Shackled Exalted

Emil

The side of his jaws throbbed with agony. A familiar sensation. A comforting torment. A regretful trip down the memory lane.

Emil's skull rattled. Stars spun in his flickering vision. His unsteady eyes caught the glimpse of cold steel flying towards him. Again. The attacks kept coming. He willed his body to dodge. But the accumulated fatigue, the screaming pains, mixed with the buzzing high of adrenaline dulled his reaction.

Steel slammed into his shoulders.

Before he could even scream, another attack rammed into the side of his flank. The blow sent him reeling to the floor. The harsh ground grazed his skin—a minor nuisance compared to the pain rippling through his torso. His entire body shivered as a torrent of blood ripped itself out of his mouth. The sight of the crimson splatter was harrowing. Emil's throat burned as he gasped for air.

He wanted to collapse onto the ground and let his mind break away. Anything to free himself from the painful torture.

Fear, however, kept him awake. He had to get up. The beatings didn't stop just because he fell unconscious. In fact, they would get even worse, even more vicious, even more painful. He knew from experience.

"…Aren't you being too hard on him?"

His heart froze at the sharp voice. It was more shrill, more sadistic, slightly more condescending than he remembered. But the tone and timbre were unmistakable.

The witch.

"If he can't endure this much, then he's not fit for Steiger," his assailant replied, cold and unfeeling. The deep masculine voice, devoid of compassion, thundered in his skull. "This organization has no time to spare for a useless orphan from the slums."

"Still, try not to kill him, alright? I invested a lot of resources into keeping him alive. He might possess a Gift, but he never underwent a proper Awakening. His constitution is more Ordinary than Exalted."

"Then he can't be coddled. He has no chance of surviving in Exalted combat without proper resilience. I'm beating pain tolerance into him. Either he adapts and grows, or he flounders and drowns in his own defective nature."

The witch snorted. "A typical response from a pure-blooded Lionheart. Fine. Do as you please. Just make sure he lives. I still have plans for him even if he's unfit to be a Cleaner."

Emil overheard the creepy sound of steel dragging along the floor like claws. Dread rushed down his spine. His assailant was approaching fast.

He willed his weary body to move. His hands were shaking as he tried to grip the training sword. No matter how strong he squeezed, however, it always felt as though the hilt would slip out of his grasp. He glanced up, ignoring the excruciating backlash as he stood on his shaky feet.

A goliath of man towered before him. He had broad shoulders, a rugged face incapable of compassion, and a massive body steeled with muscles that verged inhuman. Born with the bloodline of a warrior, his assailant stomped towards him, dragging along a heavy fragment of metal. The blunted piece was more rubble than weapon, but anything would hurt in the hands of a giant.

Defense was futile. There was no way he could match the strength of this goliath. Dodging was also impossible—not when his body was already ravaged to this degree.

And so, Emil charged in. His throat felt dried and strained. He must have been screaming. As he raised his sword, the lump of steel in his assailant's hands covered his eyes.

Everything fell to black.

***

Emil woke up with a nasty headache. He shot up, his chest heavy from the panic left by the memory. Cold sweat drenched his back. Still dazed, he glanced around, unsure what was real and what were vestiges from his lucid dream.

Where am I?

Dull, sterile lights radiated his surroundings accompanied by antiseptic air. For a moment, he thought he was somehow in one of Steiger's medical houses scattered across Ardair.

No, this is the medical bay of the Nautilus.

Memories flooded back his mind as he regained clarity. He was in the banquet hall after the finals of the Clash of Dawn. He was speaking privately with Aoife when a commotion erupted in the corridors. A bunch of Academy staff had been killed. Then, they were attacked by Melody.

Emil clenched his teeth, embroiled with shame at his humiliating loss. His last memory before losing consciousness was watching Aoife got taken away.

The princess is in trouble. I have to—

He was prepared to leap off the bed when the door suddenly swung open. A man stomped into the sterile medical room. A familiar visage—one that Emil had just encountered inside his dream.

Speak of the devil.

"You're awake. That simplifies things," the man said as he shut the door and approached the bed.

"Rohan," Emil muttered under his breath.

The enormous man was the current head of the Lionheart family, a noble house devoted to the protection of the royal family. In addition to leading the Lionhearts, Rohan also served as Steiger's second-in-command. The last time Emil saw him was two years ago after his official inauguration into a Steiger Cleaner. Rohan was the one who personally oversaw his combat training. Needless to say, Emil didn't have pleasant memories of the man, nor did he possess any desire to be reunited with his former instructor.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I guess his presence makes sense, given that the princess and the Second Prince are here. Still, what an unlucky timing.

Before he could say anything else, Emil felt murderous intent. His response was late.

Rohan suddenly reached to grab his collars. With a single arm, Emil's was effortlessly lifted into the air. Pure strength. Untainted by Mana Arts. He struggled—his instinct was to claw at his superior's arms. Perhaps luckily, he didn't even get the chance to before he was tossed aside.

Thud!

He crashed into a nearby table. The furniture shattered beneath the force of his landing. Emil groaned as pain rippled across his body. His back throbbed. His wounds inflicted by Melody flared.

Reeling from the pain, Emil struggled to remove himself from the rubble as Rohan stomped over. The warrior lorded over him with suffocating pressure—his eyes were cold and cruel, boring into his soul as if he was just a gnat.

"Looks like our time apart has made you forget," Rohan uttered with clear distain, "You are to address me as sir."

An asshole as usual.

"Right, my apologies. It has been a while. Please excuse me then, sir," Emil hissed in between ragged breaths.

Rohan narrowed his eyes at Emil's belligerence. "…Princess Aoife is missing. Eye-witness accounts suggested that you were last seen with her."

"Before that—" Emil said, trying to pull himself up to his feet. His body, however, had no strength to enact his will. Each attempt to move was met with stabbing shockwaves that shot through his bones. Soon, he gave up, resigned to look pathetic in front of his superior.

"—Tell me what happened. I have no idea what was going on."

Rohan quickly gave him the run-down. In short, a terrorist group that called themselves Vigil had seized control of the banquet hall and took everyone hostage. During the same time, two interlopers intruded onto campus and invaded the Consortium. After fighting their way out, they allegedly escaped with a couple of documents stolen from the archives.

"We can safely assume that the two interlopers were also associates of Vigil. As for the banquet hall, we still unsure what caused everyone to lose the ability to use their Gifts. Now, explain yourself."

"The princess called me in to apologize for Prince Rory's actions during the Clash of Dawn. During the middle of our conversation, we were ambushed by Melody Lain. Based on your account, she's likely also affiliated with Vigil. She took the princess away."

Emil felt a scratch claw down his neck. It suddenly became difficult to breathe. His throat instinctively tensed. His nerves trembled. The source was Rohan.

"You let yourself get defeated by a second-year of the Academy?! What the hell were you doing?!"

Spittle from Rohan's outburst blasted against his face. Emil instinctively shuddered as his body was engraved with the memories of being beaten to near death. But still, all of those memories faded as something inside of him snapped.

"She killed a dozen Academy staff and the princess' butler by herself! She could use Mana Arts without restraint! She was the winner of the last Clash of Dawn and she had a case to be the Prodigy before Liesel! Do you think I was up against a no-name?! Do you think I just willingly allowed the princess to get kidnapped?!"

Being accused of neglecting his duty to protect Aoife drove him mad. Not when he was nearly killed. Not when he was already ashamed of being dealt a humiliating loss. Even in his head, the reasons he gave for his loss sounded like excuses. But Emil wasn't about to let himself be blamed for this disaster.

"It's not my fault she didn't choose to kill me! And last time I remembered, who exactly is the Lionheart's family head? Whose duty was it to protect the royal family? While I was getting my ass kicked, what the hell were you doing?!"

Rohan's movements were a blur. Emil couldn't even react when Rohan's hands suddenly caught his head in a vice grip.

"…You've become quite belligerent after two years. Did becoming Steiger's rising star make you arrogant? Or is Hortensia just too soft on you?" Rohan asked with a chilling sneer, "Looks like I need to give you a reminder of who exactly you serve."

Mana cackled from Rohan's palms. Emil grimaced as he prepared himself of what was to come.

The door to his room suddenly swung open.

"Sir, I would advise against that."

Emil widened his eyes, immediately recognizing the voice. Van, his frivolous senior, entered with a grave look on his face.

"Petra found Princess Aoife's traces. We can track down her whereabouts now with Lionheart's personnel," he said, beckoning towards Emil, "Given the strength of the enemy, we're going to need our rising star to be in fighting shape."

Rohan's grip loosened. The built-up of mana in his palms ceased, vanishing into ambient vestiges.

"You were always soft on him, weren't you Van?" Rohan muttered disapprovingly.

Van shrugged. "What can I say? I'm just a sucker for those who produce results."

"Hmph, then let's see if our rebellious rising star really deserves his title."

With Emil still locked in place, Rohan reached back into his pocket with his free hand. He had something small with a pointed end in his hands. It was a syringe. Without warning, he stabbed it into Emil's nape.

Emil winced. Panic rose to his chest as he desperately wanted to resist. But he wasn't oblivious to the dangers of squirming recklessly while a sharp item was jabbed into his veins. Helpless, he remained still as the pain and pressure increased. He felt something enter his bloodstream. Rohan eventually pried the needle out of his neck. Blood dripped from the open wound, stinging as Rohan discarded the empty syringe into a nearby basket.

"What the hell did you—"

He couldn't finish his words. A shockwave ripped through his body. His mind trembled. His body suddenly convulsed with shivers—shuddering uncontrollably in reaction to the foreign injection. Something in his subconscious came alive. A monster. The beast inside his head cackled with ravenous glee. It was delighted after being patiently dormant for so long.

You've got to be kidding me.

As the chills wore off, Emil felt a soothing sensation streamed down his limbs. His muscles relaxed. The scalding burns from his injuries against Melody were turned into a mere buzz. He could suddenly move without the painful backlash.

"Stimulants and painkillers. Did you forget?"

"You fucking bastard," Emil cursed, feeling the jitters all over his body. His mind was astonishingly clear. He felt good. Meanwhile, the monster in his head squealed, finally getting a taste after being deprived of the substance for so long. Echoes of desire pulsed through his mind as the beast begged for more.

During his training to become a Steiger Cleaner, these stimulants and painkillers were the only way that he could fall asleep after a gruesome day of training. His excessive use led to a crippling addiction. It took months of agony before he finally weaned himself off of his dependence.

Since then, Emil swore that he would never use those drugs again—even if it meant enduring more suffering. He refused to give Steiger another means to control him. He fought hard to convince the witch not to inject him with stimulants and painkillers during his recovery.

Rohan stared at him with indifference, uninterested in his hostility.

"We will now aim to rescue the princess. You and Van will form one of the rescue teams. I will also assign a healer under the Lionhearts to aid you. From now on, you will conceal your appearance and operate as if you are a member of the Lionheart branch family. You will use your cover, Miles, for the duration of the mission. And until the princess is rescued and the mission is over, you will only be permitted to use Blaze. Do not use Bulwark unless the mission is at risk of failure, or else endanger your own cover. I will not be responsible if your affiliation to Steiger is revealed."

Rohan turned to face Van.

"You have ten minutes to get Emil ready for combat. I'm going to make further arrangements," he said.

Emil stared at his back as Rohan exited out of the room.

Son of a bitch.

He grinded his teeth, livid with resentment. His fingers wouldn't stop shaking in his superior's presence.

Meanwhile, the monster in his head squealed, overjoyed with delight.