My Devourer System: Rise of the Bastard Son

There was a raised training yard at the Grey Keep, where Lightcloak men trained and sparred. A large field was padded with soft grass, and at its edges was an artificial stream that the soldier often bathed in afterwards.

One of their many traditions. Like the one Lucen was gearing up to start.

The training grounds sat at the top of a ridiculous number of stairs, grey stone with grass on its side and the artificial stream floating down in a quiet waterfall.

A soldier must collect two jugs of water from each of the streams and carry them up to the top.

It was the same everything, but Lucen's body always protested, remembering the first time he had done it when he was thirteen.

Tharic sat on the side, close to Lucen, as soldiers and knights carried the jugs over their shoulders with the help of a smooth, wooden staff. The rest of their classmates waited for their elders to fetch water, standing in a messy line as they chatted.

"Don't they ever get tired of this?" Tharic muttered.

The silence annoyed Lucen, making him feel like he was supposed to fill it. But it was Tharic—the guy talked to himself a lot.

"After forms, are you up for a duel?" asked Tharic.

As the only person close by, Lucen was burdened to answer.

"No."

He would normally be down to duel Tharic, who was the best swordsman in their class, but he was taking Ymir's advice.

"Sheesh… always so cold," Tharic murmured.

Lucen started walking towards the line, glancing up at the dreadful steps that stretched upward. Some laughs drew his attention, and he found it was Set and Callan, along with the rest of their pack.

"Did they really give you a Low-level technique, Lucey?" Callan's deep voice rumbled, his hair and eyes as dark as coffee. "That's a damn shame, they could have at least given him a Minor-rank."

All the laughter in the eyes of their peers, along with Master Warren's new class of students. Lucen brought his hand to his face and simply joined the line.

His skin felt so uncomfortable.

Set left his place in the line to walk up to Lucen.

"I mean, it is a damn shame. You're so good with a spear… for a mudborn."

Set was the only one with enough balls to call him that, but Lucen always felt like laughing every time he did.

Was he supposed to find that insulting?

The amount of attention they get during these squabbles never reduces, in fact, people grew more interested as they grew older. Lucen felt all those eyes crawling over his skin.

"With such low prospects," Set whispered, getting close as Lucen ignored him. "They might chase you and your whore mother out."

Lucen never learnt to deal with people speaking about his mother like that.

It was frustrating because no one forced Heimar to be unfaithful to his wife, yet Selene was always blamed for it.

But it also touched something deeper inside him and always managed to get the anger out.

"You never get enough of me kicking your ass, do you?" Lucen hissed back, "Are you some kind of masochist? Want the love you never got from Daddy?"

Set grabbed his collar, and Lucen went for his neck.

Before they could exchange blows, Lucen found himself on the ground, staring up at the dim, purple sky.

He sat up, and, of course… Master Warren had just arrived.

His greying brown hair was extra smooth today, and his form-fitting leather clothes were impeccable. All this grace was marred by his vivid fury.

"You will behave yourselves," he said, red-faced, "or I will rescind my approval of your knighthood."

"Let me erase this disgrace from our legacy, Master," Set snarled. "I challenge you, a duel of Dark Skies."

Everyone gasped, a wave of murmurs stopping all action.

A duel where no one would be punished for the death of their opponent. 

A dark surge of glee erupted from within Lucen. If he had known this was why Ymir had warned him, he would have told her to fuck off.

"I acce—"

A hard mouth clamped over his face painfully. Warren's face was no longer red, his clear gaze fixed on Set.

"Rescind it."

The simple command was undeniable. Set, frown deep and dissatisfied, said. "I rescind my request for a duel."

Warren released him and rose over the boys, struggling to keep composed.

"I understand your revulsion towards Lucen, but brothers should never kill each other."

A forlorn look set itself in his gaze. He offered Lucen a hand to stand and decided.

"I will allow a duel with real weapons and magic arts, but there will be no casualties."

Set looked displeased by this but still eager to hurt Lucen. 

Lucen, on the other hand, was starting to see clearly and was just tired of Set and the rest of this accursed family. Warren wouldn't let him decline, so he kept his mouth shut.

■——■

At the top of the stairs, Lucen set down the jugs on the soft grass bed of the training yard and began stretching.

On the field already, he could see Koril, Chester, and Sandor. They were exchanging tips with each other. 

Sandor had a wide smile not normally seen on his face while chatting with his brothers. Koril was as reserved as always but laughed a little at Chester's little jokes.

Heimar and Falgner were duelling hard with real weapons.

Even without enhancement spells, they were blindingly fast. Falgner fought with a circular shield and a greatsword, while Heimar was armed with a single sword.

Heimar was faster and sharper, fighting only with one hand on his sword. He slammed his sword into Falgner's shield and then his open palm. Each blow was fluid and snapped with so much power that Lucen felt it from here.

Falgner met Heimar's heavy swing halfway with his sword and turned the block into a reverse slash.

Heimar leaned back, neatly dodging, before launching into another flurry of attacks, each clang ringing in Lucen's ears painfully.

Falgner caught an attack, and with some sharp footwork, slammed his shield into Heimar before flashing out from behind the shield to put his blade at Heimar's neck.

"I yield," grumbled Heimar.

"As usual, your strikes are as heavy as the sky," said Falgner, twirling his moustache. "You'd benefit from more shrewdness, my lord."

They were all here today. If Lucen thrashed Set in front of them and asked Koril to speak on his behalf, he could get a High‐level elemental channelling technique.

A couple of minutes later, he and Set were face-to-face, glaring as Warren spoke.

"You will not maim your opponent if you can avoid it, and you will be respectful to them during this match."

All these proclamations were like shackles in their minds. They would only last for a couple of hours, but they could not disobey these orders.

"I wish you luck," said Set. "You'll need it."

They both returned to prepare their weapons. Lucen rubbed the spear he managed to borrow from a soldier.

Set had a soul-bound sword, made from the claw of a powerful Wyrm, slain by Heimar almost fifteen years ago. It would cut through his spear if Lucen allowed him to fully swing.

While Lucen wondered how he would apologise, Master Warren came around him and presented a beautiful spear to him.

It was carved from a white, silvery material, glittering under the light of the Halo, like stardust. Its head was unique, the crest of some family, he assumed.

"Don't break that poor man's only weapon," Warren said, taking the normal spear from him. "Don't look at me like that, I'm simply doing what's right."

Lucen twirled the spear in his hand as he walked to face Set, smiling.

Now this would be fun.