The Rebel's Crown - Chapter 44 - Tourney - Part 3

I woke up nauseous and dizzy. Stumbling into the bathroom, I struggled to hold the vomit in before reaching the toilet. Through the night, the memory of Hazel getting beaten resurfaced several times.

Shaking, I pushed myself up and returned to the center room where Avery sat, his face pale and worried.

"Are you alright?" He asked, standing from his seat.

I didn't answer right away, waiting until after I'd filled and emptied a glass of water.

"I'm not fine." I spoke softly, dropping down onto the sofa and covering my eyes. "And neither is Hazel."

"Did they say anything about her?" Avery asked, sitting back down.

"No, but…" I paused, struggling to get the words out. My words stuck in the back of my throat, holding back the fear that the words came with.

"It's that bad, huh?" Avery waited, turning to look at the door. "Why don't we go see her later? You and me?"

Dropping my hands down to my sides, I tilted my head to look at the ceiling.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that." I spoke, breathing in a deep, slow breath.

Gently patting me on the leg, Avery stood up and walked towards the door. Turning his head, he said. "Let's meet up here a little past noon." Then he left.

Sitting on the sofa for nearly an hour, I struggled to fight the emotions inside of me. My body was so tense that it felt like I was going to cave in at any moment. I needed an outlet.

Standing, I fought off vertigo as I walked over to the door. Stepping out of the room, an eerie silence filled the halls, like the building was lost and didn't know how to feel. The world outside the dorm was the same, the air stale and unmoving.

Wandering the school grounds, I noticed people whispering and pointing their fingers at me. I knew what they were saying, that I was going to get the same beating that Hazel did in my fight tomorrow. I wanted to comment, to refute their words, but I didn't have the energy to tell them how wrong they all were. Emora warned me against letting my emotions control my actions, but this was not something that I was willing to negotiate on.

Tired of wandering, I thought back to orientation and remembered that there was a place nearby meant for private training.

Opening the door, I was greeted by a gruff old man staring at a paper on the table. Without a word, the man threw a bundle of cloth at me. Unwrapping them, I saw that they were bandages meant for wrapping hands. Pausing for a moment to see if the man would do or say anything else, I turned and entered a room.

Hanging near the center of the room was a worn sandbag.

Wrapping my hands in the bandages, I stepped up to the bag and threw a punch at it. Receiving the blow, the bag barely moved. After a few more, I groaned in frustration. I was doing this all in the hopes that hitting something would make me feel better, but it was having the opposite effect.

Pulling my grandfather's notebook from my storage ring, I dropped to the floor and started to flip through the pages. I was not as strong as Hazel, physically, but these techniques were going to help me fill the gap of strength. Many of the techniques, however, were worded weirdly and completely unintelligible. I did find one technique that wasn't written in some kind of code, though it seemed completely ridiculous. It was called the Mage's Hand and was supposedly capable of simulating the strength of a Warrior, without the need of an aura.

In the end, I decided to trust my grandfather's judgment and read through the section. The first part detailed how he had come across a technique like this, explaining that he encountered an odd stranger in his travels who relayed to him to technique. The stranger, unfortunately, passed away before he could teach my grandfather everything, but the basics were all here. The first hurdle that was described is the limited control of mana that people possess. It took more than a decade for my grandfather to figure out how he was meant to control it to such a fine extent.

Finishing with the section, he found that there was a short section about those ten years that explained everything that had led to his success. In essence, the mana of a person flowed parallel to a person's bloodstream. If I can find the mana in my body without activating my aura, I can freely control its motions. Once I achieve this, I can move it just like a high-level Warrior would be able to with their aura. This would allow me to perform the Mage's Hand as described, cutting off the mana flow in another person's body with my own.

Leaning back against the sandbag, I sighed. Just how was I going to do something that took my grandfather ten years in so short a time.

Then, the image of Hazel collapsing to the ground flashed in my mind.

Deciding to not be pessimistic, I crossed my legs and started to try and focus on the blood in my body.

After nearly an hour of nothing, I grew impatient and summoned my aura. As I did, though, I felt something like my heart skipping a beat, only it was throughout my entire body. Turning my aura on and off repeatedly, I could feel something. After a short time, I realized that what I was feeling was the two separate, perpendicular flows of mana and blood merge. Then they would separate once again when I deactivated my aura. Turning back to my grandfather's notes, I saw that he wrote nothing about whether or not a person's aura was needed to feel the flow of mana and told myself to add a footnote when I could.

Standing up, I read through the actual fighting part of the technique. The third part I couldn't use, since mana could only affect mana, and a sandbag doesn't have any. The first and second parts, though, I could definitely practice. The three parts were the three different forms for using the technique. The first was the one recommended for beginners, being the buildup of mana in the limbs to simulate the effect of a Warrior's aura. The second form was building up mana into the palm of the hand to release in a violent burst. The third form was centering mana around the tips of the fingers to block the flow of mana in a person's body by leaving a portion of it behind.

Spending some time practicing, I managed to feel and guide the flow of mana in my body enough that I could force it to stay in one spot. Keeping enough in one spot would cause it to leak outward, flowing into the rest of the limb, giving strength to it.

Practicing a little more, I tested it out. Without strengthening, I punched the sandbag as hard as I could, making it budge very slightly. Then I built up the mana in the same arm, waiting for about a minute before it felt ready, and punched the sandbag. This time, the bag swung back a short distance.

Practicing this for a while longer, I realized that fighting like this was somehow not draining on my mana.

"What kind of guy did you learn this from, grandpa?" I mumbled to myself, rolling my shoulders.

Reading through the technique again, I decided to try the second form. The second form was a continuation of the first. I had to gather mana into a dense pocket in my hand and keep it from leaking. This was very difficult at first, but several notes written in the margins helped me to figure out how to do it. After a minute, it felt like my hand was about to explode so I pushed my hand against the sandbag, keeping my wrist straight, then opened it toward the sandbag and felt all the mana explode out of my hand.

Normally, mana can only affect mana in its pure state. This technique, however, showed that that point didn't necessarily matter that much. Mana filled the world, in and around anything and everything. So, when an enormous amount of it is compressed at one point and then released, the mana outside is affected by it, creating something like an incredibly strong blast of wind.

This blast of wind jolted me back slightly while the sandbag was ripped from the chains holding it suspended in the air, throwing it against the wall away from me where it popped open, spraying sand everywhere.

After a short moment, the door opened as the old man poked his head in, a single eyebrow raised high. Seeing the damage, he frowned and shooed me out of the room.

Leaving the bandages on the counter near the front entrance, I left the building. Standing a short distance away, I flexed my shoulder. Compared to the first form, which used nearly no mana whatsoever, using the second form drained quite a bit more mana. It was like comparable to casting a very simple spell, though I felt that I could have gathered more mana for the blast. It just didn't feel very safe in the moment.

Returning to the dorm, I ran into Avery outside the building.

"You're looking better." He spoke, smiling.

My mood has improved, but that didn't change that someone was going to pay for what happened.

"Yeah." I spoke simply.

'Let's head over, then."

On the way to the infirmary, I noticed several more people quietly whispering to themselves and looking at Avery and me as we walked.

Almost immediately after we stepped through the door, a nurse hurried over to me with a smile on her face.

"Your sister is waiting for you." The nurse spoke excitedly. They then guided us through the halls up to one room. Before we could go into the room, however, the nurse said. "What that boy did is inexcusable. Know that we're all rooting for you."

The nurse left as we opened the door. The room was mostly empty, with only a bed and a side table on the far end of the room. It looked like the room was empty so that it could be used for medical purposes. Sitting upright in the bed, Hazel turned and smiled at us.

"You're okay!" I cried out.

"Shush, there are other people still trying to rest." Hazel chastised me. Her voice was weak, and she had bags under her eyes.

I hurried into the room and stood at the foot of the bed.

"I'll stay out here for now." Avery said, closing the door.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"I'm really tired. The healing process is really draining." She yawned and reached out a hand.

Stepping around to the side of the bed, I grabbed onto her hand. When I did, I felt a sort of odd warmth flow into my body.

Looking down at our hands, Hazel blinked and lifted her head to meet my eyes. "You finally took Emora's power?" She asked, her smile growing wider.

"What?" I asked, puzzled. Then I thought back and remembered all the times that Emora spoke of someone they called the other. I wanted to face-palm, but I didn't want to let go of Hazel's hands.

"We've been waiting for a while now." She teased.

"Well, sorry."

Neither of us spoke for some time until Hazel frowned and turned her head.

"I won't be able to be there for your match tomorrow. The doctors say that I won't be able to walk for a few weeks, though I should be healed in no more than two." She explained. I couldn't help but tense at her words. Seeing my reaction, she picked up a notebook from the side table and handed it to me. "No matter what happens, I don't want you to go too far. These are all the notes I have for the combatants. Now, go kick some butt and let me sleep."

Taking the notebook, I nodded my head and squeezed her hand before letting go.

Meeting Avery outside the room, he looked at me, smiled and turned toward the exit.

Leaving the infirmary, we were met by a small gathering of students.

"We're rooting for you!" One of them cried out.

"Teach that scum a lesson!" Another shouted.

The rest of the group joined in, shouting words of encouragement.

While I appreciated all their support, it felt very awkward to be simply standing there taking it all.

Before I could do anything, though, Avery grabbed my hand and raised it over my head and shouted. "He won't let you down!"