CHAPTER TEN
"For your upcoming trial...you have to identify what will be your role in a group."
I watch how my classmates excitedly get the paper our professor is giving after our training, we also have sword technique as part of our course.
Although most of my classmates know these techniques already, so in this class I am literally the noob.
Aaaaaaaah
Why did I even reject his offer to train me personally?
Now, I am regretting my decision. I am screaming at myself because no matter how much I read over and over again all these techniques...I can't put it into practice.
"Damn this fucking weapon...why did they even invent such a sharp...shiny...weapon just to what...aaaaah." I screamed my frustrations at every wrong stance I make.
Every stance I took was wrong.
Every swing sent a painful vibration through my arm. I didn't put enough strength into it, and the recoil hit me instead.
I lowered the blade, breathing hard.
I touch the back of my neck to wipe all the perspiration from the training I am doing for the past few hours.
If only I can tolerate the way they watch me and the way they laugh at me every mistake I made, I will not tire myself out here just for this heavy...weapon.
"I give up. Fuck this." I throw the sword on the floor, as soon as the sword touch the ground—it made a sound.
"You're doing it all wrong." I look at the man, on the side just watching me tire myself out.
"Fuck you." I can't help but curse him. Again, he's here watching me like a crow ready to eat you the moment you stumble on your feet.
"I am pretty sure you're not that noob with this weapon." He picks up the sword I throw, I am using the real sword because our professor said we are pass the level to use wooden sword already.
"Oh, amnesia sucks." I said sarcastically, I don't even care if they find out about the situations I am in.
Better for them to kill me.
As if I want to continue living in this hell.
"Just write down yourself as a striker. I heard you've been hitting your target above average."
He is talking about my archery skills. I can't say I am below average, but for him to say that, he is mocking my skills.
When I thought that archery as an elective is all fun and games not until the professor said that we needed to develop our own arrow using our magic.
It eats our mana and energy away.
Since we can't really have an unlimited arrow, we have to make our own—a perfect match with our abilities.
The most element I am compatible with is water. I can make it sharp enough to pierce a target, but that's only average compared to others who can make powerful arrows.
I'm still only at the second stage, turning water into ice. I've done it in battle training, but it's still hard.
"As if I'm training to be the tank, I am just doing it for the sweat." That's a lie. Who would want to sweat a lot? It is sticky.
Everyone had a role.
The Vanguard stood in front, taking hits to protect others. They are mostly the sword-mages, they can fucking transfer their power to their swords and their swords become part of them.
The Striker struck fast and strong, dealing most of the damage. These are the people who strikes you when you're not looking, in simple term, they are the assassin of the group. Depends on how you use your element.
The Binder controlled enemies, slowing or trapping them so the team could move safely. They are mostly the earth element.
The Healer kept everyone alive. They are what they call alchemy, they specialized in potion that can be used not only to heal but also kill, so healers are not only just healer but also an attacker. They love making potion just to preserve their mana for more dangerous situation.
And the Arcanist handled special problems, breaking spells or doing things no one else could. They have what they call "mental power", some if powerful enough can read minds or can even predict what will happen depends on the variables.
If you read their descriptions, you'd think it might be easy for most of the academy students. They seemed to know every role instinctively, some were born Strikers, others excelled as Vanguards.
Everyone was taught not just to stick to one role, but to be able to fill any if needed. Still, you had to choose the role you were best at.
"Having a secret date again with your crush?"
"Shut up Craige. We're not having a date." He tilts his head at me as if he doesn't believe what I am saying, since this is not the only time he had seen him here.
"Okay..." He said it as if not believing me.
"Fuck you, Craige."
I can't help but say it out loud while Craige repeats the words Raiven said to me—he heard most of it.
He's teasing me, and suddenly, he freezes when she heard that. The curse isn't the first time he's heard it, but what surprises him is me. I keep walking back, not even realizing what I just said—until I see Craige suddenly stop.
I glance at him, irritated and annoyed. I even raise my eyebrow at him.
"What? Are you not coming? I'm hungry."
I stare at him…and that's when it hits me. Oh. My jaw drops at the realization of what I just said.
"I… I guess I'll go ahead first. Just… follow me after you finish processing Seraphina saying a curse," I mutter, I find it funny how surprised he was hearing me cursing.
I nod lightly at him and tap his shoulder, silently saying, I get you. I know how saint-like Seraphina is in everyone's eyes… from the way she writes in her diary, I can see just how kind she is to people—
So kind that everyone ends up taking advantage of her.
---
"How come you're back earlier than the set date?" the princess asked, holding her teacup. With the grace expected of royalty, she lifted it slowly toward her lips.
She was addressing the Fourth Prince, someone who was not supposed to return yet, and yet here he was, back from the expedition.
"I just wanted to see my sisters," he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her.
He looks at her blonde hair which is neatly braided, a style befitting royalty.
He stood near the window, his gaze fixed on the garden outside.
"I heard you've been pestering my fiancée?" The princess paused before taking a sip. She lowered the teacup and placed it back onto its saucer.
"Fiancée, huh?" she repeated, a smirk forming on her lips.
"It seems you're still clinging to the idea that House Virel is on your side," she continued coolly.
"How presumptuous."
I hate how those blue eyes shine like a fucking sapphire as if to shout that they are the lineage of royalty.
That's what the Fourth Prince thought.
He may have the blonde hair but he doesn't have the blue eyes that speak royal.
"Oh, you're that guy who fucks that girl—" she instantly cover her mouth with my her hands as she realized what she just said.
That guy?
He knew she had amnesia, but being unrecognized as a prince just because he had green eyes stung more than he expected.
He inherited those eyes from his mother.
He loves her dearly, yet he couldn't help but think, of all the traits she could have given him, it had to be the color of his eyes.
His sister stood from the couch and approached him, the sound of her footsteps soft yet deliberate.
"You may have won countless battles," she continued, her voice sharp,
"And yes—credit to that clever mind of yours. But let's be honest."
She stopped a few steps away.
"You are nothing without your title. House Virel has been intertwined with the royal family longer than you can even imagine."
That was why, even as a princess, she could only watch from afar.
Watch her receive the attention, the admiration, the reverence that she believed should have been hers.
That was what she thought.
"You're mean. Has anyone said that to you ever? If none, welcome my remarks."
She clicked her tongue.
"How many years has it been since they rejected your proposal?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Do you really think going on an expedition would suddenly earn you her hand in marriage?"
Her lips curled into a mocking smile.
"Try it if you want. She even rejected Ca—"She cut herself off, realizing she had spoken too much. She rolls her eyes as she stops herself from talking too much nonsense.
The prince's eyes narrowed. "So it's true," he said calmly. "Calyx is in love with her?"
"It's not Calyx," she corrected coldly.
"It's the House of Vermiere."
Her father may have held only the title of Baron, but his contributions to the world of magic kept their house at the center of attention—he was a genius who created a chantless rune.
"He even rejected that damn title," the princess spat, her fingers curling tightly at her side.
"As if to declare that they don't need noble ranks to stand among high society. How arrogant...for a Baron."
She gritted her teeth, unable to stop the bitterness from rising.
How infuriating it was, how low their nobility stood, and yet she was always at the center of everything.
Seraphina.