With no directives, Mikhail continued to lie on the warm ground. Getting up was a stressful endeavor, so he opted to passively regain his stamina for the time being.
"What, are you just going to stay here all day?" he heard Valeria say from nearby.
"I just might, honestly."
The young woman snorted at his honesty, but before she could say something else, Myles spoke up.
"There's better ways to spend the day, Mikhail. Allow us to assist you."
Mikhail was unsure by what he meant by that, but he quickly understood after a few seconds. He felt his body getting lifted gently, before the sound of leather soles shifting across the arid ground resounded out.
"Woah!"
Mikhail opened his eyes, feeling his body getting dropped to the ground feet first.
Pomf.
The landing was soft, but a sharp sting of pain briefly shot through his body.
He turned around to see that there was a ramp made of yellow stone where he had been laying down previously. The sight didn't last long though, as with the sound of a stomp, the ramp shot into the ground, swallowed up by the arid soil.
"Your prowess is quite exceptional, Mikhail. I've no doubt you'll reach our league in due time."
Turning back around, Mikhail found himself in a small crowd. Specifically, the crowd he had met properly for the first time today. The group of six young adults heralded as the top of this generation.
The group of hot-blooded individuals that thoroughly enjoyed facing off against the orcs. The man that spoke was Lirim, surprising Mikhail somewhat. Because… he sounded very, very different from before.
"Thank you for the praise, but what makes you so sure? And what's with the, uh… Mysterious tone of yours?"
Lirim smiled, but shook his head.
"Now now, don't get ahead of yourself. Just think, if I handed out the answer, how could you possibly pursue a pure, untainted path to power?"
The others in the group chuckled slightly as Lirim made the motion to stroke his long and flowing nonexistent beard.
Mikhail raised his eyebrow, causing Lirim to groan.
"Man, who knew the next genius of our generation would be so dry. I'm obviously joking! Come on, man!"
He could only scratch the back of his head in response. He wasn't exactly sure how Lirim was joking. Was this dry humor? Abstract humor? An inside joke? It certainly wasn't dark humor or anything laced with malicious undertones.
Well, it couldn't be dry humor, anyone familiar would be able to tell that much. Abstract humor? Couldn't anything count as abstract humor if a person was pedantic enough? Why even bother trying to use that label in the first place at that point?
In all likelihood, this was probably an inside joke. In which case, Lirim should've expected such a dry response, considering today was the first time they talked with each other in a proper conversation.
"Come on, you should know my status by now! Think for a second, how would the less driven see me?"
With Lirim's guidance, Mikhail quickly got in on the joke.
"Oooh, I get it now."
"Heh…"
Mikhail had to admit that such an introduction was mildly amusing now that he understood what Lirim was trying to do.
Though, the effect was subdued since it had already been a short while, not to mention the fact that he had to be subtly clued in on why this joke was funny to them in the first place.
"Anyway, I hate for our chat to be so brief, but I have to go to work. Talk to you later, rookie."
Lirim began walking away towards one of the many unpaved roads leading into the populated areas of the tribe.
"I've also got work to do. Mikhail, keep up the good work."
Myles followed suit, and Mikhail responded with a simple nod.
"Same here, my friends. I'll see you all another time."
Amir left next, and Mikhail returned his wave with one of his own and a smile that didn't extend to his eyes. That guy pissed him off a little… Even if he meant well.
"See you tomorrow," Lily said before walking away as well.
"Peace," Valeria said before following suit.
Azalea didn't offer a verbal farewell, but silently mimicked the gesture she had seen him do towards the orcs.Two fingers to the forehead followed by the flick of her wrist.
And then, she too walked off, leaving Mikhail on his own amidst a quickly dispersing crowd.
He was now free to go back home and take a much needed nap. But first, of course, he had to go put the spear he used back.
It had been thrown away pretty far, so he went over as the chatter of the young adults and older adolescents grew farther and farther.
As he used the spear as a walking stick, Mikhail couldn't help but think of how Atticus had magically mended the wood, somehow. It was strange, because it looked as if he was weaving the wood back together.
He also had another thought, one that he muttered out loud in English without thinking.
"God I'm in so much pain… This blows."
About halfway there, a familiar face walked up to greet him.
"You alright there, dude?" Tybalt asked as he eyed the bruised and battered Mikhail from head to toe.
"...Barely. You mind lending me a hand?"
Tybalt sighed.
"Yeah, sure," he said while wrapping Mikhail's arm over his shoulder. It took a little bit, but the two quickly gathered their bearings, allowing Mikhail to walk forward with much less strain than before.
"You know, with the way you look right now, I don't think anybody would suspect you're one of the infamous Scourgeborn…"
Mikhail gave him a look through the side of his eye.
"Scourgeborn this, Scourgeborn that… I really couldn't give less of a shit about that, dude. I'm just trying to patch up my problem with my Cerebral Core…"