A New Arrival
James swung his straight sword toward the head of the Drakthari sergeant, the metallic clang of their blades ringing through the battlefield. The sergeant deftly deflected the strike with his curved sword, twisting his wrist before lashing out with a vicious backhand. James barely managed to duck, the wind of the near miss brushing against his cheek. Using the momentum of his dodge, he pivoted on his heel and slashed forward, the tip of his blade carving a crimson line across the Drakthari's chest.
"SHK!" The unmistakable sound of metal rending armor filled the air as blood trickled from the shallow wound. The demi-human staggered back, his bestial features twisted with a mixture of pain and fury, yet instead of retreating, a slow, unsettling grin spread across his face.
A knot of unease coiled in James' gut. He shifted into a defensive stance, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. The Drakthari sergeant's blade began to glow, a molten orange hue bleeding across the metal. Wisps of heat shimmered along its length, the fire mana coiling like a living entity, eager to consume.
"You think you can best me, human?" The sergeant's voice dripped with contempt, his sharpened fangs glinting in the firelight.
James' heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain calm. Even low-quality fire mana could be devastating. He couldn't afford hesitation.
"WHOOSH!" The Drakthari sergeant swung his blade in a cross-slash, and two crescent-shaped arcs of fire erupted from the weapon, howling through the air like hungry spirits. James inhaled sharply, his own mana surging to meet the attack. A deep, earthen brown aura pulsed from within him, flowing into his sword. The once-ordinary metal took on a crystalline sheen, hardening into something akin to a diamond.
"SHING!" The first fire blade met James' enhanced weapon in a violent clash. Sparks exploded outward as his diamond-like sword cleaved through the flame, redirecting it toward a nearby Drakthari soldier. The unfortunate warrior barely had time to scream before the fire engulfed him, his form crumbling into ash in an instant.
But James had no time to celebrate. The second flame blade was already upon him.
"BOOM!" The fire collided with his sword, an eruption of heat and force sending shockwaves through his arms. White-hot pain licked at his skin as he gritted his teeth, struggling against the searing pressure. His boots dug into the scorched ground as he fought to remain standing.
"HAHAHAHA! Die, puny human!" The Drakthari sergeant's laughter boomed across the battlefield as his flames swallowed James whole.
For a brief moment, the world became fire. Heat, suffocating and relentless, clawed at James' flesh. The acrid scent of burning air filled his lungs. But even as the flames roared, he did not fall. Deep within the inferno, his brown mana flared, more potent than before, an unyielding force of resilience.
And then, the fire split apart.
"SWOOSH!" A blade, shimmering like polished earth, cut through the blaze. It moved like a comet, unstoppable, deadly. The Drakthari sergeant barely had time to react before the crystalline weapon tore through his chest, its tip bursting from his back.
His eyes widened in shock.
The sword, now nothing more than a hilt embedded in his torso, pulsed once before dissolving into countless motes of brown light, devoured by James' mana. The sergeant choked, his sneer frozen in disbelief as his body lurched. A moment later, he collapsed, lifeless.
Silence followed. Then— "Squelch!" the tip of a spear protruded through his back and out his chest.
James gasped.
His vision blurred. The battlefield wavered like a heat mirage, the world tilting beneath him. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. His limbs felt impossibly heavy, the sounds of clashing steel and war cries fading into the background.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
William jolted upright, his breath hitching as he had woken from a nightmare where his father was stabbed with a spear and potentially killed.
He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the already tousled strands. "Just a dream..." he muttered, though his heart still thrummed with the remnants of adrenaline. The vividness of the battle, the scent of blood, the taste of ash, it had felt too real.
Stretching, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "POP, POP, POP!" His joints cracked as he loosened his muscles, a pleased groan escaping his lips at the satisfying release of tension. The soft glow of dawn seeped through the window, painting the wooden walls in hues of amber and gold.
Shaking off the lingering haze of sleep, William stood, rolling his shoulders before making his way outside. The crisp morning air greeted him, carrying the scent of dew-kissed grass and freshly tilled soil. The quiet hum of nature replaced the echoes of clashing steel from his dreams.
On the porch, his work boots sat neatly beside a rocking chair. Slipping them on, he took a deep breath, savoring the tranquility of the farm. The distant call of birds, the rustling leaves, the soft creak of the wooden boards beneath his feet, this was his reality. Not war, not fire, not the battlefield.
He stepped onto the dirt path, stretching one last time before beginning a light jog around the farm. The rhythmic crunch of the earth beneath his boots grounded him, with each step reaffirming where he was and who he was.
As the moon began to descend, he let the last remnants of his dream fade away, embracing the peace of the present moment.
William managed to run around the entire farm, a solid 300 acres, exactly four times. He then stopped at a nearby water trough and splashed cool water on his face. The refreshing sensation invigorated him. As he raised his head to the sky, the deep red hues gave way to the morning sun, which rose higher over the horizon, signaling a new day for this part of the world.
In the distance, a medium-sized carriage, resplendent with the ornate insignia of the Elaris Dominion, an intricately designed sigil of a rose-colored phoenix, trundled along the winding dirt road, steadily making its way toward the bustling town. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of polished wood and leather.
A middle-aged man, his face set with a stern expression that spoke volumes of the weight he carried, sat across from his young pupil, Conor. The young man's demeanor was almost apathetic as he stared blankly out the window, captivated by the picturesque rolling hills and lush forests that ebbed and flowed outside the carriage, seemingly lost in a world of his own.
Suddenly, the middle-aged man's piercing gaze narrowed, turning into slits as he cleared his throat forcefully and bellowed, "CONOR!"
The abruptness of the shout jolted Conor from his reverie, and he straightened in his seat, acutely aware that his tutor was not one to be disregarded lightly.
"Now, as I was saying," the tutor continued, his voice regaining its composed authority, "as the heir to one of the largest and most influential merchant guilds in the Kingdom, you will bear a host of responsibilities that are expected of someone in your position."
With a swift motion, he produced a slender piece of wood, resembling a wand, from the folds of his robe. He waved it gracefully through the air, causing blue mana to flourish and spiral around them, coalescing into shimmering words that danced in the moist air of the carriage cabin.
Conor's eyes widened in awe at the display of his tutor's magical prowess, the ethereal glow illuminating his youthful features. The excitement bubbled within him as he thought of the upcoming week, when the schools would re-open, offering all, nobles and non-nobles alike, the opportunity to delve into the realms of magic and combat. Each day promised a chance to learn, to grow, and to embrace the power that knowledge could bring, not to mention the potential friends he could make.
They soon entered the town, where the streets bustled with merchants and townsfolk going about their day. Within minutes, the carriage rolled up to the mayor's grand estate, its tall iron gates already open in anticipation of their arrival.
A procession of servants and guards lined the front of the estate, standing in disciplined formation. At the head of this welcoming party stood the mayor himself, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of silver in his dark hair, flanked by his wife and their two children, who clung politely at her sides.
The moment the carriage came to a halt, a middle-aged attendant hurried forward, bowing slightly before reaching up to assist Conor. Despite his stature, the boy carried himself with the weight of responsibility far beyond his years.
As his feet touched the ground, the gathered servants bowed deeply, their voices ringing in unison, "Welcome, young master Conor!"
The sudden outburst made Conor flinch, but he quickly steadied himself, squaring his shoulders before striding forward. The mayor watched him with quiet amusement, his expression unreadable.
"Hello, Uncle Ragar," Conor began, his tone formal. "I've come with orders from my father to oversee the establishment of our business branch here and ensure its success."
His carefully measured words hung in the air for a moment before his serious expression cracked into a wide grin. "And, of course, to visit my little cousins!" he added with a playful chuckle.
The two children, initially shy, squeaked in surprise and ducked behind their mother's skirts, only to peek out moments later, eyes glinting mischievously as they glared at him in mock defiance.
The group entered the estate and began their discussions about the placement of the store and its general wares.
Conor decided to take up an abandoned lot with a building already in place, and he figured he would sell a little bit of everything as his family was partnered with the auctioneer's guild.
The talks went on like this for a few hours as they ironed out the details to be implemented.
Suddenly, Conor felt a tug on his shirt, and he looked over to see his two little cousins waiting patiently for him to finish.
"Sigh, I had better play with them before I get in trouble, hehe!" he says before shooting up and grabbing both of his cousins in a fireman carry and dashing into the distance with the sounds of happily squealing youngsters echoing through the halls.
Back on the farm, William had just finished his morning chores and was resting when his mother walked out of the house and sat next to him, handing him a cool beverage.
"Gulp!" William swallowed the drink and nearly choked from the sudden burst of flavor. "Is this wine?" he asked, and his mother nodded, explaining that it was quite normal for children his age to have a single glass after hard work.
William finished the drink, savoring the flavor, which reminded him of the wine he would order for himself after a hunt in his previous life. He leaned back and sighed in pleasure as the alcohol swirled in his head; he was still a lightweight in this body.
He noticed the notification about being mildly drunk, but he paid it no mind, as all he could think about was how tingly his body felt.
Aria drank a glass of her own before tousling William's hair and going back inside to put the wine in a cool spot in the house. She then settled into her favorite chair by the fire, where she continued working on something she refused to show William.
William patiently awaited the buzzed feeling to subside, the faint hum in his head gradually fading into silence before he rose to his feet, re-engaging with his tasks. With a deliberate gesture, he summoned his blessed wooden hoe, its handle warm and familiar to the touch, and began to nurture the fields that still craved his attention.
Gently, he dropped a handful of seeds, harvested from the rabbits he had skillfully defeated, into the carefully dug pits, their surfaces glistening with moisture. After placing the seeds, he lovingly enveloped them with the rich, dark earth, watching as grains of soil clung to his fingers.
As he worked, a soothing green mana flowed from William's hands into the wooden hoe. It coursed through the dirt, shimmering softly as it sought out the seeds buried beneath the surface, imbuing them with life and vitality.
Under the dirt, despite being planted mere moments ago the seeds began to germinate at a drastically increased pace, but William was unaware as he continued to use the rest of the seeds for the entire small field.