Chapter 11 - Back on the Path

The mountain winds had grown colder, whipping through the open-air training arena as snow dusted the peaks. Months had passed since their first chaotic experiment, and the once-awkward student and his eccentric teacher had found a rhythm, a strange sort of camaraderie that defied explanation.

Alaric stood at the edge of the plateau, his stance balanced, sword in hand. Opposite him, Igor stood wearing a helmet he also held a practice blade, its tip wobbling as the mage shifted his weight unsteadily.

"Feet apart," Alaric said, his tone equal parts instructor and exasperated older brother. "Not that far apart! You're not trying to straddle a horse."

Igor huffed and adjusted his stance, the blade tilting as he did. "This is absurd. Why would I, a mage of unparalleled intellect, need to learn how to swing a glorified piece of sharp metal?"

"First of all," Alaric replied, circling him, "it's not just a piece of metal—it's a finely balanced tool of precision and power. Second, you wanted to do this. Said it'd help you understand Witcher combat or some such nonsense."

"Ah, yes!" Igor straightened, suddenly excited.

.....

Few days ago-

Igor snorted. "Oh, please. You'd never get close enough. The moment you stepped into range, you'd be flattened by a kinetic blast or caught in a binding trap. Admit it—against a competent mage, you're outclassed."

The Witcher's grin widened. He set the blade aside and reached into his pouch. "Alright," he said, his tone dripping with challenge. "Let's test that theory."

Before Igor could respond, Alaric lobbed something small and metallic onto the ground between them. A faint ping sounded as it rolled to a stop—and then a low hum filled the air.

Igor's expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he tried to cast a spell. The air around him felt heavy, suffocating, as if his very thoughts were being weighed down. He raised his hand, but no fire came, no barrier formed. "What...?"

"Dimeritium bomb," Alaric said casually, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Nullifies magic in a wide radius. Convenient little tool for when your opponent won't stop throwing fireballs."

Igor's face contorted with indignation. "That's... that's cheating!"

Alaric barked a laugh. "Cheating? You think a mage shooting fire and lightning at a swordsman isn't cheating? All I'm doing is leveling the playing field."

Igor tried to step out of the bomb's radius, only for Alaric to rise to his feet, sword in hand, and close the distance in an instant. The cold steel rested against Igor's throat, the Witcher's golden eyes sharp and unrelenting.

"Without your magic," Alaric said quietly, "you're just a man with no training, no reflexes, and no way to stop me. And even if you had your magic, a Witcher is trained to dodge, parry, and outlast. You'd run out of energy long before I ran out of ways to kill you."

Igor swallowed hard, his voice more subdued now. "Alright, point made."

Alaric stepped back, sheathing his sword with a deliberate motion. "A mage might have the upper hand at a distance, sure. But in close combat? Against someone who's faster, stronger, and has a blade sharp enough to carve through steel?" He shook his head. "You're no match."

Igor frowned, his pride clearly wounded. But then, true to form, his expression shifted to one of fascination. "Dimeritium, You win this round, Witcher. But next time... I'm bringing backup."

"Next time," Alaric said, smirking as he sat back down, "bring a helmet too. You're going to need it."

...…

Their evenings were quieter, often spent around a crackling fire as the snow fell in gentle drifts outside their chamber. It was during one such evening that Alaric decided to broach a topic he'd been holding back.

Alaric leaned back in his chair, observing Igor as the mage gleefully sketched a magical formula on a napkin to "revolutionize" proper table manners.

It was impossible to suppress the thought forming in Alaric's mind. After months of Igor's manic enthusiasm, his disregard for etiquette, and his inability to comprehend even basic social cues, something didn't quite add up.

"Say, Igor," Alaric began slowly, "you mentioned you're from a noble family, didn't you?"

Igor, without looking up from his napkin, waved a hand dismissively. "Eldest son of Lord de Sade, yes. Magnificent lineage, steeped in history. Why do you ask?"

"Well..." Alaric hesitated, trying to frame his words delicately. "Aren't eldest sons usually... I don't know, expected to inherit their family's titles and estates?"

At this, Igor paused, the grin on his face faltering into a brief, awkward silence. Then, with a bright laugh, he waved the notion away. "Oh, that. Yes, well, you see, my father was—how do I put this?—utterly excited when the mages from Ban Ard came knocking. Practically shoved me out the door and into their care."

Alaric raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Excited, huh?"

"Oh, absolutely! He said, and I quote, 'Finally, someone who can make use of your... peculiar talents.'" Igor's voice shifted into a dramatic, exaggerated tone, clearly mimicking his father. "It was a great honor for the family, of course. A mage in the de Sade lineage! Who needs land and titles when you can conjure fireballs, hmm?"

Alaric leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "So, let me get this straight. You're the eldest son, and instead of grooming you to take over, your father shipped you off to Ban Ard faster than a peasant fleeing a wyvern?"

"Precisely!" Igor beamed, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. "He always said I was destined for greatness. Admittedly, there were some... growing pains…"

"Like?" Alaric asked, unable to hide his amusement.

"Oh, you know. Small things. Turning his prize stallion invisible. Turning my brother's hair green for a month. Accidentally collapsing the east wing of the estate during an experiment with earth magic." Igor grinned sheepishly. "But all's well that ends well, right?"

Alaric let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "You're a walking disaster, you know that?"

"Ah, but a brilliant disaster! Constantly evolving!" Igor replied with a flourish.

Alaric smirked, leaning back with a soft chuckle. "I'm starting to see why you're not the heir."

"Why, thank you! Wait—was that supposed to be an insult?" Igor frowned, then shrugged. "No matter. What do we do when someone questions our noble standing? Deflect with humor! See? I'm learning!"

...…

The small study chamber in Ban Ard Academy felt unusually cramped. Not because of its size, but because Igor de Sade was pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly, while Alaric sat in the only chair with a bemused expression, arms crossed.

"You're serious about this?" Igor asked, incredulous. "Etiquette lessons? For me?"

"Yes," Alaric replied, a trace of amusement tugging at his lips. "You're a walking tornado of social chaos, Igor. You're brilliant with magic, sure, but you need to learn how to interact with people. And I'm going to make sure you do."

Igor sighed dramatically, flopping into the chair opposite Alaric. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

Alaric smirked, relishing the reversal of roles. "Let's start simple. What do we do when we meet someone for the first time?"

"Introduce ourselves!" Igor declared. "With flair! Perhaps a small burst of light magic for effect? Something to establish that I am a mage!"

"No," Alaric replied, shaking his head. "We introduce ourselves calmly, maybe shake hands. No magic."

Igor groaned. "Fine, fine. No magic. How dull."

Alaric raised a brow and continued. "What do we say when someone compliments our work?"

Igor perked up. "Ah, easy! 'Yes, I know it's brilliant. Let me explain the theory behind it in (excruciating) detail—'"

"Wrong," Alaric interrupted, biting back a grin. "We say, 'Thank you.' That's it. No need for a lecture."

"But that's boring!" Igor protested. "What if they want to hear about the intricacies…?"

"They don't," Alaric said flatly.

Igor crossed his arms, pouting. "You're sure about that?"

"Positive," Alaric said. "Next question. How do we act in a crowded room of dignitaries?"

"Like a mage among peasants!" Igor declared, puffing out his chest. "We stand tall, make eye contact, and let them know they are in the presence of greatness. Maybe cast a minor levitation spell for—"

"Wrong," Alaric interrupted, laughing this time. "We act humbly. Blend in. Listen more than we talk. Nobody likes a show-off."

"Nobody likes a show-off," Igor mimicked in a sing-song voice. "You sound like my old tutors."

"They were right," Alaric said with a shrug.

Igor slouched further in his chair, sulking, but Alaric wasn't done.

"What do we do when someone insults us?" Alaric asked, leaning back with a grin, curious to see where this would go.

"Challenge them to a duel," Igor said without missing a beat. "Publicly, for maximum humiliation."

Alaric laughed outright. "No, Igor. We ignore them. Or, if necessary, respond with a calm, measured reply. Dueling isn't the answer to everything."

"Maybe not for you," Igor muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Alaric.

And….this went on for a few hours….

...…

"How do we act in a library?"

Igor's grin stretched wide as he gestured animatedly, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. "Carefully test the spells in the margins of the books! That way, you're learning and experimenting at the same time. Truly efficient, wouldn't you say?"

Alaric groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Quietly. And with respect. Libraries are sanctuaries of knowledge, not for your magical experiments."

Igor frowned, a bit deflated. "So no testing? Even just a tiny spell? What's the harm—"

"The harm," Alaric interjected, his voice sharpening…..and he just gave up.

...…

"Next question. What do we do when a noble insults us?"

Igor's grin returned, mischievous and unrepentant. "Turn their wine into sludge. Or, if we're feeling particularly creative, make their boots stick to the floor so they can't leave."

Alaric's face remained stoic. "We maintain our composure and let them embarrass themselves further. Nobles tend to trip over their own words when they're not met with resistance."

Igor nodded thoughtfully, his grin shifting to a contemplative smirk. "I see. A more subtle humiliation. Like turning their jewelry invisible so they think they've been robbed?"

Alaric sighed deeply. "No. Just dignity and wit. Though I suppose that is magic in your case."

...…

"How do we react when someone shares their opinion on magic?"

"Debate them until they admit I'm superior!" Igor said immediately, leaning forward with an eager gleam in his eyes. "Nothing beats a good, vigorous argument about superiority."

Alaric arched an unimpressed brow. "Not everyone wants to engage in a lecture, Igor. Try acknowledging their opinion without turning it into a debate."

"But what if they're wrong?" Igor countered, his hands gesturing wildly as if the mere thought was intolerable.

"Then you smile, nod, and enjoy the fact that you know better without needing to prove it," Alaric replied with deliberate patience. "It's called grace."

...…

"What do we do when we arrive late to a gathering?"

"Easy!" Igor exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Use an illusion to make it seem like we've been there all along. Or conjure a dramatic gust of wind to announce our arrival. Very memorable."

Alaric exhaled a long, suffering sigh. "Or, and hear me out here, we apologize for being late, make a quiet entrance, and don't draw attention to ourselves."

"But where's the fun in that?" Igor asked, genuinely perplexed.

"The fun is not making everyone question why you were invited in the first place," Alaric quipped, his tone dry.

...…

"Alright," Alaric said, his voice touched with humor. "Let's try something even simpler. What do we say when someone compliments our attire?"

"'Thank you, it's enchanted,'" Igor answered without hesitation, his chest puffed with pride. "Then demonstrate its magical properties. A quick levitation….."

"You really like levitation huh?" Alaric tilted his head, his expression unimpressed. "'Thank you.' Just 'thank you.' No demonstrations necessary."

"But isn't it a waste not to show off the enchantments?" Igor pressed, clearly confused. "What if they think it's ordinary?"

"Let them," Alaric said firmly. "Modesty makes you look more impressive in the long run."

Igor grumbled under his breath. Then sighed dramatically, slumping in his seat. "This is torture."

"No," Alaric said, standing and placing a hand on Igor's shoulder. "This is balance. You can be a genius in the arcane arts and a functional member of society. It's possible, I promise."

Igor squinted at him. "Are you enjoying this?"

"Immensely," Alaric replied, his smirk returning.

Igor groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I liked it better when I was the teacher."

...….

Few years later-

The morning of Alaric's departure was crisp and clear, with the mountains behind Ban Ard bathed in the soft glow of dawn. The air carried a stillness that seemed to mirror the heavy silence between Alaric and Igor as they stood near the academy gates. Alaric adjusted the straps on his gear, his swords glinting faintly in the rising sun. He glanced over at Igor, whose normally animated face was a mask of uncharacteristic somberness.

"So," Igor began, his voice unsteady as he fidgeted with the hem of his robe. "You're really going, huh?"

Alaric nodded, his expression calm but his eyes soft. "It's time. The path is waiting, and a Witcher doesn't stay in one place for long."

"But..." Igor's words caught in his throat. He looked at Alaric with an almost childlike vulnerability. "You're not just any Witcher. You're my first friend. The only person here who didn't treat me like I was insane."

The two of them were always the outcasts in the academy and that didn't bother any of them. But now Alaric was leaving.

"Who am I supposed to argue with now? Who'll stop me from testing spells on myself?"

Alaric chuckled lightly, the sound tinged with sadness. "Maybe you'll learn some restraint, though I wouldn't bet on it. And you'll find someone else to annoy. Trust me, you've got a talent for it."

Igor huffed, crossing his arms but unable to suppress the small grin creeping onto his face. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Always," Alaric replied, smiling faintly.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rustle of wind through the trees. Finally, Igor took a step forward, his usual energy flickering back as he jabbed a finger at Alaric's chest. "But you promise to visit, right? Every few years. No excuses! I need updates on your magic progress. We're not done figuring you out yet."

Alaric placed a hand on Igor's shoulder, his grip firm but warm. "I promise, Igor. You'll be the first person I visit when I swing back this way." He paused, his expression turning mock-serious. "Besides, I wouldn't dare deprive you of the chance to criticize me when I get something wrong."

Igor sniffed dramatically, swiping at his eyes with exaggerated flair. "Good. Because I will criticize you. Ruthlessly."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Alaric replied, shaking his head.

The two stood there for a moment longer before Igor suddenly lunged forward, wrapping Alaric in an awkward, almost crushing hug. Alaric froze in surprise before patting Igor's back gently. "Alright, alright, don't get all weepy on me."

"I'm not weepy," Igor muttered, his voice muffled. "Don't forget you have a friend in Ban Ard."

"Hard to forget a madman," Alaric said dryly, though his tone was fond.

When Igor finally released him, he stepped back, straightening his robe as if trying to reclaim some dignity. "Fine. You're allowed to leave. For now. But don't forget—your magic is still a work in progress. You may have figured out your combat signs, but you're far from done. You're my greatest experiment, Alaric, and I refuse to let you run off thinking you're finished."

Alaric smirked, shouldering his pack. "I wouldn't dream of it. Take care of yourself, Igor. And don't blow up the academy while I'm gone."

"No promises!" Igor called after him as Alaric turned and began walking down the mountain path.

Alaric didn't look back, but he smiled faintly at the sound of Igor's voice, full of its usual manic energy. The journey ahead was uncertain.

-x-x-x-

A/N:-

We've got a longer chapter today, over 2700 words! I had way too much fun with Igor's answers, and the chapter length just got away from me.

Still, going forward, chapter lengths will likely increase. Until now, I've been uploading chapters of 2000+ words, but expect 2500+ to 3000+ words from here on out.

Big thanks to @Sami_Alfoheday for the tip!

My schedule has been pretty hectic for the past 10 days or so, and I've been dedicating almost 4-5 hours every day to writing. To keep things more organized, I've decided to set a schedule for uploads. There will be a new update every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. But, I promise the quality and word count will both increase.

As always, if you have any ideas for future arcs or plots, or if there's something you'd love to see our main character tackle in the future, please comment down below! Your input is incredibly valuable. Even the simplest ideas or spontaneous musings can help clear those creative blocks and spark new directions for the story.

So, don't hesitate—share your thoughts! And if you have any questions, feel free to comment. I'll do my best to answer without spoiling too much.

Clear skies to all of you! ✨