Havoc1021
patreon
Rise of the Archon-Chapter 69
🕑 Added 2024-07-30 04:11:37 +0000 UTCI stared at my mentor for a few seconds, then pushed myself up and brushed sand from my clothes, "I learned you have been holding back quite a bit."
Sig's stern look turned into a glare, "Try again."
"Sorry," I cleared my throat, "I...ah, well, I learned plenty, sir. I need more training to start. My spear techniques need work, and I have ideas to improve my magic as well, though I need to know how you nullified my-"
"No!" Sig roared as he stepped forward and chopped a hand down, "That's not what you should learn. You're too reckless, and it's going to get you killed. I could've done it. Not with magic or any great trick. Just skill, experience, and a good weapon."
Sig held my gaze before stepping back, "You don't need to train harder, kid. You need to slow down and not take stupid risks. Enjoy your time with your friends. Be a student. Talk with Amelia. But I'll be damned if I watch you get yourself killed."
It was tempting. Despite everything, some part of me found it appealing just to give up, relax, enjoy my life, and not worry about the future.
Then, that moment of weakness passed, and I bowed my head, "Thank you for the advice, sir. With your leave, I would like to return to the Academy and start fixing the flaws in my skills."
When I straightened, Sig was still looking at me. His glare had softened again, but he still had an icy, hard look in his eyes.
"Why are you training so hard?" Sig asked, "This isn't healthy. It's dangerous."
"I already told you," I replied, "I need to be better."
"I know. Why?"
"Because..." I trailed off, and my heart beat faster. At that moment, I felt strange. Young. Closer to my age than I had in a long time.
"Can you promise me something?" I finally asked after a long pause.
Sig raised an eyebrow but nodded, "What's that?"
"I want you to promise that you will tell no one about what I am going to tell you until I give you my permission."
I expected Sig to refuse outright, but the man barely paused before nodding, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"You want me to refuse?"
"No, but-" I shook my head, "Alright."
It took me a few seconds to find the words, "My entire life was decided before I can remember. I was destined to be an advisor and nothing more. Becoming a mage was expected, and my Awakening was another step. So, I expected to see nothing. At least, nothing noteworthy."
"Most don't," Sig replied, "I didn't."
Sig's statement was broadly true based on my readings, and I nodded before replying, "Mine was the same, at least at first. I saw myself become a mage and begin training, but I was not an advisor. I watched myself advance, becoming more powerful than I ever imagined."
I took a long breath, then continued, "And then, I died. In battle against an unbeatable opponent."
It was a simplified, sanitized version of my visions and omitted several key details. While I trusted Sigmund, telling him everything was a step too far. But the older man had earned at least some honesty.
At some point, I had begun to rub my hand against my chest, where the invader's sword had pierced me through. I adjusted my position, shifting in my seat and waiting.
Sig remained silent for a long time. He did not scoff at me or laugh at my story. Instead, he walked back upstairs before returning a minute later carrying two seats. The older man placed them onto the stone floor of the basement, sat down, and gestured to the other.
"Sit," Sig commanded.
I blinked, then looked at the chair, "I do not think-"
"Sit down and listen," Sig repeated.
Protesting would be pointless, so I nodded and did as he commanded.
Sig examined me, seeing to consider what to say before speaking, "I believe you, kid."
"You...do?"
"Of course. Your story is ridiculous, but you're no liar. At least not about these sorts of things. I think you saw yourself become a powerful mage and die. But even so," Sig leaned back, "Is avoiding that worth risking your life now? Hell, how are you sure it'll even happen?"
Sig had a point, at least based on what he knew. He assumed my vision was some nebulous thing where I fought an indistinct opponent in a possible future. But I had not and would not. Those invaders would come someday, and I needed to be ready.
So, I settled on a half-truth.
"I cannot say for sure if that future will pass. But if you saw yourself die and knew you could avoid it if you trained harder, sacrificed more, and took risks, would you?"
Sig held my gaze for a long time, then sighed, "Fine. Listen to me, and listen well. I understand why you're doing this, but I won't watch as you avoid possible death by running right into a certain one."
It felt like another dismissal, with a heavy tone and a hardness that reminded me of Julian. I bowed my head and nodded, feeling a lump settle in my throat.
I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice steady, "I understand, sir. I apologize for wasting your time and-"
"So," Sigmund cut in, "We better get started making sure you're strong enough to avoid that. Agreed?"
I raised my head, and Sig stared at me with something resembling warmth. He nodded once, stood, and started towards the cases containing various weapons and armor.
Sig was halfway there before he turned over his shoulder and continued, "You coming?"
I jumped up and practically ran after him, and within a handful of steps, we stood amongst the various cases and containers at the far end of the room.
There were more weapons and armor than I ever thought possible, with nearly every object having some variation or alteration I had never seen before. I could see strange artwork worked into the hilts and sheaths, smithing techniques used to work designs right into the blades' flats, and intricate carvings on the surfaces of shields and armor.
Sig folded his arms over his chest and turned toward me, "Pick one."
"Sir?" I asked, turning to the older man and raising both eyebrows.
"I can't fix your magic, but I can get you a proper weapon. These are just collecting dust down here," Sig shrugged, "And if it keeps you alive, it's a small price. So, pick one. Whatever you pick, I'll help you learn."
I knew what I should pick, but running to the spears would be too hasty, right? Instead, I took my time wandering, taking a closer look at each weapon and variation and considering them in my head. There were swords and maces, of course, but also bows, crossbows, daggers, and axes of all shapes and sizes.
One case in particular held a handful of swords with strange, wave-like patterns in the metal. I saw them as faded silvery ripples worked into the darker gray steel.
"Folded metal," Sig explained from beside me, "is a technique for making poor alloy workable. Not much use with high-quality steel, though."
We moved further, past mannequins wearing armor made of interlocking chains, woven fabric, boiled leather, and one massive set of dull gray plates, and finally, I stopped in front of the spears.
Sig gestured to open the case, and I retrieved the spear furthest to the left, weighing it in both my hands and my thoughts.
The spear felt perfect, light as a feather, superbly balanced, and with a flexible shaft tipped with a razor-shape leaf-shaped blade. The small crossguard near the end should protect my hands from errant blades, and there was enough free space to inscribe my enchantment.
It was an ideal weapon, about as fine an example as one could obtain without magic and better than I could afford without weeks of hunting and saving. It fit into my style, and would only improve once I added some personal touches.
And despite all of that, something about the spear felt wrong.
Sigmund favored simplicity, which had led him to the spear. That simplicity was the strength of both his style and his weapon. A sword was more versatile but more complex, while the spear sacrificed all that in favor of fast, brutal efficiency. Who cared about predictability when you skewered your opponent through the heart before they could react?
Master Barlow, for one. She had emphasized a dozen times that improvisation and unpredictability were strengths themselves. A mage's first plan all too often failed, and if you did not prepare for that eventuality, you lost. Or died.
I liked the spear, but it felt too limited. I wanted something flexible and more than that...something unique. A spear felt so mundane, and the small, egotistical part of me demanded a weapon that set me apart.
So, I explained as much and Sig's face turned stony. He snatched the spear from my hands and shoved it back into the case.
"Effective works better than flashy," Sig said, "You're afraid of dying, but you want something fancy? Really?"
"Not fancy, no. But surely there is something more suited to what I want than a spear?"
Sig stared at me, then sighed and jerked his head towards the wall furthest from the stairs before marching off. I followed him again, and he led me to the strangest section of them all.
The weapons here looked particularly unfamiliar, with bizarre, half-moon-shaped blades, swords longer than my body and nearly a foot wide, and whips like the one Sigmund had used against me.
At that last part, I set a mental reminder to pry Sigmund for information on that particular tool later.
Finally, Sig stopped and knelt close to the floor beside a wide, short glass case. He retrieved a wooden box covered in dust, undoing the clasps and flipping back the lid to reveal a six-foot-long cloth-wrapped bundle.
Slowly, Sigmund unwrapped the object and revealed...a spear? No, as I took a closer look in the dim torchlight, I realized it was as much a spear as a dog was a wolf.
First, the blade on this weapon was at least twice the size of a spearpoint, nearly two feet of edged steel closer to a sword than anything. The shaft was shorter, with an octagonal shape and textured grips rather than a rounded or oval design, as I expected. Finally, there was a firm-looking crossguard where metal met wood.
Sig examined it for a few seconds before holding it out to me.
"What is it?" I asked as I took the weapon from Sigmund.
"A sword-staff," Sig replied, "Like a glaive or halberd but with a double-edged straight blade."
"Not the most creative of names, is it?" I said with a smile as I turned the weapon over. The grip felt unfamiliar compared to what I had used before, but I found it had the strangest habit of settling into a particular orientation almost accidentally.
"Rename it, then," Sig shrugged, "What are the advantages of that weapon?"
"Pardon?"
"Advantages," Sig repeated, "What are they?"
"Ah," I barely paused, "Reach, for one. This looks shorter than a spear but is still longer than most weapons. I suspect it also has more options, thanks to the elongated blade and the shaft length, which gives more leverage."
Sig nodded, "And weaknesses?"
That was a trickier question that required a few seconds before I replied, "Reach again. If a spear is too long to use indoors, this is too. The shaft is vulnerable to attacks, the same as the spear. And it feels heavier than a spear, though I am unsure if that will matter in a fight."
"You missed one, but that's good enough for now," Sig nodded, "You wanted something unique and effective? Take that."
"Ah...sir, are you sure?"
"Completely," Sig nodded, "Like I said, these are gathering dust down here anyway. If you won't slow down, I'll do whatever I can to keep you alive. If that means throwing away some old trinkets, then it's worth it. Got it?"
The older man stared at me and placed a hand on my shoulder, and I felt the lump return to my throat. I swallowed again and nodded, "Thank you, sir."
A gleam returned to Sig's eyes, and he chuckled, "Oh, don't thank me yet. You missed one key weakness of that weapon. It's a sword as much as a staff, and we've neglected that training. But we've got plenty of time to correct that, and based on your performance today, you've been slacking."
Comments
Nomad
Training montage time!
vdv9
Tyftc
Daniel Boktor
I like this story
