Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (126/?)

Author’s Note: I’ve attached the PDF and EPUB versions of this chapter since Patreon is still working on a solution for the recent formatting bug!

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Time: 1210 Hours.

Qiv

Entertainment.

This was simply entertainment at its finest. 

The earthrealmer versus the pronarthiarealmer. 

The battle of the brutes.

The struggle of the uncivilized.

The expectant ends of the two extremes of barbarism, held within what could hardly be called a challenge, but instead the last remnants of a barbaric practice. 

Physical violence, and indeed any sort of physical exertion wherein the sapient were reduced to their flesh and body, was an activity unbefitting of the modern sapient. 

And yet… I found myself incapable of looking away from such brutish ambitions; finding this confrontation to be inexplicably tantalizing, 

Does this not make me, in a roundabout sense, an accomplice of the uncivilized? 

Perhaps it does.

But alas, such thoughts are best reserved for the drawing room. 

Because in the halls — this stadium of political ambition, it would be action which would come to dictate one’s place in the greater games. 

And in this case, it was the fate of the foolish Ping’s reputation that was on the line. 

Though, perhaps that was the real cause behind my investment in this display of barbarism. The fact that his losses were my gains weren’t lost on me, nor anyone paying attention for that matter. Indeed, in a strange twist of fate, I now found my interests aligning with the newrealmer of all people. 

Now the earthrealmer… that was a wildcard that I truly had no bearings on. 

Her enigmatic nature extended to her aims, in spite of all her self-reported claims to the contrary. 

Though frankly, it mattered little what her aims were in the grand scheme of things. Her very nature was an element of self-sabotage, and her actions spoke little to her aims in the greater games. So long as she remained a thorn in Lord Ping’s side, then she would remain useful in my eyes.

Lord Rostarion was adamant about that fact.

However, these thoughts, amidst many others, soon faded into the background as the Waltz began in earnest.

My eyes, non-elven as they were, remained poised on Ping’s opening moves.

The extent of which could only be described in a word befitting of the man himself — uninspired.

The man had augmented his form, yet had only elected to barrel forwards, resulting in the newrealmer sidestepping his opening assault in one effortless motion. 

This was… impressive, for reasons similar to the prior week’s gauntlet. However, I pushed those reservations aside for now, as it was clear Lord Ping wasn’t done with the newrealmer just yet.

Though it was his next move that truly drew attention not just from me, but the discerning eyes amidst the crowd. 

His next move, perhaps out of desperation, was to augment his physicality beyond what should have been necessary.

I could feel, even from here, the desperation in the sheer influx of mana into the man’s manafield. A growth of potential in both magical energy and an emboldened will, would surely result in the newrealmer’s demise. Or at the very least, the ability to actually make contact with this manaless beast.

This assuredness however… wavered. 

As unlike the zealous Ping, my mind dared to contradict proof of the impossible. 

Though frankly, the conflict of interest within me proved far too divergent to make heads or tails of this matchup.

I watched on, my brows narrowing, as I shifted my focus entirely away from my manasight to the corporeal world before me.

I dared not blink as I felt a surge of energy erupting from the field below.

The man had surged forward, his form nothing short of perfect, his tactics blunt and unforgiving, his victory seeming assured—

And yet… in spite of this, the newrealmer was still able to react.

The sight was jarring. As I witnessed not a waltz, but a one-sided ballet. 

The Crimson Waltz’s namesake was drawn from the back and forths between the manafields of attacker and defender in question. With the former party attempting to obfuscate their manafields, and the latter attempting to sense and interact with the former’s in order to predict the course of an attack.

This ebb and flow of mana betwixt two adversaries painted a stunning display of light magic that the ancients likened to a waltz.

Yet all of that was absent today, in this particular song and dance. 

Instead, what replaced it was nothing short of equal parts absurdity and foreboding.

A fact that continued, and was exemplified, as I watched as Lord Ping finally made contact with the newrealmer… only to be tackled up and over her uncompromising form.

There was no beauty nor grace in the earthrealmer’s movements. No sense of the martial arts to overcome the deadness of her lack of participation in this waltz. Indeed, there was an overwhelming, nay, overbearing, sense of frigidity in each and every one of her movements after her first evasion. 

It was a coldness that bordered on lifelessness, a trait that I could only ascribe to the inanimate. 

The newrealmer had replaced even the grace of movement with a cold calculating efficiency which extended to each and every one of her grapples.

It was… frightening in a sense. Especially when one took into consideration the lack of a palpable manafield, and the deadness of her armor.

A borderline sense of dread threatened to overtake me, as I watched the incorporeal tendrils of Ping’s manafield grappling and siphoning mana at distressing rates. Only to see these efforts result in a repetitive and seemingly assured defeat.

THWWOOOMP!

Time—

THUD!

—and time—

BONK!

—and time again.

Each defeat, seemingly at the hands of a being that simply did not care.

It was this… casualness of callousness, coupled with a lack of participation in the manafield waltz that truly beckoned a menacing aura from the newrealmer.

Though strangely, this didn’t seem to be the only peculiarity of the afternoon’s proceedings, as my eye spotted movement from the bleachers below.

At what felt like the limits to Ping’s abilities, at just about the fifth or so round, I noted Lord Etholin Esila approaching Lady Ladona of all people. 

The match clearly wasn’t even over, and yet… there seemed to already be a preemptive discussion on the outcome of the challenge.

It was a shame both were wise enough to deploy a privacy screen before I could discern anything else.

Though despite that, one thing remained abundantly clear to me — whatever the outcome, I would remain a spectator to somebody’s fall.

=====

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Time: 1235 Hours.

Chiska

I smelled blood in the air. Proverbial blood, but blood all the same. 

The lack of a waltz made this fight feel more genuine, as a lack of any noble predispositions painted a gritty, realistic depiction of the way skirmishes truly panned out in the real world. 

That was to say, it was unpredictable, ugly, and most of all — it rewarded the party with the most tricks up their sleeves.

The earthrealmer, by her very nature, was playing the part of the master tactician. By no means of her own skills in this particular junction of course, but by sheer force of enigmatic presence.

Lord Ping was by no means a slouch either, my corporeal vision and manasight alike taking note of the man’s impeccable form, his channeling of raw power through a form naturally gifted in the strength of a beast, and his sheer and unbridled tenacity that I believed rivaled, and even surpassed the earthrealmer. 

My heart raced, beating harder and harder as I saw these precocious attempts at snatching victory from the jaws of defeat… only to witness the near golem-like motions of the earthrealmer’s martial prowess.

As unlike her first opening moves, there was something… rehearsed about these latter moves that I simply could not put my finger on.

It was as if she’d practiced this very move, time and time again to the point where she’d mastered this one motion.

And yet, in any other instance, such dedication to the arts would’ve made one a master of their craft. 

Not a mere student.

And especially not a candidate who was expected to become a novice of all trades in preparation for their Nexian pilgrimage.

When coupled with whispers through the faculty, and her peculiarly rehearsed speaking mannerisms, it all painted a newrealmer with inclinations far beyond what even the most seasoned of favored adjacent realms could muster.

This notion was reaffirmed yet again, as the match was reset for an eighth time, and I watched as Lord Ping was yet again tackled.

Though most would’ve seen his attempts as nothing more than repetitive, I could note that the man was trying something different in each and every attempt.

Slight modifications to his form, such as the angle to his opening step, the manner in which his arms were raised, and the twisting motions of his elbows — all of it pointed to a man ready to snatch the newrealmer by either her waist or legs, all in an attempt to utilize her weight and heft against her.

All in an attempt to force leypull to do half of his work.

But in spite of this, and in spite of time slowing to a crawl as I watched the critical junction that was physical contact — I was yet again witness to the earthrealmer’s stunning reaction time. As her arms first gripped the pronarthiarealmer’s elbows, sliding up to his upper arms, taking the initiative before lowering her own center of mass, completely circumventing Ping’s plans as she once again gripped his waist for a tackle.

There was… a method to what most would see as simply repetitive madness.

A method that I noted was also a complete spit in the face of the Crimson portion of the Crimson Waltz.

For whilst I did smell blood in the air, it was in fact proverbial.

Lord Ping was bleeding his own manafield dry, so to speak. Burning through his constitution, whilst Cadet Emma Booker continued conserving both energy whilst preventing injury.

It was that latter part that was truly remarkable too.

As this was the point that delineated her golem-like nature, demonstrating that there was indeed a sapient mind, or perhaps soul, hidden beneath that armor.

Because each and every maneuver, as practiced as they were, were all committed to limiting injury not just to herself but her opponent. 

Cadet Booker could have very easily broken, twisted or even snapped something that would’ve led to first death following the third or fourth round.

A fist to the face at high speeds.

A grapple of the man’s upper form, forcing impact on his head or neck.

Or even a well-placed impact on his major bones, leading to immediate bleeding that would’ve required a healer’s immediate attention.

She had every opportunity, and every right, to deliver the man serious injuries.

And yet, the only injuries she gave him were directed towards what probably hurt most — his ego.

It was by the ninth round that I noted Lord Ping’s deteriorating constitution.

The writing was on the wall as it were, and there was little chance of him moving forward at this junction.

This… truly was his last stand, a fact that the man seemed to understand, as he took far longer to prepare for this final altercation.

I could feel the discordant thrums of desperate siphoning tugging and pulling at the latent manastreams.

I almost felt something akin to an excessive degree of magical potential, alerting my senses to the possibility of cheating.

However, a quick glance at his person, and his uniform, revealed nothing out of the ordinary. No illegal enchantments, no hidden artifacts, nor anything that could provide unfair advantage. 

This… truly was a final last burst of potentially injury-inducing actions, which prompted me to keep a closer eye not only on Ping, but on his intended target.

Time slowed to a crawl as I counted down the seconds.

“Ready.” I beckoned, my eyes darting back and forth.

“Steady.” I continued, as I could see both corporeally and intangibly the motions of both Ping’s muscles and manafield.

I held a breath, glancing briefly towards the stoic and unyielding Emma.

“GO!” 

I felt a massive disturbance in the manastreams, then, in quick succession, a degree of speed and untempered motion that resulted in injuries to Ping as he overextended himself prior to even reaching the earthrealmer. 

Yet that didn’t stop his gambit, as the resultant forces of his grapple were felt by the earthrealmer in full.

Or more specifically, on her hands in full.

As I heard a sound that in any other instance would’ve been trivial, but in the earthrealmer’s instance, sent shivers up my spine.

CRRRK!

My heart skipped a beat, as I blinked over towards her direction in a single motion.

Should something compromise her suit, there is nothing you can do. Vanavan’s warnings rang loud, clear, and resonant in my mind.

The signs of harmonization should be clear, crisp, and tangibly visible. You cannot miss it. I scoured for disruptions in the mansfield… finding nothing, save for the small disruptions in its currents from the squirming and injured Ping.

“Healer!” I yelled for Ping’s sakes whilst still attempting to ascertain Emma’s condition.

Only to see her raising a hand, watching as its fifth digit was bent backwards in a way that it clearly wasn’t designed to do.

However, that single motion was enough to assuage all of my concerns.

Any motion was indicative of her survival, as harmonization would’ve simply been instantaneous death.

There was no threshold for injury, only death, and of the third variety too.

In contrast, even first death was reversible for Ping.

Speaking of which—

Poke!

I didn’t have time to speak, as I felt a small note flying and then landing in one of my pockets.

I turned to the bleachers, finding the source of this disruption in the games, and narrowing my eyes at the man whose decision had instigated this challenge in the first place.

With a silent nod, whilst the two students remained squirming on the ground, I quickly opened up the letter, only to find a simple note that completely upended this entire challenge.

I moved to summon my whistle, and in a single motion, I raised both the letter and breathed out a sharp shrieking tune.

“Challengers!” I directed my attention at the pair, before turning to face the bleachers. “Witnesses! I hereby call this challenge annulled! Under grounds of voluntary forfeiture by one Lord Etholin Esila!” 

The air tensed, as I cleared my throat for this next formality. “Does anyone find issue with Lord Etholin Esila’s terms?”

=====

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Time: 1235 Hours.

Ilunor

A FORFEITURE?!

My whole body trembled, as I was met with the expectant eyes of tens of gold-hungry students.

“I am quite certain that a compromise can be reached in which this challenge may—”

“I recognize Lord Etholin Esila’s terms, and consider this challenge moot.” A student spoke, which triggered a cascade of agreeable nods and similar sentiments from a whole swath of the student body.

“NO! NONONONO! I FIND ISSUE WITH LORD ESILA’S TERMS!” I screamed out, harmonizing with a few of Lord Ping’s fervent supporters, but finding my voice overruled by the sea of those that I’d very nearly successfully pilfered from. 

NO!

My purse, subsequently, exploded, releasing piles upon piles of gold which were subsequently returned to their ‘rightful’ owners. 

I felt my heart clench, and my eyes narrowing into pinpricks upon this.

As I eventually found myself letting out a long and drawn out cry.

“NOOOOooooooooooooo!”

That squirmy merchant had done it again.

Perhaps in some futile effort to garner recompense following my decision to bookkeep independently from his services.

The man was simply getting back at me.

I took this now as a declaration of war.

=====

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Time: 1235 Hours.

Etholin

Trade and commerce flows through you, but you have yet to have shown promise outside of theory and amicable spirit. As it stands, you’d make an excellent bookkeeper, son. Perhaps even a right-hand of a merchant lord. To truly be a merchant lord, to become the master of House Esila, you must understand that there exists an underlying art to commerce and trade. Intelligence can only get you so far, but charisma and most importantly — wisdom — must be at the centerpiece of your crown. You have adorned your crown well, son. But I fear you have chosen to fulfill all requirements but the most important one of all. 

I understood now what father meant.

There were times where split second decisions must be made. 

Bold decisions, perhaps even foolish decisions, but decisions that would come to shift the dynamics of dynasties and houses.

I was presented with one such decision following the end of the first few rounds of Lord Ping’s disastrous performance.

A decision that promised to completely flip our fortunes, in exchange for the sacrifice of our reputation.

The conversation with Lady Ladona was the only hurdle towards these ends. 

However, the longer we sat and watched, the more it became clear that my offer was the only means of averting yet another disaster against Lord Ping’s favor.

“Do it, and take the fall. I shall consult with Lord Ping on the nature of your recompense following your forfeiture.” Was all she said in response. Though frankly, discussions with the Anurarealmer were no less imposing then they were with her group leader. For despite her frail form, she still managed to exude the same menacing aura of power as I did with Lord Ping. 

I wished to have consulted Lord Rularia over these proceedings too, but given his preoccupation over the financial gains from this event, I doubted I could break through to him in time before Ping’s defeat.

So, following Professor Chiska’s acceptance of my terms, I quickly found myself singled out by the entire student body, their eyes and ears focused on what it was I had to say.

I had a choice, an opportunity to simply remain quiet, allowing public discourse to settle their suspicions amongst themselves.

However, I knew that for this gambit to work, I needed a plausible rationale. Otherwise, it would be Ping who would shoulder the blame of acquiescence. 

No, I needed to commit to this narrative. One in which he was not to blame. 

And what better reasoning, than one which singled out blame not to my group, but to my person.

“I have come to the conclusion that I have made a grave mistake.” I began. “I relinquished what should have been my own responsibility, my own duty, to that of my betters. In doing so, I have lost sight of my self-respect, allowing surrogates and volunteers to fight what should be my own battles. For that, I wish to apologize to all involved. To those I have wasted the times of—” I paused, bowing to the student body around me. “—to Professor Chiska’s precious efforts—” I paused once more, bowing in the professor’s direction. “—and to my surrogate champion, and my opponent, whom I owe a great apology for having dragged into this mess of my own creation.” I bowed twice more, once towards Lord Ping, and the next towards Emma Booker.

There was… a calculated move in doing so.

For despite the loss to my own face, I had earned something perhaps far more valuable in return.

Lord Ping’s debt, a normalization to my relations with Emma Booker, and a demonstration to my peer group that I was ready to take the helm of peer group leader; taking personal responsibility for my actions, be they positive or negative.

A few seconds elapsed following that speech.

Following which, a series of dissatisfied sighs soon emerged.

I felt the familiar weight of social derision bearing down on me. 

This… was a difficult decision, but one that needed to be made.

But once done, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief washing over me —  a realization that I’d ultimately exchanged our fates for the better. 

=====

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Time: 1240 Hours.

Emma

A mess of emotions ran through me as I watched the ramifications of the backroom political games bringing this challenge to an abrupt halt.

Still, despite the lack of a clear win, I still got what I wanted… 

A spot on the Quest for the Everblooming Blossom.

Moreover, I got some decent combat data for the EVI to chew on now. 

All of this, for what the EVI was rapidly assessing to be a superficial break of a few of the fine and gross motor actuators, as well as the mechanical limiters, within the ExoDex’s fifth digit.

A simple repair, rather than a complete replacement, was possible.

Which was probably more than what I could say for Ping who struggled to stand on his two feet following the whole debacle.

I… was rather surprised how easily he accepted the whole forfeiture thing though. Though frankly, the fact he was a stickler for the rules probably meant he was just operating within his strict programming.

What’s more, I could tell this was a convenient out for what was quickly becoming yet another meat grinder to both his reputation and his physical body.

Things moved quickly following the forfeiture however, as Ping was quickly ushered away by a familiar water elemental, who quite literally turned his limp into a natural full gait in a matter of minutes.

Meanwhile, Chiska quickly turned her attention towards me, as she looked me up and down with a worried expression. “Cadet Emma Booker, I am afraid this is an instance in which I must admit my professional limits and must defer to consultation. Are… you alright? I see your hand has suffered injury, though thankfully, not to the extent which would be life threatening.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, professor.” I answered promptly. 

“Your… finger will require some form of healing will it not? I am afraid given the limitations of your biology that our resources may not be able to—”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Professor Chiska! Seriously, all I need is a few hours to deal with it, then I’ll be back to normal.”

This… definitely prompted Chiska’s eyes to widen in confusion, as well as the scant few members of the student body who hadn’t yet dispersed. 

“Your people are capable of rapid regeneration without the aid of mana?”

“Well, technically yes.” I acknowledged, keeping the nature of the ExoDex close to my chest.

“Is this… a natural ability, or one born of some local method of healing?” She dug further, curiosity causing her pupils to slowly dilate.

“Well… maybe it’s a little bit of both. I’m afraid given the dean’s urgings, I’m not quite at liberty to really dive further into that question.” I winked, prompting Chiska to respond with a fangy grin. 

“Of course, Cadet Emma Booker. Of course.” She snickered out. “Well in any case, I won’t keep you for long. But do stop by my office any time you wish! As your professor, I’d certainly like to know the progress of your recovery.”

“Will do, professor.” I acknowledged before walking out to meet a disappointed Ilunor, a beaming Thalmin, and a concerned yet aloof Thacea.

“Well done, Emma.” Thalmin proclaimed loudly, as Cynthis trailed closely behind. “Though I do hope your injuries aren’t too grievous.” He promptly added, catching the attention of all those who’d remained behind for perhaps that very reason.

“Cadet Emma Booker, if I may?” Another voice sounded, this one belonging to the leader of the all-crocodile group — Gumigo. 

“Yeah?”

“What exactly was the purpose behind the fluttering of your red scarf? I assume there has to be some cultural significance behind such a specific action?”

“Oh! That…” I chuckled, crossing my arms as I did so. “There’s a sport we have back in my realm. A sport in which my people tempt the angers of a ferocious beast with a red cloth, before attempting to subdue the beast in some fashion.” 

“Oh! Oh dear! What an unfortunate parallel Lord Ping has brought upon himself, wouldn’t you say?” He quickly turned to his group, who nodded and chuckled in varying levels of amusement. 

This resonated well into the few other peer groups gathered as well, as murmurs and echoes of beastly parallels were made amongst whispers and chuckles.

“Humor aside, can we discuss the extent of your injuries, Emma?” Thalmin urged.

“Oh, yeah, it’s honestly alright.” I raised my right hand up, causing the crowd to physically flinch at the flopping pinky finger. “‘Tis but a scratch! As my people often say.” I grinned.

=====

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Emma and Thacea’s Room. Local Time: 1435 Hours.

Emma

I hadn’t noticed it at first, but Thacea had remained silent, more silent than usual following our arrival back to the dorms.

Perhaps it was the antics of Ilunor’s seething, or Thalmin’s boisterous and excited planning for our travels, but I hadn’t at all noticed until we were finally back 

It was only when we were alone together, as I sat down next to one of the supply crates, that I finally noticed it, or rather a lack of it — conversation.

A deafening silence had descended where there’d at least typically be some banter between us.  Either some words of advice, some strong encouragement against some action taken in the day, or some casual conversation ending in one or both of us becoming too shy to continue. 

I didn’t think much of it at first, probably because I was too wrapped up in the repair of my ExoDex whilst she went about her routines. 

But as soon as I was about halfway done, in the midst of the downtime that the automated calibration processes presented me with, did I realize just how… sullen she looked.

It was then, and only then, did I finally speak up, feeling my throat seizing up for a moment as I did so.

“Hey, erm, Thacea? A-are you doing alright?” I offered. 

The princess didn’t respond, at least not at first, as she took a few long moments to compose herself before strutting in my direction. From there, her focus shifted not to my eyes, but the flinching ExoDex in the midst of recalibration.

“It is I who should be asking that question, Emma.” She stated plainly, with a mix of emotions I hadn’t yet seen from her. 

There was… an array of tones that the EVI seemed to struggle to translate, from fear and worry, to disappointment and frustration, it seemed as if the VI was finding it difficult to assign a voice for Thacea. Which was probably why it resorted to allowing elements of her natural chirps to come through, the likes of which carried with it a complex array of song-like cadences, all of which pointed towards one emotive direction — fear and sorrow.

“I appreciate the concern Thacea, I really do, but I’m seriously okay! Like I hinted at a little while before, these ‘hands’ you see here aren’t really where my hands are located in the suit. They’re basically extensions of the armor that are designed to take a beating and are entirely disconnected from the hermetic seal of—”

“Then what would have happened if your gauntlets weren't the target of today’s trevails, Emma?” Thacea interjected, continuing off my first point with an impassioned chirp. 

“I—”

“For a moment, as brief as it was, I almost assumed the worst.” She reiterated, her eyes somehow locking with my own.

…

I found myself scrambling for a response that refused to form, struggling and failing to justify myself as the gravity of the situation slowly came to dawn upon me.

And in that moment, I found myself truly grappling, and eventually empathizing with Thacea’s perspective.

“You’ve talked extensively about the risks taken by the pioneers that came before you, and the life expectancies of those who occupied the very role you currently inhabit. I…” The princess paused, breaking eye contact for just a moment. “I do not wish for you to become a resident of your wall of martyrs. Not yet, Emma.” The princess continued, as I found myself unable to evade her eyesight.

“I… I assure you, Thacea. I had the situation under control—”

“And did this control extend to anticipating damage to your armor?” She countered, causing me to completely halt that train of thought.

“The armor is rated for these sorts of things. I was trained for…  well… rolling with the punches as they come.” 

That answer was crap, and both of us knew it.

“Emma. I must make myself very clear. If this is the recklessness you commit yourself to, then what fate can I expect from you following your confrontation with the dragon?” 

That line of reasoning made Thacea’s concerns all the more clear to me, as I grimaced inwardly toward myself, unable to do much but crane my head away in shame.

“I promise I’ll be more cautious this time around, princess.” I finally offered after a moment of reflection. “Knight’s promise.” I quickly added, attempting to defuse the tension with that little dive into humor.

Though effective, Thacea’s expressions still carried with it a degree of worry that was difficult to come to terms with, as she simply nodded in acknowledgement.

“A knight’s vows are sacred, Emma.” She finally spoke. 

“Especially to a princess, no doubt?” I chimed in, attempting to de-escalate things even more.

A gambit which, to my surprise, somewhat worked, as I garnered something of an abashed look from the princess.

“Yes. Indeed it is.”