Chapter 15 : Crimson Forest, White Snow

“Mortius, I have been instructed by his majesty supreme king Tommy to tell you that we are currently holding your girlfriend hostage. Come pledge allegiance to my master in the forest south of the main building in an hour or I guarantee you that she will suffer,” the goon declared, any sense of self-awareness absent.

Since he was still capable of feeling emotions, despite some journalists claiming otherwise, Lucius was evidently shaken.

With what only amounted to a few words, his suave debonair millionaire persona had been destroyed, and in its place resided something almost sinister.

One look from Lucius, and the goon was forced into submission, any attempt at reprisal disjointed by the chill in his body, he found himself unable to move, or much less breathe.

To those without Resolve, the aura of those with, was more than a mere illusion.

“Would you please tell your ‘master’,” he emphasized, going as far as to use his middle and index fingers to create a make-shift quotation. “That he and his loved ones will face a long and painful death if he dares lay a single finger on my assistant,” Lucius growled, standing up to face the student, who sequentially made an awkward smirk before he rushed out of the cafeteria.

A childlike hope blossoming in the teacher’s heart, he knew that whatever awaited the two that at least, it would have been something great.

“Now then, I shall leave you two to your youthful shenanigans, as you seem to have quite a fight coming up.”

“Reminds me of my days in school,” Azama reminisced, his eyes all dreamy. “You know I once beat my own teacher up!” Azama remarked, hoping to provide some solace.

But other than that. He had nothing more to say and therefore would make his exit.

He had served his purpose as a player and was now resigned to the role of a spectator.

Risen from his seat, Azama waved the two goodbyes. “Well, good luck you two!” he would add with a most devious smile before he finally walked away.

Motivation rose from within the depths of his heart, and in an act of abnormality, Lucius rapidly gobbled down the rest of his breakfast. An austere look on his face, the teachings of his butler never left his mind. Even if he was a millionaire, not an inch or crumb of his food would be spared.

In preparation to leave the cafeteria, Lucius held one brief checkup on the cleanliness of his clothes, and sure enough, rapid as his eating were, not a single speck of its remains fell upon his clothes.

Brushing his hair back in a single swift motion, the boy was now headed towards where his equipment lay.

Harux, with a dry sausage in hand, followed up, and in the spirit of inquiry asked this. “Lucius, Lucius, where are we going?”

“To annihilate Tommy and his cronies,” he answered. unlocking the door to their room with his key.

“A fight? I’m up!” Seemingly excited at the prospect, he held up his half-finished sausage like a torch to lead the way to battle.

“Then get your equipment ready”. Disappearing into his changing room, Lucius swapped his suit for another ever-so-slightly thicker one and grabbed his suitcase engraved with a golden M. Finished with his preparations, Lucius was finished. When he came out of the lavatory, he saw that he was not the only one who had engaged in the changing of clothes.

Harux, equipped with his scimitar and gambeson, had also prepared. At least Lucius was now assured that Harux did not rely on his hide as a form of armor.

On the contrary, it was Harux who had left befuddled at Lucius’s manner of protection.

The elvish boy's hand scratched his chin while his eyes looked Lucius up and down. It seemed he was not mistaken, as suspicions had confirmed, Lucius was still wearing the same flimsy suit as before. Harux had seen a great deal of people stabbed and afflicted with other injuries while wearing these clothes, so his natural assumption was that they held little in the way of defence.

With a pleased air about him, Lucius took advantage of the situation given to him, and in a display of pride would prattle about the intricacies of his clothing.

“This is my armour.” He would explain with a gleaming pleasure, having taken quite the gratification in subverting his expectations.

“It is made from the silk of genetically engineered spiders that produce higher-than-kevlar military grade clothing as well as a mix of kevlar itself and carbon fibre,” Lucius answered with satisfaction, looking to Harux for a reaction, only to see utter confusion.

“Spiders?”

Harux hadn’t understood a word of what he had just said, he’d ripped apart plenty of spider webs before, and Lucius would use it as a form of armour?

Maybe Lucius wasn’t as smart as he made him out to be…

To Harux, the analysis given was no more than blather, and Lucius could tell. With a sigh, the half-elf made a mental note to never try anything similar again. Leading the Elf boy out of the room, he locked the door behind him.

The forthcoming encounter drawing nearer and nearer, Lucius saw the necessity of a few ‘precautions’.

Click. Lucius fiddled with his ‘ordinary pair of glasses and with a press, activated the visual interface on it. Completely accurate assessment of everything wasn’t a skill that non-artificial life forms were able to easily replicate, which was why he relied on a ‘virtual’ assistant to help him instead. A graphical user interface visible only to him appeared in front of him: a product of the scientific progress made available in the year 2020 and his own ingenuity. It in truth was not something that special.

Holographic interfaces like these, while rare, were by no means inaccessible.

Though beyond the price range of the average working-class family, to those with a bit more money, or involved in the business of scientific development, it remained to be somewhat commonplace.

His fingers twitching as he moved them to the floating holographic displays, he paced about as he fiddled with the settings, out of the equal reason of enjoyment and the refreshment of memory.

As the pair had begun to approach closer to the scene of their supposed encounter, the path upon which they tread was no longer that of concrete, but rather, soil. Heated by an underground leyline of magical energy, the path that the two would tread, was that of relative normality.

Neither burdened by the coldness or physicality of winter, the path the two were on was relatively easy to cross. Yet the farther and farther they passed the boundaries of the school and into the domain of the crimson forest, the harder their walk became. The subtle heat of the leyline drained with each step and soon enough, was little more than an afterthought.

Obstacles of white snow and red leaves now blocking their path, it was as if they were delving into the heart of the wilderness itself.