The Fundamentals of Magic: Part Three

The chivalrous man stepped forward with calm confidence, standing tall like a knight forged from myth. His armor gleamed like polished silver, intricate patterns swirling across the breastplate in delicate, sun-like motifs. A flowing, pale-blue cape draped over his shoulders, the edges embroidered with golden thread. An aura of quiet nobility surrounded him, glimmering softly like a halo of chivalry. It radiated a sense of honor and grace, as though every movement he made was guided by a code older than time itself.

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd as they took in his majestic appearance, some intrigued, others awestruck by the sheer nobility that seemed to emanate from him.

With a warm, steady gaze, he spoke, his voice both commanding and gentle.

"Welcome, everyone. I'm Rouv—a magic swordsman."

He bowed respectfully to the audience, and a wave of curious murmurs followed. The spectators seemed eager to learn more about this man whose presence alone spoke of nobility and honor.

He then approached the Magician, who grinned and raised his voice theatrically.

"Well, Mr. Magic Swordsman, what's your magical specialty?" he asked, hyping up the crowd.

Rouv turned back to the audience and spoke clearly.

"My specialty is Light Magic. It heals wounds, burns away corruption… even blinds foes or breaks curses and many more. Versatile, right?"

The crowd leaned in, clearly intrigued. Some nodded to each other, while others exchanged looks of wonder at the potential of such magic.

He looked at the Magician again.

"Do you have a dagger? Or a knife?"

The Magician paused, blinking. He patted himself down and shook his head.

"No, I don't."

He turned to the crowd.

"Anyone out there have something sharp?"

A tall man stepped forward.

"I do. Here."

He handed over a plain, slightly worn dagger—cheap-looking, but sharp enough. A few in the audience exchanged amused glances, noting the humble nature of the dagger, but the excitement in the air remained thick.

Rouv accepted it with a nod and turned back to the stage. He raised the dagger, letting everyone see it.

"Now," he announced, "I'll show you the power of Light Magic."

Without hesitation, he dragged the blade across his palm.

A collective gasp echoed through the room. Blood gushed from the wound like a crimson fountain, trailing down his arm. The audience froze—stunned, thrilled, horrified, and fascinated all at once. Some turned their heads away, unable to watch, while others leaned forward, eyes wide, riveted to the scene unfolding before them.

Luna flinched instinctively at the sudden sight of blood, but didn't turn away. Her heart raced, and despite herself, she couldn't look away, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Look at my right hand," Rouv said, his voice calm, almost soothing.

A brilliant spark ignited in his palm—then swelled into a radiant, glowing light. The crowd's collective breath caught. It was as if the room itself had stilled, everyone fixated on the glowing brilliance.

He placed that light onto his bleeding left hand. The glow sank into the wound… and in an instant, the bleeding stopped. The skin began to close, weaving together as if guided by invisible hands. A moment later, the wound had vanished—no scar, no trace, as if it had never been there.

The silence held for just a beat longer before the room erupted into cheers, applause, and shouts of awe. Some even rose to their feet, clapping, as if they had just witnessed something beyond mere magic—a miracle. A few murmured in disbelief, while others exchanged excited looks, amazed by the display of such pure, graceful power.

Rouv lowered his hand and turned to the Magician, grinning.

"That," he said proudly, "is the magic I treasure most."

He faced the crowd again, his voice full of heart.

"This magic is the pinnacle of grace."

With arms extended and passion in his eyes, he declared,

"It was created for people—by people. It should be known by all... but it's not."

His smile faded slightly, and his brows furrowed, his voice dropping with quiet sorrow.

"Such a shame."

The crowd's cheers faltered for a moment, their joy tempered by the hint of regret in Rouv's tone. He took a breath, nodding gently, before stepping back into line. The audience, still in awe, offered him another round of applause, though some murmured among themselves, questioning what he had meant.

The Magician stood there, speechless—caught between admiration and disbelief. There was something deeply endearing about what he'd just seen.

"W-Well! That was Mr. Rouv for you!" he called out. "Give him a round of applause!"

The crowd exploded once more—cheers, claps, whistles, and voices all lifted high in celebration, a collective appreciation for the display of magic, power, and honor that had just unfolded before them.

In the Line, Luna stood frozen, her mind reeling from the spectacle. She struggled to process what she'd just witnessed.

"What the hell…"

A mix of awe and disbelief washed over her, and she couldn't help but mutter to herself, "That was... without a doubt, the most noble, sincere, and admirable thing I've ever seen... and also the most reckless and stupid. Seriously, what was he thinking?"

She sighed, shaking her head, torn between admiration and exasperation.

Even as her thoughts spiraled, Luna couldn't stop herself from cheering along with the rest, caught up in the moment, in the sheer spectacle of it all.

The tall man glanced down at his empty sheath, a puzzled look crossing his face. Realizing his dagger was gone for good, he let out a quiet sigh, shoulders sinking with a hint of sadness. His gaze flickered to the spot where Rouv had stood, eyes clouded with both admiration and frustration.

The Magician, casually adjusting his moustache with a knowing smile, addressed the crowd.

"Now, the final participant with magic remains—"

"The veiled woman! The mysterious, beautiful woman! Let her step forward and present herself!"

The crowd cheered loudly, their applause even more deafening than for any participant thus far. The magician glanced at the crowd with a slight sigh, thinking, So predictable.

"Well, Ms...? What's your specialty?" the magician exclaimed.

The woman stood motionless, draped in a long, flowing black veil embroidered with intricate floral patterns. It cascaded from her head to her ankles, shrouding her form in an air of deep mystery. Her black boots were subtly adorned with a small black rose near the toe, lending an understated elegance to her appearance. A transparent veil framed her face, its delicate fabric allowing only the smooth, straight strands of her black hair to shine through—simple, yet striking in its beauty.

"Avie. Dark Magic," she replied, her voice calm—neither too soft nor too loud.

Avie slowly extended her arm, lifting the veil from her body, revealing a black rose tattoo that crawled and shifted across her skin as though alive. It didn't appear to be just ink, but something far more unsettling—moving, breathing. The tattoo slid up her arm, eventually reaching her palm, and from it, a dark light flickered like a reflection of some hidden power.

Behind her, a black rose began to grow and bloom, its petals large and ominous.

With a graceful gesture, petals—both large and small—began to flow from the rose, drifting through the air as if guided by her will. Avie then formed a sword from the petals, its edges razor-sharp.

"This spell is called Rose of Despair," she said, her voice steady.

"Rose of Despair materializes a dark rose. The caster controls its black, razor-sharp petals. These petals can cut, paralyze, and corrupt the body with necrotic energy, moving at the caster's command."

"That's all," she added, her tone neutral, almost casual.

With a soft, almost inaudible sigh, she let her shoulders slump.

She let the sword of petals dissolve into the air, withering away and vanishing as though it had never existed. The rose behind her followed suit, its bloom decaying into ash, which the wind swiftly carried away into the unknown.

Avie lowered her arm and looked toward the magician, her gaze cool.

"That's all."

The crowd was momentarily taken aback, a mix of awe and fear spreading through them at the girl's calm explanation. One person, hesitantly at first, began clapping, and then three more followed suit. Before long, the entire crowd erupted into applause, the tension breaking as their fear turned into admiration.

Avie shifted her gaze toward the magician.

"That's a rather... startling spell," the magician remarked, still clapping, his voice filled with both intrigue and caution. "It borders on being forbidden. But to be honest—" He paused, giving her a respectful nod before continuing. "That's a difficult spell to master. You have my respect."

Hearing this, Avie's lips quirked ever so slightly, a barely noticeable curve at the corner of her mouth, as if she knew something the rest of them didn't. Her eyes flickered toward the crowd, an inscrutable glint in their depths—neither joy nor pride, but something far more elusive. The briefest, shadowed smile danced across her lips, vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared.

She let her gaze linger on the audience for a heartbeat longer, as if measuring their thoughts, before her expression shifted back to its usual calm, unreadable demeanor. With an almost imperceptible nod to herself, she turned away, gliding back into the line with the quiet grace of someone whose victory was already a given—no need for words, no need for fanfare.

Luna stood in wide-eyed awe, completely captivated by the spectacle before her. Her heart raced, a sense of wonder and admiration shining through her expression. 

Amazed by the spell, Luna's thoughts drifted. The elegance of her magic, and the quiet grace of her presence—it's mesmerizing, almost otherworldly. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she watched Avie, captivated by the beauty of it all.

In that moment, she couldn't help but think—Every bit of this was worth it.