not. And I didn't want to drag anyone into my mess."
Renwal stared at Seth for a long moment, the reins loose in his hands, before shaking his head with a heavy sigh.
"So because you didn't want us helping you, you decided to isolate yourself completely instead?" The blacksmith clicked his tongue. "You did the same thing last year. Skipping meals and refusing food people offered you."
Seth's mouth twisted to the side. "That's just how I am, I guess."
"Then you should change that," Renwal answered bluntly. "Accepting help isn't a weakness."
The creaking of the wagon's wheels and the steady clops of the horses' hooves filled the following silence, occasionally joined by the sound of crates bumping into each other in the back whenever the cart ran over a rock.
"You're right," Seth said at last before looking at the blacksmith. "Could you still keep my awakening to yourself for now? I'd like to tell the others myself."
"Sure. Just don't wait too long. Especially not with Mael. He'll be furious."
"Yeah, I know."
After a moment, Renwal spoke again, changing the subject. "From what I've heard, Primalists have their strengths," he said, trying to sound encouraging. "High risk, high reward. A lot of hunting." He then snorted. "And you're the best hunter I know. I've never heard of a fourteen-year-old killing a damn bear. Danger doesn't scare you. I'm sure you'll find your Path."
Seth forced a small smile, remembering the day he'd brought the beast down—and his mother's furious scolding afterward, despite the townsfolk's praise. "Yeah," he muttered. "I probably will."
Back to his usual chatty mood, Renwal immediately followed with another question. "Mael mentioned a few weeks ago that you were still short on coins for a stone. So, I'm guessing you awakened with your very first one?"
"Yeah, exactly," Seth answered, glancing at the forest now looming ahead. "I told you the tax collector thought I was lying about something and fined me for it? The truth is that he didn't believe I awakened with a single stone. So he wanted me to pay fifteen coppers… the cost of ten stones and the awakening tax."
"That's even more infuriating," Renwal said, shaking his head before looking at Seth with a new measure of respect. "Still… one stone. How long did you hold the damn thing?"
"Thirty seconds? Maybe a little more?"
The blacksmith let out a low whistle. "You're good at handling pain. Better than most men twice your age."
"I've been injured plenty of times in the woods," Seth replied with a shrug. "You get used to it, I guess."
"I've been injured plenty at the forge too," Renwal retorted as he lifted his calloused, scarred hand. "Burns, cuts, smashed thumbs. And still, I only ever managed to hold those things for a few seconds before it felt like my hand was being dipped in some flames."
"Each time?" Seth asked, raising an eyebrow. "How many have you used?"
In Sunatown, anyone with the coin had tried at least once, clinging to the hope that people exaggerated about the pain—that fate might be kinder to them. But they all eventually learned the truth: there was a reason it took at least ten stones to ignite a Well. And for most townsfolk, saving for even a single stone was already a lifetime effort.
"I've been trying for the past twenty years," Renwal said with a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting to the clouds above. "This weekend, it will be my fifteenth."
"What?" Seth's head snapped toward the man. Besides Vandric and Marcus, who were non-combat Wielders, the blacksmith was clearly the highest earner in town, but fifteen stones was a lot. He had always assumed the man was wasting it on beer and food.
Renwal chuckled quietly. "Selling extra tools and weapons in Arthuri helped quite a bit. Enough to buy one almost every year and pay the awakening tax."
Fifteen stones. If Seth hadn't been paying for his mother's treatments, he might have earned fifty common coins a year at best. Renwal was making nearly three times that. One copper coin per stone, plus fifty commons for the awakening tax—every single year.
"I've even tried lying to the tax collector once," Renwal added, shaking his head. "Never again. That man can sense when your Well's been worked on. Like something's melted inside, or shifted. I don't really know."
"But I guess he can't tell how many you've used," Seth said, passing an exasperated hand across his face.
"Yeah, but no one I know has the patience to stockpile them and use several at once," Renwal said. "They want to awaken as soon as they can."
"And yet he thought I did exactly that."
"You just turned seventeen," the blacksmith said with a shrug. "He probably figured you'd saved a few before reaching the required age for your body to handle those."
"Probably," Seth answered. He then muttered under his breath. "Fifteen stones…"
Renwal rubbed his bald head, clearly embarrassed by the number. "Have you ever been to Arthuri?"
"No," Seth replied, frowning in confusion at the change of subject. "Why?"
"You'll see when we get there that making money is a whole different game for Wielders," Renwal answered before pausing to duck under a low-hanging branch as they entered the forest. "If I somehow awakened as a real Blacksmith, I could easily make ten to twenty common coins a day with my craft. And that's nothing to what I could make if I somehow managed to get a Weaponsmith or Armorsmith subclass in the following years."
Even though Seth had never left Sunatown, he knew that was true—anything infused with aether sold for far more than normal equipment. Often, he had questioned Marcus about the reason why he had set his shop in a town without any deep-pocketed nobles, and the Alchemist had always given the same answer: to stay away from trouble.
To him, Wielders were a constant source of headaches—especially the nobles. And based on the tax collector's behaviour, it made total sense.
As Seth and Renwal advanced deeper into the forest, the trees grew denser, causing the sky to vanish behind a dense canopy of leaves. Giant bushes and the thick undergrowth lined the dirt road, obscuring everything except the sharp turn ahead.
Renwal tried to cheer him up while slowing the horses. "We'll be there in less than two hours, so keep—" Suddenly, the blacksmith pulled hard on the reins. "Stop!"
Frowning, Seth took a few more steps forward to see past the wagon. "Why did you stop? Is there—"
A girl and three—no, four—men were running toward them.
The girl was out in front, gripping a bow, and kept glancing over her shoulder, her red ponytail whipping wildly each time. He noticed a dark stain across the side of her leather armor, and his stomach tightened—she seemed injured.
Seth's focus quickly moved to the men chasing her. All four were armed—two with pitchforks, one with a dagger, and one with a short sword.
Bandits.
Without hesitation, Seth dashed forward.
"No, wait!" Renwal yelled behind.
Seth ignored him and kept running as Identify's grooves took life in the back of his eye. His focus landed on the closest man behind the girl. The black-bearded bandit, who seemed in his thirties, wore a half-thigh-long chainmail, two oversized gauntlets, and brown leather pants. Anyone could tell the pieces of gear came from three different sets—or three different people.
Garb
Class: Farmer
Rank: 8 (Mid-Copper)
Subclass: -
Farming Rank: 3/20 (Low-Copper)
Strength: 19
Arcane Power: 7
Toughness: 15
Well Capacity: 7
Agility: 17
Regeneration: 9
A Farmer? Seth thought, frowning before skimming through the attributes. Higher Strength, Toughness, and Agility than me.
Without thinking, he then vigorously forced aether into Quick Step, abandoning precision in favor of speed. Seth ran past the girl and charged straight at the first bandit, tackling him to the ground before he could swing his sword. The man pushed Seth to the side and shouted at his partners.
"Get the girl while I kill this one!"
The word 'kill' rang in Seth's ears.
Before the man could fully get back on his feet, Seth sprung toward him and brought him back to the ground. While on top of the bandit, he grabbed the man's hand and tried to wrest his sword away, but without success—the grip was too damn strong.
Thinking fast, Seth immediately threw aether-enhanced punches at the man's face, forcing him to shield himself with his free hand. Each hit made the bandit's fingers loosen up around the sword's hilt. Just a bit more and—
"Fuck off, asshole!" The bearded man rammed his fist right in the middle of Seth's chest and sent him flying back a few feet.
Seth slammed onto the road, gasping for air. The pain reminded him of the time a horse had kicked him, but far worse. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up and coughed while staggering backward. A cold feeling then rose in his Well and crept through the rest of his body. He had been Identified.
"A Primalist!?" the bandit exclaimed as he rose on his feet. "What are you doing outside of your little forest? You wanted to die faster by playing the hero? "
Seeing the shortsword in the man's hand, Seth quickly drew his hunting knife. The situation was bad, really bad. Quick Step wouldn't be enough to compensate for the difference of Strength and Agility. Yet before he could come up with a plan, the bandit rushed forward, swinging his sword.
Seth barely managed to raise his knife in time to block. The clash of blades sent a sharp jolt of pain up his arm, forcing him to stumble back a few steps. As he regained his balance, he looked up at the bandit—the man had an enormous grin on his face.
He is… excited? Seth thought, taken aback. The man was smiling while about to kill another human. As if taking a life was something fun. Marcus had warned Seth that some Wielders were power-hungry lunatics who would kill for coins. He's one of them.
"Those eyes of yours must creep a lot of people out," the bandit chuckled, moving closer. "I'll do you a service and gouge them out."
Without waiting for an answer, the bearded man lunged and his sword snapped toward Seth's neck. Seth whipped his hunting knife up, turning it sideways to parry the attack. Metal shrieked as the blades collided, and he sidestepped to absorb the blow, wincing in pain.
Before he could react, the bandit struck again, this time aiming for his gut. Suddenly, time seemed to slow as Seth's core ignited in his chest, flooding him with its mysterious energy. It cleared his mind instantly, burning away the fear and awakening his inner beast. Just as against the Boreal Wolves, his senses sharpened and his instincts reached a new high. In a flash, he slashed his knife down, deflecting the sword's tip to the side.
The bandit stepped back, now grinning even more. "You're making this fun!"
The man launched another attack, but Seth blocked it, letting his instincts guide each of his moves. His pupils dilated, and his muscles tensed. He'd wanted this power to kick in all day yesterday, and now that it had, he was ready to push it to its limit.
Strike after strike, he kept up with the bandit's relentless assaults. Each hit made his arm burn even more—though his body didn't seem to care. The fear that had crippled him seconds before was now gone and replaced by an intoxicating joy.
"Not bad, kid!" the bandit shouted, still smiling.
Seth barely heard the man over the heartbeat pounding intensively in his ears. His mind was being consumed by survival instinct. One of them would be dead in a minute—and it wouldn't be him. It couldn't be him. Dying right now was not his Path.
The bandit lunged, thrusting his sword. "Goodbye, kid."
Seth pushed aether into his free hand, and pain surged through his muscles. Just before the sword pierced his head, he leaned to the side, dodging the blade while driving his fist into the bandit's stomach. The chainmail buckled under the blow, failing its purpose: great against slashing attacks, but not against aether-powered punches.
The man retaliated with an elbow strike, but Seth ducked beneath and at the same time forced aether into his legs. Grabbing the bandit's head, he then leapt upward and smashed his knee into the man's face with a sickening crunch.
Screaming in pain, the bandit staggered back and clutched his shattered nose, dropping his sword.
"I'm going to kill you!" the bandit screamed before bending down to pick up his weapon as blood dripped on his clothes.
No, you won't.
Seth instinctively funneled aether through Quick Step's grooves a second time, and his grip tightened on his knife's handle. He was ready to kill that man—his prey—but just as he was about to pounce, his legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees. The forest began spinning wildly around him.
What the hell is happen—shit. My Well.
The thing was completely empty.
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The bandit stepped over Seth, chuckling as he pressed the blade against his neck. "I've got to admit, I'm a bit jealous. That spell of yours is quite—"
Before the man could finish, an arrow whizzed in from his left and plunged into the side of his head. His expression frozen in time, the bandit collapsed to the ground, a half-embedded shaft protruding from his skull.
Seth looked to his right. The three other bandits were all lying on the road, arrows sticking out of their heads and chests. A bit farther away beside the horses stood Renwal, completely unharmed, with the red-haired girl, who was calmly securing her bow on her back.
Rising to his feet, Seth glanced back at the bandit's corpse behind him, and his stomach churned. The man's eyes were wide open like his mouth while blood oozed out from the arrow buried in his head.
If she hadn't killed him, I'd be… Fear crawled up inside Seth's chest and clenched his throat in a cold, tightening grip. His life could have ended just like that. No real accomplishment. No wife. No kids. Nothing. Just a dead body on the side of the road.
"Hey, Seth!" Renwal shouted, waving him over.
Pushing his thoughts aside, Seth headed toward them. Curious, he poured aether into his eye and endured the slight increase in his dizziness from almost emptying his Well again while casting Identify on the ponytail-girl.
Selena
Class: Rogue
Rank: 10 (Mid-Copper)
Subclass: -
Strength: 17
Arcane Power: 18
Toughness: 12
Well Capacity: 12
Agility: 30
Regeneration: 10
She's Rank 10!
Seth tried to recall her speed while she had been running toward him. Had she really been that much faster than the bandits? He couldn't remember, but one thing was now certain—she hadn't needed their help.
As he got closer, Seth could make out some of the Rogue's delicate facial features: a small, upturned nose, high cheekbones that would make any girl in Sunatown jealous, and striking amber eyes. Beneath, her body was more on the small side, like a teenager's, with no real curve in her leather attire. She stood a few inches shorter than Renwal and looked to be about a third of his weight.
So powerful and barely five feet tall.
Seth turned to Renwal and gave him a faint smile. "I'm glad you're—"
"Your contribution was not needed," the girl interrupted with a flat voice devoid of any gratitude or malice—she was simply stating a fact.
Seth frowned, tilting his head in confusion. "Uh, I didn't know you were... that strong. I saw the blood on your armor, and thought you were injured—"
"It isn't mine," she said, glancing down at the dark stain spreading across her leather breastplate. Her nose crinkled, as if she had just realized she had stepped in mud. Then, she looked down the road.
Seth followed her gaze and spotted a fourth bandit lying dead in the brush. She must have killed him when the ambush started and got sprayed in the process before creating distance to take down the others.
"Well then, sorry for trying to help."
The young woman simply nodded, then turned away to check the fletching on her arrows.
Seth blinked, taken aback. Before he could process the strange interaction, Renwal stepped forward and bowed to her, his hands joined together.
"Thank you for saving us. We are lucky that you arrived before we did."
The small girl looked at the blacksmith, then nodded once again instead of answering anything.
What the hell, Renwal? Seth thought, biting his tongue. When did you turn into such a bootlicker?
The blacksmith's way of thanking her sounded more than fake—oh. Seth's gaze fell on the black bow strapped to the Rogue's back.
Power.
Renwal wasn't doing it for the sake of manners but for their survival. If they were to get on her wrong side, she could probably kill them in seconds.
The realization washed away Seth's judgment, replacing it with a familiar, bitter taste. It reminded him of the few times nobles had passed through Sunatown—how he, too, would instinctively step off the road, bow his head, and make himself small to avoid drawing their attention. Putting up with someone's attitude because of their Rank and attributes felt shameful as it was with nobility, yet he knew he would have to do the same. From now on, power would be all that mattered. Especially if he got into Trogan Academy.
Welcome to the Wielders' world, Seth, he thought with a sigh.
Seth ambled beside the wagon's rear, still Identifying things along the road. Ever since they had left the forest, the scenery was back to plain old rocks and dying plants.
Sitting in the front seat, Renwal was trying to engage in conversation with the red-haired rogue, who was riding the left horse. It was more of a monologue than anything else. The man was bragging about how his forge was the best in the region, while Selena sat rigid in the saddle, her eyes constantly shifting over the terrain as if expecting another ambush at any second.
However, for the past twenty minutes, the red-haired Rogue had been obsessively wiping down the stain of blood on her leather breastplate with a piece of cloth. The rest of her gear was immaculate—not a scratch or a scuff in sight.
Seth could guess it was one of the first times she had actually worn it.
When he had cast Identify on her earlier, there had been no House name. If there had been one, he would have assumed she'd forced a servant to polish the leather to a mirror sheen before she deigned to step outside. Also, the faint curl of contempt on her lip as she scrubbed—like a petulant child annoyed that her new toy had gotten dirty—betrayed that she wasn't wealthy enough to simply buy another piece.
"So, Miss," Renwal said while keeping his eyes on the road. "Are you also heading to the selections?"
Selena gave again a sharp nod. Then, the young woman turned in her saddle to look at Seth.
An familiar, cold tingling sensation rose in Seth's chest—she had just used Identify on him. He tensed, waiting for a reaction, a raised eyebrow, something. But her expression didn't flicker. Just like the bandit, she seemed to see nothing out of the ordinary.
The bonus attributes from Link can't be seen by others, Seth thought. The letter didn't lie.
Selena pointed a gloved finger at him. "Do your golden eyes do anything special?"
The question sounded almost childish coming from someone who had just slaughtered four men without breaking a sweat. It shattered the illusion of the arrogance Seth had attributed to her. She wasn't a haughty noble looking down on them; she was just another commoner—a socially awkward one.
Renwal chuckled, shaking his head. "You mean like shooting flames or seeing through walls? Nah. It's just a color, Miss," the man said before Seth could answer himself. "Like folks born with purple or red eyes. They sure are rare, but they don't do anything magic on their own. They're just different."
"I have never seen someone else with this color," Selena murmured, her gaze lingering on Seth for a beat longer before turning back to the road.
"Me neither," Renwal admitted, scratching his long red beard. "The only other one I know of who had the same was his father. Hell of a man, from what I hear. Founded Sunatown nine years ago out of nothing but dirt and rocks. Built the first fifty houses with his own two hands."
"Was he powerful?"
The question came out instantly. But the moment it hung in the air, Selena straightened her posture and her jaw tightened. It was as if she regretted asking—or regretted speaking at all.
Seth frowned, watching the back of her head. Weird.
Renwal didn't notice the shift, though his own expression darkened. "Don't know. Never met him. I arrived in Sunatown after he died."
A long, awkward silence followed, making the monotonous creaking of the wagon wheels seem even louder. Renwal finally spoke up again, clearly desperate to lighten the mood. "So, yeah, they don't give him any weird abilities," he said, repeating himself. "Unless repelling girls counts. But I'm not sure if it's the eyes or the smell."
Seth arched an eyebrow. "I can hear you, you know."
Renwal's shoulders went up and down with his unrestrained laughter. "And I can smell you!"
"Pretty sure it's the rotten food stuck in your double chin you're smelling," Seth retorted, striding up to get closer.
Renwal glanced back with a haughty look. "You're just jealous of my physique."
"Yeah, right! I've always dreamt of being out of breath after two steps."
"I'm a blacksmith, boy. I hammer all day long and do just fine."
Seth snorted. "Mael hammers all day. Your lazy ass just grinds and polishes."
"Hey, Miss," Renwal said, turning to the red-haired Rogue. "How much would it cost for you to beat up this arrogant little prick?"
The moment Seth opened his mouth to retort, he caught sight of a giant structure on the horizon. It was nothing more than a large shadow beneath the setting sun, but he could easily figure out what it was: Arthuri's wall.
Selina immediately jumped off her horse at the front of the wagon and started sprinting toward the city without saying a word. Stunned, Seth and Renwal stared at her back, both shocked, before exchanging a glance.
"She leaves just like that?" the blacksmith said, pointing at the Rogue.
Seth shrugged. "I guess so."
Renwal immediately cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "See you at the selections, Selena!"
The girl kept running.
"Well, looks like you've sucked up to her for the last two hours for nothing," Seth laughed.
''Oh, shut up,'' Renwal retorted. "You don't understand how crucial it is to have great relationships with Wielders, especially combat ones."
I will soon enough, Seth thought as he resumed walking.
The only combat Wielder he had interacted with in the past years, apart from the Faertis' tax collector, was Vandric, Sunatown's Priest—and a good relationship with the man had barely gotten him a ten-percent discount on his mother's pain treatment.
Even that had been a battle.
Vandric had insisted that no treatment could truly alleviate her suffering, that fighting the inevitable was a useless endeavor. But Seth had seen the brief moment of peace the remedies had brought her. Yet, the Priest hadn't believed him, dismissing those as the desperate delusions of a grieving son.
A sudden shift in the ground beneath pulled Seth from his dark thoughts.
The wagon jolted a little the moment its wooden wheels climbed up on a new cobblestone road. Ahead, Arthuri's wall grew larger and more impressive as they got closer. The gray stones soared high toward the sky, reaching at least three or four times the height of Sunatown's wooden palisade. The air seemed to blur and waver around the massive structure, as if a thin layer of steam was hovering on its surface.
An aether barrier, he realized.
Good evening, sirs," Renwal said, stopping the wagon a few yards away from the giant reinforced gate and the two watchmen.
Both guards were heavily geared in full plate armor, each with a massive tower shield strapped to their back and a sword sheathed at their belt. The only noticeable difference in their outfits was the helmet: one wore a shining winged helmet, while the other had a basic one with a straight nasal guard. In the middle of both of their chests stood a black lion within a white shield: the Faertis House's emblem.
"Good evening. Are you here to sell goods in Arthuri?" the older guard with the winged helmet asked.
"Yes, sir," Renwal answered before nodding toward Seth. "And he's here for the selections of Trogan Academy."
As the guard's next question turned into background noise, Seth focused on filling Identify with aether.
???
Class: Guardian
Rank: 30 (Low-Iron)
Subclass: ???
Strength: ???
Arcane Power: ???
Toughness: ???
Well Capacity: ???
Agility: ???
Regeneration: ???
Suddenly, the younger watchman unsheathed his sword and pointed it toward Seth, the tip laid against his throat. "Get down on the ground now!"
Seth froze, his heart pounding like a war drum. The sharp edge of the blade seemed to burn into his skin, and for a split second, he couldn't breathe. He felt a wave of panic surge through him, muscles locking up before he forced himself to move.
Slowly, he sank to his knees, raising his hands in surrender. He could see Renwal's eyes widen in shock, but before either of them could say a word, the older guard stepped in, placing a firm hand on his partner's arm and gently pushing it down.
"That's fine," he said calmly. "He's just a fresh Wielder and probably didn't know it's illegal to Identify a guard." He then glanced at Seth. "You can get up, son."
Seth rose to his feet, his legs unsteady, bowing his head as he stammered, "S-sorry, sir. I didn't know."
The older watchman gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Just be more careful about Identifying people in the future, guards or not. Most find it disrespectful, and you aren't strong enough to afford offending anyone."
"And you will likely be dead before that with that class," the younger guard said with a glare as he sheathed his sword.
The air shimmered briefly around the massive gate, then seconds later it started to rise slowly. As they passed the guards and entered the city, Renwal shot a glance at Seth. "No more using Identify when I'm with you."
"Yeah, sorry," Seth answered, looking up at the gate magically hovering above them. "But seriously, I had no idea."
"That's fine. I didn't either."
The paved street ahead was lined with homes and shops—clearly older than those in Sunatown, but far more elegant. Most were built from oak and maple planks, while some featured vibrant stonework. Thick curtains covered the narrow windows facing the street, hiding whatever lay inside.
"Our inn is just around the corner," Renwal said.
Soon, they arrived in front of a modest two-story establishment. Despite its crude appearance, it felt welcoming and cozy, with cheerful chatter drifting through the cracked door and two broken windows.
As Renwal dismounted from his seat, something farther up the street caught Seth's eye: a tall, five-story building that loomed over the neighbouring shops. Despite its size, no one seemed to be coming or going, and the only sign of life was a faint light behind one of the tinted windows. Yet it captivated Seth, pulling him closer with an invisible string—all because of the small words etched on the wooden sign above its door.
Adventurers Guild's outpost.
"Come on, Seth! Let's go inside!" Renwal called behind him while one of the inn's stable hands was bringing the horses and the wagon behind the building. "You need to try their ale. It's the best in Arthuri!"
Seth shook his head and followed the bald blacksmith. As they stepped inside, the aroma of hops and smoked meat immediately flooded Seth's nostrils. Thick wooden beams supported the ceiling, lanterns hanging on the ropes between them and illuminating the first floor, which was packed. Farmers and workers seem to be the majority of the customers, recognizable by their low-quality clothes like those of Seth and Renwal.
"Find us a table while I take care of the rooms," Renwal said before making his way to the front desk.
Seth scanned the area and spotted a small empty table by one of the windows. As he slid onto one of the two highchairs, his attention was quickly drawn to the two men on his right. Half a dozen empty mugs cluttered the table of the duo, who stood out from all the other customers because of their filthy clothes and the fine weapons at their hips—Wandering Merchants.
"I'm so done with the Faertis," the black-haired one grumbled, his face twisting in frustration. "Ever since they got kicked out of the Twenty Great Houses, I've been bleeding coins. A pre-war tax? More like a bullying tax, if you ask me. "
The second man's eyes darted around nervously. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Shut up, you'll get us arrested."
The first merchant snorted, rolling his eyes. "You know I'm right. Ever since their House started scrambling to regain their seat, each of them have turned into rabid dogs. Especially the Faertis brood."
"It's to be expected. Think about the pressure on their shoulders," the second man answered, shooting a quick glance at Seth, who feigned disinterest, staring out the window. "Their House needs to produce a Gold Wielder to claim back their place among the Twenty Great Houses. Without that, they won't be able to keep their territories or access the restricted resources their father needs. From what I heard, they have been taking Enhancers on top of Enhancers... practically crippling their own futures just to please the man."
"Don't try to make me pity them," the black-haired merchant spat, taking a swig of his ale. "Desperate or not, they are all pricks. I should just leave for a different city like the adventurers."
Seth, eavesdropping, found himself siding with the latter.
He didn't care about the political maneuvering of the Noble House or the physical toll the heirs were paying—whatever those Enhancers were—to satisfy their ambitious fathers. Nothing could justify how the Faertis House was currently acting in Sunatown. If it weren't for the mutual aid among the citizens, countless families would have got their houses ransacked by tax collectors by now.
As Seth clenched his fists under the table, Renwal arrived from behind and put a mug brimming with frothy beer in front of him. "There you go, the best ale of Arthuri!"
"Thanks," Seth answered, then took a deep breath to calm down before taking a sip. Bitter, with a citrusy after-taste. To his palate, it wasn't much different from the one of Sunatown's inn, but he wasn't a beer expert. Or an alcoholic. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing," Renwal said. "It's a gift for what you did earlier. Even if the small girl did most of the work."
Seth smiled. "Thanks. I'll need another one after she kicks my ass tomorrow."
"I hope she does," the blacksmith said with a wide grin.
Seth sighed, feigning offense. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Anytime, boy," Renwal answered with a wink.
Seth rolled his eyes and took another sip, watching more people trickle into the inn. He assumed they were all here to drink their emotions. Since no one could openly complain about the Faertis House, this was their only way to get through it. By drowning their anger with ale.
"People will be happy to hear about your awakening," Renwal added. "Sunatown will continue to have two Wielders."
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Seth frowned. "Two Wielders?"
A shadow crossed Renwal's face as he swallowed another mouthful of his beverage. "Vandric is leaving next week."
Seth choked on his ale, his mug clattering against the table. Vandric? That's surprising.
Everyone knew the old Priest could earn far more coins in a large city like Arthuri or Trogan yet he had stayed in Sunatown for years, just like Marcus.
So why now? Did my mom's passing lift some kind of moral obligation that kept him here? Seth wondered before wiping foam from his mouth. "I never thought he'd leave."
"Neither did I." Renwal raised his mug and gulped down a quarter of the drink before letting out a loud burp. "Let's just hope no one gets sick or hurt from now on."
"I'm sure everyone will be fine."
They moved to other topics, and Seth continued to enjoy the blacksmith's company for a few hours before retiring to his room. Exhausted from the day, he collapsed onto the modest bed and drifted into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Seth stepped out of the inn, fully geared up, and took a moment to admire the clear sky before setting off.
As he crossed the city, his route took him first through the Upper District. Here, the streets were wide and paved with smooth white stone. He passed towering mansions adorned with gleaming statues of Gaia and other Gods, giant fountains, and meticulously maintained flower gardens.
Seth scanned the pristine avenues, expecting to see patrols protecting such obvious wealth, but he found none. No armored boots stomping against the cobblestones, no pikes gleaming in the sunlight.
There was only silence and the occasional servant sweeping dust that didn't exist. But as the elevation dropped, so did the atmosphere.
The moment Seth stepped into the Lower District, the scent of flowers was replaced by the stench of stagnant water and unwashed bodies. The houses here leaned against each other like drunkards, their roofs sagging and windows covered by stained sheets.
And unlike in the Upper District, the streets were crawling with Faertis guards.
"It's robbery, that's what it is!"
The shout snapped Seth's attention to a street corner ahead. A gaunt man in a ragged tunic was standing his ground against two armored guards, his chest heaving.
"The grain tax was raised last week, and now you want to increase the property tax too?" the man screamed, spit flying from his mouth. "Is this how House Faertis rules now? By suffocating its own people? By letting us die a slow death?""
One of the guards stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Pay the coin or we'll seize everything you have. Those are your choices."
"I have no coin left!"
The guard didn't argue. He simply grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him toward an alleyway while the second guard shoved back the small crowd that had gathered.
"How can you sleep at night?" the man howled as he was hauled away, his heels dragging in the mud. "You're commoners like us! You sold your souls to the devil!"
A violent urge flared in Seth's chest—a desperate need to drop his gear, sprint across the street, and drive his fist into the guard's helmet to rescue the man.
But instead, he bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing the rage back down. He couldn't save anyone. Not until he was stronger.
This was his first time in a major city, and he already hated it. The towering walls didn't protect anyone; they only trapped the rot inside. The sheer scale of the oppression made him feel smaller, more powerless, than in the Wicked Forest.
Beasts killed to eat or defend territory, Seth thought. Nobles crushed the weak for greed, taking again and again until there was nothing left.
Seth lowered his head and kept walking, his grip tightening on his bag strap. The man's screams faded, but the air remained thick enough to choke on.
A few blocks later, passing an open-air stonemason's workshop, he slowed his pace as a rough voice drifted out.
"The Path is impartial, boy," a burly workman grunted, running a calloused hand over a slab of granite. "It doesn't care if you eat with a silver fork or a wooden spoon. You're the captain of your own fate. You want greatness? You can work for it."
"But... Master," the apprentice, a boy no older than twelve, mumbled as he swept dust with a broom. "The nobles... they never have trouble awakening. They don't have to save for years just to fail. It... it doesn't seem fair."
Clang.
The workman slammed his chisel down so hard sparks almost flew. He whipped his head around, eyes probably scanning the street to see if any guards were close by.
"That has nothing to do with the Path." he hissed, clenching his fists. "That is just Kastal. Because of our stupid King. If we were born somewhere else it would be different."
Seth rounded past the shop, glancing at the apprentice who was staring at the ground.
The Path is fair and impartial.
That was the comforting lie people in Sunatown told themselves to keep their spirits up. Seth had never believed it. How could commoners and nobles, both born into such opposite circumstances, ever reach the same heights? One started with all the resources of the world, while another struggled just to fill his stomach.
Lost in thought, Seth barely made it to Arthuri's training field on time. And the place bore the same imbalance he'd seen all across the city.
A few hundred commoners dressed in tattered clothes were crammed into a dozen wooden stands spread around the open dirt field. In stark contrast, five butlers stood attentively on the sides of two stands made of stone, where a dozen nobles sat comfortably on velvet pillows that were likely worth more than Seth's house.
In the center, a thick white circle marked the perimeter of what would certainly be the arena for the upcoming fights. As Seth approached the two dozen participants in the middle, his eyes immediately landed on someone familiar: Selena.
The Rogue was still wearing her tight brown leather outfit, with the same black bow on her back, but this time two daggers were strapped to her thighs, each about half the length of Seth's hunting knife.
Before he made it over to her, a young woman walked up to him. Light brown, wavy hair framed her small, radiant face as glinting blue eyes rested graciously in their sockets beneath thin, dark eyebrows. Her soft skin gracefully complemented her nose and lips, giving her an angelic look.
She wore an accordion-style scarlet skirt that reached just below her knees, paired with black calf-high socks and a tight, short-sleeved white shirt, which she had tucked in and covered with a matching scarlet jacket, the golden owl emblem on her chest pocket slightly stretched by her curves. In one hand, she held a parchment clipped to a wooden board, and in the other was a quill.
A uniform? Seth thought.
"Good morning, I'm Marine from House Vancaws, a first-year student at Trogan Academy," she said. "What's your—oh, you've got beautiful eyes."
"Uh, thanks," Seth stuttered, a bit surprised to receive a compliment from a noble.
The young woman gave him a warm smile. "What's your name, your class, and your Rank?"
Can't she just Identify me? he thought before answering, "Seth, Primalist, Rank 6."
"Oh, a Primalist!" she exclaimed before writing everything down on the parchment. "Professor Reat will meet you at the end of the selection. Don't leave before that."
Why would a professor want to see me?
Standing a foot taller than her, Seth was able to see everything she scribbled on the parchment, including the little sad face next to Primalist. But it was something else that caught his eye. The quill. It had formed all the black letters without ever being dipped in ink.
It's an artifact.
"Oh, and when did you awaken?" she asked.
"Uh, about two weeks ago."
"Alright, everything seems to be in order," Marine replied with a beaming smile. "You can join the other participants. The selection will soon begin."
Seth made his way over to Selena, who stood stoically with her red ponytail swaying slightly in the breeze. He flashed her a grin, trying to break the tension. "So, today's the day you kick my ass, huh?"
The Rogue's expression barely shifted as she glanced at him. "Maybe," she answered with the social awareness and empathy of a rock.
Before Seth could answer, a silhouette blocked the sun. He shielded his eyes, squinting upward, and his breath hitched in his throat.
A man was floating in the sky, hovering high above the training field as if gravity was nothing more than a suggestion. Seth watched in stunned silence, his neck craning back.
As the newcomer descended, Seth took a closer look.
Long, pitch-black hair hung from the man's half-successful bun, partially hiding his exhausted face. The dark circles under his eyes and the way he was yawning made him look much older and worn out than someone in his mid-thirties should be.
He wore a uniform similar to Marine's, but instead of a skirt, he had on pants, and the scarlet color had been replaced by a much-darker red. Just above the golden-owl emblem, an insignia was hanging from his chest pocket: two silver wings flanking a dark medaillon with five silver stars and a white A in the middle.
A for Adventurers Guild, silver wings for Silver tier, I suppose… but what do the stars mean? Seth wondered.
"Welcome to the selection of Trogan Academy. I'm Professor Reat," the man announced as he landed on the ground. "Listen carefully, because I won't repeat myself."
Seth glanced at the other competitors. Some looked excited, others nervous, while a few appeared downright bored. Each of them had a stunning weapon, either on their back or hanging from their belt. All enchanted weapons, he thought.
"The rules are simple," Professor Reat continued. "You need two wins out of three fights to pass. Instant spell-scrolls, artifacts outside of concealment ones, Artificers' devices, or potions are forbidden. However, any armor or weapon is allowed. You're allowed to cast Identify on your opponent whenever you want. At the start of each fight, I'll cover both participants with an aether barrier that matches your Toughness—it'll absorb the blows. Like Protecting Belts, for those of you familiar. If the barrier breaks, it means you'd be dead in a real fight, so you lose. Oh, and also, you're allowed to forfeit for any reason. If your opponent decides to do so, you must stand down immediately to avoid anyone from getting hurt unnecessarily."
Fighting without fear of getting killed, Seth thought. That's great.
But then he hesitated. His core—that strange thing that had heightened his senses and instincts against the Boreal Wolves and the bandits—had always ignited in the face of extreme danger. It was a survival response. If his subconscious knew he was safe behind a barrier, would he still be able to tap into that power?
Seth clenched his jaw. He hadn't planned on relying on it, but it would have been a useful ace up his sleeve. Still, he couldn't gamble his future on a maybe.
He would stick to what had kept him alive all these years in the forest: his bow, his arrows, and his hunting knife.
Against a distance class like Elementalists, he would give them no room to breathe and rush into melee range to overwhelm them. And if he faced a Warrior or a Guardian, he would do the opposite—drag it out, keep his distance, kite them around the arena, and wear them down with arrows until their barriers finally shattered. Nothing flashy, but still solid.
"Any questions?" Professor Reat asked, waiting for a few seconds while a few participants, including Seth, exchanged uncertain glances. "Good, then let's get started. Everyone, step outside of the ring."
As all the participants moved out of the hundred-foot-wide circle, Marine handed her parchment to the professor. The man skimmed through it, and his face twisted into grimaces a few times.
Standing just outside the white line, Seth gulped, his heart pounding in his chest. Before his awakening, he'd been confident in his skills as a hunter and fighter. But now, as he glanced at the other participants, that old confidence was slowly being replaced by a growing sense of doubt. He'd gained
He'd gained a few attributes since awakening, but not nearly as many as he'd hoped. Two weeks wasn't enough to make a difference, especially after losing so much training time in the regular forest.
The selection wasn't limited to fresh Wielders like him; it was open to any seventeen-year-old who had awakened within the past year. That was why most people tried using a stone the moment they reached the minimum age for their bodies to survive the awakening.
Birthdates alone made the whole system unfair. With only two months of selections each year, some contestants entered barely seventeen, while others were just shy of eighteen. In Sunatown, Seth had even heard rumors of nobles timing pregnancies so their children would be among the oldest during the skirmishes, all to gain an advantage.
But who would complain about such injustice when others were dying of hunger? And commoners certainly had no say.
Seth scanned the other participants again. Some of them could've ignited their Well months and months ago, giving them plenty of time to grow stronger. There was no doubt, they'd have higher attributes than him—on top of the enchanted weapons glinting at their sides and on their backs.
How the hell am I supposed to compete with—
"First fight. Herbin and Seth, " Professor Reat shouted. ''Step forward."
Seth came to a standstill near the center of the ring, about thirty yards away from his opponent. The brown-haired young man wore a green cloak that covered half of the sleeveless leather armor underneath. Aside from the scar on his left cheek, nothing about his physique stood out—average height and below-average size. But Selena was the living proof that appearance meant nothing for Wielders. Ranks and attributes were all that mattered.
Herbin
Class: Warrior
Rank: 9 (Mid-Copper)
Subclass: -
Strength: 22
Arcane Power: 9
Toughness: 18
Well Capacity: 15
Agility: 15
Regeneration: 9
Seth's heart skipped a beat as he read the numbers. Twenty-two Strength? Freaking hell!
That was nearly double his own. He clenched his fists, feeling the gap in power like a physical blow. That much Strength will crush me if he lands a clean hit.
Seth then glanced at the sheathed sword at Herbin's belt and activated Identify once more.
Tempered Steel Sword
Weapon
Tier: Copper
Grade: Uncommon
Effects:
- Ignores 8% of Toughness while stabbing or slashing.
Great. An enchanted weapon on top of that, he thought, gritting his teeth. One hit and I'm done for.
"Both participants, get ready," Professor Reat shouted.
Thousands of tiny twinkling particles appeared and began dancing around his raised arm. Then, in a blink, the shimmering mist vanished and materialized all over both Seth and his opponent. After hovering for a moment, the clouds of blue dust turned into a thin cyan layer that coated their skin and clothes.
As the information about the Tempered Steel Sword faded from the corner of Seth's vision, he remembered how Identify didn't show spells of other people. I must be cautious—he could have many of them.
The moment Seth began infusing aether into Quick Step's grooves, a cold, tingling sensation shot through his body dozens of times. All the spectators were probably Identifying him. It wasn't rude given the circumstances of the selections—at least he assumed.
Ahead, Herbin drew his sword with a vicious grin. In response, Seth immediately pulled his bow out and nocked an arrow. He thinks I'm an easy win.
Professor Reat swung his hand down. "Fight!"
Without hesitation, Seth took quick aim and fired. Before even seeing if it hit the target, he snatched out another arrow and shot it through the same motion.
Strangely, Herbin charged in a straight line as if he didn't care about the projectile heading toward his face—yet Seth knew it couldn't be the case. Even with eighteen Toughness, it would still drain some of the Professor's precious aether layer. Suddenly air blurred in front of Herbin, and the arrow shattered into tiny pieces just inches away from his face.
A barrier. Shit.
Seth fired again then dashed away, Quick Step's aether surging into his leg's muscles and nerves. Even if he pulled the hardest he could onto his bowstring, he doubted a regular arrow would break through that protective shield. But he also couldn't just charge in and hope to win in a fistfight—especially not with half his opponent's Strength and Toughness. His best bet would be to outlast him, make him burn through his aether, then take advantage of his own higher Regeneration to win. Like he had planned to do against melee classes since the start.
It's like fighting a bear.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Herbin had closed some of the distance and was now only about fifteen yards away, but the barrier around him was gone. Seizing that opportunity, Seth quickly loosed another arrow while keeping up his pace. Just as the projectile was about to hit, the air in front of the Warrior shimmered once more and shattered it. But in that brief instant, the gap between them grew wider almost immediately.
Seth frowned and funneled more aether into Quick Step to dash away while keeping a close eye on the Warrior. As expected, Herbin's speed surged again; seconds later, the barrier vanished.
That's it, he thought. Casting the spell slows him down.
Exploiting that finding, Seth kept Herbin at a distance. Whenever the Warrior was about to reach him, he fired an arrow or two in his direction, forcing the man to bring his barrier back up or dodge, both of which slowed him down significantly. As they ran around in the ring, the other participants and the spectators began complaining on the sidelines.
"Stand your ground! We came for a duel, not a footrace!"
"Come on! Fight! I didn't wake up early for this."
The heckling didn't affect Seth. There was no shame in capitalizing on his opponent's weakness. All that mattered was the victory. And getting into Trogan Academy.
Minutes passed, and the booing grew louder, but Seth knew he was wearing his opponent down.
Then, as he reached for another arrow, his hand grasped nothing but air—his quiver was empty.
Shit.
Turning around, Seth drew his hunting knife and looked at Herbin. The young man was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead and dripping. Seth had spent his entire life running through dense undergrowth in the woods; the Warrior clearly hadn't.
Hopefully, that'll be enough to close the attributes' gap.
Seth charged at the Warrior and swung his blade toward his opponent's head while pouring aether in his free hand. His plan was simple: feint with the knife, then punch Herbin in the face. But instead of blocking, Herbin lunged at Seth and rammed a shoulder into his chest, sending him flying. He then crashed into the ground and cried out in pain, his knife clattering a few feet away.
Roaring, Herbin leapt forward and thrust his sword down with both hands. Seth's core finally ignited, and he jerked his head to the side. The tip of the Warrior's blade brushed his cheek and plunged into the dirt.
Not wasting that opportunity, Seth drove his fist, still full of aether, into Herbin's stomach. As the young man doubled over in pain, Seth didn't give him a second to breathe and stepped in, hammering two more savage blows into the Warrior's exposed ribs. He then snapped his knee up into his face.
Herbin reeled, clutching his face. Seizing the opportunity, Seth lunged for his hunting knife a few feet away—but before he could reach it, a hand clamped around his arm. The next instant, the Warrior heaved him overhead like a ragdoll and slammed him into the arena floor.
Pain shot through Seth's back and the protective layer of aether covering him flickered. Instinctively, his hand clawed for anything to grasp and use, closing around a handful of dirt.
Herbin stood over him, his sword just above Seth's neck. "You're such a pain in—"
Before he could finish, Seth threw the dirt in his face and slammed his foot into the Warrior's left knee. As the young man stumbled back, wiping at his eyes, Seth dashed toward his hunting knife and scanned his Well. Thirty percent left. That needs to be enough.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Grabbing his blade, Seth forced two-thirds of his remaining aether into his arm. Dragging the fight any longer without arrows would be pointless. That was his last chance.
In a desperate attempt, he lunged, thrusting his knife toward Herbin's throat. But the Warrior, apparently having anticipated the attack, jumped to the side and dodged before raising his sword in a two-handed grip.
Air wavered around the weapon and blue aether appeared, coating its surface. Before Seth could even react, the blade started descending toward him in a deadly arc. His core screamed and pure instinct surged through him. There was no time to dodge—he had to block it.
Seth raised his knife, but as the weapons clashed, Herbin's sword kept advancing on its unstoppable path, and sliced Seth's blade in half as if it were nothing more than a toy. What a joke—had he really thought he could win against a Warrior with an enchanted weapon in close combat?
The thin barrier around Seth absorbed the hit and rebuffed the sword before vanishing instantly.
"Seth, you're dead. Herbin, you won," Professor Reat announced. "Both of you go back to the sideline and wait for your next fight."
Seth rose slowly, his legs shaking as he still clutched onto the handle of his broken knife. Herbin walked past him without a word, shooting him a glare full of venom.
"Lucius Faertis and Mickael, you're next," Professor Reat called out.
Seth trudged forward, feeling the disdainful stares of the other participants. In the stands, some of the spectators hid their smirks behind raised hands while others laughed outright.
"Did you see that rusty piece of junk?" he heard someone snicker to his left.
"Who brings a hunting knife to a duel?"
As he neared the edge of the ring, one of the next competitors bumped into him on purpose.
"Commoners like you shouldn't be allowed here," the young man hissed, his blond ponytail bouncing against his majestic purple-and-black robe. It was lined with gold and silver thread and likely cost more than most residents of Sunatown earnt in a lifetime. Yet this boy wore it to duel.
He noted Seth's gaze, blue eyes brimming with contempt. "Stop starring like a country bumpkin and go back to whatever backwater hole you crawled out of. You're wasting everyone's time. Mine in particular. House Faertis' should not be kept waiting."
Seth swallowed his anger and kept walking, pretending he had not heard the jibe. House Faertis lived up to their awful reputation once again. No wonder Marcus wanted to stay away from nobles. The hard-working citizens of Sunatown struggled to make ends meet under oppressive taxes, all so the arrogant spawn of House Faertis could parade around in lavish outfits and call them useless? One week in this city and he would end up assaulting at least five of them.
Taking his place among the participants on the sideline, Seth overheard some of them actually mocking Herbin.
"You almost lost to a Rank 6! How pathetic!" one exclaimed.
"Yeah, you should've worked on carving Quick Step like he did," another one laughed. "Would've saved all of us some time."
"Oh, shut up," Herbin snapped back. "I only awakened two months ago. No one can learn that spell that fast."
"Rogues can," a slender woman with hazel eyes retorted next to him. "And apparently Primalists too."
"Nah, I'm pretty sure they aren't naturally gifted at it," another young man chimed in. "Got an uncle who is... well, was a Primalist."
"Maybe he crafted it because he was fleeing from a pack of wolves or something," the man suggested with a shrug. "Desperation, you know?"
"Crafting spells takes time, not emotion, dumbass," the woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Wanting it isn't enough for grooves to appear in your body."
Seth stood perfectly still, the words echoing in his mind.
Wanting it isn't enough…
But that was exactly what had happened. When he had faced the Boreal Wolves, he hadn't sat down to meticulously carve the grooves of Quick Step; his core had simply reacted to his desperate need. And yesterday, Nightmare had also learned Shadow Bite in the heat of the moment, bypassing the weeks of study humans usually required.
Maybe this core makes me closer to a beast, he mused, glancing down at his hands. Maybe beasts don't need time and precision as humans. Maybe their instincts allow them to carve grooves simply by acting on their nature.
Seth took a deep breath and remained silent, lost in thoughts.
In the ring, the arrogant Faertis noble stood to the left, wearing his expensive robe and holding a small wand topped with an enormous crimson jewel. Seth knew Identifying that man's equipment would only make him feel bitter, but he just couldn't help himself.
Engraved Yew Wand
Weapon
Tier: Copper
Grade: Epic
Effects:
- Spells ignore 14% of target's Toughness.
- Reduces aether cost by 11% for elemental spells.
Faertis House Basic Robe
Armor
Tier: Copper
Grade: Epic
Effects:
- Increases Well Capacity by 11%.
- Increases Toughness by 7%.
Lucius Faertis
Class: Elementalist
Rank: 14 (High-Copper)
Subclass: -
Strength: ???
Arcane Power: ???
Toughness: ???
Well Capacity: ???
Agility: ???
Regeneration: ???
A Rank 14? Seriously? Seth sighed inwardly.
He knew it was stupid to be surprised. With the selections held only two months out of the year, of course some participants had awakened nearly a year ago. That was just how the academic system worked.
Still, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if he'd rushed in too soon. Maybe he should've waited—not for the final selection round, which Sericar had warned would be flooded with the highest-ranked applicants—but maybe the next one, just a month or two away. Those extra weeks could've given him and Nightmare the time to gain a few more precious Ranks, to better prepare.
Anyway it's too late to—
"Hey, mate, wanna bet on how long it's gonna take Mister Rich Prick to beat the other poor sod?" came a voice from the left.
Seth looked at the short, tanned young man with cropped dark hair beside him. A large round shield hung on his back, its rim reflecting the sun's rays, while a long spear with a dark blade and red runes was strapped along its side.
Seth had never gambled before and wasn't sure how to respond. "U… I don't have anything valuable to bet."
"I was joking, man," the young man in leather armor said, flashing a grin so wide it scrunched up his nose. He then stretched his back, looking way too relaxed for someone about to fight for his future. "You're Seth, right?"
"Yeah," Seth answered, sliding his broken blade back into its sheath. He wiped his palm on his pants before extending it, a bit surprised. It was the first time all day someone had looked at him without disdain. "And you are?"
"Devus, but everyone calls me Dev," the tanned boy replied. He gripped Seth's hand and gave it a pump that nearly rattled Seth's shoulder—all enthusiasm, zero restraint. "No House name yet, but I'll get one someday. Mark my words."
He then puffed out his chest and thumbed the straps of his armor while gazing off into the middle distance as if envisioning a statue of himself. "Probably Devus Towering Shield... or maybe Guardian of Gaia. Sounds awesome, right? Still can't decide between the two."
Seth chuckled and shook his head. "I didn't know you could choose your House name."
"Oh, you sure can! When the king gives you permission to found a House, you get to pick the name yourself," Devus answered, grinning. "But it's gotta be something cool! Your descendants don't want a lame name like Faertis."
"I'm pretty sure that 'lame' Faertis out there could kick both our asses," Seth said with a laugh before watching Professor Reat cover both participants with his aether barrier.
Devus grimaced. "If that bastard were Rank 10, or even 11, I'd beat the crap out of him."
"Good to know I'm not the only one who isn't a fan."
"Trust me, you're far from alone, mate." Devus gave him a sidelong look. "You're not from Arthuri, are you?"
"No, why?"
Devus paused, then leaned toward Seth and lowered his voice."Everyone here hates our dear overlords and their taxes. Especially people from non-Wielder families."
Seth's gaze drifted toward the weapons strapped to Devus' back—an enchanted spear and shield. How could he complain about taxes with gear like that?
"They're from my sponsor," Devus said, as if reading Seth's mind. "He'd probably be furious if he heard me badmouthing the Faertis like this. He's always telling me to keep my head down and stay out of trouble."
Before Seth could ask what a sponsor was, Professor Reat's hand moved down.
"Fight!"
Lucius wasted no time, stretching his arm forward and creating a head-sized Fireball a few inches above his wand's tip. With a flick of his wrist, he then flung the blazing spell at the young man in plate armor charging toward him. The Guardian tried dodging to the side, but the spell was too fast and crashed into his left shoulder, sending him flying a few feet backward.
''He's done for,'' Devus said, scowling. "Doesn't look like he has any barrier spells."
"Why didn't he use his shield?" Seth asked.
"It's not enchanted. Without defensive runes, that shield's useless against an Elementalist," Devus explained. "It'll just catch on fire."
Seth's brow creased. "An iron shield? Catching on fire?"
The Guardian staggered to his feet, glaring at Lucius, who was already summoning his next spell. Raising his round shield, the injured man charged forward, trying to close the distance. But three steps later, the noble's new blazing orb surged from his wand and exploded onto the youngster's shield, knocking him down once more.
"No way," Seth muttered, staring at the bright flames flickering on the Guardian's shield—the youngster was forced to unstrap it and toss it aside. "How the hell is that even possible?"
"It's not the iron that's burning, but the aether residue of Fireball," Devus explained. "That's the issue when you have enchanted armor but a regular shield. Blocking spells without runes or defensive spells is almost impossible."
Seth glanced down at his broken knife. Yeah, I learned that firsthand.
An instant later, he looked back at the arena. Despite the Guardian dropping his shield and crossing the distance with a desperate sprint, Lucius remained rooted to the spot with his wand held upfront.
"He's not moving," Seth noted, narrowing his eyes. "The guy is getting closer, but Lucius hasn't taken a single step. Can't he cast and move at the same time?"
"It takes quite some practice for an Elementalist to do so because of their complex spells," Devus replied. "I guess Lucius never found a reason to train that yet since he could just bombard people from a distance. That's also why he's so lazy in his aim."
Before Seth could say anything the Guardian continued. "Word is, the guy trains in a way for eighty percent of his attributes to be in Arcane Power and Well Capacity."
Seth raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit reckless, isn't it? If someone closes the gap, he's finished."
"I know," Devus answered with a shrug. "But he'll learn to cast and run sooner or later. And also he's betting on always having a wall of soldiers in front of him. He'd be like a heavy cannon in the back that keeps firing while those frontliners take the hits."
Less than a minute later, Professor Reat put an end to the fight when yet another Fireball struck the Guardian's chest, marking the fourth hit in total. Watching that one-sided fight had been both enlightening and depressing for Seth. The Guardian had nearly three times his Toughness and twice his Strength, yet he had been bullied as if he were a child in a grown man's fight.
"That lazy prick could easily pass in later selections, but he still chose to join the first one," Devus said, glaring at Lucius. "Another reason to hate him."
"Why give up on the rewards that come with a better academy ranking?"
"He's the son of the head of the Faertis House. His Path is already set, with all the spell-scrolls and resources he'll ever need. He probably just wants the academy diploma for some reason."
And also enjoys crushing people it seems, Seth thought, looking at the massive grin on the Elementalist's face following the victory. People like me.
Swallowing his frustration, he began filling Identify's grooves for the next participants. One more loss and I'm gone.