Vampire Reincarnation

Zarman turned more defensive after that day, more cautious, but didn’t entirely reject Kai’s existence. He and Sverik stood in the attic, reading books outside of the man’s eyes and ears when they weren't training. Kai knew he wasn’t quite ready to accept that he and his parents were vampires, and he understood why. A three thousand-year war, led by nothing but greed for power and lust for land wasn’t something anyone could easily get over, especially not when one lived as long as he did. Aina and Elizabeth accompanied them sometimes, exchanging their lavish clothes for more casual attire as they waited for Sverik’s day to arrive. During their causal spars, Sverik had noticed that his new star provided much more energy and refined mana way better than his other two. Delighted by this discovery, Kai and Aina began probing the limits of what it could do.

“Cuts heal faster…” Aina remarked, writing it down on a notebook she pulled out from her ring. “Regeneration and Mana Regeneration have increased, further testing is needed.” She put it down, watching the two boys spar with a soft smile on her face, Elizabeth standing right behind her.

“He’s improved quite a lot, hasn’t he?” She asked her mother with a similar smile etched onto her face. “And his body is sturdier than before… I think he’s ready.”

“No…” Aina shook her head, “Give it one more month, to be sure. After that, it’s up to him.”

…

As the sun rose on the third day, so did Kai and the others. Despite the sun itself not being present inside the dug-up mountain, they hastily got ready and prepared for this decisive day. Unlike his peers, Sverik didn’t intend to participate because he wanted a patron. On the contrary, he wanted to showcase that he was nothing more than a sword, and not a smith. Whilst most of the competition focused on the knowledge of metals and forging of equipment, there was one round, one match that focused solely on fighting. Most people would not wait for that period to hire the dwarves unless they were extremely bored. After all, no one needs a dwarf for a bodyguard or a warrior. Humans, Elves, Beastmen, and Lizardmen are way better at combat and magic than the dwarves.

The four walked toward the arena accompanied by an awkward silence, the quiet street echoing their footsteps as they glanced at each other without saying a word. The vendors excitedly opened their stalls, arranging their merchandise and waiting for guests to buy the fruit of their labor. Out of nowhere, a chilly wind blew from behind them, causing their hair to sway slightly and sending a shiver down their spine. “How are you feeling, Sver?” Zarman asked, placing a hand over his pupil’s shoulder.

“I’m nervous… and excited, to say the least. It’s the day I’ve been training for since you took me in… my ticket to freedom, to power…” He said, whispering the latter part of his sentence in a voice only he could hear. Zarman smiled, patting his back and letting out a proud sigh.

“That’s right, you’re going to succeed and join the academy.” He encouraged the boy, his eyes staring at the rocky ceiling. “And when you do… I’m finally going to sleep soundly at night.” He chuckled teasingly.

“Pfft…” Aina let out an involuntary chuckle, glancing at Sverik who began pouting. “You’re going to do well Sverik, I’ve seen you train.”

Sverik turned away, not saying another word as he simply walked in silence, although he couldn’t hide the smile plastered on his face as well as he wanted to. Gradually, the huge arena appeared before them, its grandiose appearance towering over them like a mountain. “We’ve finally arrived… my boy. Are you ready?”

“Mhm.” Sverik nodded and clenched his fists, taking a deep breath as he stared at his lifelong goal.

…

The arena slowly filled up with people, the lower seats mostly occupied by dwarves and average spectators, while the higher seats, disguised as podiums housed the VIP’s and most important people. Those are the people who get to choose whom they want to hire, and logically are to be treated like royalty. The dwarf's economy relies on a few sources of income: Exporting Ores, Exporting Weapons, and workforce. The workforce being the smith apprentices, whose salaries are taxed by their respective cities.

Loud chatter and laughter reverberated in the air as the first stage got set up - a simple pile of ores and stones, accompanied by a few pieces of paper and a pen sat on a table. Sverik gulped as he watched from afar, biting his lip to calm down his nerves. Kai patted his friend on the back, smiling softly as he said in a confident voice. “Don’t worry too much about it, Sverik. Just do your best, the dwarves here didn’t train nearly as much as you did. You got this!”

“Haha, thanks…” Sverik chuckled lightly before watching the grand arena, inhaling deeply. “I’m just… anxious I guess, afraid. It’s starting to feel like a dream, all of this…”

“I… know that feeling.” Kai sighed, patting Sverik’s back. “Don’t think too much about it, just let instinct drive you. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Mhm,” Sverik murmured, his eyes focusing on a particular place at the top of the arena - A fancily decorated room, at least in comparison to the others. On its side was a beautiful purple octagon, its edges embroidered with gold, and in the middle of which lay a whaling dragon, wrapped by a thorny rose sprouting from its back. This was the emblem of the Magic Academy, and behind it lay Sverik’s future.

…

Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen to the third and last day of the Three Hundred and Fortieth Monten Competition! Today, please welcome our youngest contestants to the stage!

As the announcer’s voice reverberated throughout the arena, Sverik took a deep breath and walked inside the arena, his legs weak as nervousness washed over him. Around three dozen younglings followed him, while another dozen walked in front. The majority of them looked no different than the average dwarf - Chubby short, with muscular arms and thick legs. Of course, their facial features differed, and so did their hair - or baldness for that matter, but there was no doubt that they were smiths.

Amongst them, however, walked a few that stood out from the crowd. Ahead of Sverik, a tall, bald, and lean yet muscular man walked proudly, glancing at the ores surrounding him with scorn, and shot the VIPs at the top a distasteful glare as he took a seat at one of the piles. Likewise, behind him was another man, shorter in stature, yet his skin slightly paler than the others, signs of lack of sunlight and not spending too much time at the forge.

Unlike the others and even Sverik, he wore a weapon - or rather a tool on his back, a hammer made out of some kind of bronze-colored ore. Its held, sturdy, and cylindrical wore a tar-like color, not allowing any sort of light to escape its grasp. He spread his arms and yawned as he too picked a spot, and immediately lay down on his side and began snoring.

Clearly, these two trained for more than the forge and seemed to be Sverik’s main competitors in the upcoming battle.

The ore selection round passed by fast, as it wasn’t particularly challenging for these apprentices. Even Sverik, who didn’t seriously study managed to guess about half of them right.

Julius Koestar - One Hundred Percent!

Marel Meri - One Hundred Percent!

…

Sverik - Sixty Percent!

The announcer yelled, Sverik being the first competitor to guess below ninety percent, causing gasps of shock to ring out in the audience. However, Sveirk ignored all of them and waited patiently for the second round to start.

Romain Precaious - Forty Percent!

Keveler - Zero Percent!

The tall bald boy scoffed, looking over at the hammer-wielding dwarf, who seemed to be asleep, evident by his loud snoring. “Looks like that useless shortie is still as lazy as ever,” He muttered under his breath, speaking just loud enough for the people on the stage to hear him, getting a chuckle out of them. Sverik rolled his eyes, not even glancing at Romain, who chuckled along with the rest of them. Although, the corner of his eyes was focused on Sverik, a hint of shock and delight was hidden within them.

The second round, which consisted of forging a weapon designated by a group of judges quickly started as they brought furnaces, anvils, ores, and whatever else the contestants may need. The result didn’t differ much from the last round, with the three people in the last being Sverik, Romain, and the sleeping Keveler.

The day passed slowly for Sverik, who didn’t put much or if any effort at all into the competition, and the bell finally rang to mark the start of the combat round. By this point, most of the VIPs had selected their young talents, with negotiations already underway before the competition could even finish. With that being said, most of the spectators had already left, not caring one bit about the fighting round. In a short ten minutes, the arena became almost empty, with only the people from the Magic Academy and a few other random dwarves and elves left to spectate. However, Sverik cared for none of that, no - what he wanted has finally arrived, after years of waiting. The combat round.

This round didn’t have nearly as many competitors as before, with only a dozen at most, most of whom just wanted to showcase their measly skills. They were quickly eliminated, whether by Sverik’s quick jab, Romain’s imposing stature and presence, or by Keveler’s hammer. The three of them advanced at a rapid pace until only they were left.

What an amazing spectacle, Ladies and Gentlemen! The announcer’s voice reverberated in the arena once again, hiding a hint of excitement. It looks to be a three-way tie between Sverik - Zarman’s Pupil; Keveler from the house of the Hammer and Romain, the current mayor’s son!

To settle the second to last round, we will have our contestants roll a dice, and the highest number will advance automatically to the final round!

An old man quickly crawled his way into the arena and handed over a dice to Romain before leaving quietly. Without losing any time, he threw the dice, creating a small hole in the ground and raising a small cloud of dust.

A five! Looks like Romain may advance directly!

Keveler picked up the dice and lazily rolled it, not even bothering to check the number it landed on.

Oh, looks like Keveler has rolled a … three! It is now Sverik’s turn!

Picking up the dice, Sverik took a deep breath and let it fall to the ground, not caring about whether he’d advance or not.

Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Sverik rolled a… one! I don't know if that’s lucky or unlucky!

The boy let out a sigh as he watched Romain walk away with a grin plastered on his face. He shook his head as his gaze turned to Keveler, who slept soundly a few meters away, unperturbed by the amplified voice.

It looks like we have our fighters for this round! Keveler of the Hammer and… Sverik!! Contestants, please get ready for the fight.

None of the spectators seemed to care, not showing any hint of interest or excitement at the announcement. Sveirk had already expected this to happen, and he turned to Zarman with a soft smile. The man returned a short, encouraging nod accompanied by a wide smile. Sverik nodded back and walked toward one of the nearby weapon racks, grabbing a simple longsword and stepping onto the fighting ring. Keveler yawned and slowly got up, lazily dragging his feet as he stepped into the ring as well.

He squinted his eyes, looking at Sverik like he didn’t even consider him an opponent. Grabbing behind him, he pulled out the giant hammer and waited for the announcer to give the go, which didn’t take long. The moment the announcer gave the signal to start fighting, he rushed toward Sverik, raising his hammer high up into the air, exposing his entire midsection, and leaving it vulnerable. Seeing that, Sverik didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he advanced without unseathing his sword.

He arched his back and his figure turned into a blur, appearing in front of Keveler, jabbing his fingers right at the dwarf’s throat, stopping him right where he stood. Keveler fell to the ground, dragged down by his hammer as he lost consciousness.

Well… it looks like our winner is Sverik! Congratulations… do you want to take a break?

Sverik shook his head, prompting the last and final round to finally start. Romain walked up on the stage before the announcer called him, looking at Sverik with scorn and disdain. Glancing at Keveler, who got dragged away by two staff members, he scoffed before turning to Sverik. “Not bad for a Mix-Blood, but unfortunately this is as far as you’ll go.” His voice reverberated in the arena, causing Zarman to clench his teeth, however, there was nothing he could do, besides believe in his pupil. “That damned Romain… Sverik better teach him a lesson!”

Sverik, in turn, remained silent in front of Romain’s open racism, only unsheathing his sword and preparing to start the fight. The announcer’s words echoed in his ears, and he once again arched his back, getting into a sprinting position while clutching the hilt of his sword.

Romain’s lips parted, eyeing Sveirk like a viper. “That speed may have worked against that lazy pig, but don’t think that-” However, before he could even finish his speech, he felt Sverik’s cold blade press against his neck, leaving him paralyzed as he forgot to even breathe.

L-ladies and gentlemen! This is amazing, Sverik won against Romain in less than three seconds… such speed, how is this even possible?!

This time even the unresponsive crowd let out a shocked gasp, unable to believe their eyes. Zarman nodded proudly, and a soft smile creased Aina’s and Elizabeth’s lips. Kai’s mask didn’t reveal any expression, however his eyes shone with a strong desire to fight. Just a bit more and I’ll be able to use magic again… until then, just you wait!

Back in the arena, Sverik let out a heavy sigh and sheathed his sword, walking out of the stage and leaving Romain still frozen in shock. Returning the sword to its place, he walked up the stairs toward Zarman and the others, a dissatisfied, unwilling expression on his face.

“Mah boy! You did it… You won the fighting round!” Zarman brought Sverik into his arms, hugging him tightly. Letting go after a few seconds, a concerned expression appeared on his face. “What’s wrong? You won!”

Sverik sighed, unable to hide his disappointment. “It feels… anti-climatic. I won, sure, but it wasn’t even a fight to begin. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it…” He said, staring at the ground.

The two women looked at each other, their smiles disappearing altogether upon hearing the boy’s words. Both of them glanced at Kai and gave each other a knowing nod. “Sverik,” Aina said, “How about you fight with Kai? The people from the Magic Academy have yet to leave and it’s empty enough.”

“Fight with Kai?” Sverik asked, staring at the boy in question. Their gaze met mid-air, and neither of them waited for the other to answer. Bolting down the stairs, they rushed to pick up a sword from the rack and, with Sverik choosing a shield as well, quickly got into position.