Chapter Thirty-Nine: Duels

  Ash settled into a regimented routine as the remaining days of the hunt wore on. Each morning before the sun fully crested over the horizon, he would rise from his bed, splash cold water over his face to banish the lingering cobwebs of sleep, and make his way to the designated practice area. There, Rosalia would be waiting, her wooden practice sword already in hand, a determined gleam in her eyes.

  The duels unfolded the same way each time. Rosalia was nimble, her footwork precise, her strokes calculated and well-executed. By any standard, she was impressive, particularly for a student still at the foundational stage. Yet, something intangible separated them.

  This morning, their wooden swords clacked together in a rhythmic percussion as they circled one another. Sweat beaded on Rosalia's forehead as she lunged forward with a swift thrust aimed at Ash's midsection.

  Ash pivoted, his body responding before his mind fully processed her movement. The blade was an extension of his arm, his instincts guiding it to parry her attack with effortless precision. He could see the patterns in her movements, anticipate the flow of her attacks three steps ahead. It wasn't just skill; it was something deeper, something intrinsic to his being.

  "You telegraph your intentions with your left shoulder," Ash said, demonstrating by shifting his weight and showing her how her body gave away her next move. "Try keeping it level when you prepare to strike."

  Rosalia attempted to incorporate his advice, adjusting her stance. But minutes later, she found herself once again disarmed, her practice sword clattering to the ground.

  Instead of frustration, her green eyes sparkled with renewed determination. She swept a strand of copper hair away from her face, setting her jaw firmly.

  "I swear, I'll beat you one day!" she declared, retrieving her fallen weapon. The morning light caught the slight upward curl of her lips, revealing that her competitive spirit remained unbroken despite the consistent defeats.

  Ash rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a strange awkwardness settle over him. "Yeah, err, you're good, Rosalia. Really good. Just need a bit more practice with your defensive footwork."

  The compliment, intended to encourage, had the opposite effect. Her expression darkened momentarily, the sparkle in her eyes dimming as she sheathed her practice sword with more force than necessary.

  "I don't need your pity compliments," she muttered, gathering her belongings. Without another word, she stalked off, leaving Ash puzzled in her wake.

  "You know, I don't think I understand women," Ash said to himself, running a hand through his hair.

  Lilith, who had been observing from a nearby wooden bench, snorted at his confusion, her green eyes conveying more wisdom than her youthful appearance suggested.

  After these morning duels, Ash would venture into the forest surrounding Ivalia to hunt for ingredients. The dense woodland provided a bounty of herbs, roots, and occasionally, monster parts. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves that rustled beneath his boots, and the canopy above filtered the sunlight into dappled patterns that shifted with the breeze.

  Sometimes, his ingredient gathering would be interrupted by goblins or other minor forest monsters. The goblins were particularly abundant, their green skin blending with the foliage until they chose to reveal themselves. They had elongated ears that twitched constantly, beady eyes that gleamed with mischievous malice, and sharp, angular features that gave them a perpetually cunning appearance.

  Ash noticed variations among them. Some had ridges of hard spikes running up their backs, offering natural protection. Others wore crude garments fashioned from tanned leather or stolen cloth, but many preferred to prowl the woods naked, their green hides providing natural camouflage among the forest vegetation.

  Their tactics were predictable. They favored ambushes from dense underbrush or low-hanging branches, bursting forth with high-pitched war cries. When direct confrontation seemed unfavorable, they resorted to throwing rocks from a distance, their accuracy more annoying than dangerous.

  "They're not very coordinated," Ash observed to Lilith after dispatching a small group of them. "If they attacked together instead of rushing in one by one, they might actually pose a threat."

  Despite their numbers, the goblins never presented much of a challenge for Ash. Their attacks were easily anticipated, their ambushes thwarted with minimal effort. With his enhanced senses and developing combat instincts, he could detect their presence by the subtle rustling of leaves or the faint odor of unwashed goblin that preceded their appearance.

  Rosalia had warned him about hobgoblins, though. "They're an entirely different threat," she had explained during one of their dueling breaks. "Bigger, smarter, and infinitely more dangerous. A hobgoblin can command a whole tribe of regular goblins, turning them from a nuisance into a genuine threat."

  Ash had yet to encounter one of these superior goblinoids. Based on Rosalia's descriptions, he wasn't particularly eager for the experience.

  After his forest excursions, he would return to Ivalia with his harvested ingredients. Initially, he collected goblin parts – teeth, ears, and occasionally, their beady eyes – for potion-making. But he soon discovered these were too common in the region to fetch any meaningful price from local alchemists or merchants.

  "Goblin parts are worth less than dirt around here," a weathered herbalist had told him with a dismissive wave. "Everyone and their grandmother has a drawer full of goblin teeth. Now, if you brought me troll fingernails or the eye of a stygian pyrewolf, we'd have something to talk about."

  Still, Ash kept a few specimens for his own experiments. The evenings were dedicated to potion-making, a skill he was determined to master despite his limited resources and knowledge. He'd set up a makeshift alchemy station in his quarters, complete with a small burner, mortar and pestle, and an assortment of glass vials he'd purchased with his dwindling funds.

  Lilith would lounge on his bed during these sessions, her dragon form curled into a tight ball, occasionally opening one eye to observe his work. Her expression was invariably one of disgusted fascination, particularly when he worked with the more pungent ingredients.

  "I know it smells foul," he would tell her when a failed mixture produced noxious fumes, "but think of how useful these will be when I get it right."

  Through bartering and careful negotiation, he managed to acquire a scent-dampening script from a local silversmith. These were common in Ivalia, a town full of adventurers who often needed to mask their presence from keen-nosed monsters. The script, etched onto a small metal disc, could be activated with a touch and a whispered word, creating a localized field that neutralized scents for several hours.

  More valuable than any material acquisition was the herbalist guide he purchased from a traveling merchant. The thick, leather-bound tome detailed hundreds of ingredients and their properties when combined into various potions. Its pages were yellowed with age and filled with meticulously drawn illustrations of plants, monster parts, and the correct preparation methods for each.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Liquid from the eye of a goblin, thistle, and alcohol at precise measurements will yield a stamina potion of bronze rank," he read aloud one evening, trailing his finger along the page. The book explained that the unique properties of goblin eye fluid, when catalyzed by alcohol and stabilized with thistle, created an elixir that temporarily boosted physical endurance.

  Ash realized there was so much knowledge contained in books, waiting to be discovered. Unfortunately, the Adventurers Guild strictly controlled access to their library based on rank. As a foundling-stage adventurer preparing for his bronze examination, Ash could only check out volumes from the bronze section, which contained basic information suitable for beginners.

  "There must be so many advanced techniques in the higher-ranked sections," he mused to Lilith, who offered a sympathetic chirp in response.

  He continued reading, absorbing everything the herbalist guide had to offer. His goals were twofold: first, to become proficient in potion-making, a skill that could prove invaluable in dungeons and against monsters; and second, to pass his upcoming examinations at Wyrmhaven Academy.

  The more he learned, the more Ash realized how haphazard his previous attempts at alchemy had been. Temperature control was crucial, as was the precise measurement of ingredients. Adding too much of one component or heating a mixture too quickly could render an entire batch useless or even dangerous.

  He reflected on how Amalia had essentially thrown him into the deep end with minimal instruction. It was frustrating to realize now that she had expected him to navigate complex alchemical processes with virtually no guidance, like expecting a blind man to describe colors.

  "She could have at least told me the basics," he grumbled to Lilith, who flicked her tail in what might have been agreement.

  His early attempts in the evenings resulted in more failures than successes. Batches turned the wrong color, solidified when they should have remained liquid, or simply produced no effect when tested. The room often filled with acrid smoke or strange odors, forcing him to open the windows despite the evening chill.

  Yet persistence yielded results. After numerous attempts and careful adjustments to his technique, Ash successfully produced three stamina potions, each glowing with a faint amber light that signified their bronze-rank quality. He also managed two healing potions, their ruby contents swirling with vitality, and one vial of goblin oil, an unpleasant-smelling substance useful for repelling other goblins.

  What eluded him, however, was the creation of an elar potion. These rare elixirs could temporarily boost one's ability to draw and control elar, making them invaluable in combat situations. Amalia had given him such a potion during his trial with the homunculi, and he estimated its worth at a minimum of one gold piece, a small fortune for a student.

  "The ingredients for elar potions are scarce in Ivalia," the herbalist had informed him when he inquired. "You might find them in dungeons, particularly those with magical monsters, but they don't grow in these parts. Most adventurers import them from Drakosia or other regions rich in magical essence."

  This limitation meant Ash would need to rely on his own natural abilities and the potions he could feasibly create. It was a sobering realization, but one that strengthened his resolve to master what was within his reach.

  As days merged into weeks, the time for his examination at Wyrmhaven Academy finally arrived. Ash gathered his belongings, carefully packing his potions and the preserved head of his pyrewolf. With Lilith by his side, he made the journey back to the academy, his steps quickening as the imposing structure came into view.

  The examination hall buzzed with nervous energy. Ash noted with some surprise that more than half of the initial applicants were absent. His mind unwillingly conjured images of what might have befallen them – injuries, failure to locate suitable monsters, or perhaps worse fates at the claws of creatures beyond their capabilities.

  He joined the extensive line leading to a side room behind the reception desk. A blond man with sharp features and piercing blue eyes sat at a small table, checking in each applicant with evident boredom. His fingers drummed impatiently as he recorded names and examined the evidence of successful hunts.

  Standing in front of Ash was a silver-haired elven girl clad in duelist leathers over dark green clothes. As she shifted her weight, Ash caught a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby mirror – her eyes were an unusual green-gold, containing a hint of aloof fire that suggested both intelligence and pride. In her hands, she clutched a bag similar to the one Ash carried, presumably containing proof of her own successful hunt.

  Nearly every applicant in line held such a bag. The contents varied – some bulging with what must be monstrous appendages, others dripping ominous fluids, a few emitting strange glows visible even through the fabric.

  Ash observed a pattern emerging. Some applicants would enter the examination room, only to emerge minutes later with expressions of frustration or outright anger etched on their faces. They stormed out, slamming doors and muttering dark imprecations. It didn't take long for Ash to deduce that these were the failed candidates. Those who passed presumably exited through another door or remained inside for additional testing.

  When his turn came, the blond examiner barely looked up from his papers.

  "Name and monster," he said, his voice flat with the tedium of repetition.

  Ash cleared his throat. "Ash Lorcan. And I killed a fire dire wolf... I think."

  This caught the examiner's attention. He looked up, one eyebrow raised. "You think?"

  "Apparently it had a dungeon core inside of it?" Ash explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Not entirely sure how that works, to be honest."

  His words triggered a wave of mutters from those still waiting in line behind him. The blond man set down his pencil and paper, giving Ash his full attention for the first time.

  "You said it had a dungeon core in it?" he asked, his boredom evaporating.

  Ash nodded, wondering if this admission would disqualify him somehow. "Yes."

  "Do you have the core with you?"

  Ash glanced away, suddenly finding the floor tiles fascinating. "No. I had to pay off a debt. I sold it to a blacksmith in town. Skori is his name."

  The examiner considered this for a moment. "Hmph. I know the dwarf. Very well, the examiners will determine what you killed. Head on in."

  Relief washed over Ash as he walked through the door with Lilith following close behind.

  "Hey, the girl will have to wait until you're done with the exam," the blond man called after them.

  Ash turned, about to explain, when the examiner's expression suddenly changed. His eyes glazed slightly, and he waved a dismissive hand.

  "Nevermind. She's allowed, it seems. Go on."

  Weird, Ash thought, not for the first time wondering about the unusual effect Lilith seemed to have on people.

  Lilith turned her nose up at the man as she followed Ash into the examination room, her small form radiating more dignity than someone her apparent age should possess.

  The room beyond was surprisingly austere – a single long table dominated the space, behind which stood three figures in the distinctive black robes of Wyrmhaven masters. Ash's heart quickened when he recognized one of them as Amalia. His reluctant teacher and occasional tormentor stood with perfect posture, her face revealing nothing as he approached. The sword pin on her lapel gleamed in the room's artificial light.

  Beside her stood an elderly woman, both hands resting atop a gnarled wooden cane positioned directly in front of her. Her gray hair was threaded with streaks of pale blue, giving the impression of lightning streaking through storm clouds. Her face bore the marks of years of experience, deep lines etched around eyes that held a steely intelligence. A circular pin adorned the lapel of her black robes.

  The third examiner was a visenium man whose presence dominated the room despite the relative restraint of his posture. His hair was literally fire, dancing flames that cast shifting patterns of light across the ceiling. His burnished bronze skin seemed to glow from within, and his impressive physique suggested a warrior from ancient legends rather than an academic. A fang-shaped pin was affixed to his black robes.

  "Welcome, dear child," the elderly woman greeted him, her voice unexpectedly smooth, like polished river stones. "I am Al'Shearer, Master Delver."

  The visenium man's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "I am Fire, Master Hunter."

  Amalia spoke last, her tone formal and devoid of any indication that she had spent weeks training Ash. "I believe official introductions between us are in order, Master Lorcan. I am Vane, Master Swordswoman of Wyrmhaven Academy."

  The revelation struck Ash like a physical blow. Suddenly, so many pieces fell into place – her insistence that they learn everything "at school," her extensive knowledge, her commanding presence. It made perfect sense. Yet questions remained, particularly regarding why she had been at his farm that fateful night. Still, it was gratifying to have even a portion of the mystery surrounding her revealed.

  He rewarded her with a rueful smile as he placed his bag on the table. "It's an honor to meet you all officially."

  Master Hunter stepped forward and opened the bag, carefully extracting the preserved head of what Ash had believed to be a fire dire wolf. The creature's features were frozen in a final snarl, its charred fur still emanating the faintest trace of heat.

  The visenium master examined it with expert eyes, turning it to observe from different angles. "Mmph. This is not a fire dire wolf. What you have here is a pyrewolf, a slightly superior version of the fire dire wolf, just before its bronze rank evolution, the stygian pyrewolf."

  His eyes reminded Ash of molten gold as they turned toward him, and Ash felt a strange twitch in his hand, an urge to preserve something so beautiful. So shiny, he thought, mentally shaking himself to dispel the peculiar impulse to somehow collect the master's eyes.

  "You told our colleague out front there was a dungeon core within it?" Master Hunter continued, unaware of Ash's momentary distraction.

  Ash nodded, focusing on the conversation. "Yes, sir. It was inside its chest, pulsing like a heart."

  "Impressive," Master Delver remarked, her voice carrying a hint of genuine admiration. "A few months, and the monster would have been a full-fledged dungeon lord."

  "I, uh, don't know what that is, ma'am," Ash admitted, feeling suddenly out of his depth.

  She smiled at him, the expression transforming her weathered features into something almost grandmotherly. "Of course you don't, dear. I say you pass. Master Swordswoman?"

  Amalia pressed her lips together, examining Ash with her inscrutable violet gaze. "Pass," she pronounced, her voice devoid of praise or any hint of their shared history. Ash clenched his fist at her side but maintained his composure.

  Master Hunter nodded in agreement. "What would have been more impressive is if you had defeated a bronze rank monster, but nonetheless, you have accomplished a feat few others at the foundation stage would have. You pass."

  He pointed toward a door at the rear of the room. "Go on. The next part of the exam awaits."

  Ash exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The first hurdle was cleared. Whatever came next, he would face it with the same determination that had brought him this far.