*** Edward ***
First impressions can be deceiving.
That was my only thought after seeing His Grace return to the dojo and bend the students to his will in mere moments.
In that instance, he exuded all of the qualities of High King Cole- A domineering presence, a keen intellect, and a magical signature that caused all who felt it to tremble in both awe and fear.
In truth, I didn't know what to expect when I first heard the students practically rioting from the halls outside. I only knew that the profound moment of pride I was feeling from this opportunity being thrown before me had been rightly ruined.
His Grace, on the other hand, seemed as placid and indifferent as the moment I first met him in the library. I wasn't even sure he heard them in there screaming, in all honesty. But when he inquired High King Cole of the situation, it was like seeing a flip switch.
Like hearing a mute speak for the first time, rather than a peaceful person who'd been driven to anger. The cold indifference that I saw back in the library had been swapped with disgust, contempt, and annoyance mixed with what I felt was a bit of amusement. Or otherwise a dangerous cocktail of body language and emotions that caused the entire floor of students to grow nervously still.
In all honesty, I had no reason to take part in the duels; as I'd already decided to compete for the 'engineer' slot His Grace told us of, whatever that even was. At the same time though, a part of me felt that I had to test the unbridled arrogance displayed to me and everyone else who called this place home. Not by His Grace, of course. but by that of Jaimess A. Corey. The boy who'd always had a smarter-than-thou attitude.
And now that he returned, it seemed to have grown tenfold.
So I waited. And I watched with no surprise as Toril mopped the half dozen opponents who approached his ring without the aid of anything other than his body.
What I was surprised by, however, were his movements. Devastatingly quick and fluid they were, Toril gracefully redirected or countered his opponent's strikes before attacking their vitals or limbs without remorse. Their chins, necks, eyes, armpits, and groins were punched, elbowed, kicked, and kneed before they were either choked, knocked out had their joints locked in elaborate holds until they screamed bloody murder to end the match.
To almost no one's surprise, nearly half the class gathered around the ring when the bell toiled, signaling the start of Jaimess' contest. At which time, Jaimess did much the same to each and every one of them; including me. Only in a far more brutal fashion than Toril.
After four of the weaker students all entered and left the ring, I slid inside the domain and bounded forth on the balls of my feet up to an otherwise neutral Jaimess. He simply stared at me with those condescending eyes as I moved into range and threw out my right arm towards his jaw. As if were nothing, he took a single step back before parrying my arm; pushing it across my chest and turning me a bit off balance.
And before I could even react, my stomach imploded.
It felt like every organ in my torso had fallen into a vortex and regressed to its former state in just a single second. Sending overwhelming waves of nausea, vertigo, and sickness and spawning spotted blurs and stars to appear before Jaimess' knee pulling away from me. And then the world turned. A giant's hammer seemed to strike the entirety of my backside and I then found myself on the ground; watching a bruised fist fall towards my face, casting a dark shadow over the entire dojo with the passing of each slowed second.
Then, darkness.
I awoke on the sidelines not long after to hear the sound of the tolling bell.
Ruefully, I staggered to a seated position to see Jaimess curtly leaving the ring before I assessed the bruises that'd formed all over my body. Meanwhile, the girl; innocent and petite she looked, waltzed into the ring with not a care in the world.
And what followed next was as traumatizing as it was incredible.
Given her frame, it was easy to guess that those were traits that many of the students seemed all too eager to exploit. Driven by greed and a lust for a higher status, boys and girls of varying levels of strength crowded and practically fought each other around the ring before the bell tolled.
The one who broke through was around the middle tiers of strength among the 1 percent of our class. The queen bee, most popular and self-proclaimed prettiest, Monica Woodrow.
The girl- His Grace's vassal, idly watched and hardly listened to Monica approaching with some misplaced apology and wild justification about why she deserved to serve His Grace. Conversely, the girl resolutely ignored her until she stepped into range, at which time she suddenly threw out a roundhouse towards Monica's ribs.
Monica reacted in an instant by quickly settling into her guard, bracing herself to easily catch the attack and hold the leg in place under her arm; causing a rise in excitement from the gaggle of students surrounding them before the girl suddenly jumped, twisted, and brought her remaining leg around in a wide arc. Driving her heel against the back of Monica's skull with a loud smack.
Monica's head rocked forth after the impact, teetering her forward onto her knees as her opponent finished her spin and came to a graceful landing to her side.
Without delay, the girl mounted Monica and began raining fists down onto the face she was so proud of. Relentlessly, repeatedly, the sounds of grunts, feral screams, and flesh smacking against bony flesh radiated from the ring as the girl continued her beating.
In desperation, Monica threw out her arms to claw or grab her opponent, but the girl simply took hold of her wrist and wrapped her legs around Monica's body before she violently leaned back.
Causing a bloodcurdling crack to pierce the air, followed by a horrid scream.
In the last act, the girl brought her knee to her chest before she slammed her foot down on Monica's jaw, finally knocking her unconscious.
Without so much as a deep breath, the slim, unassuming girl threw aside Monica's crooked limb and returned to her feet to stare at the circle of horrified students. And for the remainder of the four minutes and fifty or so seconds of her contest, not a single student dared approach her.
Up on stage, High King Cole had been bursting at the seams with laughter the entire time; yet it didn't give way until after the bell sounded. When the iconic, boisterous howl echoed alongside the dull tone and continued long after it stopped. Even after his laughter had ceased, his face remained split in an ear-to-ear grin and remained as such as he rose from his seat and gave His Grace a few firm pats on the back that nearly toppled His Grace over.
Causing him to throw a visible scowl towards the Necro King as the former approached the edge of the stage and bellowed. "I don't know whether to be immensely proud of my great-grandson or ashamed of you all." He paused to chuckle a bit softer; a bit more contemptuously. "Each of the Grand Duke's vassals has just beaten you all without the aid of any magic or elemental manipulation whatsoever. All of you." He cackled. "Many of you may be unaware of this." He leaned forth over the edge of the stage, exuding his towering presence on the lot of us from wherever we were seated. "But, the Grand Duke, Amun of Odissi is self-taught in the art of martial combat. And Toril, Jaimess and Jonet." He gestured over his shoulder. "Have been receiving training from the Grand Duke himself for the last five years."
'Wait!' I recoiled in shock. 'His Grace trained them!?!'
I wouldn't have believed the top students in the class had all lost in such a brutal fashion if I hadn't just witnessed it myself. But to think that what I saw were the results of the Grand Duke's tutelage was simply too much to comprehend. Knowing or doing something on your own was one thing, teaching it to another was something else entirely. And the fact that we were the same age made it almost impossible to believe.
Even being the Necro King's great-grandson, I felt as if there was no possible way that a ten-year-old could be that prodigious with fighting. Powerful magic was almost a certainty regarding royalty, but martial prowess was another matter entirely, I was positive of that.
"There is more to life than fighting." His Grace declared from his seat, ripping my concentration away from my newfound trauma. "It is important, yes." He nodded. "But so too are the builders, the crafters, the teachers, the farmers, and all the other people who strive to keep our society running the way that it does. The guild I will one day create will be much the same. I will need people skilled in all facets of society. For without those people, the ones who march into battle will have no food to eat, no armor to don, and no weapons to swing. Most importantly, they'll have no culture to take pride in and no home to protect; much less to return to.
"A soldier without these things is no different than a mercenary or a bandit." He declared with a cold sneer. "Understood?"
Y- yes, Your Grace." Everyone; and I, muttered in shock.