Suris
Fifth of the Seventh
Twentieth of the Sixth
85 FA
Upon a vast expanse of orange sand, a city with great walls stood in defiance to the objections of the desert which hosted it. Inside that city was a massive structure made of stone, circular in shape. It was not the greatest construction which stood upon this city, however today it was brimming with far more moving parts than those around it.
"Walker 248, do you plan to do nothing?"
The voice which spoke was deep, its tone indifferent. Its owner was a tall man with copper skin, cladded in gray robes and wore a soft fabric which wrapped around his face, exposing only his brown eyes. Facing him was a much younger youth.
The youth was considerably shorter, his skin much paler, and he possessed shortly trimmed black hair and unique red eyes. Those scarlet vessels were currently attempting to conceal obvious resentment. The man in gray robes did not take offence to that piercing glare, he knew that the youth's resentment was not directed at him but at the youth's own self.
The youth nodded.
"Sir Record Keeper, with all the respect within me, I must express to you my inability to complete this task. It has been almost a year of struggling with no success still, I harbor no more illusions of my abilities. Please accept my forfeit from this exercise."
The figure referred to as Record Keeper could only nod in acceptance.
"If such is your choice…"
Pity, he was once a promising product, a golden apple amongst the pile. Just when had it rotted?
Thinking such, the Record Keeper wrote upon his paper sheet then returned his gaze to the young man's red eyes.
"Walker 248, you have forfeited the given exercise. As such you stand no opportunity to win today's 1000 award points."
Saying nothing further the Record Keeper left the young man's side. The young man's red eyes followed the exiting figure's back for a few seconds. Only once he was certain that the Record Keeper would not hear him did the young man sigh.
Damn it all!
He thought bitterly. On his hand he grasped a thin pointed stick, embedded on its base was a red gem hosting a subtle glow. He stared at it with complicated feelings, then shifted away only after he felt gazes landing on him.
The young man was not alone upon this vast arena, instead he was but the starting part of a straight line which stretched onward from his side. Every five meters was another youth, cladded in the same battered gray pants and shirts as he was.
It was those closest to him that were currently staring his way, their expressions somewhat smug. Whilst he had failed before he even tried, they were different. Their gazes did not last long, beside them was another Record Keeper watching them intently.
Soon the staring youths returned to their task. The young man watched them do so with a frown.
The first to his right reached out a hand holding the same type of stick, he then opened his mouth and a foreign language rang forth.
"In front of me my enemies wait, before my eyes I ask that they become part of your dance as they are set in a glorious blaze, I Manifest thou, Fireball!"
The voice of the caster became layered upon itself, and the very act of speaking the foreign language was enough to visibly bestow pain. The youth's face contorted heavily but he had not failed…
Inside him, his Inner-Mana was stirred by his will, it sizzled forth, just barely kept in check by the youth's trembling body. The youth felt his body grow hot, and a sensation akin to steam pressure pressing upon his every organ, bone, and inner muscles assaulted him.
If he was not careful enough, then the chains placed upon them by his will would be shattered and then the Inner-Mana would shoot outwards in all directions, like an unstoppable river current. Perhaps only pieces of his flesh would be left then.
A cold sweat covered the youth's entire back, but he somehow managed to direct the warm power into his hands, then outside his fingers and into the red gem upon his wand. The red gem suddenly began glowing intensely.
He had done it! Now only one step remained. He stretched out his arm more, clumsily attempting to aim it upon the distant wooden target a few dozen meters away. A small fireball formed then shot forward.
Boom!
It landed upon the stone walls of the massive arena, completely missing the target ahead. Seeing this the figure, who was already way beyond their limit, paled and turned with trepidation to the Record Keeper.
"Is this the limit of your day's practice? You may have done better than Walker 248, but you are far from being a successful product yourself Walker 247… 108 points…"
The youth's face fell and he nodded grimly.
Hah! Serves you right!
Staring upon this the young man with crimson eyes wanted to laugh but held his tongue. Soon three to his left and five more figures much farther to his right attempted the same thing, their success rate varying. It was only after the immediate Record Keepers left that the figure from before turned to him, his eyes filled with fury.
"Wipe that ugly grin from your face Walker 248! At least I can use magic unlike you, this stage's biggest failure!"
The crimson eyed youth scoffed then pointed with his thumb behind him.
"Oh yeah? Then why are there three Walkers ranked behind me? I have yet to ever gain points on any magic exercises and yet here I stand to your side. Careful maybe I will overtake you in this next Battle-Grade Day."
The figure ahead of him scoffed.
"As if! And even if you do, what does it matter huh? Haven't you realized how bad our situation is? If the next Battle-Grade Day arrives and I have yet to skyrocket to the Dagger Rank, then I'm as good as dead. At least it's still a possibility for me, but for you? Hah for someone who can't use magic, It's pointless. You are truly a dead man walking…"
The young figure chuckled hatefully. The crimson eyed youth clenched his fists but he did not say anything back. He knew it best of course, just how dire and hopeless his situation was.
Here within the third stage of the Sounra Kingdom's Slave Army Training Role, only death awaited someone like him. A slave born without the ability to wield magic.
Such was his approaching fate.
Suppressing the dread which crept up his heart, the crimson eyed youth shifted his focus away completely. By now the sun was already nearing the horizon, soon today's exercise would be over. They had spent the entire day simply practicing the manipulation of Inner-Mana within their bodies. A standard routine, however for slaves of the Walker Rank, such tasks were more grueling upon the body.
And for the crimson eyed youth, it was a day full of despair. Many near his rank struggled considerably compared to the top ranked slaves, however what they failed in was adequate control of their Inner-Mana, he on the other hand, failed to even sense his Inner-Mana.
At the end of those days, they would be tested. The goal being to fire forth five spells. Each successful shot was 100 points, then performance would grant the following 500 points. The young boy sighed again. His eyes turned to the far corner of the arena. There the best of them began their own compilation of the daily exercise.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
In the distance, fireballs, earth rocks, and water streams, all shot forth. Some missed the target, others lacked strength upon their conjured element; however those in the opposite corner of him, where the top ten slaves practiced their arts, no visible error could be found by any observer.
The young boy felt especially envious of their skills, that feeling only made his own self loathing more vigorous. He was forced to endure those upheavals of emotions for a few dozen more minutes until finally, the sun disappeared and the testing ended.