Chapter 32: Hammed |
There were six of them. Four boys and two girls. All wearing the same blue trainee outfit, bearing swords and shields. A couple of them had wands, whom Ember recognised from the mana classes, though he wouldn't say he knew them quite well enough for them to ambush him like that.
“I heard your swordsmanship is as remarkable as your mana skills,” said the leading fellow. “So we came to exchange some moves, and see how remarkable you are to get such privileges from the clan.”
Ember spared him a look. If he remembered correctly, his name was Ham. Not even among the top ten in mana foundation of the younger generation, though he always seemed to move around with his flock of punks, flaunting their power over anyone weak.
That made him wonder who gave him the confidence to come after him. Well, Ember hadn’t been actively sparring with anybody after reaching Tier 4. That might be it.
Still, he had little interest in sparring with him, so he returned to the parchment in his hand, glaring at the calculation with mad intensity. “Sorry. Not interested.”
Even a fool could tell the boy and his crew of hoodlums came with no good intentions. But of course, Ember gave them too little credit. If they really were up to no good, they certainly wouldn't be dissuaded by his good-natured disinterest.
“That’s fine then,” a girl said from the side as she came forward. “We will wait till you become interested.”
She lurched to snatch the parchment from his hand. “Look at what this is,” the girl said. “This little goblin twerp thinks he can reach Tier 7.”
“Not just Tier 7, Pixie,” Ham laughed. “There is a calculation for Tier 8 and even going for Tier 9. May Zion have mercy on our souls.”
Ember sighed. His dismay had nothing to do with the group’s quips at his expense. He cared little about what others thought about him, much less this lot of narcissistic jerks. His concern was that there really was no chance of him getting to Tier 9 or even Tier 8. Even if he got the silver-rank skill and advanced his foundational mana skill to silver, there was simply too little time.
There was a faint chance for Tier 8, but that would depend on how fast he could make it to Tier 7.
The hurdle to silver grade was almost as high as it was for iron. To him, Tier 5 and Tier 6 were only a matter of time. It wasn't like his infant years, where he'd been limited by his body and skills. All four of his iron skills would already net him more than the requirements for Tier 5 and 6, with some surplus for Tier 7.
His chances would rest on the silver skill stones. According to his father, it was something mana-related, so Ember could hope to gain some timely levels on it. He didn't even need to push it too far. Just being able to get to the fourth level within a couple of years would be enough for Tier 7. By then, he would have enough skill slots to acquire two more silver skills. Not that silver skills were that easy to grasp.
Ember believed he had a good shot at Split Focus and Blitz Steps upgrading into silver, though he feared the upgrade would come too late to have another advancement before the class trial.
“Hey, stop making fun of him,” Ham said. “What if he really makes it into Tier 9? What would happen to your face then?”
They snickered before falling into relative silence, as Ham took centre stage.
“But I must admit,” he continued, “it makes me want to have a bout or two even more.”
Ember got up to move on his way, when the boys and girls obstructed his path. He changed direction and still they blocked him.
“Let him leave,” Ham said, waving at his gang. “There’d be more chances to spar later.”
Ember shook his head and scurried off. Nothing good would come from bickering with these children.
“He had gotten to Tier 4 with the help of his grandfather and father, but he's out of luck now. Look at him run away with his tail between his legs.”
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“His father was such a waste,” barked the girl who snatched his parchment. “It was only because of him that our relationship with House Oberon deteriorated. He had even sired such a cowardly son. Such a waste of good resources.”
Ember faltered in his steps. He turned and glanced at the group as a whole before eyeing the leading boy. Although Ham hadn't exchanged any nasty remarks, the smile on his lips showed how delighted he was with his henchmen.
Although Blackstone was one clan, there were multiple factions within it. There were four prominent ones. The main line was headed by the current clan head and his children. They had been occupying the patriarchal seat for three centuries now. After him was his grandfather, whose line was now weakened after the incident with the rift. Then there was the group in charge of taking care of the resources and training department. Ham and his entourage came from them.
There was usually no love lost between his grandfather and them, but they always liked to bootlick the strong and bully the weak. Someone from the line of succession wouldn’t even have to say anything, and these bootlickers would gang up on others.
“You want to have a spar?” Ember asked. “Let’s go then.”
There were always people available in the training field using the facilities and tools available to them. But as the sun was beginning to fall towards the horizon, many of them had dispersed, with only a few watching the group with deep interest. Ember might even find an instructor or two somewhere watching the show from obscurity.
None of them came to interfere. They never did. Unless someone went too hard, they never dissuaded anyone from having conflicts with another. Something about conflict creating character. Hopefully, they wouldn't come lecture him once he beat the shit out of these kids.
Ember might not be able to shut up the older people who were condemning his father, but these few kids didn't stand a chance.
Collecting a wooden sword, he entered one corner of an empty duelling ring.
“A wooden sword?” said that nasty-mouthed girl. “You fight with a wooden sword?”
“He is a chicken, after all,” said another.
“No matter,” Ham said, taking an identical wooden sword of his own. “I fear I might have brutalised him too badly if we were to fight with real swords. For a little sparring--” he spun the sword in his palm masterfully and jumped into the ring “--this would suffice.”
My thoughts exactly.
Ham was about twelve years of age and well into Tier 4. By the way he carried himself, Ember believed he had some ability to back up his words.
Unfortunately, Ember was thoroughly disappointed when they got to sparring.
There was nothing wrong with Ham’s swordsmanship. It was well refined, if only a little plain. But plain was good. His forms weren’t anything special either. It was just that his opponent's moves were too slow. Evidently, he didn't have an iron-rank movement skill, and it showed.
Without feigning any politeness, Ember struck him hard on the arm, causing a yelp to escape the boy’s lips. Ham charged in harder, but Ember didn’t even need to find flaws in his form for his thrust to fall true, throwing him onto the floor.
Swordsmanship might not be Ember's most dominant skill, but he was trained by two silver-class knights. Well, he learned the basics from his father, whereas Timber Blackstone had taught him how to actually carry himself in combat.
He might detest the old man, but his grandfather hadn’t beaten him for nothing.
“Oh, we forgot the rules of the duel,” Ember said, peering down at the older boy. “Should we end it with the usual, or until your ego is bruised beyond recovery?”
“It’s merely a lucky swing,” said a boy from behind. “Don't go easy on him, Ham.”
Ham jumped to his feet, his expression solemn as he took his stance once again. His form was identical to Ember’s, but Ham came at him with a frantic pace, while Ember’s mind was peaceful as still water.
His opponent’s sword shifted in vicious arcs, if only to be parried without a miss. Unfortunately for Ham, both of them were trained in the same sword arts, and with Ember’s mental acuity, he could see through his moves from miles away.
Ember didn't overwhelm him with speed, but maintained an identical pace. His stance could be called defensive, though he wasn't really stepping back all that much. Every once in a while, he would strike a blow that caused Ham to take a step back.
To outplay him, the boy came with a feint towards his shoulder. It might even have fooled Ember if he were more dexterous.
Ember punished him with a ruthless blow to his lower body.
“Too slow,” he said before gesturing for him to stand up. “Come on. I ain't got all day.”
The boy did not; his palm swiftly moved to his waist to clutch his wand. Without missing a beat, he hurled a kinetic push.
Using Blitz Steps, Ember tried to evade the surging force, but he was a fraction of a moment too late. Some of the kinetic force struck against his torso, sending a blistering pain through his chest.
But it was nothing that would keep him off his feet. Before the boy could cast another spell, Ember appeared behind him to thrust a kick, flinging him a couple of metres away.
Ham coughed, still thrusting with the wand. Blitz Steps carried him, and Ember pinned his wand arm with his foot. He stamped violently as a raucous cry echoed out.
“Bastard! Let go!” screamed Ham.
Ember didn't until he lost his grip on the wand.
“You will pay for this! You don't know who my father is!”
Ember slammed him with a kick, flinging him off the duelling ring among his minions.
“Ham, are you alright?” Pixie, the nasty-mouthed girl, came to pick him up, but the boy shoved her hand aside while barking towards Ember.
“Don't let him get away!”
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Alternative Chapter title: Hammed