Chereads / Prince of Sentinels / Chapter 49 - Noble Fiend

Chapter 49 - Noble Fiend

"Ugh, be careful," Silas groaned as Marlene slowly peeled off a blood-stained patch. 

"Oh shut up," Marlene spat back before turning towards Calix. "And get me some more ointment. At this point, he's going to be infected before our matches tomorrow." 

Across his arms, thin but angry scratches marred his skin, etched by the desperate attempts of his opponents to seize control. A particularly deep gash adorned his left forearm, a deposition of the ferocity of his struggle. On his face, a bruise bloomed beneath one eye, vivid in its shades of purple and blue, a result of a well-placed blow during the skirmish.

As Marlene gingerly peels off a blood-stained patch, revealing a cluster of smaller cuts on Silas's chest, Silas grits his teeth once again. The other patches clung to his skin had been stained with the remnants of the battle's brutality. Though the wounds weren't life-threatening, the accumulation of cuts and bruises painted a picture of the toll taken on Silas's body during the intense fights.

Calix hurried to fetch more ointment, knowing that healing was a necessity for Silas to be at his best for the impending matches on the horizon. Yet, as soon as he reached the nurse's office, he was remembered as to why Silas didn't just go to the infirmary in the first place. 

The infirmary buzzed with activity as students filled its space, a testament to the intensity of the ongoing practice sessions and the imminent tournament that loomed on the horizon. The air was thick with a mixture of antiseptic and the subdued groans of those nursing their battle-inflicted injuries. Beds lined the walls, each occupied by a student seeking respite from the strains of combat training.

Nurses moved with practiced efficiency, attending to the wounded, applying ointments, and wrapping bandages around various injuries. The infirmary's white walls seemed to close in as students lay on cots, some in stoic silence, while others exchanged grimacing glances. The aroma of healing potions and steam-powered medical instruments filled the room, creating a sterilized atmosphere. 

Calix navigated through the crowded infirmary, weaving past the injured students who bore marks of their struggles. Each bed held a story of determination, as the pupils sought to mend their wounds and return to the battlefield.

"Uhhh… excuse me?" Calix asked a passing nurse. 

"Yes?" She responded, a drop of sweat sliding down her forehead while she gripped a vial of clear liquid in one hand and a needled syringe in the other. 

"Is there any general antibiotics? It's for a friend?" 

"Just… wait a moment," The woman scuffled to reach into her scrubs pocket lining and reach in before pulling out a small vial of green liquid sparkling with hints of golden dust. "Drip a few drops onto the patient's tongue and make sure they don't swallow it. Just let it dissolve on their tongue. And have them take it every other hour." 

"Thank you very much," Calix smiled, before grabbing the vial of liquid and quickly rushing back into the boy's dormitory. 

Upon arrival at Silas's room, he couldn't help but widen as his eyes as an imposing presence stood inside, towering over Silas and Marlene. Neither side made a move, but at the same time, they weren't hesitant to attack. 

"What do you want?" Calix asked, his eyes fixated on him. 

Victor Beaumont. However, Calix was quickly ignored and Victor's expression crumpled into a disgusted mess. 

"You stink of nobility," The boy muttered. 

"So do you," Silas replied, the gears in his forearm quickly whirling. 

"I didn't come here to fight," Victor muttered, keeping the same arrogant tone as before. "Did you really knock out Lucas?" 

"Maybe… why?" 

"I just wanted to thank you." 

"Huh?" Silas, Marlene, and Calix blurted out simultaneously. 

"I just hope you know now… he won't even lose again. You've created a monster and I hope your creation doesn't destroy everything I've built up." 

"So you want me to take responsibility ahead of time?" Silas lightly chuckled. 

"I never said such a thing," Victor replied, his footsteps gliding through the room and his burly body shoving Calix to the side. "Oh, and good luck tomorrow. I hope we'll be able to fight." 

All of a sudden, he grabbed the vial out of Calix's hand, and just as Calix attempted to retrieve it, the massive young boy's steam tech whirled. Squeezing out from the center of his left palm, three bright green drops slipped into the healing potion, causing the entire liquid body to shimmer with an almost angelic presence. 

"What did you do?" Calix snarled as the boy tossed the vial back to him, almost fumbling the catch. 

"I made it so he can fight tomorrow. I expect to face you on equal terms… you noble fiend." 

… 

Later that night, Silas was in his room, freshly showered, and changed into some clothes that hadn't been soaked with sweat and bathroom musk. Seeing as how he had nothing else to do, he grabbed a familiar journal off his work desk and decided to read another page. 

"I can't get used to the way this guy writes…" 

.

 Journal Entry - Log 2

 Date: 15th of the Obsidian Sun, Year 3100

 Subject: I've Become a Fiend for Some Cure

 The currents of misfortune have led me to the crossroads of peculiarity, where livelihood becomes entwined with the whims of jest and mirth. The tides of financial distress push me towards unconventional endeavors, and so it is that I find myself donning the garb of a clown in pursuit of a way to pay for a cure.

 With each step, the weight of desperation hangs heavy upon my shoulders, a burden that compels me to navigate the uncharted waters of absurdity. The marketplace becomes my stage, and the circus of commerce demands an unconventional performer. It is with a heavy heart and a painted smile that I throw myself into this carnival of peculiarity, donning a costume that belies the dire straits of my circumstances.

 The role of the clown, an unlikely protagonist in this peculiar drama, demands gestures of whimsy and movements steeped in absurdity. My limbs, once tasked with the precision of scholarly pursuits, now waltz to the rhythm of the ludicrous. The painted visage upon my countenance conceals not only my identity but the silent plea for financial respite that echoes within.

 The laughter that erupts from the onlookers forms a cacophony that drowns the internal discord, but only for a moment as my decaying flesh gnaws at my sanity once more. Beneath the shell of painted glee, a silent resolve persists. The boy who once sought answers to the mysteries of affliction now treads the delicate tightrope between laughter and lament, a modern-day jester in a world that demands spectacle even in the face of personal tribulation.

 As I dance in the spotlight of absurdity, I am reminded of my mother's words, whispered in the shadows of adversity. "Do not give up, for the day you do, you shall regret it." A somber mantra that resonates with new meaning as I navigate this whimsical circus, clinging to the hope that beneath the painted facade, there lies a pathway to brighter days.

Please… somebody save me from this hell.

.

"I would not want to talk to this guy… what the fuck…" Silas muttered. "Also, I guess he was a clown before dying at that circus… did he come to like the job?" 

Seeing as how there was no point in even questioning this, he flipped the page, hoping for some more answers, yet… parts of the page were ripped and even some sections seemed to have been smeared with ash, maybe charcoal.