The Wielder of Death Magic

“Gather-up everyone,” yelled Mr. Fletcher with a single breath. They scrambled over to stand with chatter. Many of the conversations were to do with the trader’s guild. They joked about it never finding glory and being scammers.

“I bet he joined the guild because of her breast.”

“Yeah, I know – he felt bad for the lady and decided to help. What a shame.”

“Not really, he’s scrawny, he’d be more of a burden than an asset.”

“Could you guys kindly shut up,” said the boy wearing glasses, “-I care not for the opinions of fleas.”

“What’s wrong with you?” laughed the host of the inconsequential chatter, “-are you the serious type who can’t take a joke?” As annoying as a mosquito doing circles around one’s ears during sleep, Fletcher’s right-eye narrowed, the blood pulsed to greatly show his vein on the forehead.

.....

*Clap, clap,* the murmuring drop to silence. “Didn’t you hear to remain quiet?” The innocent smile flashing across the visage was tantamount to staring at a demon.

“Good,” said he now calmed, “-next we’re going to assign guild tags.” The double-doors at the back opened to blaze the dim interior. Guild-people in their respective outfits stood with white gloves and hardened expression.

“Alright boys and girls,” he waltzed to the front, “-we’re heading to the battle-arena. Now’s the time to show off any skill thee have. Don’t forget, merit and strength gets one far in life.”

‘Are they that excited for battle?’ thought Igna stood at the back of the line. ‘Look at him showing off that sword. Does he not realize it’s a weapon?’ the line moved at a slow pace, ‘-and him, bragging about slaying a goblin. Is battle that exciting?’ *thud,* ‘-not now,’ quick to hide his mouth, the lady noticed.

“Are you ok?” asked Melisa.

“I’m fine,” came the muffled words between the fingers.

“Look, the trader is getting cold feet,” said the same pest of a boy. The large figure, short hair cut unprofessionally, pimples, and scars of acne riddled the cheeks towards the chin. He would often smile and show yellowish teeth accompanied by a bad-breath.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“Face the line,” voiced the lady angrily.

“Sorry ma’am,” he obeyed without remorse. Why would he care since the damage was done?

“Igna are you ok? I won’t put it pass to have the traumatic experience of the battlefield come forth.” Her reason for concern was due to how he had hidden his mouth. Slightly bend with the brows frowned as if to puke.

‘What do they know,’ he squinted forth, ‘-my teeth are getting sharper. Why does it have to happen to me.’

“Hey, hey,” she patted his back, “-are you ok?”

“Excuse me lady Melisa,” droplets of blood fell to the floor, “-I’ll head to the washroom.”

“Sure, sure, go, I’ll call on the nurse.”

“NO!” to which he sprinted back inside and made for the restroom.

In the following minutes, the classroom arrived at the battle-arena. A coliseum made to resemble those in the scripts of the gods. Circular and gradually inclined to allow more seats – the add of modernness with the comfortable spaces, a holographic screen at the center. A podium laid close to the seats and held many o’ strange figures. The battle-ground itself was filled with cages and supervisors. Medical tents were spotted between the hallway leading inside.

“Wait here,” ordered Mr. Fletcher who soon walked to speak with another.

“I’ll head to the podium – be on your best behavior. It’s not unheard of to have people die on the very first guild assessment,” the warmly Melisa vanished into the ever-stretching passages.

‘Come on, go back in,’ panic set-in, Igna sat on a toilet with hands shaking. The canines and thirst grew to the point of nausea. He hurled a few times as the clock ticked. *thud,* ‘-finally,’ the stall opened with a click. The plain-white shirt was stained in blood and turned reddish-brown.

“Are you feeling better?” the door opened to a lady who stood with crossed-arms.

“Yes,” he smiled and faced the ground, “-just a side-effect of not eating I suppose.”

“Is that so,” she sustained the ‘o’ as means to imply of another matter.

“Yes, that’s so,” he returned with the same sustain on the ‘o’.

“If you can make jokes, then let’s return to the battle-arena. Down the hill and into the main entrance, the echoes of the orders given resounded inside. The students stood in lines and faced the podium.

“It’s ok, go,” she tapped his back and waved at the speaker. The latter frowned and continued.

“Listen up, the time for evaluation has come. Combat will be included; this will give a vague idea to the Instructors on what to teach. Guild Tags will be assigned shortly after. Make sure to not die,” the veil lifted over the boxes scattered around. Metal cages with goblins and wolves in a weakened almost hypnotic state.

“Without wasting time, each student will fight in groups of five. Since we have 15, please split according to your row. From first to last, you’ll be Team A, B, and C. I’ll give five minutes to elect a leader.” Introductions followed shortly after. This time, the lines were mixed with boys and girls unlike earlier.

“Hello everyone,” each group formed their clique, “-I’m Rena,” said a girl with medium bright-blue colored hair tied in a middle-bun. Sharp nose, fierce eyes, and a darker-skin complexion with a beauty mark under her right eye. “I’m a sword user,” said she confidently.

“My turn,” said the boy with glasses. Dark-brown hair, a stoic expression with a solid mustache and goatee. “I’m Leonard, a magic-user.”

“Hello, I’m Jen,” smiled a very tranquil girl, “-I’m a trainee-blacksmith. I was trained in the ways of marksmanship, bow, guns, anything that shoots, I’ll take.” Compared to Rena, her eyes were smaller, the black hair was tied in a pony-tail leaving bangs covering her forehead. Her nose was round and small, the lips were gentle and always smiling.

“Lampard,” came the abrupt voice of a taller man. He stood beyond the average of the class, dark-skin-complexion, very well-defined body structure as well as facial features. The muddied short hair complimented his weapon, “-a spear user. Leave the attacking to me,” he said proudly.

Last came the one who had caught the attention of a few in not a good way. “Lyoko Igna,” said he without adding much. The response was mixed, the girls stared with suspicion while the boys smiled almost sympathetically.

“Well met, Igna,” said Lampard giving a handshake.

“Likewise,” he reached and, *slap,* “-don’t you dare,” laughed Rena, “-no one has the right to shake the hand of the next Platinum Adventurer, especially a weakling.” Leonard couldn’t careless, Jen kept her listless smile.

‘Idiots,’ mumbled Igna quietly watching as the group formed around four members. They discussed strategies with Lampard being the loudest. Soon after, the five minutes was given an extension of twenty-five more. Group C assigned Lampard as the leader.

“Hey boy, aren’t you going to meet with your group?” wondered a man in smithing attire.

“Not really,” he replied, “-they rather not let a weakling get in their way.”

“Must be harsh,” returned he with arms crossed, “-listen, being weak isn’t a shame. Look at me, and look at the people up there, we all started small and became big. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Thanks for saying so,” he nodded courteously.

“You have manners,” he laughed, “-come on, take a pick, I see you don’t have a weapon.”

“How?” he shrugged, “-I don’t know anything about swords and weapons. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to swing one around.”

“Listen, kid,” the hand slammed atop the table, “-no one likes a weakling. However, people respect a weakling who tries his best. Don’t think one is weak, think of how to become better. And for a sword or weapon – tis the only partner that mustn’t fail you in battle. Even if the world turns against you, the weapon will be by your side. Don’t think, feel it.”

‘Feel the weapon.’ It made sense in some twisted way. The table laid with multiple-sword: short-sword, long-sword, great-sword, and a particular one with a slightly curved body. ‘So slender and curved, it reminds me of lady Misna.’

“What are you doing here?”

“Jen,” startled by her appearance, “-nothing much,” he shuffled back, “-looking for a weapon I suppose.”

“A weapon?” she stood on her toe to peer above his shoulder, “-I thought you didn’t want to fight, what’s the deal?”

“I don’t know really,” a grin followed,”-just thought I’d get something to guard myself. You know, we don’t really know what could happen.”

“What of it, have you picked one?”

“Yes,” he stared the smith, “-this one gave me a feeling of want.”

“The curved blade, I see,” he stood proudly with arms on the hips, “-the one who first introduce it name it Phia for some god-damned reason. It’s a good choice, not a starter blade exactly but a good choice nonetheless.”

“Phia,” thought she casually gawking.

“Jen,” said he.

“Yes?” her movements seemed a little drunkard.

“Why are you not with the others?”

“Don’t know, I felt bored and tired of talking to Lampard. The Rena girl is as annoying as him I think.”

“Don’t you have any filters?”

“Obviously not,” she laughed, “-people hate how frank I am. Well, I guess that would go the same for you.”

“No actually,” he returned with sincerity, “-frankness is the best way to make an ally.”

“Ohhh,” her head tilted as if a confused puppy, “-that’s interesting,” the monotonous tone could have said otherwise, -well then, Igna, I’m happy to be your first friend.”

“You really don’t have a filter,” the last comment hurt a little, “-thank you for the offer. I appreciate it, first friend,” they both laughed at the absurdity.

“What’s with the two of them?” inquired Rena harshly.

“No idea,” mumbled Lampard staring at a student on the other team, a girl with green hair and blue eyes.

Over yonder on the podium, lady Haru sat with legs crossed. “Melisa, are you sure that’s the boy?”

“Yeah,” replied she, “-he gives off a certain aura that’s very much like that man.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she smiled, “-how he speaks is peculiar too. I can’t help but wonder if our prayers have been answered. Let’s not get our hopes up, this can still be a massive misunderstanding. After five long years, desperation can make one blind to reality.”

‘I would argue that,” snarled the guild-lady softly.

‘I wonder if he really is the man I think he is. That boy looks identical to the king, well, before he turned into a vampire. He doesn’t recognize me and doesn’t seem to remember anything. Are perhaps the words of Lady Courtney real? She said with certainty that he was alive. If that’s true, I rather keep him here. It might be selfish. King or not, that boy is named Lyoko Igna, a person unbound by the responsibility of leading a nation. If he finds bliss here, then who am I to interject. Igna, if you vow to become a trader, then I’ll vow to make sure the identity remains a secret. If fate wishes you to return, then I shall do so, however, for now, thee art but a teenager. Grow and show me what is to come.’

“Everyone line up,” yelled Fletcher once more. “Group A will go first, second Group B, and lastly Group C. I see a few took the liberty of speaking with our smith. Good thinking, a weapon is crucial for this exercise. Group A, remain on the field. The rest of you, have a seat,” he gestured aggressively as if to push away flies.