Chapter 9 : Fated Encounter

Spell after spell of fire was thrown at a training dummy. With each hit, the physical impact and heat caused it to grow more and more unrecognizable from its initial humanoid form, a display of their destructive potential.

If used on a regular human, there was no doubt that only ashes would remain in its wake.

Calm in the face of such prowess, a familiar figure began to make his way into the room, his presence unnoticed by the elf who continued his volley of fire bolts.

Said figure of course, was none other than Tommy, who in a strut of confidence had a proposal to make to Harux. Though not before some much needed slander, naturally.

“Huh, how pitiful” were the first words that left his mouth as his eyes fell upon his would-be victim.

His authority asserted, he looked about Harux’s training area as one would to a sewer.

Fire magic of this standard was mildly impressive at best. Even the most pitiful mages, who lacked compatibility with this element of magic, could cast a 'measly' firebolt.

'What are your magical attributes, knave?'

Hand, brushing against the cold concrete wall with each step that he took, Tommy was getting closer.

Harux however, did not even spare him a passing glance.

There was no reason to, even if Tommy was more powerful, or the descendant of a greater lineage of mages, or had eaten more meat than him, Harux would not care.

Power was something that needed to be proven, that was all.

Perhaps, his pride, which had been damaged by discourteous silence, had riled Tommy. Perhaps, it was his intention for this to happen in the first place. Regardless, the boy responded in due provocation.

“Let us duel mongrel, I believe that this would be a good time to show my inert superiority.”

The volley of concentrated mana came to a halt. The last flickers of fire dissipated in the palm of his hand, and along with it, his animosity.

“Seriously, right here?’ Harux said in disbelief, his body bobbing up and down in upheaval. "Now?" He questioned again, almost unable to accept this revelation. Could it truly be? No one had accepted his challenge until now, like seriously, not even one of the two people he had asked agreed!

“Indeed,” Tommy affirmed, his hands still behind his back. “Go ahead, mongrel. I shall let you deliver the first blow.”

“Man, you’re the first one to accept my challenge in this school. I’m glad you get it,”

His tone, in line with his usual light hearted self, was cheerful, and yet, a certain sense of unease could be felt when one looked at him. No longer bobbing with uncontrolled glee, his posture now, was one suited for killing.

And just like that, the two were going to duel.

Now before the sheer ludicrosity of this situation is pointed out, let there be a few reminders.

Harux’s status as a monkey-elf at this point had at this point been pretty much solidified. Jumping around, proposing random duels, and acting very much out of line with what an elf, much less a mage ought to be, he was by all means an eccentric. And Tommy, with his newly found mania, and delusional tendencies, let us say, did not contribute much sense to the situation either.

“Of course,” Tommy said, as he grinned suspiciously.

Just as that phrase left Tommy’s mouth, Harux leapt back. A single action that spanned a second at best had already broken the conventional world record. Four meters was what it amounted to, and seven meters was the distance that stood between them.

His hand, already atop the handle without a moment’s waste, freed the blade within the scabbard.

Ever so slightly recurved, its shape proved to be that of Elven craftsmanship. Neither silver nor steel, it instead held a snowy cold glow, that upon further inspection concealed a hint of blue. Inscribed too with Elven runes that held powers yet unfound, an otherworldly aura emanated from it.

“You’re gonna regret giving me the initiative though…” Harux muttered. His usual playfulness nowhere to be seen, one look at his cold, apathetic eyes would send chills down most people’s spines.

“Canticum Errum.”

The energy of his soul, Resolve, flared to life and escaped to his brain. His brain, which held the capacity for interpreting the signal of his soul, then sent it throughout his body. His body, which then acted as a catalyst for the spell, actualized its existence.

Pupils dilated, and body tensed, oxygen flooded his lungs in quantities a diver would be impressed by. Blood flow, sensitivity to sound, light and scent, those were all the attributes that increased with the utterance of a couple of words.

An ancient Self-Enhancement spell, in Elvish, the words uttered by Harux meant ‘Song of the Blade’. Even Tommy, unstable as he was, was not blind to the ability displayed before him. As it happened, even if it was for a split second, something analogous to pure despair seized his heart. To describe it as the utter helplessness that would grip a hare when confronted with a lion would not be an overstatement.

This sensation however would leave as quickly as it came, foreign as his source of fear was, his innate will overcame the soul that struggled in him. A sour taste left in his mouth, Tommy soon forgot what it was that frightened his body in the first place.

Satisfied by this brief display of fear, the pretext of a weakness was more than enough to tempt Harux. Any chance he had to take an advantage, he damn well would take it! After all, Tommy was standing still with his hands by his side for whatever reason, so it was a perfect time to strike!

“Ignis!” Loud and frantic, fire formed in the palm of Harux’s hand. And with a flick of his limb, the speck went flying at Tommy.

In the miniscule amount of time before it would hit him, atime largely spent during the actual formation of the spell itself, Harux contemplated.

Is he going to dodge?

Though the projectile moved at approximately 90 meters per second, it was still possible for him to do so. Such feats of athleticism or skill, was possible, and as far Harux knew, Tommy could be that fast as a resolved individual. Not that it was any cause for concern, in fact it was all the more for Harux to cheer! If he truly was that fast, then he must have been quite powerful, and if he wasn’t then well…

‘Easy meat!’

However it just so happened that Tommy would neither demonstrate magical or physical prowess, as he couldn't care less if such a projectile was going to hit him. All was according to his plan.

After all, the appeasement of a duel was never his intent anyway.

On impact, the blazing mote of fire burst like a blooming flower. A ripple of force coursing through his body, Tommy was sent flying. Back first onto the floor, a palm-sized hole was now visible at the centre of his shirt.

His skin, protected by his Resolve, remained to be completely unharmed.

At first there was a smile, then, a growl of pain.

“Gagh, what?!” he cried out, as if he had been caught off guard.

“Did you just, ah! attack me? In the, yowch! training room?” Tommy continued, artificial yaps of pain punctuating his suffering all the while. Though Harux understood the need for one to relinquish their suffering through sounds, even he thought this to be a bit of an overreaction.

Surely, his Resolve could not be so weak as to be harmed by a single firebolt?

Surprised for a moment, Harux soon regained his indifferent expression as he sheathed his sword.

He had a feeling whatever came next, that it was not a matter solved with violence.

“What have you done Harux?” Tommy shrieked. For an edgelord stoic such as himself, cries of such an awfully melodramatic flavor unnerved the people that watched from outside.

Resumed by accusing Harux of being a monster, Tommy’s arms flung around in a spectacular display of drama as he attempted to pull himself up, only to fall back to the ground, ‘visibly’ hurt.

The message relayed, it had served its purpose as a memo for action. The sound of his accusation resonating through one of the many earpieces he had his goons equipped with, his followers stormed into the room, beginning to crowd around Tommy in an impressively systematic fashion.

Their hands extended to help him up, only for him to reject, a polite gesture of the palm of his hand asserting as much, his job was done. Tommy had made himself out to be an unsuspecting victim, but one persevering in the face of prejudice nevertheless. Heaving himself to his feet, Tommy wiped off what remained of the ashes on his clothes as his followers quickly moved about to bandage the nonexistent wound in an exaggerated manner.

If one were there at the time of the incident, one could have assumed that Tommy had been gravely injured and was on the brink of death, a belief that was further insinuated by the brilliant acting from his gang which gave the scene an aura of authenticity.

Dumbstruck by the current state of affairs, Harux thought to himself for a bit.

The only one in the room that failed to understand the consequences and repercussions of what was at hand, his ignorance rendered him unable to comprehend the rules he had violated. True to his nature, Harux had failed to read the official guidelines prior to his arrival.

Though in a few moments, he understood.

He may have been dense, but he was percipient about when odds were and weren’t in his favor. Judging by the pronouncement of fear and anger on the individual’s faces, he interpreted the public mood to be one of rage. It would be impossible to continue the duel at this rate, or rather, it was never a duel in the first place.

With the utterance of a single “Boring,” Harux prepared to leave, though not before a final sigh and a glimpse of disappointment to Tommy.

A zeitgeist of indignation and abhorrence seizing the crowd, what remained originally as quiet remarks, now turned to full blown commotion, as they had begun to insult the elf, throwing jeers and hurdling accusations.

All words and no actual strength to back it up huh, guys like that disgust me, Harux thought. Frustrated that his sacred battlefield was sullied by a coward, his dismay was apparent from the wrinkling of his nose and tilt of his eyebrows.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A boy interjected, a new-found obstacle in Harux’s way. He had a large build, being a head taller than Harux in fact, and as such, was looking down on him.

Casting one quick glare with his mossy green eyes, Harux uttered but one simple statement.

“Stand aside unless you want to get beaten up.”

(Picture: Frontal view of Harux’s face)

It was a simple phrase, one that lacked any particular presence of power behind it. And yet those same words that were spoken with brazen crudeness and lack of subtlety chilled everyone to their core.

The look in his eyes showed them that it was no bluff. In fact, it told them that he could do more than just beat them up. Fierce and completely devoid of any trace of empathy or mercy, Tommy’s goon spurred away from the verdant eyes of the madman before him and pulled back.

Looking at Harux as if he were a lunatic, a path was made in the sea of people who had gathered in the training room, a product of the frightened students backing away from their newly found entity to antagonize.

Why they had taken this so seriously was because of one simple fact, up to this day, almost no one had managed to launch even the simplest of attacks on Tommy, and now add on to the fact that not only was he hurt, but visibly wailing and yowling?

That was enough to shake any student to their core, and so even if they were twenty or so people, the likelihood of them winning against Harux was non-existent.

In the following wake of this event, rumors of the terror elf Harux spread. Known as the one who had managed to land an attack on Tommy, words of his prowess spread from class to class, faculty to faculty, and to the student council.

Little did they know that this was an event that would hold repercussions for the elf and his dear companions in the near future.