A boy named Harold(1)

Soon Shauk grew angry. He attempted to grab the boy with his two hands, leaping around the arena erratically.

"How you infuriate me!" — Shauk thought to himself, a look of bewilderment crossing his face.

He hoped to prevail through brute force. It had already been over 30 minutes. This meant the boy was meeting the expectations of the young cultist.

A heavy grimace formed on Shauk's face. He relished in this feeling. He saw before him a raw ore worth his attention.

— Fine, you've convinced me. Now I can engage with you more seriously. Hopefully, you have a place to heal, — Shauk said, displaying a satisfied smile.

Harold stood in a fighting stance, maintaining the form of his technique. All focus should remain in the subconscious, in contemplative thoughts.

Shauk drew a semicircle with his heel. A gray glow appeared beneath his eyes. He instantly found himself behind Harold, hurling the boy with his palm towards the nearest stone pillar holding the arena.

Naturally, this was beyond human capability. Strength, endurance, speed were increased fivefold compared to an ordinary human.

At that moment, Harold fell to his knees, breathing heavily and clutching his chest. He tore off the black fabric, trying to regulate his breathing after such a blow.

Cough, cough!

"I lasted much longer. I didn't even know he would use 'heta' on an ordinary person. It's cruel," — Harold slowly raised his head, watching Shawka approach.

"Now I don't know how to proceed. I've altered the course of the battle. I need more time!" — time for a child who wasn't even there.

All the child could do without any preparation against the cultist was simply run, dodging attacks filled with spiritual energy.

— If I lose to you, I won't be able to prove anything to you. Only strength and perseverance matter to you, — Harold yelled through his breaths.

— Tsk!

— Shut up! — Shauk was suddenly in front of Harold, taking a few quick steps.

With all his might, Harold headbutted Shawka in the nose, jumping back. This was the last straw for Shawka, who became so enraged that his hyote began to emanate from his eyes.

The acrid gray hues of the aura flashed in a lightning-fast lunge forward, striking the boy's chest with his palm.

Naturally, Harold flew back again, hitting the stone surface with his back.

— O!

Harold got to his feet. His knees continued to tremble from the strain. He felt exhaustion, pain, the harsh realities of his life.

— I won't give up, I must defeat you!"

Red blood trickled down Harold's forehead, flowing down his face. His wild gaze, full of life experience, stared directly into Shawka's soul.

Shauk swallowed, standing in shock as he looked at the boy. He saw someone painfully familiar in him. Fear crept into his eyes, which he quickly dismissed from his mind.

"Master, he's truly ready to die, fighting to the end. I sense nothing in this boy, so why is his gaze so full of rivalry?" — Shauk couldn't contain his power from such thoughts.

He struck the boy's face with all his might. Harold fell to the ground from such a sudden attack.

— Is that enough for you?

Shauk continued to pummel the boy's body until it was in such a state that Harold was barely recognizable, a bloody face devoid of any signs of life.

Shauk kicked the boy's body with his foot. It spun in the air. Shawka attempted to deliver a final blow to Harold with his foot.

At that moment, one of the directors intervened in the fight, blocking Shauk's leg with his hand and throwing him into the nearest corner.

Then the director quickly caught the child in his arms, laying him down beside himself.

— What do you intend to do? — came the stern elder's question.

Maro Blackbeard, the director himself, intervened, preventing the murder of the child. His white cloak gracefully slid across the smooth ground.

This enigmatic old man looked down at Shawka. Yes, this old man was immense, imposing his authority over the metal tribe cultist.

— You would have even used your metal magic on him. We do not kill ordinary people, especially in qualifiers. This boy stood against you. He had the spirit to at least try to match you.

Maro turned to the crowd, raising his hand, taking responsibility.

Thus, Shauk was accepted into Maro Blackbeard's academy. He proved himself worthy of his place.

— By the rules, Shauk's has proven himself worthy of a place among the academy. I take him under my wing.

People around began to whisper, the faces of the other academies hiding in the shadows, trying to distance themselves from the spiritually weak.

— Take this Barl, heal him, and take him back where he came from. The faces of the academies appreciated his perseverance and skill. I see in him an excellent warrior-officer, defending our country from enemies. He showed me his youth, but that's not enough.

Indeed, the huge old man in the rough cloak caused a stir among the onlookers. He slowly left the arena, leading Shauk away, occasionally glancing at Harold with an interested gaze.

"Well, I suppose he'll prove himself next year..." — thought the old man, leaving the arena and disappearing into the shadows of the other people.

Everything was blurry before Harold's eyes, everything doubled, even the voices of others. He slowly lost consciousness and lay on the cold ground, surrounded by enough blood.

"I managed to change something..."

The boy pondered every action, tears streaming from his eyes. He cried through the pain that engulfed him, slowly losing consciousness.

He didn't even feel the people in long white robes lifting him. Medics tried to say something to him, but he couldn't make out their words as his consciousness slowly plunged into a dark void.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to lose hope. I don't want to remember the beginning, I had a chance to change everything. Why did I lose? I don't want to go back there..."

Around Harold, only darkness raged, and he finally lost himself, disconnecting from his dark, frightening thoughts.

Memories became a dream, tumultuous and wondrous, showing him the beginning of his understanding, the day he realized he was completely different.

That day marked the beginning of Harold's development, his personality, cares, the hard times when he didn't even see his parents.

These memories weighed heavily from the time when Harold was just 6 years old. The scene was vividly real.

The warm night of summer days, even the faint breeze brushed his cheeks. The little boy looked around, surveying the stone lanterns glowing with red flames.

The empty eyes of the monuments were frightening, and their towering height only intensified the fear. The huge, mighty figures seemed to say: take your step, start resisting.

The feeling, the firm grip of a non-relative's hand. Harold felt no emotions; he simply tried to succeed, attempting to take wide steps like the person holding his hand.

The boy lifted his head, looking at tall people in black robes, their faces hidden under veils of scattered white stripes. Three people escorted the boy along a small path.

These people led the boy to a huge mansion, and the heavy hand continued to hold the boy to prevent him from falling. He was still naive and didn't understand what these people were doing.

The moment, that very day when it happened, and everything began. His awful life was in the hands of these people.

A tall servant in a fur costume greeted the people, holding a monocle in his left hand and examining the boy with interest. They conversed, and he couldn't comprehend any of their words, making it difficult for him to understand anything.

The people walked through the black ribbons, bells rang, and the boy ran his hand through the air, looking up. His eyes were completely amazed by everything happening before him.

Ahead, a sharp female voice rang out.

— I know why you've come, — proudly declared the brunette, raising her nose and placing her hands on her hips.

The men nodded without revealing their faces; these people were very mysterious personalities.

The boy hid behind the men, studying the woman. She looked very sad, her eyes were wet, she tried to hide her tears.

Their clothing stood out, and everyone here was dressed in brown fur.

The heavy hand grabbed Harold by the collar, and the man in the white veil lifted the boy, presenting him to the woman in front of him.

— This is not our concern, but yours, — growled a rough voice under the veil.

The servant continued to stand silently in the corner, sighing heavily at such a turn. The man holding the child, with a reproachful tone, addressed this woman:

— The mother of this child, your friend and close friend, died along with this child's father. And you plan to drive us away?

— You are the only family to this child, and he doesn't even understand us. I doubt his parents would have wanted this for their only son.

— And now I ask you to take this child under your care, nothing more is required of you.

The woman looked at the child, falling to the feet of these people and sobbing heavily. It was a very delicate subject, as the deceased people meant so much to this person, they went through so much together, and now they are gone.

— No one will take him, no one will care for him. So why do you think I can handle someone else's child? — asked the woman through tears, raising her head up.

— I respected Ibby, she was so good. How did she die? How did it happen? Under what circumstances?— the woman asked many questions, peering into the mysterious people hidden under veils.

The man put the child on his feet, trying not to drop him. He let go of his collar, and Harold slowly approached the woman, looking into her eyes without any purpose. He smiled sweetly, like a genuine 6-7-year-old.

He clumsily fell on his backside, looking at the woman with his red eyes.

The woman looked at the boy, gritting her teeth slightly, and embraced him, speaking to him many different things, although he didn't understand what this woman wanted to convey to him at all.

This woman is trying to get away, she's crying, but the tears of this woman are insincere, this child is not needed by her.

Nevertheless, she hugged him, contradicting herself, thinking that this child will be as strong as his parents.

— My children are growing up, just older. He will develop much better, learning from my children. Street thugs won't teach this child anything, — she looked with her moist eyes at the men, who silently turned towards the exit from this house.

— Are you sure you can take care of this child? If you fail, we will have to take him away, — said the thin man, turning back, the veil smoothly turned with the man's face.

The man asked simply to understand the motives of this woman, now that she had decided to take someone else's child.

— Of course, he will grow up to be a strong man who can defend my people, — the woman replied flatteringly, hugging the child.

The men in long black robes began to leave the building rhythmically. One of them stopped, turning his head towards them, and sighed heavily as he walked away with the rest.

"This night will be hotter than the others," — this man thought to himself.

The woman took this child under her care out of respect for her friend. He still didn't understand that this two-faced woman would fill his 9-year-old life with real hell, suffering, to which he would never want to return.

The woman got up, her face changed to indifferent. She realized that he didn't even understand her.

— And why do I need you, — she sighed heavily, throwing her foxy look.