dirk_grey
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Wild Dragon of Rome 3
🕑 Added 2024-02-24 03:55:01 +0000 UTCNot feeling the presence of my grandfather was a big deal, though it was about his illness, which had shattered his inherent control over his magic. Any other mage would keep their elements in a resting state, which meant, that while they were possible to be detected by others, it required some effort.
In my current state of clamping down on my magic, I couldn’t sense the presence of a mage unless they were casting a spell, but my grandfather’s situation differed. His presence was always active, like he was about to cast a spell.
Even with my own elements suppressed, I should be able to feel his presence.
“Maybe he decided to join the feast,” I muttered, despite knowing that it was definitely not the case. My grandfather abhorred such crowds even before his illness had worsened. He would never go there.
I loosened my tight control over the elements, which allowed me to expand my senses. I would be able to sense exactly where he was supposed to be.
I couldn’t sense his magical presence anywhere, which meant he was not in the compound. And, with the current state of his illness, he wouldn’t go out…And, even if he did, he would have sealed his residence.
I focused on my senses, letting the slightest sliver of fire enhance my senses even further. I should have felt the presence of my grandfather if he was around the compound, even if he was miles away. Instead, I felt the presence of people inside. At least for … maybe even more, but at least two of them were mages, and it made counting a challenge.
Worse, by expanding my senses, I noticed the presence of many other mages in the feast, barely noticeable. At least a dozen, maybe more, but one thing prevented me from counting. Another magical presence, strong enough to dim the others, mana dancing around him like a storm.
I never felt such a presence before, but I didn’t need to. Like most of the tricks I knew, the improved detection had been taught to me by my grandfather. He had educated me on the differences between normal people, first-order learners, second-order apprentice mages, and third-order mages; all of them I had felt many times.
But there was one he had educated on me, one that I had never felt before. A fourth-order existence.
A sorcerer.
I tensed. A sorcerer represented the peak of a mage. A man who could rule the elements like soldiers, turning them into one-man armies that could threaten actual armies. However, they were also rare, particularly in a backwater colony like Britannia. Commanders of the legions and the governor — both required to be sorcerers by law — and maybe the patriarchs of a few strongest noble families.
In the whole of Britannia, I doubted that there were more than a dozen sorcerers. And, now, one of them was in the compound, entertained by my uncle.
The safe thing was to turn back. Not just get away from the residence, but leave the compound behind, disguise myself as a hopeless pleb, and get passage to the mainland, draw my path. I had planned it many times, since I was eleven years old, crying after a painful training session that ended up with five broken bones: four fingers and a toe.
The old bastard had always been a harsh trainer.
And, here I was, prioritizing that same old man’s fate rather than my life. Something was wrong with me.
I suppressed the elemental cores into my chest once, tightened my grip on my spear, and stepped into the residence from one of the side entrances. The first thing I noticed was the broken furniture. Every single piece had been broken with no exception, but it didn’t feel like an act of anger. Even the wooden panels of the walls had been ripped off.
No, someone had gone through them systematically. Someone was looking for something.
I ignored the rabble as I moved forward, crouching down as I passed every single room, trying to stay away from the four. Their systemic approach suggested professionals, which was good, as it meant their approach was predictable. I easily avoided their presence by listening to the sound of crashes.
And, arrived at my destination, my grandfather’s room.
“No,” I whispered as I saw the unmoving figure, lying in the remains of the broken bed, discarded just like broken furniture. That was all I said as I took a deep breath, desperately trying to keep myself from touching the elements as my hand tightened over.
The merciless trainer that turned my life into a nightmare was nowhere to be seen. All that remained was an old man, his clothes messy enough to show that his body had been searched just like his room had been.
I took another deep breath, trying to control my anger from spiraling. The old man might be a merciless trainer who physically hurt me more than anyone, but also he forged the man I was rather than discarding me. Why he did, I had no idea …
Then, I looked at the wall, where his weapon was supposed to be resting, but only had an empty holder. A weapon that I was never allowed to touch.
The Spear of Scipio, one of the legendary Patrician weapons, is the most valuable thing the Scipio family owned. More valuable than the whole compound and all the farming land combined. There was only one reason that a family in exile was allowed to hold such a weapon.
It was locked into the bloodline of our family. Only a legitimate male member of the family could carry the weapon. The legitimate thing was as important as the blood, determined by a bestowment ritual that could only be cast on a baby.
It was why I was never allowed to touch it. I could never use it.
My anger wasn’t about a stolen opportunity. It meant my uncle had been in the room to pick up the weapon. Yet, he left his own father on the ground, discarded just like the broken furniture that surrounded him.
Then, I looked at a deep hole in the broken wall. The secret compartment. Empty, bereft of the letter and the sealed box that was supposed to be holding. Two items that my grandfather had left to me in case of an unexpected death, reminded me to never let anyone see.
Not even my uncle.
“It looks like you were even more right than you realized, you crazy old man,” I muttered as I wrapped his body with a sheet, then left the room.
Temporarily, my grip was tightening.
As I moved forward, I let the fire enhance my senses once more, trailing the locations of the four people walking in the room. In particular, the two mages. As an apprentice mage, I had no chance of taking a mage in a fair fight, let alone two.
The word fair was the key.
I approached the first presence, who was too busy examining a broken wall with his magic to pay attention to my approach. A fact that cost him dearly as I approached from behind. Only when I enhanced my muscles with the slightest touch of Earth, did he notice the danger he was in, but it was too late.
I pressed my hand against his mouth even as I stabbed him from behind with my dagger. He wore no armor, no doubt thinking the compound was safe. I taught him his mistake happily. I searched his body, but the box or the letter was not there. I took his pouch, and his gladius. A distinctive weapon, particularly with the sigil of a snake on its blade, which was not ideal.
But, it was a better one than my cheap spear, and I didn’t want to risk it.
I ignored the blood as I chased the other mage, who ended up the exact same way, ambushed to death. I didn’t try to take him prisoner or question him. Trying to do that to a mage was troubling enough even without the presence of a sorcerer.
I searched for him as well. It went well. Not only did I find another pouch with enough silver denarii to make my eventual escape much easier, but I also found the sealed box my grandfather left me.
Unfortunately, there was no letter.
The other two warriors were together, busy demolishing a new room. They wore armor, but no helmets. I slammed the head of the first one with the back of my new gladius, enough to put him in a daze, then stabbed the other one in the neck.
Before he could recover, I grabbed the first one on the neck, Earth mana helping me to lift him with ease. “Tell me, what happened to the letter that was with the box?” I said as I raised him. His dazed state helped me.
“B-burned,” he stammered. I sighed. “P-please don’t kill—” he tried to say.
I ignored him. Instead, I went to the kitchen, to the oil barrels, and set them up with some candles. Then, I set a candle in a way that would set them on fire. I picked the longest candle available, which should give me half an hour before it started burning, which would be enough. Then, after some thought, I put the Lion’s Bane into the oil as a nice surprise to the mage who would try to use magic to extinguish the flames.
Lion’s Bane didn’t play well with magic.
I changed my bloody clothes with another set … that belonged to my grandfather. Then, I went to the bedroom to pick up my grandfather’s body.
I had a funeral to hold.
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