Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Here is the Work in Progress for Chapter 175 I hope you guys enjoy! :D
Emma
There were times where I found myself lost in the heat of the moment.
Instances where all preceding worries were shunted to the backseat, if only to better make room for the basking of achievements weeks in the making.
It felt, if only transiently, that I was no longer an actor in the theatre of life.
It felt, for one fleeting instance, that I was merely an onlooker, watching a historic moment go by.
And in the case of scenes such as these in the Nexus? Well… it felt, sometimes, like I was watching a moment of true epic high fantasy, like I was plunged right into the thick of a generations-long Dungeons and Wyverns campaign, or a particularly heavy fantasy series.
Or maybe football. Maybe this is what football fans felt when their team scored a goal.
It was that latter feeling — the heavy fantasy vibes, not the football analogy — that brought me out of ‘spectator’ mode, acting almost as a reminder that this was my reality now.
Though given what had just transpired, that realization made me all the more giddy to witness the lupinor’s unrepentant grin as Articord began whatever esoteric rituals were involved with passing initiation.
This.
This was Thalmin’s moment.
And I couldn’t be happier to see him achieve something he’d been building up to over the preceding month.
=====
Thalmin
This was my moment.
Entry into Fight Club had never been guaranteed, nor had it ever been easy for unfavored adjacencies.
Yet here I was, basking in the glow of stagelights, illuminating every angle of my success.
I tried not to pant.
I held my composure, firm, resolute, adjusting my armor as I stood tall in the face of Articord’s honeyed words.
Yet while small in the grand scheme of things — barely holding a candle to the victories of a real battle — its symbolic significance, and the boons it brought, were enough to overpower my veteran’s sensibilities.
…
2 Weeks Prior
“So… fight club. What exactly—”
“Privilege, Emma. Privileges belying prerequisites, of obtaining skills and accolades any adjacent realm royal family would kill to obtain.”
“You’re being metaphorical when you say, kill, right? … Right?”
I chose not to clarify.
“Entry into fight club is a nigh guarantee for one’s acceptance into the battlemage academies. The attainment of which, is commensurate to the crystallization of one’s hold on power. For the skills learned within their walls is enough to make the difference between a failing legacy, and one reforged into bluestone and manasteel. It is to learn the arts sequestered from most adjacent realms, arts… which I am very much excited to show you in our promised exchanges.”
“You’re killing me with this teasing buildup, Thalmin.”
“We have only Ping to blame for our delay in this venture. Regardless, it shall be… interesting to hear your thoughts on a battlemage’s true potential.”
…
“Prince Thalmin Havenbrock of Havenbrockrealm. It is with great honor that I bestow upon you, this first marker of your station here within the hallowed ranks of like-minded peers.” Articord spoke in that same lofty tone of voice she often used in the classroom. Though as established since her arrival, there was a noticeable difference in its delivery, as was the case with the rest of her mannerisms.
I knelt down, allowing the professor to drape, then clip, a small leather-trimmed cloak dyed in the same deep green as the emerald of her staff around my shoulders.
“This will be your marker, a distinction of strength, and a badge of honor for your peers outside of our great guild.” She boldly proclaimed, producing a black-hued brooch that sat atop of the unassuming metal clip holding together the fabric. “For despite this indicating your novice rank amidst your fellows, both cloak and brooch are enough to place you leagues above the rest of your peers in the distinction of both will and strength.”
“And I will be… permitted to wear this in place of my Academy cloak?” I questioned, garnering a series of affirmative, self-assured chuckles from the gathered crowd.
“Don’t play the fool, Prince Thalmin.” Articord shot back with a teasing grin. “It is a known fact that every candidate who walks through those doors has this privilege in mind as their tertiary motivation, if not their secondary.”
“The Academy’s regulated regalia is lacking.” One of the upperyearsmen spoke. “Feels borderline offensive for a noble to be reduced to such simple attire.”
“Of course it is.” Articord turned back with a reflexive head-tilt. “It was intentional, a purposeful punishment for the heretical actions of the Adjacencies who organized in open rebellion against the principles of Status Eternia, and His Eternal Light during the war.” Articord acknowledged plainly, not with malice, but a blunt reinforcement of ‘fact’. “A mark of humiliation, which is still clearly effective, if your reactions to it are of any indication.” She continued, before shrugging. “The attainment of fight club’s decorations are thus to be considered a mark of penance on the path to atonement.”
There it was.
It took quite a while, but Articord’s true colors always seemed to find a way to resurface one way or the other.
Yet in spite of that relapse into her typical ways, she soon bounced back with a surprisingly chipper attitude.
“Regardless, that is an irrelevant point. Because tonight is a night of celebration and great merriment. For on this night: we welcome Prince Thalmin Havenbrock into our ranks!” The increasingly enigmatic fox announced, before just as quickly summoning glasses of shimmering wine into the hands of all present.
“A battlemage’s toast for our battlemage-to-be!” She proclaimed, garnering naught the hoots and hollers I’d have expected out of rank and file soldiers or what constituted as battlemages back home, but instead, a series of carefully timed applauses that felt more fitting in a concert hall than the barracks or tents of any self-respecting warrior; the glasses all hovering in place in front of the nobles and royals, a small allusion to just how utterly removed the Nexian martial culture was from the grim realities of the insects they trampled under heel.
Regardless, I didn’t necessarily wish to dwell on it. Not when all of this was a celebration directed for my efforts.
Which, to those ends…
“Now, before we proceed to what is expected of you, is there anything you wish to request of us, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock?”
Now was my chance.
I grinned.
Then, I made my gambit.
“I would like to request a sight-seer memory shard depicting records of battlemages in battle, particularly those of Nexian battlemages engaged in combat against adjacent realm armies.”
“Ahhhhh!” Articord beamed brightly. “My my, so it takes martial subjects to draw you into the realm of historical appreciation? I would say this is a surprise, however it was to be expected from a royal of your… heritage.”
I blinked, unsure whether to receive the compliment in stride, or interrogate it for a backhanded agenda.
As such, I merely replied with silence. A response which Articord took in stride.
“This can be arranged, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock. Indeed, this comes as a rather welcome surprise.” She grinned mischievously, prompting me to narrow my eyes in acknowledgement. “You see, we have a… tradition here in Fight Club. For every request that is made, from junior to senior, a spar is to be expected. In order to prove one’s worthiness to maintain the superior bargaining position, of course.”
A series of loud thumps preceded the arrival of the rock-crab receptionist we’d met at the entrance, as he climbed onto the stage with a threatening aura.
“Now then… shall we begin?”
…
15 Minutes Later
I huffed.
Then I puffed.
As I stood tall above the rocky noble who’d since knelt down to a single knee in a show of submission.
My armor had held.
But my sleeves had frayed, and so too were parts of my fur singed.
The acrid smell of burnt fur wafted throughout the room, as Articord was quick to return with a series of applause.
“Two victories in a single night? Within the hour at that? My my, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock, you really do impress me.” She spoke, before abruptly, summoning the crystal out of thin air.
It took me everything not to growl out in annoyance as I took that shard, though as I began peering into its contents, I came to a worrying realization.
“There are no siege records within this shard.” I proclaimed with a dulcet grunt.
“Oh. I wasn’t aware you were requesting siege records as well.” Articord responded in a half-genuine shock, as a single hand went to reinforce that notion, but ended up merely adding to the facetiousness of it all. “Would you care to request—”
“Yes.” I practically spat out, just as Articord turned to another second year student, this time some sort of a chitinous five-limbed mollusc; a member of the aesthetically lacking adjacencies, and thus trapped in an unfair state of disfavor. “Would you like to partake in another—”
“Let’s just be done with it.”
…
20 Minutes Later
I stood on wobbly legs, my sleeves entirely shorn, and my tunic half-burned off by a lucky shot of acid that very nearly reached my bare fur.
Yet I stood victorious all the same, the molluscoid kneeling… in their own strange way, once more leading to a series of claps from Articord to return.
“Prince—”
“Crystal, now. Please.” I huffed out, as Articord once more handed yet another memory shard.
I peered yet again, narrowing my gaze into the sights, witnessing sieges…
…
But without the cataclysmic spells I’d inferred from my request.
“Professor… Articord…” I spoke in utter exhaustion. “Where… where are the siege spells—”
“Oh! Siege spells! I assumed you merely wanted records of battle mages engaged in sieges.” She smiled a dumb, wide open grin engulfing her formerly sagely visage, as she tilted her head back, almost as if gasping for air in those unseemly cackles. “You should have been more specific!” She laughed… yet strangely, no one cared to join in on her antics. “Do you wish for—”
“No. We’re done.” I held back a yell, but the sentiments came forth all the same.
At which point… the entire room let out a series of half-muffled chuckles, as they all joined in on Articord’s ridiculous motions.
“What? What’s so funny—”
“Oh Prince Thalmin Havenbrock…” Articord managed out in between haggard breaths of her own. “You need only request, and refuse a fight!” She continued, prompting me to cock my head in confusion. “I did mention that it is a tradition, and that a spar is to be expected… in order… in order to… in order to prove one’s worthi… worthiness… hahahahahhahahah!” She was barely able to hold her own, as I witnessed a transformation of a cold hearted zealot… turn into a beast eerily reminiscent of the more down to earth Chiska. “Consid… consider this a hazing ritual of sorts. For future reference you may request anything you wish. It will be up to me, or the members of this society to grant said request. A fight is merely customary, or a means of gaining said requests through force.” Articord finally spoke through a series of teary laughs. “I will even grant you a ribbon for actually defeating two second years… that… that in and of itself is truly an achievement to be lauded.”