Cursed Explorer of the Arcana

Despite Martha's ominous delivery, the news didn't hit like a meteor. The first clashes were yet to happen, and besides the declaration, things were peaceful as of now. For two days, the general populace has been kept in the dark, however, the same could not be said about the audience present.

The tournament lost much of its opulence when heads of state and high nobility all began to depart. It was understandable, but also made the events feel somewhat… pointless. What should've been the center of all attention now turned into a circus meant to divert that very attention. The eyes that mattered.

I already fulfilled my part, so I don't really mind what comes next, but Martha has taught me well enough to consider every possibility. Joining the battlefields is most likely not on the table for me… I'd die, and fast. Mythralis had been a bit of an extreme case, so that doesn't count. Besides, I still need to finish my studies and upgrade both of my Classes and a bunch of other things.

It's way too early for me to die.

The events – especially the pompous, pointless ones – weren't even worth watching, so I just slept while the crafting competition… Let's just say too much creativity isn't beneficial either. There were some interesting pieces, such as the Wall-walking Boots, but being an observer made it all slightly hollow.

Since then, the lots were drawn, brackets were arranged, and the duelists faced off against each other twice already. With some space magic shenanigans and a generous application of earth magic, the arena got split into three parts to speed things up a little. The dueling grounds were basic with very little cover, which I didn't really mind.

In the past hour, I've fought some lofty warrior trying to act like the bastard Gustav without the necessary skills and, more importantly, the Blessing. Then there was that ranger… My pity for him cannot be put into words, since he was the very same mouthy idiot whom I eliminated myself in the free-for-all. The one with void arrows.

He had the destructiveness and speed, but very little else.

Val is also still in, as is the orc, the glassy girl, and the charming bastard. Oh, I also learned that I'm not the only one with a cool nickname. Gustav is the Mad Warlord, the orc is… The Green One, even though his skin is more brownish than green, and Aurora goes as the Glass Saint.

Then we have the White Orc… It's fitting for Val and used only tactfully, hush-hush behind her back. On the other hand, Snowy Revenant is her 'official' nickname when her ridiculous endurance is discussed with her present. The first one is more fitting, and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Mine is still better.

Anyway, things are going smoothly, and I might as well win this competition too. More prize money is always welcome, even if the excitement is already one leg into the grave. Solidifying my value and proving I'm worth far more alive than out there, and tempting fate is the best I can do.

"You're up next." Mom flicks my ear to arouse me from my stupor. She knows I hate it when someone touches my ears. "I've watched that guy's matches before, but I just couldn't figure out his trick. Be careful, sweetie!"

"Go show them!" Dad does the actual encouraging part.

I get up and move down the stairs, below the stands, to wait for my turn. There are still eighteen of us left – well, not anymore since the third round is already in progress – and I quickly spot my next opponent.

Mom did have a point… I'm also pretty much clueless about what it is I'm going up against. The pale demikin with raccoon-like features, slit yellow eyes, grayish fur on his arms and around his neck, again like a raccoon. Oh, and there's a small green triangle behind his left ear I almost missed. Worse yet, he fights like a spellsword, which I usually find difficult to counter.

Both the abilities of a pure warrior and many destructive spells of a seasoned mage are within his arsenal, from what I've observed until now. He's a little bit like me, and I hate fighting against things like me.

[Warrior lvl 142]

He's strong. And to top it off, he's from Barlek, of all places.

His face says it all… He knows, unlike many of the other younglings present. Nonhumans can't hold a noble title across most of the continent, meaning his family should be somewhere out there… While his country is about to go up in flames.

No eye contact between us, no lighthearted banter, or even a dying whisper of competitive spirit… This is just damn miserable. I'm supposed to feel antsy, but I can't bring myself to worry about this stupid duel either.

Thankfully, we're not made to wait long. The four matches last before our batch last no more than four minutes, slightly below average. Four step through the gate like beaten dogs, while four keep their heads high, glassy girl among them.

The crowd rejoices to see their favorite, aka me, again. But I pay them no mind and instead strike up a conversation.

"Is the situation that bad?" I ask the demikin as we walk to our assigned arena.

He throws me a scornful look, then sighs and shakes his head. "Consul Tudor died a year ago without an heir, leaving a mess behind, and Consul Adrinna got assassinated just now. The remaining two blame each other and are arming up for justice. What do you think?"

Yeah, that does sound about as bad as it gets. According to what wisdom I've learned during my time here, the union was shaky from the start. All along, it has been held together by common interest alone and the fear of what might happen without this facade of unity. Now we're about to find out, and the higher-ups at the Fist must be rubbing their hands.

"So why are you still here?" I stand on the opposite end of the fighting ring as pillars and walls begin to rise.

He draws his longsword and his eyes sharpen, from fearful to icy cold. "My family holds only as much value as I do. I can't protect them… So I can't afford to lose here!" As he says, the shifting environment obstructs my line of sight.

His situation sounds familiar- no, maybe even worse than what I had to deal with years ago. Back then, I basically sold my abilities to the Fist, and things turned out fine. He now needs to do the same, and I understand… But that doesn't mean I just lie down and make this easy for him.

This area is quite confined, and even though the obstacles all over are thickly reinforced with mana, I could level this entire sandbox in no time. But this situation makes me reminiscent… It's similar to the first time I faced off against Victor.

For a few moments, it's only me, the walls, and the cheers of thousands… Then a jingle that's starting to drive me crazy echoes above. This is usually when chaos unfolds, the stuff that makes the crowd go wild, not unlike a band of orcs. But that's not the right way to fight me.

I give myself about twelve seconds before my opponent closes in. That's all the time I have to make preparations.

Since it's still uncertain what it is exactly I'm dealing with – wielding both Skills typical for a Warrior, throwing mana like a Mage, and displaying agility similar to a rogue – I can only fight reactively. This also serves as a great reminder of why signing up for all the events isn't that brilliant an idea.

Everyone already knows what I can do, but we're pretty clueless here, even with Melana's intel. So I'm left with one devious method I've learned just the other day…Traps, traps, and traps. Traps everywhere.

I've also learned that a lonely jumble of inscriptions isn't nearly enough. It's like shooting fireballs straight and hoping someone will walk into them. No, no, no… just like the gnome – Vorlin, yes, that was his name – following his teachings, I create a web of sticky traps, collapsing pits, fire pillars, imploding wind bombs, and earthen domes. All of that in short ten seconds, because Depthless Dark is awesome.

No subtlety on my opponent's end, he tears through the solid rock walls with a swing of his sword. His eyes are sharp, almost burning, and a vicious snarl sits on his face.

Now, I'm no weapon expert, but that looks to be a claymore, and one swung with force typical for warriors alone. Rushing through the still-falling debris, he closes the distance. And right walking into my first present.

Of course, I do prepare magic, ice, and lightning, and all that, but I don't plan on losing. But breaking a swift fighter's rhythm… now that's the deadly trick.

The ground ripples beneath his feet. His instincts do their thing, and he does manage to backpedal before teeth for stone rip forth from the ground like a wave. Sharp, decisive, and almost like a different person compared to the mopey boy back in the waiting room.

As he's on the retreat, I pursue and launch my frosty javelins his way. Momentum is on my side, and he's forced to headlessly retreat while lashing out with his sword to save his skin. Following the path of ice, lightning crosses the distance between us in the blink of an eye, and the boy is forced to act.

He slaps the flat of his blade, and it rings with an otherworldly echo. The ice crumbles, and the crackling arc loses its direction. It also sends me to the ground as if someone struck my head, grabbed my brain, and shook it until I begged for mercy.

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The feeling passes as quickly as it came, but this was a trick I hadn't seen him pull before. If not for the sequence of symbols I've been herding him towards, this could've turned out badly.

Like suddenly waking from a nightmare, my mind clears and I resume my pursuit. When shadows emerge from a pair of pillars and grab his limbs like shackles, I know I have him. Okay, know is a strong word… I hoped for a moment.

But instead of letting me finish this, he points his sword towards one of the pillars and whistles. The blade rings once again, and the stone shatters. With his sword arm released, he can freely sever the darkness and resume where we left off.

It's rare to see someone use sound magic, especially if that someone is a warrior. However, this time I'm not constrained by my limited supply of mana, and I'm exhausted after a prolonged battle. Nor do I need to be mindful of anyone's well-being.

My flames rush forward in a wall of inferno, and the boy once lifts his arms to hit his sword like an instrument. At that moment, I form a ball with my hands and press it together, subduing the air around him before his mana can disperse.

His savage eyes widen just before the fire washes over him and embraces about a quarter of the entire arena. It's not too hot, but I can easily up the temperature. But as I do that, snow begins to fall from overhead. Frost forms across the otherwise invisible dome surrounding us, and the world quiets down ever so slightly.

A snap of a finger reverberates all around and cold bursts forth, smothering the fires immediately. In the center of this frost stand the boy, his eyes now calm, and his face expressionless like that of a doll.

My instincts scream danger, and I throw myself behind a barrier of stone, just in time to avoid the flood of ice. The thick steam of frost cracks the ground in its wake, chilling the air even further. Something no warrior should be allowed to accomplish…

"That's fucking ridiculous!" I complain out loud but keep moving.

Circling around, I appear on his flank, approaching from a blind spot just as I've learned. Around my opponent, the land is already frozen solid with a layer gleaming like glass, but he doesn't sense my presence right away.

I'm about to flick a few wind cleavers his way when something catches my eye… something behind his ear. Instead of the triangle, a cyan blue four-pointed star shimmers on his skin. And right in front of my eyes, it stretches into an orange quadrant.

When the symbol stops morphing, his head whips around. As if guided by a divine hand, those savage eyes I've previously observed find me, and the sword sails through the air with another sharp whistle.

Throwing myself to the ground to avoid getting cleaved into two – I know I have a shield, but still – I point my finger towards him and concentrate my mana. The streak of light cuts through the air and lands squarely on his chest.

It fails to eliminate him, or even to make him stagger, after all, it's just light… but it does drive home my point. I can do this all day, and whether he likes it or not, my bag of surprises is larger.

Recognizing where this is going, the emotions behind his eyes change once more. This time, his lips stretch into an amused grin, and his movements turn confusing. As if drunk and high, he stumbles, then breaks into a full-on sprint faster than the wind. Except he isn't exactly moving towards me… He's just running, somewhere, among the walls and pillars of the arena.

I do use this opportunity to catch my breath, all the while listening for any footsteps. What he's doing, I haven't the slightest idea… And that's a little scary. But in just seconds, the rumble of mana betrays his location. A trap activates, and a sequence of clustered explosions rocks the whole place.

Before I can even approach, the next trap activates, placed exactly where I'd retreat towards from the explosions. A short blast of air travels across the dome, clogging my ears for a moment, before another deafening roar turns my hearing back to normal. The second one is accompanied by a blueish flash… then another, and another. Lightning really is my favorite.

Dashing over the obstacles meant to protect us in the first place – although nobody really uses them properly as cover – I approach the site of explosions with haste. Struggling on the ground, surrounded by stone and twitching on the ground with sparks dancing across his limbs, I find my opponent. I expected a little more of him, but fighting without a plan could only carry him this far, it seems.

No cheesy lines or extra mouth service this time. I only raise my hand and conjure a javelin of seething fire into my palm with the snap of a finger. It's over, and the boy isn't even trying to fight… He's just looking at me with that damned smile.

At that moment, one of the stone limbs holding him runs out of juice and crumbles, letting his body fall to the side. It was never meant to do its job for more than a second anyway, and the inscriptions are visibly damaged already. But it's not the symbols of my making that make my hair stand on end… It's the lack of a tattoo behind his ear.

In my moment of confusion, I crush my fiery javelin, and it bursts into a thousand sparks. I've been keeping an eye out, it's an unconscious habit at this point to survey the world with Mana Perception, but it all looked so normal…

Only now, outlined by the sparks, do I clearly see the silhouette to my right, hands raised and swords held above his head. Using a body double is not something a mage can accomplish, nor a warrior, yet that's the only plausible answer for all of this.

Using the residual flames, I cause a minor explosion in my palm, enough to push me aside. But the swing was only a feint. Dropping his illusion, the boy lets go of his sword and grabs me without hesitation. As his fingers grip my throat, his grin stretches even further.

As soon as we touch, electricity courses through my body… But as I increase the charge, his eyes turn savage again. He refuses to go down, and the power in his hand grows exponentially.

He slams me to the ground with enough force to make the world spin. And by the time I regain my senses, there's little I can do. My pin is flashing red, and the jingle marks the end of our battle.

Beaten and dusty, I lie on the ground and chuckle. "Just how many of you are in there?" I ask to confirm my revelation.

The attributes he displayed are those of someone almost twice my level, be it Might, Speed, or Intelligence. Add to that his Skills and ever-changing style of combat, and the answers are narrowed down to one. The clue to it was on his skin all along.

"More than enough." He says. His gaze goes soft again, and he turns his back on me. "When I saw you before, you were sharper… It seems you lack the resolve necessary to win."

With those words, he walks away and leaves me feeling more defeated than I've ever felt recently. Dusting myself off, I get back on my feet and vacate the arena.

He was strong, really strong, and if I had known a little better, the outcome would've been different. But what did he mean by that? Lack of resolve… Of course, I wanted to win. I always aim to win.

Passing the gate, I meet Aurora on my way out, leaning against the wall.

"Why did you go easy on him?" She asks with a flat look tinged with disappointment.

Ridiculous…

Walking past her, I give her the short answer. "I didn't. I fought like I usually do, and I got beaten." I'm not in the mood to chat.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." She huffs, and I hear the mockery in her tone. "I've seen you fight, met you at your best… This was something lesser."

Without stopping or tuning, I spit back. "You'd still lose to it all the same."

Does she mean to say I wasn't fighting as hard because I had next to nothing on the line? So what? I could've been a little faster, and maybe used more spells and much more destructively, but that's not the trick. Just because I wasn't spewing fire constantly or melting half the arena, it doesn't mean I held back.

"Eli!" Val meets me when I return to the waiting room.

"Not now, Val, I'm not in the mood." I shoot her down.

My words and grumpy face stop her advance. But soon, her face of hesitance turns into one of amusement, and she throws her arm around my shoulder anyway. I can't resist her strength, and don't even try to.

Leaning closer, she whispers into my ear. "Think whatever you want, I'm still proud of you."

Her words stun me again.

It's something that has happened a little too often recently… Maybe I really am not myself today.

Having said her part, Val lets go, and I keep walking. I leave the room filled with palpable tension, leave the packed corridors with people giving me empty praise, and leave the entire colosseum without looking back.

Martha, Melana, and my parents are likely still on the stands, waiting for Valka's turn and most likely waiting for me to join them. My brute deserves all the cheering and care, but I just can't bear to stay there at the moment.

Instead, my steps carry me through the island. The peace and quiet are heavenly, and I can finally clear my head to see things objectively. It's easy to be smart in hindsight compared to the heat of the moment, but even now, I feel like there wasn't much more I could've done.

Worse yet, dwelling on my loss and blaming it on stupid things like pity is only making me feel disgusted. Yes, I do feel good about his win, because it reminds me of the young me. The Elyssia who struggled but pushed through with a little help had an attitude similar to his.

"I did use to be sharper back then." Whispering to myself, I allow my feet to carry me towards the Academy town. "Danger around every corner, and the competition made sure I didn't slack. Not to mention the time I was lost in the forest…"

This place softened that edge of mine. I'm still sharp and deadly, and perhaps one of the best blades around, but no longer the same. More refined, more precise, but without the same edge.

"If only Aurora knew the Elyssia from back then…"

Finally, I arrive at Pierre's Shack and enter the store casually. The place is empty as ever, especially with the tournament raging on, but it's still open. As usual, Pierre is lazy behind the counter, half asleep, and without a care in the world.

I don't even bother waking him, and instead simply make my way to the back. Across shelves, a plethora of goods are waiting for eager customers or someone to process them into something magical. I've spent two whole days back when I started here just to organize everything, and it still looks like a mess.

Further back is where the actual work area is, not all too different from my favorite spot on the entire island. Oddly enough, Pierre prefers to work near candlelight, illuminating the cramped backroom. Tools are plenty, and most walls are plastered with outlines of inscriptions of blueprints of complex contraptions.

But what I came for is no longer in paper form.

Midnight black leather, soft and matte under the dancing light, accentuated by fine silver filigree along the knuckles and wrist. Vortex inscriptions of the Flow and concentration lines of the Grand String down the fingers gleam gently across the black surface, inlaid with thin Hadron dust.

It's a beauty.

"They're almost done." Pierre appears behind my back and lifts the pair of gloves off the workbench. "Wanna try them on?"

I simply can't restrain the excitement in my eyes, but still act apart. "What's taking so long? I've even paid for it properly." Although that was completely funded by my measly salary that I've received over the months.

And gambling… Mostly gambling.

"I can't do miracles in two days, you know. Proper work takes time." He retorts and pulls my special gloves away.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, you were lazing off just a moment ago. I only hope it's done by the time we leave Sereban. I've been locked up in here for far too long.

Now it's only me, my new toys, the entire summer, and an edge to reclaim. According to my estimate, a month or two is all it'll take for my Classes to round out completely, plenty of time to go wild a little. Caution and the constant pestering be damned…