Chereads / Guns & magic / Chapter 2 - Ch2: Alaric Vargas.

Chapter 2 - Ch2: Alaric Vargas.

In the grand kingdom of Mythoria, where magic was the essence of life and the measure of a person's worth, an internal rot festered—one no one dared to speak of aloud. This silent curse was rooted in the elusive gift of magical talent, or more precisely, an individual's ability to command mana.

In Mythoria, mana talent varied from person to person. It was a fixed trait, determined at birth, and it dictated the heights of power one could achieve. The society of Mythoria was starkly divided by this invisible hand of fate. Those born with high mana talent ascended to the ranks of nobility, enjoying the luxuries and influence that came with it. Conversely, those with lesser talent led simpler, mundane lives, often overlooked but living in relative peace.

At least, that was how it should have been. In reality, the absence of any restraints led to rampant abuse of power. Favoritism and corruption were rife, making life unfairly difficult for many. This unchecked imbalance was tolerable, however, compared to the cruel fate that awaited those born into noble families without the expected high mana talent.

For these unfortunate souls, life was a relentless torment. Their lack of talent was discovered at the tender age of five, and from that moment, they were shunned by their own families. Society turned their existence into a public mockery, a cruel joke that everyone laughed at but no one tried to understand.

One such individual was Alaric Vargas, the second son of Count Vargas. Alaric was born into a life of privilege, but fate dealt him a harsh hand. Unlike many in his situation who either wasted away trying to prove their worth or withdrew into isolation, Alaric chose a different path. He didn't care about his condition. He lived a life marked by carefreeness and selfishness, not because he was inherently that way, but because he learned early on that no one, not even his family, cared for him.

In the Vargas household, Alaric was an outcast. He often had to steal food from his own home because the servants, who saw him as beneath them, would take his meals for themselves. His siblings, relishing in their superior magical abilities, would cast spells on him for amusement, leaving him powerless to retaliate. Alaric's mana talent was pitifully low, barely enough to manifest the most basic of spells.

Despite this, Alaric mastered an art that required no magic but was devastating in its impact—the art of emotional damage. He had an uncanny talent for understanding and exploiting the emotional vulnerabilities of others. This talent first became apparent when a nobleman publicly humiliated twelve-year-old Alaric for his lack of magical prowess despite his noble blood. Alaric, unfazed, retaliated with such a barrage of cruel and precise insults that the man broke down in tears, collapsing into a fetal position in the middle of a grand ball.

Though Alaric was punished for this outburst—left to spend two nights alone in the garden, exposed to the elements—he deemed it worth every moment of discomfort. The satisfaction of bringing down a haughty noble with nothing but his words was a small but significant victory.

---

"Alaric, you must understand your place," his father, Count Vargas, had once said, his tone laced with disdain. "You are a disgrace to our name."

Alaric's eyes had met his father's with a mix of defiance and indifference. "My place? My place is wherever I decide it to be, Father," he had replied coldly. "And if you think I'm a disgrace, perhaps you should reconsider what kind of man you are, raising a son like me."

The count's face had turned a deep shade of red, but he said nothing. The truth in Alaric's words stung more than any physical blow could.

---

The years passed, and Alaric honed his skills in emotional warfare, using his sharp tongue and keen perception to navigate the treacherous waters of noble society. He remained an outcast, but he was a formidable one, someone who could not be easily dismissed or ignored.

One evening, during a lavish banquet in the Vargas estate, Alaric observed the proceedings from a secluded corner, his eyes scanning the room. Nobles mingled, their laughter and conversations creating a cacophony of false pleasantries and hidden agendas.

Lady Seraphine, a noblewoman known for her sharp wit and even sharper tongue, approached Alaric, her eyes glittering with mischief. "Alaric, dear, how do you find the party?" she asked, her voice dripping with condescension.

Alaric smiled, a cold, calculating smile. "Lady Seraphine, the party is a splendid display of how shallow and petty our society can be," he replied smoothly. "Much like yourself, I must say. Always present, but never truly significant."

Seraphine's face paled, and she opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. She turned on her heel and hurried away, her humiliation evident. Alaric watched her go, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

---

Despite his outward bravado, there were moments when Alaric felt the weight of his isolation. In the stillness of the night, when the world was quiet, he would sit by his window, staring at the stars, and wonder if there was more to life than this endless cycle of bitterness and retribution.

"Why must I be the way I am?" he often pondered, his thoughts a mix of anger and sorrow. "Why must I suffer for something beyond my control?"

But these moments of introspection were fleeting. The world had shown him no mercy, and so he resolved to show none in return. He would carve his place in this unforgiving society, not with magic, but with the only weapon he possessed—his sharp mind and sharper tongue.

---

One day, while wandering the halls of the Vargas estate, Alaric overheard a conversation between his father and a visiting noble, Lord Duncan.

"Count Vargas," Lord Duncan was saying, "I hear your second son is quite the... anomaly."

The count sighed heavily. "Alaric is a disappointment, a stain on our family name. His lack of magical talent is a curse we must bear."

Alaric, hidden in the shadows, felt a familiar sting of rejection. But instead of retreating, he stepped forward, making his presence known.

"Lord Duncan," Alaric greeted, his voice steady. "I see you've heard of my 'curse.'"

Lord Duncan turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Alaric, is it?"

"Indeed," Alaric replied, his gaze unwavering. "And while my magical talent may be lacking, I assure you, I possess other qualities that are far more... entertaining."

Lord Duncan chuckled, intrigued. "Is that so? Pray, tell me more."

Alaric smiled, the same cold, calculating smile that had become his trademark. "Let's just say, my lord, that I have a unique talent for making people see the truth about themselves. Whether they like it or not."

---

As the days turned into months, Alaric's reputation as a master of emotional manipulation grew. He became a figure both feared and respected, a constant reminder that power came in many forms. Despite the scorn and derision he faced, he held his head high, knowing that he had carved out a place for himself in a world that had tried to break him.

And so, with resolve in his heart and a sharp tongue at the ready, Alaric Vargas prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead. For in a world where magic ruled supreme, it would be his wits, not his mana, that would determine his destiny.