Desolate Mage: A Legend Reborn! 7 Scheming is Strength 2

The sharp sudden sound of the invigilator's applause broke his last vestige of concentration; throwing the boy into confusion. Before he knew it, he found himself slumped on the ground - mentally drained from his heart-rending skirmish; and further exhausted by the ingrained fear of the bald man.

And exhausted as he was; he began to cry - and laugh in relief.

"Ha, ha ha... Hahaha...! Hahahahaha!!!" He could not control it; neither his tears and sobbing; nor his laughter to mask his weeping.

At the sudden development outside of his careful analysis; the smiling man's face turned sour; a sight that made every occupied trainee duck their heads or hide in an attempt to make themselves conspicuous - while the unoccupied trainees vanished to who-knows-where.

He spoke quietly, as was his penchant. "Number 6, Lars... Would you care to explain what you find so funny...?" The sense of danger in the air rose palpably.

"Invigilator... I...." The savage hulk of a man stood quietly; waiting to hear the boy's excuse.

"...I want to live... I want to live!!!" He exclaimed through the tears and his congested throat; not understanding why he said it.

But since he faced the decision of falling at his best friend's devices; or taking his sworn brother's life with his own hands...

He realised that no matter, he just wanted to live. To breathe. To learn. To experience life.

To continue to see Moira every day.

The invigilator paused; tolerating the boy's outburst. THe youth *was* one of the top 10 best seeds now, and this round of selection might be different from the usual where only the number 1 was taken...

Clearing his throat softly, the powerful man spoke once more. "Give me a reason; and... Perhaps you will live." By now, none of the trainees would mistake his gentleness for weakness.

"Invigilator; I--" Then the boy burst into coughs; his horrifying shoulder wound still slowly leaking blood.

The gargantuan man reached into his coat and pulled out... A white handkerchief. With lace and frills around the edges. Not a single soul dared to laugh - nor even let out a squeak.

He handed the handkerchief to the coughing boy; allowing him to calm down. Then he waited; tension filling the air.

"Invigilator. I know the rumours; that I stole the Vizier's books on magic; or that I have been practising in secret, against the unwritten rules of the Arena."

His listener grunted softly; almost daintily.

"And I know that; whatever my reasons, the penalty is death; but I also know this!" He quickly continued without lapse, lest his argument be nipped in the bud.

"I know that the true backer of the Arena is the royal family; for the purpose of raising the best, smartest and most ruthless killers... And bodyguards. For who better to sniff out every assassin, murderer, ambush, trap, scheme or plot than a schemer, plotter and cold-blooded murderer himself...?"

"But just last week, there has been a tragedy in the palace. The beloved Princess of the Sun; the successor of our most Holy Priestess, was murdered by a magical explosion - a trap most likely set by either the Mage country or the cultivators. Both her personal bodyguards, each a master and long-time graduates of the Arena, failed to detect it; ending with their deaths by execution."

At the sight of the invigilator's face turning sour; and yet also curious at how he knew this news while being trapped here in the Arena; Lars did not skip a beat; explaining his information channels.

"This event hasn't been announced; nor has it been mentioned in our syllabus. But I managed to pick up this news from the servants just yesterday. Just like we've been taught, to keep our eyes and ears open, and to establish channels of information - whether in high places or among the lowest servants. Sir, your greatness; invigilator Sarin--" He did not continue buttering up his counterpart; as he saw the bald man raising his eyebrows in irritation.

"Invigilator; in view of the changing times; in view of the dangers of his bodyguards *not* knowing magic..." He cleared his throat as he reached the peak of his argument. "...The King should change his selection method. With the most recent occurrence of a magical ambush; the royal family needs the best, most loyal servants... Those who are also masters of magic."

"Invigilator, you are a man of great wisdom and have always seized every opportunity to contribute; both to serve our beloved King and also to gain greater merits for our Arena!" The boy knelt, bowing his head - despite nearly fainting from the effort of speaking eloquently while critically injured.

"I know that you would not want to miss such a great opportunity and execute me, right...? Not when there is going to be a great demand for a magic-wielding trainee like me...!"

Lars ended on a high note, looked up at the ruler of the Arena and smiled - or at least he tried to; but he found even his knees and thighs turning to jelly. His attempted smile turned into a grimace of fear.

He was trembling; putting on a brave front before the man who could decide his life and death with a snap of his fingers.

The hulking man was quiet; his chin and gaze lowered.

The seconds ticked by.

Lars began to sway; weakened from low blood pressure and fatigue - and also the pressure he was placed under by the overseer of the Arena training grounds.

Then the invigilator spoke.

"Get some rest."

And as he walked past Lars, he added a few more lines.

"Well done - you impress me. But..."

The smiling scarred man had a gentle look on his face as he sadistically clasped Lars bleeding shoulder. Lars swallowed his pain as his consciousness nearly left him; blackness swam across his eyes, covering his vision.

Then the devil in human skin whispered into his hear; the warm lips nearly caressing his earlobe. "Assume you know what I want once more; and..." Then the man let go and walked off at a leisurely pace; wiping the blood off his hand.

"That day will be your death anniversary."

As the words of the unveiled threat continued to ring in his ears; he was completely zoned out.

And he was grateful that this was how his day ended; with no further bloodshed, torture nor fatality - at least not for today.

But from that day on; he would receive the nickname; Lunatic Deathwish - for only a madman seeking death would dare face the cold-blooded killer invigilator in the face - and laugh.

Chapter end