Desolate Mage: A Legend Reborn! 8 What is Love?/ Scheming is Strength 3

He did not dare look at Gardner's corpse that was being carried away; likely to be used for their upcoming meals - the protein not to be wasted. He feared that if he looked even once more; he would never be able to erase Gardner's gaping; accusing eyes from his memories. He feared that he would still see his blood-brother's face every time he closed his eyes... Just like he did right now...

He turned the bend to his dorm area; only to see Moira; the second best trainee in their entire batch after the dark-skinned berserker Linges. Lars almost missed a step; uncharacteristic for the cool, calm and collected assassin trainees.

'My only warmth, my hope in this dark, dark place...'

Beautiful Moira. Smiling Moira. Always clean, always smelling good, always warm to the touch... Warm and soft and affectionate when they held each other secretly in the laundry area; away from prying eyes and snooping ears.

Every month, the top trainees would be allocated extra food, half the labour and an hour of time in the sun-lit courtyard - normally off-limits to the slaves. But the thin, wiry but cunning and fast boy had never desired for all those. He did not need those.

All he needed was her.

'Moira...' He paused in his steps; then cast his gaze away from the girl who had not seen him yet; who would not cross paths with him as long as he did not call out to her.

'Moira; *You* are my light...'

She too had just left the scene of her battle; only, for her, it was far less of an ordeal. She had faced a trainee almost 50 ranks beneath her and eliminated him with ease. Nevertheless, she was still a 14-year-old girl - one scared and unsettled by her first kill.

Which was why she was absent-minded; not paying attention to her surroundings unlike what they had always learned to do in this place where death was expected, and ambushes came from the least probable places. But she quickly came to her senses as she saw the boy scurrying away from her.

"Hey, Lars; Lars!! Don't -- wait!" Her face changed to surprise when she saw him; then joy, then surprise and then finally disappointment and hurt as he ignored her and turned around a corner.

She tried to chase after him; but was obstructed by the other battered, bruised and grimy trainees who had also finished their matches. And as such, when Lars quickened his pace; bursting into a run, she lost him.

By the time she turned the corner; he was long gone - lost in the crowds of servants, trainees and other slaves in the main corridor of the Arena tunnel network.

Her face fell; a heart-breaking sight that caused many of the men and boys around her to stumble; nearly colliding with one another and breaking, dropping or losing whatever they carried.

'Lars... Why...? Why don't you acknowledge me anymore...? I thought we belonged to one another...?'

* * * * *

Round the corner; hidden in a servant's empty room.

Miller Knight Larsson panted heavily; wincing as his wound that was long overdue for treatment began to stiffen - a bad sign. He was tough; but the human body was just not meant for such abuse.

As a result; he was shivering. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead; wetting his hair and blood-encrusted clothes. And yet even his sorry state could not detract from his handsome; dreamy looks.

'Moira...'

He... He couldn't bear to see her. He... Loved her. As much as she loved him; maybe, maybe more.

But he could not, would not... *Cannot* see her again.

For only one person could leave the Rings of Death alive.

He waited for a moment; counting to 15 before popping out the room and headed to the main infirmary.

He hoped she would not follow him there; hoped that he would not have to come to terms with how he felt about her...

And what he would do if he faced her in the ring.

* * * * *

[3 months later]

[Not long until the young assassin's awakening to his sealed memories and powers]

It was now just after the third round of matches; and Lars had been forced to kill for the third time - this time, without using magic.

Since their last encounter 3 months ago, invigilator Sarin and the other members of management had not brought up his case; his use of magic. Perhaps they had accepted his argument, or perhaps they were just deferring his punishment until later...

His ranking had quickly risen further; from the rank 6 he received when he defeated his red-headed brother-in-arms; to rank 5. Raised because the former rank number 3 had died; smashed to pieces at the hands of the aberrant; freakishly power Linges; thus moving everyone below number 3 up a rank - and leaving everyone fearing for their lives, hoping not to cross paths with the monster in human skin.

It was quiet around in the residential area where Lars was seated cross-legged, Lars sharpening his daggers.

Taking the opportunity during break-time from self-training; he went over his meager few spells - self-created and polished over the years. He felt as if there were so much more magic energy within him, but no matter how he struggled to tap into the power; it was as if there were some sort of pipes or wires broken somewhere inside him...

He absentmindedly scratched at the leaf-shaped imprint on his chest, somewhere halfway between his collarbone and solar plexus. The mark had been there for as long as he could remember; since he was a child. Interestingly, the birthmark seemed to be growing darker as the years went by; and also seemed to be growing "twigs" radiating out - there were 14 fully grown while one more looked to be almost done forming; completing a circle around the birthmark like numbers on a clock.

Shaking his head and focusing on the present; his mind returned to his spells.

Magic Missile - he could invoke up to 3 egg-sized balls of arcane energy and launch them at high-speed. The damage done was about as severe as using a smouldering blade to pierce a person's flesh - one as thick as an egg was wide.

Invisible Rope - though it was better to call it a string; so thin it was... Nevertheless, it was strong - strong enough that, just by hanging it in the air in front of him; it had slit the throat of his scheming best friend when he launched his sudden attack.

Temporary Breac--

His thoughts were interrupted by one of the two people he did not wish to see.

"Lars." A gentle voice, but with an underlying steel and determination within it. One that he would never forget.

Moira.

Chapter end