Desolate Mage: A Legend Reborn! 6 Scheming is Strength 1

Lowering his stance, Lars prepared to take the offensive once more; prepared to take a life-and-death gamble with his best-friend - now his partner in this dance to the death.

He began by repeating the same moves as before; darting forward, keeping a low stance. Only this time, he approached with only one dagger in his left hand.

"You fool! You know me well enough; no trick ever works twice! Just give up, Lars! Only one of us can live - why not let it be me...?" Hearing those words from Gardner's mouth, Lars felt more and more like the red-head was a stranger to him.

What had happened to the warm, big-hearted and kind boy? One who, despite his great size and strength, always made sure not to hurt him too much in sparring?

One who was willing to fight 4-on-1 to protect him when he was bullied...?

One that he had trusted his heart, soul and feelings to. Even his feelings for Moira.

'Moira...? Moira!' So that was it...

He should have seen it sooner... But he had been too blind; blinded by his belief in friendship - no, by his desire to believe in a friend he could trust. A desire born of foolishness.

Wordlessly, Lars responded with his dagger; rising from a low position to snake towards Gardner's neck.

He saw the bigger boy smile; obviously, he was confident in his superior speed and reach.

Then his face changed when Lars' dagger glowed - then flashed; releasing a blinding white light and searing Gardner's eyes.

"Ahh!!!" Gardner cried out in pain as a smokescreen. The trainees were all accustomed to fighting blind.

*Clang!* Gardner smiled when he felt the impact of Lars' blade on his dagger; even blinded, his defences were impeccable. Then he gasped - the dagger had no weight to it...

Almost like it had been thrown.

'Hmmph!' Within a split-second, he adjusted his position and spun around; striking out 6 times with each dagger as he spun - leaving no gaps for an unarmed assailant to get close.

'Useless! Futile! There's nothing you can do; no rocks or stones or debris you have left to use...!'

He bought himself 2 seconds with his superb killing-move used for defence - enough for his vision to return.

Then he screamed in pain once more as he felt 3 bolts of burning pain pierce through his abdomen - then collapsed with charred holes through his stomach and chest; bleeding profusely.

A blind man had no chance against silent magic fired from a distance.

* * * * *

He heard the spectators gasp - trainees, instructors, guards and the three invigilators.

Then through his blurry consciousness; dizzy from blood-loss pain; he heard murmurs of surprise and accusation.

"He uses magic..."

"How did he learn it...?"

"Did Vizier Murad teach him in secret...?"

"No, it can't be; he must be the thief who stole Murad's missing scrolls..."

"Could it be his innate talent...?"

Countless voices and numerous theories could be heard in a jumble of sounds - then the crowd fell silent as they watched what should be the foregone outcome of the battle.

Lars' stood, blood-soaked and panting, struggling to draw in the next breath. He suppressed the urge to vomit as he faced Gardner who lay prone on the ground; gasping for air.

His open left palm was pointed at the fallen boy; so tense that his muscles began to lock up and cramp.

He felt sickened to his stomach. Sickened by the thought of what he had done to his best friend. Sickened by the smell of blood, as always. Sickened by the thought of what he had to do next.

To kill his best friend with his own bare hands.

He stumbled forward; one step at a time; each step feeling heavier than the last.

It seemed to take him forever to reach his former mentor and companion; whose breaths came shorter and shorter, more and more shallow. He heard the sounds of gurgling as Gardner tried to draw in air - likely blood had entered his punctured lungs.

He looked up at the invigilator; the scar-faced bald mountain of a man remained impassive; retaining his expression of disdain and cruelty.

Then he took 3 more steps; the last 3 steps until he stood within striking distance of his only friend in this dark, lonely place.

"L-Lars...?" Gardner sputtered as he spoke; coughing - specks of blood mixed with phlegm and saliva flowing from his mouth. He was laid on his side; one arm crumpled under his body at an unnatural angle - unable to move. He looked to be in great pain, and multiple convulsions shook him at irregular intervals.

"H... H... H-help me; help me... Lie down... For old times; *cough* -- for ol' time's sake...? Let me... Die with dignity..." He pleaded with misty eyes; his face twisted in agony with blood, snot, and phlegm mixed together running down his face. He held up one feeble arm; beseeching Lars to show him this final mercy.

Lars took the last step forward and reached out his good left hand - and Gardner immediately sprung up to his knees and swung his hidden dagger at the unsuspecting Lars' throat - a dagger that the tall and robust boy had gripped tightly; pressed against the ground - concealed under his torso.

Lars froze; then sighed in sorrow; heart-broken, shocked and betrayed.

A gurgling sound was heard, and a voice of reluctance blurted out; "Y-You... Tricked me...! You--"

With his throat slit by the thin, nearly invisible wire floating in the air in front of him; whatever last words Gardner had would be taken with him to the grave.

"Goodbye... And may you find your peace... Brother..."

Lars released his Invisible Rope spell; dissipating the mana used to summon the translucent and thin but steel-like wire; then turned his back on his former best friend; saluting to bid him a last, sorrowful goodbye.

He looked forlorn and lost as he stepped out of the ring; nothing like a victor; looking instead like one who had been defeated; one who had lost something dear and precious to him.

* * * * *

Lars dragged his feet as he exited the combat grounds; then limped and struggled across the crowded waiting area. He clutched his still-bleeding right shoulder; trying to staunch the bleeding with a ripped off portion of cloth - from his own tight black tunic.

He was met with a scene that struck great fear into his heart.

Invigilator Sarin was blocking his way; and was *smiling*...! Something he did only when someone was about to be beaten to the brink of death, or outright executed.

The brilliantly intelligent scar-faced man struck an imposing sight; heavily muscled and a full head taller than the half-dead boy. He was also a master of psychology; a master of instilling fear into his trainees. He delighted in showing that he could read them like a book; and enjoyed showing the teenagers that they were dancing in the palm of his hand.

"Would you like to guess which it will be...?" The brutal-looking bald man spoke as he always did - in a deathly still and refined tone of voice - yet one that would at any moment erupt in bouts of crippling violence.

The moment Lars dreaded had come - the draconian taskmaster obviously knew his own reputation - that his smile meant either death; or torture. The thin boy teetering on the brink of collapse faced a turning point in his life - would the insidious overlord believe his claim that magic was his innate talent...? What excuse should he make; what story to tell...?

As his train of thought raced down the path of no return; invigilator Sarin's smiled widened further, until it looked like his wide mouth split his face in half.

He felt his scalp grow numb and shivered - he felt as if the bald, scarred man could already hear his every thought...

Gulping and gather his resolve; Lars opened his mouth to answer. "I--"

Chapter end