Chapter 169: Arc 5-Winter War-02

“Uh-huh. So, best ways to break him without making him entirely useless?”

“We can cater to his ego, provide him the validation he so desperately craves. Let him become confident, perhaps grant him a sliver of the power he desires. He will build a proper following, one that may even survive for a few years.”

“I can see a problem with that. If he becomes strong, actually strong, he’ll get cocky and come after me. He hates me, you know?” I’d do the same thing and Mr. Self-Made seems a hundred times pettier than me.

“Indeed, though perhaps not for a while. Besides, he will never be an actual threat to you.”

“That’s true. I can think of a second alternative. Which I know you know.”

“Yes, we can also play to his anger, something you enjoy. Humiliate him to the point that he becomes reckless. Who knows what he will do then. Someone pushed into a corner is capable of greatness…and terrible atrocities.”

Our options are watching him slowly build a following and reputation before utterly crushing him or driving him mad until he snaps and does something crazy.

“Let’s go with anger.” The first option sounds incredibly boring, which is reason enough to reject it. It also means I’d have to hold myself back and watch him build something good enough to hurt once I break it, whether that’s power, allies, or reputation. That could take decades. I don’t have that much free time. “I want him to be so angry that the sight of me makes him faint from heatstroke.” Then we’ll see what lengths he’s really willing to go to for power.

“I have several ideas.”

“That we can talk about later,” I say quickly, seeing that’s she’s finished packing the boxes. “Come on, we don’t want to be late. Bell!”

There’s loud scampering as my favorite imp barrels down the stairs, stopping by my leg. She looks up at me with four wide eyes and lets out a happy “Coo!” I hold out my arms for her and she leaps into them, settling herself against my chest. [I’m ready, Master Lou!]

“Good! We don’t want to be late!”

-

Alana is waiting for us outside the Bronze Dorm, standing to the side of the door. As usual, she is dressed in linens and light plate armor, the gray metal dull and scuffed from its frequent use. Her blonde hair has grown, the tips nearly reaching the base of her neck. She wanted to chop it all off but I managed to convince her otherwise, eager to see her with the standard appearance of a noblewoman. Don’t know how I’m going to convince once it becomes long enough to be a nuisance but for the moment, she has it tied in a messy ball, her longer bangs held back by twin hairpins with little blue and silver shields on them. Gifts from me after hearing her complain for the umpteenth time.

Her sword is strapped to her side as usual, one hand casually resting on the pommel as she stares off into the distance. I pick up the pace, calling out, “Thinking about me again?”

Blue eyes snap to me. She frowns but quickly cracks under the pressure of my smile, lips twitching and eventually moving upwards. “Yeah, cause you’re bringing breakfast.”

“Cheh. You only want me slaving over a hot stove for you, brute.”

“Only thing you’re good for, woman.”

I guffaw, delighted. Oh, I love when she plays my games. It doesn’t happen often but slowly but surely, she’s relaxed that stiff personality I love and hate. I think I’m growing on her.

“So, do you want to sit down inside or—”

“Ah, no, no. I can smell those boxes from here. If those beasts in there get a whiff, they’ll never leave us alone.”

“Okay, usual place. Keep up, huh? We’ve got somewhere to be today.”

She scoffs. “I always keep up, don’t I?” she says, falling in beside me as I break into a swift jog, Geneva and Bell behind us.

Since the unfortunate entanglement with Prince Samuel, we’ve taken to eating on the Dueling Field at least once a week. Or at least, Alana pesters me to have Geneva cook for her at least once a week and I oblige. No more, though. Otherwise, neither of us would be able to stomach mundane food again. And that’s just her normal cooking, not whatever magic she uses to make simple ingredients taste like divinity.

“So, how are you feeling?” I ask once we’re on the field, boxes spread around us.

Alana pauses in shoveling down food to look up at me. “Are you asking how I feel about the upcoming tests?”

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“Was there anything else happening to today?”

“Maybe. Depends on you.” She grins at my narrowed eyes, taking a bite of a sausage. “You’re still too easy.”

“I prefer to call it optimistic. Now, stop making my innocent heart race you rogue and get on with what you were going to say.”

“Hm. I was talking to some of the foundation acolytes, to get information on the qualifiers. The specifics change every year but the overall tests remain the same. It’s divided into three parts; a written exam, an interview, and a demonstration of ability.”

She grabs a napkin to wipe her hands before grabbing a bottle of juice. “There’s also a hidden test. Apparently, the first thing they do is measure all of the acolytes’ coefficients. Supposedly, if it’s below 100, they immediately boot you out.”

“I see.” My coefficient was above that before I came to the Hall. After several months of mana exercises, it’s sure to have improved, though I have no idea by how much.

“The exam itself covers a breadth of topics. Supposedly, you pass if you can answer the basic questions on spell variables and construct a few half-decent spells on paper. The more complex questions are there as a test, a chance to impress the instructors, something—”

“We have to do if we want to be invited into their classes.” Initiates receive the same instruction during their first year, ensuring we’re all competent with the basics. However, advanced lessons are another matter. The masters of the Hall are not simple tutors hired by nobles, basically treated as a higher order of servant to their respective houses. They are powerful fighters and elites within their fields. They do not take in riff-raff with enough crowns to buy a place at the Hall.

“Miss Alyssa warned me,” I say in answer to her questioning gaze. “Apparently, I don’t make the best first impression.”

“Wonder what made her say that,” my friend says drily. “After the written exam is the interview. A panel of three instructors from the three major studies ask about your views on magic and goals or whatever else.”

The three major studies; spellcrafting, for those intending to be casters, foundation for those intending to join one of the knightly orders, and alchemy.

“The interview is the simplest part of the qualifiers as no one can fail. It’s—”

“Just another way to impress the instructors.”

Alana glares at me. “Will you quit interrupting me? It’s annoying.”

“Ah, sorry. Sometimes, it’s hard to ignore our connection.” I grin at her scoff. “And the last test?”

“A demonstration of ability. This is the test that changes the most. In previous years, there’s been tournaments, single bouts. There’s been staged battles, pitting entire classes against one another. There’s also been demonstrations of skill, initiates throwing out their best spell. Don’t suppose you know what it’s going to be?”

“Why would you think I know?”

“You’re married to an instructor.”

“Ha! You think Kierra would help me cheat?”

“No, but I think you might have gotten a few details to slip. You’re devious enough.”

“Thank you.”

“There you go taking my insults as compliments again.”

“Please. We both know it’s how you show your love.”

“You really should see someone about those delusions.”

 

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