Magekiller: From The World of Theria

Wednesday, September 4th, 996 ABE

“Where’s Ulfric, anyhow? If it's so important, he could’ve come himself.” Roy sat with a cup of tea on the patio of a restaurant on the academy’s campus. “Not very lavish of him,” he noted, grooming his hair with a gold-laden comb. He was sparkling from head to toe, with little expensive jewels shining on an otherwise generic school uniform. That was the kind of person Roy Hirsch was.

It’s a pain in the ass, Kal thought, normally Ulfric is the one that deals with this nut. “Ulfric is away on important business,” he lied. In contrast to Roy, Kal Lightswift, the so-called prodigy of the Western blade, wore a casual and cheap outfit. Dress pants and a button-up shirt. He was used to ruining his outfits, and so didn’t usually spare money on expensive ones. Unlike Roy, he didn’t consider himself lavish.

“Always something important,” Roy noted. “What could he be doing that’s more important than raiding House Adler?”

“Keep your voice down,” Kal cringed. “Please.”

“Right. You didn’t answer my question,” Roy said, uncaring. “A lavish gentleman has better things to do than wait around for him.”

Too busy sexually harassing women around campus, Kal thought. “Ulfric will be with us. The question is whether you can perform the job.”

“And if I’m getting cold feet?” Roy snorted, combing his hair still. He watched himself in a small pocket-sized mirror he’d set on the table.

Kal wasn’t sure he’d ever met someone more self centred and cocky. Roy Hirsch, the son of a minor noble family, acted more lavishly than even the higher nobles. He only worked with Ulfric for the purpose of elevating his family to a higher position. Kal knew Ulfric well, and was fairly certain his friend had no intent on honouring that proposal. Perhaps if Roy was reasonable, or at all likeable, it would’ve been different.

“Aren’t you doing this for your family?” Kal reminded him. “One more noble house gone is one more spot you can move up. We need your skills.”

Roy smiled. “Hmmpf. You really know how to appeal to the ego. Luckily, it works for me.” His eyes were sparkling. “You’re right. You lot would all die in there without my spectacular skills, no doubt.”

“You’ll help?” Kal asked.

“I’ll help. I’m not doing it for you, lazy boy, don’t get it twisted.” Roy scoffed. “You and Ulfric really are two peas in a pod. You don’t even know where you are half of the time, and Ulfric is always busy finding his next murder victim–” He waved it off. “We’ll be lucky if we aren’t all dead by the time it's done.”

Kal tried not to show a reaction. Don’t take me for an airhead just because I’m lazy. I’ll kick your ass. “You keep that attitude? Yeah, I’m sure we will,” Kal snarked.

Roy sipped tea and rolled his eyes. “When you try to look dangerous, it doesn’t really do much for me,” he noted. “What is it that you even do around here, again? Ulfric is always out on his ‘important business’. What is it that you do?”

Kal narrowed his eyes. “Wanna find out, pretty boy?”

“Tsch. Not worth the time. Scuffling with each other is a thing for peasants, not a sophisticated gentleman.”

“Right.” Kal leaned back in his chair and tried not to look pissed off. Roy had a way of making people angry. Generally speaking, he was a horrific person to be around. Kal had no idea why Ulfric had decided to consider such a man an ally in the first place. There must’ve been a deeper plan at work, another secret Ulfric kept that Kal didn’t know of. If nothing else, Ulfric was a good secret keeper. He didn’t tell people things unless it was absolutely necessary. This, however, was one secret Kal could predict. Ulfric would never keep an annoying person around for the express purpose of fighting, let alone someone who was clearly their largest security liability. Trust the process, Kal thought.

“So? Was that all?” Roy wondered.

“Uh huh. And when the job is in progress, leave your door unlocked. We’ll find you there.”

“Pfft. You’ve got it.” Roy swept his hair back and stood up, winking at Kal and sauntering away, leaving the cup of tea half-full.

Ulfric, Kal thought. That one better be hiding something spectacular, or I’m going to be very disappointed.

* * *

Kal was supposed to be Ulfric’s right hand man, and yet he felt like he didn’t know anymore than the others did. The supposed spy on the student council was unknown to him, as was the supposed spy in the nobility. For all he knew, Ulfric bluffed even to them. Not to mention the source of the spells he embedded on his rings. Kal did know one thing the others didn’t, though, his true identity. He would greatly enjoy the day that was revealed to the world. No doubt the very foundations of society would shake.

Until then, he remained a cog. He did what he was told, unaware of the greater effects to his actions. One thing he never doubted was that Ulfric’s intelligence in general and in battle far surpassed his own. If the opponent was playing chess, then Ulfric would topple the chess board with an actual army. Brute force backed with failsafe after failsafe. With Ulfric, nothing was unaccounted for. Even if the raid on house Adler somehow went south, it would fall into the net of whatever other plan was running in the background.

Just do as you’re told. He’ll set the world right. That man… His fire won't be extinguished, not even if they kill him. A natural disaster of vengeance. Ever since Ulfric was a child, he’d been like that. Kick him down, beat him to a pulp, he’d come back stronger. Even in a world where the magicless were executed without reason, forced to live in slums and ghettos, raped and pillaged by the nobility on a whim. Ulfric had always told Kal he’d make it to Lancaster Academy and change the world. He’d done that much already, rushing in to take the centre of the world’s biggest stage. From here, the rest of the job was nothing.

As for Kal, he simply followed the words of his forefathers. His father, and especially his grandfather were great men with enough power to deny the majority. Lance Lightswift, his grandfather, was Theria’s supposed greatest swordsman to ever live, and the founder of the Lightswift style which he inherited. By Lance, Kal had been taught to not bother listening to the authority, and to carve a path of his own. A path where society wasn’t based on magical power was the one Kal had decided on. A path where the powerless were protected by those in power, not shunned and killed by them.

To do that, the thinkers and powerful of old times need to be annihilated. Even you, grandfather. Yes, ever since he was young, Kal had wanted to defeat his grandfather. The man who’d trained him and disowned him the moment he declared his own path. The man who saw no purpose in trifling with lessers. The man who sliced a mountain down the middle in the Eulerian Peninsula and fought toe to toe with Ryuma Hajimori. Theria’s S-ranked swordsman that not even the Dragon Guard could tame. Lance Lightswift.

Kal drew his sword and calmed his emotions. Unlike Ulfric, he obeyed the tenets faithfully. He recited a prayer in his head as he drew the blade, and repeated the tenets to himself under his breath. “Flow like water,” he said, swinging the blade in a perfect arc and bringing it around to swing in the other direction with a smoothness that seemed to make the movement invisible. “Deflect like a shield,” he said, two more swings. He thought about Ulfric as he trained, and as he did so he grew angry.

Calm. “Wield the blade without prejudice and emotional trifle,” he said. You are the prodigy of the Lightswift style. Without that, you’re nothing. Stay focused. He danced around a certain neglected corner of Lancaster Academy’s training ground. This was the place he came to clear his mind, or to exhaust any remaining energy after a short day. Sometimes he’d practise the sword, sometimes magic, sometimes both.

He eyed the sword-wielding golem on the other side of the training ground. It could be charged with magic and made to fight, but Kal found that it was largely useless beyond an intermediate level. To someone at his level, it served as nothing more than a rock to beat on with an almost comical amount of openings. He made a final swing and fell back, sitting on a rock at the side of the playing field. He huffed, raising a hand to summon water into his mouth quite clumsily, soaking his face in the process. Regardless, he appreciated cooling down.

Of the supposed five magic types, Kal could only use liquid and gas so far. In gas, he was far more proficient, and even mastered types of gas manipulation besides simple air, like flame and lightning. As for water, summoning a bit of it into his mouth was about as much as he could manage.

“Ah. I thought I might find you here.” A voice said.

Kal turned and saw the source of all of the problems. Ulfric swaggered into the training area wearing the usual academy uniform but without the jacket. His shirt was splattered with blood, but altogether he looked much cleaner than usual, mostly due to the eye he’d finally healed the other day. Ulfric had been missing an eye since Kal reunited with him at the academy, so it seemed strange to see him with both eyes open. “Are you enjoying having both eyes?” Kal wondered aloud.

“Sure. Though its not really a problem either way.” Ulfric said. He looked Kal up and down. “Training for the big day?”

Kal nodded. “You said that Roxanna Adler is something else. I want to be at the top of my game.” He paused. “The blood on your shirt…?” It wasn’t only that. Something about Ulfric felt different, like an aura of fear was emanating from him.

“My fun for the day,” Ulfric snorted. “Couple of students tried to jump me on the way here.”

Kal shivered. “And?”

“And I beat the snot out of them. What were you expecting me to say?”

“Dunno,” Kal admitted. Killed them? Tossed them in the dumpster out back?

Ulfric shot him a wry smile and took a seat to his right, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. His hair and shirt were still wet from the rain outside. One of the many benefits of having a vast indoor training area. As well, you somehow always managed to find an open space despite the finite size of the building. Magic, Kal thought, but he couldn’t explain it.

Ulfric sighed. “Should we spar? Having to keep this eye open for once is… Well. Let’s just say that the world is disorienting. I’d like to practise with it.”

Kal raised a brow. “You don’t have a sword, though.”

“That’s fine. I don’t need it.” Ulfric stood up and started stretching his arms. “Speaking of my swords…?

“In progress,” Kal said. “I won't fight you without them. You’ll die.” He stood and drew his blade. “I didn’t bring a training sword.”

“Don’t hold back. ‘Kay?” Ulfric finished stretching. Kal watched him with hawk-like eyes. Ulfric wasn’t cocky, it was just that he knew of his own superiority. He knew how to thoroughly diminish the confidence of his opponent before the bout even began. I know well of his mind games. I won’t be defeated by something so childish. If you wish to die today, then so be it.

“Very well.” Kal took two steps forward and swung perfectly straight down the middle. In theory, the speedy attack would’ve cut Ulfric in half height-wise, but it did no such thing. Ulfric gave a weak chuckle as he sidestepped the blade effortlessly like a boxer weaving around a punch. Kal panicked, quickly stabbing out with multiple pin-like strikes into the air. Nothing.

“Not bad,” Ulfric said. “Not good, either. Not as quick as Roxanna.” He pummelled Kal in the chest with two palms consecutively. The wind left his lungs like a fleeting breeze, a wheeze escaping his lips as his legs fell out from under him. He hit the ground, clutching his chest. Ulfric spun around and swung his foot with a perfect arc, stopping just before his boot would’ve knocked the lights out of Kal, at which point he whistled playfully. “Get up,” he said.

Sweet Mira. Kal’s vision swirled. Guess I shouldn’t take it easy on him. This is Ulfric, after all. Kal spat into the dirt and pushed off of his sword to stand. He wobbled and waned, but ultimately maintained his posture after reinforcing his body. He wiped spittle from his lips, and raised his sword to fight once more. Ulfric smiled at the display. He was like a child receiving candy when witnessing the resolve of an opponent. “As you wish,” Kal muttered.

“Push mana into your legs. Core, too. You’re focusing too much attention on your arms,” Ulfric instructed.

Kal reluctantly did as he said. Mana enhancement was the most basic of all magic, the one thing all mages learned to do first and foremost. However, Kal knew well that it took much more to master than the average mage would do. It was easy to become inefficient, and push too much mana into certain places. Too much into your ears would cause a small sound to be deafening. Too much into your eyes and you’d be blinded by the sun. Too much into the arms would make swings powerful, but take an unbelievable amount of energy. The key was a balance. He focused mana into his legs and stabilised himself, also pushing it into his core to keep his balance, abs engaged and recovering slowly from Ulfric’s strike.

Ulfric spent all of his free time studying or training, that was why Kal didn’t question how he knew so much about the functions of magic. For someone lacking magic to defeat someone who didn’t, an understanding greater than the opponent was absolutely necessary. Reminding himself of the years walking in on Ulfric reading spell books and studying history, he accepted the instruction without question, and prepared to fight.

“Remember. Push mana through your arms quickly and immediately at the moment of the strike. A sudden burst. Anything else is unnecessary expenditure.” Ulfric put his fists up. “Now come.”

Kal swung, consciously focusing on the swing overcoming his established, lazy muscle memory. The swing began slow, and he pushed mana out in a quick burst, speeding up the attack to a blinding speed and cancelling out as he followed through. Ulfric, of course, dodged as if he could predict the movement. Kal pushed mana into his head and his eyes, enhancing his brain’s processing speed and the speed at which his eyes could see and react to it.

With a quick burst into his leg, he dashed forward to catch Ulfric as the man was on the backfoot. He’d leapt backwards, his foot not even on the ground. In his current position it was impossible for a normal man to dodge a sword. Ulfric wasn’t normal, and his body didn’t seem to obey the laws of physics. He leaned backward, the sword gliding just over his nose and he tilted far enough for his hair to brush the ground. He placed a palm firmly against the ground, kicking quickly upward into Kal’s jaw. His teeth slammed together, his head rattling as his brain blacked out for a split second. Mana kept him awake. How does he move like that?

Questions and even proposed answers couldn’t properly define the movements of a man like that, a man who’d been killing since before puberty had struck his body. He’d been raised by killers to kill, despite his nature fighting against that purpose. He’d gotten exceptional at it, unbelievably intelligent and capable of detecting any and all patterns before they even occurred. This kind of power made Ulfric more powerful than even magic, and far beyond the imagination of most warriors.

Kal, too, had been bred to kill. He hadn’t killed as many as Ulfric had nor had he done it as ruthlessly and lacking remorse. The disparity between them lay within their training. For Kal, his training was practical, sparring with those stronger than him and spending solitary nights swing a sword. For Ulfric, his training was raiding criminal dens, fighting tooth and nail for his very life, and driving his blade through the hearts of man after man for the sake of improvement. Pulse pounding intensity. Kal didn’t know what it was like to get beaten and bloodied, to border on death and stare it in the face. Ulfric had done so many times, even just the night before. This, Kal recognized, was the key difference between him and his dear friend. As he reeled backward, he reinforced his will to fight. I can close that gap with skill.

He lied to himself, for he knew that a lot of Ulfric’s power lay in something he’d never achieve. Talent, and most of all, personality. Kal, though he was supposed to be a prodigy, lacked the powerful personality to wield it properly, the ruthless ideals of a swordsman who got the job done. Someone like Ulfric. When boiling it down, it was easy to see that the gap was not even within skill, but within mentality and application. The swordsman who fought without fear and the swordsman who fought fearing for his life. Both of them fought on the same skill level, but only one of them was ready to lay their whole body, mind and soul on the line for the sake of victory.

Use mana to kill the pain. Another byproduct of mana enhancement, pain killing. He pushed it into his jaw and steadied himself. He slashed back across, tracing the trajectory of his blade, only backward. The front of Ulfric’s shirt showed a thin like, slicing only fabric and not skin. Kal couldn’t have been closer to bisecting him if he tried. Ulfric glanced down at the cut and smiled.

Kal got too cocky from his strike finally connecting with something. For a moment, he rejoiced in his head, and it was the moment Ulfric took to cross the space and strike out. A quick double step like a fencer, one palm strike to the chest and another to the forehead. The air left his lungs, and then the consciousness from his head. He stumbled backward and caught himself, but it was too late, his sword was gone. Ulfric held it, pressing it up against Kal’s neck and drawing the tiniest bit of blood, only enough to tell him he would’ve died had Ulfric not been merciful.

“But how–?” Kal stammered.

Ulfric sighed and handed the sword back to him. “Sloppy,” he said. “Better, but sloppy all the same.”

“Is that so…”

Kal and Ulfric lingered for a moment too long. Their eyes stared at each other, bordering on confrontation, the genuine kind. Kal let his burst of energy release the tension as he jerked the blade back into his possession with a muffled grunt. Ulfric just sneered at him, content with himself. Kal didn’t think he’d ever seen him not content with himself.

It was then that Kal saw something unusual. A small red streak, blood running from Ulfric’s nose. The man turned away as soon as he noticed it, snorting awkwardly and wiping it on his hand. Kal’s mind raced, but came to one conclusion as his eyes settled on the rings Ulfric wore. “Brain lag,” he said. Brain lag and body lag, the two terms representing the disparity between the natural capabilities of the body and the capabilities of a body enhanced unnaturally by magic. For a seasoned mage, brain lag was nothing more than an inconvenience. Kal felt body lag in his lower body as his legs tried to readjust to their normal form again, but he’d hardly noticed it.

“It’s nothing,” Ulfric said cheerily. When he turned back, a stain of blood still remained over his lip.

“Your body isn’t used to utilising magic,” Kal noted. Partially, he was also explaining the issue to himself for the purpose of rationalising it. “Ulfric… Those rings. Powerful spells, especially regeneration. Your brain will take heavy damage that can’t be repaired by magic.”

* * *

Bad luck that this should happen now. Ulfric stared his old friend Kal in the face. The ghost of his conscience was over Kal’s shoulder. His plan had been to train Kal and prepare him for the raid of House Adler, but all he’d achieved in the end was destroying the boy’s confidence in him even more so than it already had been. As he listened to him speak, all he could manage was a defeated sigh. He sat back down on the rocks and crossed his legs. Maybe it's time, he admitted. I’ll confer with my oldest friend.

“Ulfric?” Kal asked.

“The rings are killing me, that much I’ve surmised,” Ulfric admitted. “But I don’t have a choice.”

Kal frowned and sat down beside him. Placing his sword in a sheath and to the side. “There’s always a choice,” he said. A weak argument, no doubt.

“Sure. But the other choice isn’t always favourable.” Two choices. The one he’d chosen, embrace the monster and use it to destroy the enemy, or walk away and live. “I’d rather it this way,” he said.

Kal sighed. He glanced at his sword. Ulfric knew the action well. He pondered his weapons when he doubted himself or his conviction. “I don’t know about all of this anymore,” he said weakly.

“I know,” Ulfric replied, frowning. “You don’t have to follow me down, Kal. Just because this is the way I’ve chosen doesn’t mean you have to join me in a grave.”

Kal shook his head. “The way of the sword, Ulfric. We help those in need. It's as you say, the magicless are scapegoats to the tyrants of this city. It would appear to me that no one can be bothered to stop it other than you and I.”

“It would appear so,” Ulfric replied defeatedly. “Then is there any meaning at all to this conversation?” He wondered.

Kal gathered his thoughts in a long pause. “I don’t think the path you’re following to victory is ideal for yourself or anyone involved.”

Ulfric looked away. “Is that so?”

Kal was a man of integrity that Ulfric did not have. Sure, he was an airhead, but he had principles that he clutched onto like a babe to the breast. Perhaps that analogy was not adequate, however, as it was unlikely that Kal’s principles would be removed by force or by age. Unlike Ulfric, who adapted his morality based on the situation, always doing what needed to be done for the goal, Kal obeyed by a strict set of rules that never changed. He’s a better man than me. And he’s right. Just a few thoughts Ulfric would never say out loud.

“One of these days, no doubt you’ll go too far,” Kal said.

Ulfric’s face grew dark. “Men. Women. Children. Infants. The magicless in this city are slaves simply because of the way they were born. They die for nothing other than the circumstances of birth. There’s no such thing as too far, only further than the Dragon Guard.” Ulfric clenched his fist. His mind teetered on the brink of confession. He’d gone too far already, there was no turning back. “I have something to tell you,” he admitted.

“Yeah?”

“That night when I raided Orion manor, I saw something I didn’t expect. A child, young.”

Kal froze. He knew that look. It was the look of him losing even more faith than he already had. He hesitated to ask his next question for obvious reasons. “Ulfric… What did you do?”

“What I had to,” Ulfric replied, turning away. “There is no too far,” he said in a mocking tone. In his mind he imagined the face of the boy. He was young, probably born while Gladius was gone. Ulfric had sheared his head from his shoulders without a second thought. There was no use in leaving someone alive who would come to take revenge later. The name of the game was to kill them all, not kill with exceptions. However, a twinge of regret lay on the fringe of his psyche. He dismissed it.

Kal was horrified, clearly. Ulfric felt good to get it off of his chest anyways, he stood up and brushed himself off. Even though he told himself he didn’t care, he couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend. Kal said nothing as Ulfric walked to the archway that led out of the training area. Ten metres between them, and only then did Kal speak. “I hope it's worth it for you, Ulfric.” He paused. “All of this… I hope you don’t live to regret it.”

“My emotions shouldn’t have any hold on what needs to be done. Yours shouldn’t either.” Ulfric walked away. What he felt inside wasn’t regret. It was a constant self doubt placed inside of him by the people who’d raised him. His mother who’d never given him the love a child deserved, and his father who beat him and treated him like a disappointment. His brother who’d been better, rubbing his superiority in Ulfric’s face. Like everyone else, they were servants of the system designed to eliminate people like him that didn’t fall in line. The world and circumstances had pushed him to the point of slaughter. I won’t regret that which I hold no fault for. After all, it was them that created me.

Indeed, regret was too weak of a word to describe the emotions twisting in the pit of Ulfric’s stomach. It was sorrow, anger and self loathing. It mixed together, swirling into a pit of black until all that remained was something akin to fury. Ulfric couldn’t bring himself to feel anything like fear or even happiness at his achievements. He didn’t see himself as a force for himself, rather as a messenger, the embodiment of the sword Kal spoke of which served righteousness.

Karl stood in his way. The man leaned lazily against a doorway, yawning as Ulfric approached. “You’re supposed to be a leader, you nut. What’s the point of revealing that to him? Guilty conscience?” When Ulfric tried to keep walking by, he stepped out to block him despite not being a physical object. “Kal Lightswift follows you like a dog. If you lose even him, what’s the point? And after what you’re going to do tomorrow? Pfft. I’d be shocked if he doesn’t kill you himself!”

“If he can’t adapt to the circumstances, he has no business running a rebellion,” Ulfric said. “Move,” he demanded.

The ghost dissipated as Ulfric stepped through. A burdened blade is a dull one. Tomorrow, Kal will make his crucial choice when the sacrifice is made. He’ll either step into the darkness with me, or he’ll vanish into the annals of history like the rest of those who were too afraid to sacrifice their morality.