Drifting Embers
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[MGM]: 70 - Feisty
🕑 Added 2025-03-26 14:30:14 +0000 UTCA crimson bolt whizzed past me, and I leapt to dodge the attack. More bolts followed; the attacker was relentless.
Despite possessing high agility and the advantage of my Mana Sight, I struggled to maintain control of the battle. But perhaps that was intentional, considering the main purpose behind this exercise.
The bolts struck the ground, spearing through dirt and gravel, sending pebbles flying. Some pelted against my back, but with my Vitality over 900, I found them only slightly inconvenient. My opponent didn't care, though; she probably hoped I would grow annoyed.
I knew the reasoning behind her tactics—to enrage me enough to provoke a reaction. But I wasn't willing to give her the satisfaction. I would keep my anger under control.
A tendril of darkness manifested before me. I was mid-motion, already leaping forward, with no way to dodge the attack. All I could do was watch as it latched onto my leg, wrapped around my ankle, and yanked me to the ground.
The breath escaped my lungs, the impact sending vibrations through my bones. Before I could recover, I felt something press against my head. Puffing dust and shifting sideways, I caught sight of my opponent's leg—long and slender, encased in thin fabric that clung to her flesh, outlining the contours of her thigh. I would have found the sight arousing—in fact, I did find it arousing—only my lust was overwhelmed by an intense surge of rage.
I growled, breathing through my teeth, and glared at my oppressor. How dare she? I thought, the smoldering rage stoking within my chest. How dare she?!
The rage burst like an inferno, and something else manifested alongside it.
Draconian Rage.
Strength flooded my body, an overwhelming sense of power coursing through me. I caught the flicker of surprise on her face, but I wasn't about to waste this opportunity to relish her amazement.
I flared my talent, and space gave way.
Suddenly, I was behind her, fingers curled and swinging her way. She pivoted on her feet with a swift yet graceful motion. My fist caught only air, unable to even graze the hem of her cloak.
Had I been rational, I would have fallen back—strategized and then followed up. But I wasn’t. Instead, I followed my fist with another, then threw a kick. My attacks were quick; with agility over 1000, my motions were a blur even to trained eyes. But my opponent dodged each strike with effortless grace, treating them like nothing more than passing wind.
My anger didn’t abate. It grew with every passing moment, until finally, I screamed and punched. Flares of runic power surrounded my arm, and a crimson edge formed around my fingers.
The hit landed—not on my opponent, but on the ground. A deafening boom sounded as the earth caved in, the perimeter erupting in a shower of dust and debris. I had created a crater—one large enough to bury a couple of grown men.
Yet, I found no satisfaction in the raw display of destruction. My opponent had escaped. She was faster, more efficient, and an overall better fighter than me. If I wanted even a sliver of a chance at winning, I had to be as fast as her.
Just as I readied myself to invoke my talent, a sharp wind buffeted my cheek. All I saw was the rapidly advancing shadow of her leg before it struck me square in the head, sending me flying across the field.
My last thought before the impact? Man, that’s one hot leg.
—
"So..." Aldrin trailed off, a definitive pause following. "Assassins?"
I sighed, hanging my head low to avoid the glare of the sun overhead. "Not assassins," I replied. "Backup."
Another silence followed before the man spoke again.
"Must be nice to have such a beautiful backup following you around."
I heaved another sigh and slumped backward—my back against the wall, sheltered under the shade of the overhang. Aldrin sat beside me, his gaze fixed forward as he watched his young lady spar against Luna.
It was nearly midday, the sun shining directly above us. The first thing we had done that morning was request a place to train. The Baron had been all too accommodating, and I suspected it was mostly to assess our abilities.
I had already put off my training for far too long, and I wasn’t willing to wait any longer. When I made the request, Amara had been eager to accept. Her reason became evident after just a few exchanges—she wasn’t fighting me. She was taunting me.
At first, I had certainly been annoyed. But Amara reasoned that if I couldn’t keep my calm in a stressful combat scenario, it wouldn’t matter how stellar my skills were; I would still fight like a beast. There was no denying her words, especially when they rang true. Determined, I set out to prove that I could maintain my composure in battle.
I had been wrong.
My hand reached up to caress my temple, the lingering ache still making its presence known. Though Amara had healed the damage promptly, the sheer ruthlessness of the attack remained fresh in my mind. As it turned out, Amara did not hold back when training someone.
"Though I must thank you for persuading the Young Lady to avoid fighting Lady Amara," Aldrin said, his voice gentle.
"Not a problem," I muttered absentmindedly, though I couldn’t help but think that a maimed young lady probably wouldn’t leave the Baron feeling particularly fond of us. Recalling the argument still made me cringe, especially since Amara had been this close to accepting the challenge. No doubt, she was still resentful of Cassia.
I was grateful that the older man had refrained from probing too much into Cassia and Luna's sudden appearance. I had floated the theory of them acting as our backup, but I knew how far-fetched it sounded. Neither the Baron nor Aldrin likely bought my story, but they were polite enough not to press the matter.
"What moves," Aldrin uttered, his voice tinged with amazement. The praise didn’t ring hollow.
Despite being the weakest member of our group, Luna was undoubtedly the second-best combatant after Amara. Her movements were precise and deadly, and even Amara acknowledged her skills as something only those at the peak could aspire to.
That wasn’t to say Luna was truly weak. Having a Mythic Rarity Origin meant she had the potential to eventually reach S-Rank. Though she was currently only an A-Rank summon, with significantly lower attributes due to my lacking Spirit, she was still toying with Arianna—despite the Baron’s daughter being nearly at the peak of B-Rank.
Of course, it wasn’t just a matter of raw stats. Luna’s combat proficiency and talent far outmatched Arianna’s. Compared to her, Arianna—though marginally better than me — seemed to lack practical experience.
It wasn’t hard to guess where she had received her training: Hunters Academy.
The sound of soft footfalls to my left drew my attention. I turned to find Amara, a glass of water in her hand. She offered it to me, and I accepted it with a grateful nod.
"She’s holding up well," Amara commented, watching the two duel in the middle of the training ground.
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "If nothing else, she’s got perseverance."
"Well, she’s my Young Lady, after all," Aldrin said, a hint of pride in his tone. The man was awfully relaxed around Arianna, and it was clear they shared something akin to an uncle-and-niece relationship.
"She’s not bad at all," Amara acknowledged.
Aldrin’s face brightened at her words, treating them with far more weight than he had mine. It wasn’t lost on me that most people here saw Amara as our leader and the true expert. I hadn’t bothered to correct them before, and I wasn’t going to start now.
And to be fair, Amara was kind of the unofficial leader of our party.
"I suppose they found the place to their liking," I probed, shifting the topic.
Amara nodded. "Tania was beside herself to finally hold the hammer—she was absolutely radiant, I’ll tell you," she said. Then, after a pause, she added, "Pyra was far more judgmental, calling the place a 'den of garbage' and the equipment 'a pile of trash.' Though that might’ve been because the level of their equipment was too low."
When we’d approached the Baron to request a sparring ground, I had taken the opportunity to make a case for Tania and Pyra as well. Tania needed a smithy to forge, and Pyra required a lab.
The Baron had mentioned the estate held numerous forging facilities, thanks to their rich ore deposits. On the other hand, alchemy was an expensive talent. With their limited resources, the Baron had only supported a handful of acolytes to brew a variety of low-rank potions. It was no wonder the place hadn’t met the Ifrit’s standards—though, to be fair, I doubted anything would.
"It's the best they’ll get for now. Anything more will have to wait until we’ve secured additional funds," I said. "Which shouldn’t take long at all."
Amara nodded, then settled beside me. She had changed into a long black cloak with embroidered hems. Underneath, she wore a matching black corset that hugged her curves snugly and a pleated skirt that barely reached past her mid-thighs. Her legs were bare, save for the thin, lacy fabric tracing the length of her tantalizing flesh.
I tore my gaze away from the contours of her milky-white thighs and focused ahead. I had only just recovered from the haze of anger and battle lust; the last thing I wanted was to sink further into it.
Coincidentally, Luna finished her duel with Arianna at that moment, helping the younger girl to her feet.
"They're done," Amara said. "I guess it’s time for us to go round two."
