Desolate Mage: A Legend Reborn! 22 Just Desserts 1

First, he laid out his objectives:

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1. Get back to Earth as soon as possible to warn his homeland of the scale of their enemies and the betrayal that had happened. Though they might not believe him; especially not that their enemies' spies could be sleeper agents from since before the war even began!

But he had no choice - it would spell disaster if they were blindsided by enemies from within, and even worse was the potential for internal conflict stoked by intentional meddling hands from up above...

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2. Figure out the plans of the All-Heaven Divine Empire. Based on what he had seen, not everyone was aligned with the invasion; what was the intention? Who were the parties the Earth was faced up against? What was behind the ominous and gargantuan All-Father's presence outside the 12-planet system...?

Especially the fact that their enemies' reserves and scale of power were far, far greater than what they had seen so far. If such large cities like the one he had seen near the portal were but one of a hundred thousand more like them, just how many forces could the invaders amass at a moments notice...? And how many of those Spirit-Severing powerhouses equivalent to World-Class mages would they be facing...?

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3. Rescue Moira and free her from the darkness and constant threat of death inherent in the Arena of Valour.

He spat (mentally, for he was a clean-freak) when he thought about the misnomer of a name.

The so-called Arena of Valour scoured the lands and seas, recruiting children for their training program. These hundreds and thousands of children were sorted by age then sent to various facilities all across the continent.

Year after year, they would be trained, drilled, educated and instructed in every aspect of killing and warfare; until they were master tacticians, strategists, assassins, protectors, warriors and spies. And beaten to death if they would not submit or if they could not keep up. They also learned the culture, etiquette and languages of dozens of civilisations; every major tongue that mattered across the different planets, worlds and planes of existence.

The bottom 10% every year would be culled until they turned 14. At that point, they would be pitted against one another in a battle to the death. The only survivor would then "graduate" to be the newest soldier/ assassin/ warrior to enter the Colosseum proper to face monsters, creatures, demons, devils and warriors of the true hellish training grounds - all for the entertainment and pleasure of the perverted, depraved rich and powerful. And above all, as protectors of the royal family.

And finally, to be sold to the highest bidder; for their killing capabilities as well as... Other forms of unmentionable use. Which was why even the morbid and perverted invigilator Sarin had not touched any of the living trainees until today. Living trainees. The necrophiliac had no qualms about carrying out his passions against those who no longer held any value to the Arena or the crown.

As such, until and unless he broke Moira free from the clutches of the Dark Cloaked ones, as those of the Arena were called externally, she would never be truly free; even if she prevailed as the final champion of the deathmatches.

She would just be graduating from one form of slavery where she pitted her life daily for her master's pleasure, to another form of slavery. To live at the whim and fancy of the Royals, whether as a bodyguard without her own will or as just another plaything.

He postulated some potential plans, ruminating over the stratagems that passed through his mind, then finally settled on two; one as the main and the other as a backup and failsafe in the event of contingencies.

Thinking it over once more, then twice and thrice more, he nodded with his eyes closed. It was settled.

He would move tonight.

Based on what he had detected, even the middle-aged man was at most at the World-Class realm, though Lars realised that in this world, he would already be considered legendary. Nevertheless, the scheming young man had the full confidence of bamboozling the man along with the vizier and all the management of the Arena.

And if that failed, he could still prevail, one against all of them.

'Though I'll not come out unscathed...'

Keeping his eyes closed, he thought about the defensive spells he had laid all around him. Spells to detect any enemy or presence that could potentially be a threat. He furrowed his brows, endlessly revising the possible permutations of offence and defence.

Then he felt a cold edge on his neck.

'???' What, what was this? No trainees would dare intrude here on penalty of instant death. And every trainee, no matter how loyal to others, valued their life above all else!

He languidly opened his eyelids, expecting to see a nurse who posed no threat to him; as she would be unable to pierce his defence layers.

As he opened his eyes, he saw a nurse alright.

Nurse Seline, red-headed and ravishing, wearing a tight body-hugging nurse uniform that bulged at the bosom and rear, threatening to burst at any moment. In his surprise, his eyes subconsciously traced the curves of her body from her stunning, captivating face with luscious, kissable red lips. Then down to her slim but stately neck, shapely shoulders and down to the curvature revealed by the missing button of her white outfit...

"Like what you see...? Hmm...?" Seline spoke sultrily, leaning in closer to give him an eyeful.

Shocked, Lars jammed his eyes shut, embarrassed at his own "reaction" both mentally and physically, both in his head above and... Elsewhere below.

Not missing out on his physiological reaction, the seductress used one hand to lean on his prone body - her small hand landing somewhere compromising.

She let out a small gasp, as if surprised, but also delighted at the size of what she held through his soft cotton patient's uniform.

Lars gulped. This was not what he was expecting when he laid out the defence matrix that detected "presences that could threaten him."

He was feeling very, very threatened right now as the girl began to slowly and seductively climb up onto his pallet to straddle him; knife still pressed to his jugular.

"Let me give you an offer..." The red-headed queen of the Arena brought a long and sensual finger to her lips and sucked on it, before extricating her finger and placing it on his lips.

Then she completed her sentence, her mouth beside his ear as she breathed out a hot breath onto the nape of his neck.

"...One you surely can't refuse." And she looked at him with soft, wet eyes, lids half-open; and a pitiable look that made even his heart melt.

* * * * *

The bald man stood still as a statue, not daring to move a millimetre from his post by the vizier's door. The vizier himself stood by his side, similarly frozen there.

The display of power from the Duke had blown their minds away, leaving no thoughts of anything but complete submission in their minds.

And as the muscular Sarin stood thinking how to get on the good side of the Duke, the opportunity came.

"Hey, Spot. Come here, boy!" He heard a voice calling through the door and gingerly walked over.

Duke Silvan continued speaking through the door; delivering his request to the invigilator.

"Bring me the red-haired girl. Now. She has some... Uses to me."

Blinking in surprise, the scarred man nodded vigorously as soon as he processed the command, then scurried off to search for the girl, planning to shake everyone he passed by to locate her as soon as possible.

And as he ran off, he heard the refined but detestable voice add one more phrase that made him furious.

"Good boy..."

Chapter end