Chapter 9: Chapter 9 – Getting Caught!

"Supreme Horse Charge!"

The phantom of a horse appeared behind one of the trainees as their sword swept out a stampeding attack.

"HA!"

Unwilling to be outdone, the instructor split the attack into two and watched as it gradually turned into wisps of magic power. Then, their sword lowered until it was only inches away from the genius trainee.

"You've progressed well."

"You lousy piece of—"

Smack!

The blunt force from the instructor's backhand sent the trainee flying towards the scarecrow practice area.

Crack!

The genius trainee collided with a scarecrow that broke and slowly fell to the ground.

Thud!

In shock, the entire courtyard went silent.

The trainees remaining were the most devoted ones, either through vengeance or training masochism, and they all knew what drove the training instructor insane.

Broken equipment.

Specifically, his hand-made equipment being broken.

Seeing the scarecrow the instructor had made with his own two hands break at the base and fall was all it took for the instructor's eyes to turn red. With a swift kick, the trainee was sent flying away again as the instructor came over and analyzed the crime scene.

"The fibres have been ground to a powder. Even the wood has been slowly compressed from multiple punches. This couldn't be a single day's practice… this is a planned murder! Scarecrow murder!"

The trainees shivered at the thought. Then, they shivered again.

"Are those… weapon marks?"

The instructor muttered with a sliver of blood in his tone and marched to the weapon box. Like a bloodhound, the instructor tossed aside weapon after weapon until he drew out a sword with a long crack along its blade.

"WHO DARES USE THE TRAINING WEAPONS ON MY SCARECROWS!!! I POURED BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS INTO MAKING THESE AMAZING TRAINING WEAPONS!!!"

"Ah!"

The instructor, now with hair rising in a fury, picked up a nearby trainee from the scruff of their clothing.

"WHO WAS IT?"

The trainee looked in silent fear. The grinding of the instructor's teeth made it apparent they weren't asking to smell the roses.

"It was him! Over there! He's the only one who's touched the training weapons lately!"

Thud.

The trainee dropped as the instructor craned his neck towards a calmly sitting man with crimson hair.

In direct opposition to the fury inside him, the instructor walked with a calm grace. One that turned into a sprint before stopping right at the man's feet.

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"Boy. BOY!"

The instructor stabbed the wooden blade just millimetres before the man's feet, yet he didn't flinch. Instead, he was entirely focused on one thing: ignoring the instructor. Well, he was almost ignoring the instructor.

Cough! Cough!

A spray of blood escaped from the man's mouth and stained the instructor's carefully cleaned training uniform.

"Why, you little…."

The instructor had always held a short fuse of a temper. And, when the crimson-haired man's mouth parted in a slight grin, it was enough for steam to emerge from the instructor's ears.

Being ignored, then mocked, only added insult to injury as the instructor violated one of his own vital creeds. Harming a trainee.

It hurt him on the inside each time to do it, but why was it always the best solution?

"I'll teach you a lesson in responsibility—!"

A trace of killing intent, the instructor's only real threat, leaked from him, and he picked up the wooden sword. Behind him, the last glow of dusk was winking out, and slowly, darkness covered the courtyard.

Fwou!

Shink!

The blade stopped before the instructor could fully swing. Rather, there was only half a wooden sword left to swing.

The rest had been cut off.

The dull gleam of a rusty sword flashed and carved a thin line across the instructor's throat in the same instant. Then, the tip of the sword was steadied towards his neck.

But that wasn't where the instructor's attention was.

Eyes like condensed fire were being levelled at the instructor in such a way that he nearly missed the misty crimson form that was seeping out of the man before him.

"Don't make me draw my sword."

The feeling of cold, icy death being pressed against his neck sent shivers across the instructor.

At that moment, a single strand of the crimson form emanating from the man snaked along the sword and touched the instructor. The instructor felt like they were looking at a reaper. One who had come to trace its finger along his neck, deciding whether to grasp the last shred of life from him.

"Ah! NO!"

The instructor backpedalled on delayed instinct and ran. That's right; he directly ran, not even sparing a glimpse to the concerned trainees behind him. The only thought on the instructor's mind was to escape from the man before him as soon as possible and at whatever cost he needed to pay.

 

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Novus watched the instructor run with a trail of tears behind him.

Idiot. But, he did release a skill for me.

Novus sheathed the rusty sword and pulled up the notifications he'd received.

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