Lightning boy screamed like a maniac, pushing his lungs to the limit. His hands covered in energy. Enough to kill someone his age.
Greg didn't need much to dodge the attack. Children were smaller than adults and therefore less agile. However, Greg trained every day, his agility and knowledge were unusual for someone only eight years old.
Langor's hands, the lightning boy, hit the ground, dissipating the energy completely. He was full of rage, it was amazing for someone so young to have so much hate in his heart.
"Do you think it's funny to humiliate me?! You have no idea who I am!"
"And I don't even want to know."
Langor's face was already boiling and turning red. If they put an egg on his head, he would definitely fry it. He yelled for his henchmen to go after Greg and they went.
Greg just released Ventus, knocking each of them to the ground. Warthon and his sister hadn't gone on the attack and were watching, impressed by the boy's control over magic. A commoner, ending every one of the nobles present there.
Vazor, one of the boys who had been caught by wind magic, pulled a small knife from his waistband. He looked the same as Langor. Everyone should be copper wizards at best, just like Greg. He remembered the goal he'd created in his own head to achieve silver-level mana control at age ten, before age twelve, where silver mages were more likely to show up.
The boy cut the air in Greg's direction, but he dodged. He cut again, and again, and again, but Greg dodged each time. This was irritating him. Vazor nodded. Distracted by the knife thrusts, Greg forgot that Langor was right behind him, being greeted by a powerful electrical charge.
As he fell to the ground grunting in pain, he could see the smiles on each of their faces. He knew that kind of smile all too well, the smile of bitter and empty people. Just like a certain person.
No matter the world, people remained the same. Elves and humans surrounded by so much prejudice towards each other, but here at that moment, united only to beat up two common children.
Who would care about a homeless boy? Or for a peasant like Gregorios? It definitely wouldn't be them, or anyone else in this town. Status is everything when it comes to Vigiland. Or you are born at the top and stay at the top. Or you are born at rock bottom and stay at rock bottom.
But not Greg. In the midst of kicks and punches, in the midst of blood slowly running down his bruised head, in the wounds opened by Vazor's knife, he promised to change all that. He would shake the magical community of Vigiland and break the prejudice that surrounded the mages of the poorest families.
Vazor would deliver the final blow, but was stopped by Langor. The boy formed lightning bolts in his hands and aimed to hit Greg in the back. Enough electrical discharge to kill an adult, a child would die easily and quickly. About to fire, Hion, the boy who had been beaten earlier, pushed Langor aside, causing him to miss the bolts that hit the wall of an adjacent house.
"You don't know when to stop, do you?! I'll teach you another lesson, you filthy one!" He said angrily, Langor's eyes practically bulging with anger. He and Warthon dragged Hion to the same spot where he had been dropped earlier.
"What about the long-haired boy?" Vazor asked.
"Make sure he never wakes up."
"With pleasure." Vazor smiled evilly. So much malice in such a small heart. Greg had understood why, the boy had no control over his mana. Hewas useless to the nobles who conceived him, that was how the world of Hyorvan worked.
The knife came down with speed and precision. An even movement between the object and the arm of the boy holding it. On the way down, close to hitting Greg on the head and ending his not-so-long life yet again, Greg grabbed the boy's arm with both hands, squirming and putting his foot on the chest of Vazor who looked surprised to have been prevented from carrying out his attack. In moments, he was on the ground and Greg was on his feet. Gregorios forced the boy to fall forward with his arms, catching him with his foot before knocking him down.
The two girls, Bella and Nunbe, cast their respective spells. Bella cast a fire spell, which was easily countered by Greg's water spell.
"Is he a double magic mage?!" She asked herself in shock.
Nunbe cast the wind spell. Greg dodged out of the gale, somersaulting to the side where Vazor lay. He cast fire magic that traveled a short, narrow path to reach Nunbe. Her hair started to catch fire, she screamed incessantly because the pain was unbearable.
Greg used Aqua to put out the fire that consumed much of the girl's golden hair. She was in total shock. He turned his head to face Bella with cold, piercing eyes. The elf fell to the ground, completely shivering. Not a double magic mage, but a triple magic mage!
Greg didn't even have to use the rusty sword, as much as he thought it wouldn't do much, at best it would break the moment it collided with Vazor's knife.
Warthon had not yet awakened his magic, however much it was possible to feel the mana flow through his body. There were many stagnations that made it impossible for him to use magic at the moment, but with training he would definitely unlock magic soon. He didn't even have time to react when Greg flew with his legs over his face, sinking his feet into the elf's round cheeks. Warthon fell to the ground completely still.
"You…!" Langor growled, turning to face Greg wielding Vazor's knife.
He fired blasts of energy frantically, as if pride and noble status had been tarnished by failing to kill a simple fifth-rate boy. Greg avoided all the bolts without much difficulty, they all had a pattern, first Langor attacked twice from the left and once from the right before resting for two seconds.
Greg grabbed the knife by the blade, spun it and, with the magic of the wind, increased its speed as he hurled it, hitting the object in Langor's shoulder as Langor screamed desperately in pain. With an injured shoulder, he tried to unleash another blast of lightning, but it wasn't fast enough as Greg practically walked along with the air, taking a hard punch to the face.
He landed on the muddy floor of the water Greg had conjured moments earlier, soaking his white pants. Langor was about to say something when Greg punched him once more. And another, and one more. He punched Langor in the face until he could no longer open his mouth, and he did. The boy's face was covered in blood, broken teeth and black eyes.
Greg pointed his hand at Hion, who was lying on the floor, covered in bruises. The boy grabbed Greg's hand and was hauled to his feet. He only managed to say a 'thank you' before collapsing into Greg's arms from his injuries.
Gregorios ran to the potions shop alerting the old man to what had happened. Tharmin would never let anyone die like this, least of all a child that was his granddaughter's age, so they ran to the carriage. Greg looked down the alley beside the store and saw that they had already fled.
On the way to the Dernov residence, Felicia took care of Hion and Greg... well, he continued to read his book.
The boy wondered if it would be possible to repair such a rusty sword.