Chapter 43: [40 – familiarity; a forgotten first]

"You'll need basic training." said Soren in an off-handed remark, as if simply stating it was dinnertime.

Alvara blinked, her crimson eyes narrowing in confusion. "Training?"

"To fight."

As if that wasn't obvious.

"But, why?"

She didn't intend to participate in the large-scale battle — she'd be nothing more than a hinderance, and she was well aware of it.

"To see Damien." said Soren.

".....will I need to fight him?"

Brioc, sitting on the side, leisurely stretched across two chairs, nodded eagerly. "Oh~ it's that interesting butler of yours."

Alvara looked at him nervously. "If he's an ally, would he still attack me?"

"Oh, of course~"

Reassuring others was clearly not a skill of this blood-thirsty magician, and it showed.

Despite the threats, Alvara was a little curious in what sort of person Damien was. A teenager like her, yet a leader of a notorious tribe with the ability that rivaled the strongest. Admirable, respectable.

"I can teach you." offered Vendra, who had silently entered the room with poise. She smiled in greeting, but it lacked the same kindness it once did.

She was distracted, and none could blame her.

Soren glanced over from where he sat cross-legged on the chair — his most comfortable position, in his opinion. "You'll join us?"

He lacked empathy or understanding of emotions, but he'd be blind not to see Vendra's hesitance when Celine appeared in the mirage, deadly and cruel.

Not to mention, the many books he'd read taught him this at the very least: a person could not fight against a friend so easily.

Vendra smiled faintly, a dazed look glued on in permanent reluctance. Yet even that couldn't diminish her determination. "Yes, of course. I will do whatever is necessary of me."

Raphael, who'd watched quietly from the sides spoke up. "You say you will, but can you?"

Unlike Soren, he understood her completely. It was understandable, her hesitance, but on a battlefield it was a weakness unlike any other.

"Can you kill her, if necessary?" His words hung in the air like the winter wind, flowing with a chilling bite that carried the harsh truth.

But this was his kindness.

A warning.

In this way, Vendra still had a way to turn back. And she knew that.

Ocean eyes blinked in wide surprise, and her smile became a little more genuine. "I can," said the woman with more determination than any other. "and I will. I promise you that, Raphael. And you too, Soren. I can promise all of you that much."

It was difficult, drowning in your own muddle of thoughts, alone. But she wasn't alone, and Vendra appreciated it.

Truly.

Soren nodded at the side in acknowledgement, and Raphael's cold words turned into a smile.

"Sounds good."

"If you don't mind me asking..." started Alvara slowly, carefully. "Who was Celine to you?"

There was affection in the reply, intertwined and evident. "It's fine. She was somebody who seemed to burn bright with a flame I couldn't look away from. My childhood friend."

"Were you aware of her identity?"

"I was well aware of her difference, that there was an aura she possessed that was like an angel."

Brioc raised his head slightly. "You were watching her, right? Her being the Death Saint — you knew of it."

"...yes, I have. But my view is limited. The nature provides us the secrets we know, and there is much left hidden."

She'd been briefed on the story of the sleeping angel, the fallen demon and the vengeful sister, who'd stop at nothing to save the other.

When Soren told the story he had heard, he watched as silent tears trickled down her pale cheeks.

His words had been simple, lacking the emotional allure that attracted people to a tale, but Vendra still heard it vividly, echoing in her ears.

She had smiled sadly as crystals stained her face and said, "I see. Thank you, Soren."

After, Raphael had dragged the prince out of the room to give Vendra space — seeing as Soren had no intentions of leaving after she started crying.

"If possible," said Vendra with soft hesitation, "I'd like to speak to her once more."

"We won't be killing her." stated Soren bluntly. "Speak to her if you want."

He spoke of death so simply that it was almost startling. As if speaking of a common occurrence, something that was natural and plain. It was this bluntness of his that made it clear — Soren was used to battle, and even more used to death.

"Thank you." said Vendra with a smile.

Regardless of the determination she had spoken of, it was undeniable that a part of her hoped for a proper reason. To hear the truth, completely, from Celine herself.

"Moving on," said Brioc, sitting up suddenly as his loud tone broke through the stifling atmosphere which had plagued the room. "I don't mind teaching you either, Alvy~"

"I mind." said Alvara in return.

"I'm almost certain that you'll be learning the best of tricks if you let me teach you."

"I don't know if those tricks are something I want to know."

The teenager turned to Soren hopefully, the sparkles in her eyes making him frown in foreboding.

"Can you teach me, please?"

"N--"

"You were the one who suggested it, so wouldn't it make sense for you to? And of course, you know Damien well, right? I'm sure you could show me the best method of fighting him."

"I--"

"I won't let you down, Soren. Or should I call you Master? Teacher? Sir?"

"....."

A talkative teenager, she was. Soren blinked, waiting to see if she'd say anything else before trying to speak again. Most likely, she was another stubborn fool who wouldn't back down. If he declined, it'd be like arguing with a wall.

He tapped a finger against the table with a frown, eyes drooping with sleepiness.

"Fine."

A deep chuckle reverberated from besides him. Soren moved his tired gaze to glare at the source of the sound, unamused.

Raphael raised a brow. "Pretty popular."

Soren squinted. "I blame you."

"...How does that work?"

"I just do."

Raphael, who had been watching with amusement and interest felt speechless.

What he understood even less was why he bothered having such pointless banter with a troublesome, lazy prince that only knew how to pick fights.

He waved a hand in dismissal. It didn't matter in the end, he figured.

After the meal was over, Soren headed with Alvara to the training room — Raphael following behind. They'd both have to finish teaching her the basics in a short time.

The clock was ticking, and time would not have the patience to wait for them.

Alvara felt the pressure on her shoulders, pressing down with promise of destruction is she failed.

Raphael glanced at her.

"Are you nervous?"

"Is it obvious...?" She sighed deeply. "I honestly don't have the confidence to meet your expectations. I wish you wouldn't trust me with such important things."

"You're necessary." said Soren on the side.

Alvara pressed her lips together nervously. "Yeah, but that makes it even worse."

Of the group, the most normal person was this young teenager, who had no mysterious past or crazy skills, but a pure survival instinct.

You are reading story Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince at novel35.com

Clumsy, unaware of the world and nothing special. She thought of herself like that.

Raphael stared ahead."That's natural. Don't deny what you feel, but don't run away either. You're underestimating yourself."

"...I guess."

"Carrying a task where others rely on you is never easy." And he would know, when he had failed more times than any other. "But if you don't do it, then only you have no right to complain after."

Alvara sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, yeah you're right."

Soren kept walking, but his ears were listening. He wondered, exactly what sort of lives did Raphael live? He'd consider asking, later.

"Stop." He stopped in front of the door with his name engraved on it. 

Thinking back, it had been a while since he'd entered this world. When he first entered this room, he recalled the blooming trees of cloudy trunks, hanging with delicate blue leaves that almost seemed hand-crafted.

The door slid open, and a familiar darkness greeted him. The place that was last recorded — Soren had almost forgotten.

A far difference from the fanatical sights he'd witnessed in the past months. 

Destruction and collapse, the remanents of what had once been a modern city, brimming with life and laughter. 

Then the endless illusion of slaughter from when Soren had left it last. Splattered against the ground in its only colour, vivid against the stormy clouds.

Raphael stepped in, slowly looking around. Instinctively, his fingers curled around his sword in the dampening depression in the air and he stepped forward, besides Soren. It made his mind spin, drowning in an unwanted high.

Striking familiarity.

For a second, he didn't notice Soren's daze as he frowned and said, "I'll take care of—"

His voice dropped, and the haze cleared from his mind. There was nothing to take care of, and no enemies in sight. 

Soren stared at him. "Of what?"

Only silence answered him.

Soren repeated once again, icy eyes searching. "Of what?" Then, he changed the question. "Is this place... familiar to you?"

There was an impatient intonation at the edge of his question.

Raphael hesitated and said somewhat uncertainly, "...it isn't."

"Really?"

Raphael couldn't answer. Because, undoubtedly, his memory was brilliant, and the lingering traces of every world never left his mind. All one hundred worlds; he was sure he remembered them fairly well.

Searching through the memories, stretching a hand through the pages and pages of emotion, Raphael suddenly paused.

The more he went back into his memories, the less he remembered. 

Of course, that was natural if only fragments remained. But instead, there was a clear wall, cut between his memories. 

Raphael remembered all his one hundred lives, short and long. He remembered all...

...but one.

The first world.

Logically, it should've been one that left the longest lasting impact on his mind. A memory of what he had once been, long before the years took their toll. A world which he wouldn't have wanted to forget.

Yet he did. Completely, and utterly.

He turned his head away, a complex expression displayed across his features. "I don't remember this place. I've seen many sights, and some of them resembled the other. This was one of them."

In one hundred different worlds, it was impossible for none to share some similarities along with their differences. Yet, the familiarity didn't feel like seeing something that resembled a scene from the past.

It felt natural. Standing on the rubbles of street, prepared for an attack by something far beyond his comprehension. With a partner by his side.

Soren was quiet, but his eyes bored into Raphael inquisitively. "Oh."

Raphael straightened, tapping on the hilt of his hanging sword in a daze. "I think you should change the room so we can start training now."

"...Yeah."

Moving his gaze away, Soren forced away the persisting thoughts into the depths of his mind. His eyes traced along the decayed roads and fallen buildings before he willed it all away.

Alvara, who had stepped outside after hearing them speak, walked back inside, peeking her head in curiously. She had stayed near the entrance, but away from the conversation. It didn't seem like something she was supposed to hear.

The sight she had seen before she turned back was astonishing. 

Grime and death followed her in the slums, no matter where she turned. But what she saw was pure chaos, bloody floors and destroyed lands that stretched out into the distance.

Before her eyes, the strange and gloomy world vanished, fading into dust as it spun together in a dance across the grounds. In its place, drifting into existence was a familiar land — the Barren Kingdom.

However, the sight of the forming illusion wasn't what distracted her. 

There existed an unusual atmosphere between Soren and Raphael, in the short duration she had left. 

While Soren was quiet as always, he seemed to be brooding over something mindlessly. And Raphael was narrowing his eyes at the illusion, a questioning wonder in his eyes.

"Did something... happen?" asked Alvara carefully, scanning the area.

"No."

"There's no problem."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, feeling as though something wasn't right despite their typical appearances. "Are you sure?"

Soren nodded and Raphael smiled. "Yeah, I'm sure. Let's get started on your training. I'll have you try what you did yesterday once more, but try to control it this time. Build an invisible barrier in your mind where your mana can't escape."

Unfortunately, curious as she was, Alvara knew not to ask anymore questions. 

She closed her eyes and felt the weight of death once again, gathering around her in an envelope, layered over her body. In a setting similar to the Barren Land, it was harder to control. 

There was so much death mana in the air clashing and fighting against each other, that even hers threatened to spill out of her hands. 

As spikes of mana spontaneously lunged out from her control, Raphael continued to speak. 

"I'll guess that the Forest of the Lost will distort your mana even more. It'll be hard to control, and you'll have to continue controlling it until you leave again."

Soren, well-informed of the Forest added on, "The moment you relax, the Forest will attempt to consume you."

The result was a little better than the previous day after several hours of violent outbursts of mana which were subdued by the two men. 

Alvara reached a point where she could collect a lot of mana, and keep it in a large surrounding space. For her dangerous type of mana, it was a success. 

"Congrats. Not too bad." said Raphael with a grin as she beamed. 

"Yes! I thought I'd never get it." Sweat dripped down her dark skin, but her crimson eyes were bright with pride. Her mind throbbed at the excessive use of mana, and her legs ached. Yet it all seemed to not matter after her accomplishment. 

She fell to the floor and sat down, sighing deeply. After catching her breath, she lifted her eyes to look at Soren. "By the way, I was wondering. Could you demonstrate your mana as well?"

Soren shook his head. "I don't have enough to show."

"Why?"

"No talent."

Raphael interrupted, arms crossed. "Everybody has mana."

"Yeah." said Soren bluntly. "But mine is too little."

It was a little unbelievable to think that Soren, who was strange and strong, could be talentless in such a field. However, Soren knew the reason, and cared little whether others trusted him or not. 

Unexpectedly, Raphael didn't accuse him otherwise. "I see."

The atmosphere had cooled during the hours of teaching, but that didn't mean the incident was forgotten. There was a missing piece that prevented their thoughts from linking, a puzzle that was so close, yet so far to completion.

Soren leaned against a rock, thinking. 'He doesn't remember. Then what world do we share? Or has he forgotten?'

He wanted to know.

Raphael tapped his sword hilt with a distracted stare. 'I can't remember it. Why? And...what sort of place did I see? Was it possibly... Ren's world?'

He wanted to remember.

There were simply too many questions, and not enough answers.

However, they both intended to find them soon — their answers.