Chapter 416

That 'what to do' was obvious. At least to himself. While 'most' of the Holocaust Scripture was gone, there were two or three who handled camp security and paid a special mind that common soldiers not be allowed near the 'Special Volunteer Staff' section.

And for Vargas, that meant somebody was on hand who could train with him. He never really cared much for false humility, to him, it was just a way to lie needlessly. And because his little detachment remained largely within the staff area when not out minding the commons or handling security, the only practical place to practice was among his 'staff'.

So when he stepped out in full combat gear and a sword he had temporarily dulled and took position in front of his selected practice partner, he quickly found that he had an audience.

He took no note of the 'background' and raised his sword up in front of his body, touching the flat of the blade with a tilt of his forehead at the same moment of his opponent… the clash began with the pair using a string of martial arts. [Lesser Strength][Agility Boost][Fortress][Swift Strike][Limit Break] Vargas used all five at once, to use multiple martial arts wasn't vanishingly rare, most soldiers managed at least one minor skill of that sort, usually a limit break, and those who stayed in service often managed two.

Few managed three.

Even fewer managed four.

And if you knew five, you were in a scripture or a party of heroes.

The observers saw chiefly blurs that paused, but for the combatants it was something else again. Vargas saw every motion, his opponent was an ambidexter, a rare enough trait to have, and as such he swapped freely from left or right hand to force Vargas to respond to a constantly changing method of attack.

The noise of swords and armor crashing was a minor storm of metal about the camp, but it was nothing compared to the cheers that began to rise as the elves got more invested into watching it unfold. So much dust was kicked up and cast off from beneath the feet of the combatants that they were fighting a full two inches lower on the ground than they were when they'd begun.

Vargas's eyes were alive with vigor, his muscles strained and sweat ran freely, but his body kept up with his exertions without any difficulty whatsoever.

Finally the two broke apart, and Vargas undertook a low crouch with one hand on the ground, one leg back, the other bent and forward, his heart raced and his breath was hard enough to stir up more of the dry dust. Sweat dropped to dampen and salt the ground, and after that one brief pause, the two charged again…

And Vargas's advantage became manifest, he was not ambidextrous, but he was a master of his sword nonetheless, and he turned his opponent's blade and with the tip of his sword, nicked the wrist causing a reflexive jerking motion, and from there the tip of his sword found the chest of his opponent.

The sword dropped from the defeated hand, and it was done.

Only then did his opponent remark with a jerk of his thumb, "It seems you are a crowd favorite." The elves were applauding, cheering, even. Vargas straightened, his sword came up in a salute, and he smirked.

He didn't need to ask, a pair of elves rushed forward with clay pitchers full of cold water, which after a few deep gulps, the warriors promptly dumped over themselves.

"I'll prepare a bath for you, Lord Vargas." Aola said when he handed the pitcher back to her. The defeated warrior only laughed and said…

"To the victor goes the spoils."

Vargas rolled his eyes as the defeated member of the scripture picked up his blade and made his exit. 'How tiresome.' He thought and made his way back to his quarters.

Aola did not keep him waiting long, but what caught him by surprise was that she did not ferry the water in buckets, but rather used a spell which conjured water, shooting it from a space just in front of her hand and filling it up in short order. He disrobed, mentally bracing himself for the icy water that magic tended to create, only to see her crouch down, touch the water with her palm, and cast another spell that saw the water heat up fast enough that steam began to rise.

"You have magic?" He asked as he stepped into the water.

"Some." She answered, "Convenience magic, and 'comfort' magic." She elaborated.

"Comfort magic…" He muttered, the term was familiar. Convenience magic could make things like salt, or dry something small or light that had been drenched, its uses ran the gamut and even the weakest mages could manage a spell or two of those. But he couldn't quite place the other.

She anticipated his question. "To make things more comfortable. I can heat water so that my master never took a cold bath. I can easily clean small articles of clothing or close up a small cut. Before you found me, I served in the lord's house. All of us had some simple comfort magic."

Vargas frowned a little as the heat engulfed him.

"Then why were you with the others, not in the main house?" He asked.

She picked up her pitcher, dipped it in the water, and then began slowly pouring the hot water over his head. He'd been about to dismiss her, but he didn't, in part as his curiosity was piqued, and in the other part… 'She'll just argue again, and what's the point of that?' So he tolerated the act on her part.

"I got caught." She said and her ears drooped a little.

"Caught? Stealing?" He asked.

"No, well, yes. In my position in the house I was privy to all manner of things, humans often saw us as mere 'background' forgetting that even when our ears are cut, we hear. Our lives depend on awareness, so it was my habit to remain outside the door when the lord of the estate was meeting with others. Sales of ourselves, our offspring, what humans were to be promoted or removed, it was valuable knowledge. I wasn't paying attention to anything else, and so was caught by the lord's wife." Aola shivered.

"I was kept out there while they decided whether or not to simply sell me, or worse." She shuddered hard enough that the pitcher nearly dropped from her hands.

"I see." Vargas answered, his face and voice were neutral as he looked down at the water and waited for her to drench him again.

"May I ask something… Vargas?" Aola's pour regained its steadiness, and her lilt had a note of curiosity to it.

"I suppose." He answered with a sigh as the burning hot water ran along the ridges of his many scars.

"Did it hurt to get these?" She asked and touched the ridge of one of the scars on his back, "Do some humans just not feel any pain?"

"That one was from an elven arrow, and I promise you," he laughed a little in spite of himself, "It hurt a lot. And as for your other question, I know of humans with martial arts that dull pain. But I've never met one that could not feel any. Why?"

"I was just wondering, you have a lot of these…" She touched another scar.

"Vampire attack."

"More of them than you have regular flesh, really." Aola touched another.

"Werewolf." He said when she touched it.

"And I thought…" She said as she touched another.

"Training accident." He said of it.

"I thought it would be easier to forgive the humans who put scars on me, if they didn't really understand what they were doing." Aola withdrew her hand when Vargas was quiet.

For several seconds there was only the noise of water cascading down over him again.

"You don't." He replied. "You don't forgive shit." He tilted his head back to look up at her. "Take it from me, Aola. They knew exactly what they were doing. Same as the elves that cut up my woman's body and left her bits and pieces dangling from a tree. Same as your elf king. Same as me. Same as you. Unless they're blind, deaf and dumb, they either enjoyed it, or they just didn't care and felt it was something that needed to be done. There's not a damn reason to forgive anyone you don't want to."

Vargas snapped his jaw shut and cursed his talkativeness. Speaking of the trainee he'd been coming up with, his lover, and what might have been more than that had she lived, was no small thing… but that talk of 'forgiveness' grated on him.

Aola did a double take down at him, he'd never indicated anything of that sort in his life, and it occurred to her then… 'I really don't know much about him… I've been so starry eyed that I just didn't notice…'

"I'm sorry for your loss." She said, but he only shook his head.

"War." He shrugged. But her remark about 'her' scars, had caught his ear. Still though, it didn't feel right to ask. "Thank you." He said, "You can go, I'm clean enough, now."

He said that, but in a way, he didn't really believe it.