Chapter 37: 9 Years Old
In the heart of a spacious training arena, the air crackled with electricity as two determined figures clashed in a rigorous contest. The first combatant, with a 14-year-old frame, seemed almost to blur with speed as streaks of lightning enveloped his form, rendering his movements a blur of motion.
Across from him stood a figure defying conventional expectations—a 9-year-old whose command over his surroundings belied his age.
With a keen mastery over the elements, the younger participant displayed a symphony of power. The very air seemed to heed his call, propelling him to match the lightning-fast assaults of his adversary.
Fire danced in his wake, lending ferocity to his strikes, while the earth beneath him became a canvas of manipulation, causing the ground to ripple and shift, destabilizing his opponent. Each action flowed seamlessly into the next.
This remarkable contender was none other than Atticus, whose unwavering dedication had propelled him through two years of arduous training.
The echoes of their clash reverberated through Atticus's mind, summoning memories of his initial encounters with this formidable foe. Back then, defeat had been his constant companion, his every effort to subdue the implacable adversary thwarted.
Each technique in his repertoire had fallen short, leaving him battered and humbled. Yet, despite the trials and tribulations, Atticus remained resolute.
Each day dawned with unyielding discipline. The first rays of sunlight saw him rise, embarking on a ritual of mana absorption and bloodline training.
These preparations paved the way for his relentless clashes against the intermediate+ Magnus.
Amidst the intensity, Atticus sought moments of respite, spending some time with Anastasia to quell her concerns.
Ember had gone to the Raven camp when she turned 10. The estate got a little lonely after that, but Atticus used that opportunity to focus solely on his training. The ongoing war with the Ravensteins meant that the mundane activities like galas and parties were put on hold, much to his relief.
The absence of such events allowed Atticus to immerse himself fully in honing his skills and strengthening his abilities, channeling his focus into becoming the best he could be.
With an electric surge enveloping his 14-year-old frame, the robot surged forward like a bolt of lightning, his speed bordering on the surreal. Atticus, unfazed, augmented his body with mana and boosted his speed with the air, enhancing his own agility to a mesmerizing blur.
As the robot's strike hurtled toward him, Atticus's body became an extension of the elements. He deftly parried the attack with a fluid grace, the two combatants locked in a dance of calculated precision. In a seamless response, Atticus's own blow followed.
The robot attempted to block, but Atticus suddenly propelled his hands with fire in an unexpected direction. The robot, caught off guard by this cunning redirection, found himself unable to intercept the impending strike.
The moment hung suspended in time—a heartbeat where surprise met consequence. Atticus's decisive strike found its mark, severing the connection between body and head. The battle's crescendo was reached as the robot's form crumpled to the ground.
Atticus finally won against the14 year old Magnus!
"All the hard work finally paid off," Atticus exhaled, his breath still labored from the battle.
"It's been a while since I checked. I wonder how much I've progressed," Atticus mumbled before calling out, "Status."
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Character Profile:
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Name: Atticus Ravenstein
Age: 9
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Attributes:
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Strength: 40
Agility: 45
Endurance: 50
Vitality: 49
Intelligence: 15
Charm: 16
Level: Intermediate New!
Talent: Mythical
Bloodline: Primordial Elemental Bloodline
- Level 1
- Fire: 75.2%
- Air: 77%
- Water: 72.6%
- Earth: 74.7%
Abilities:
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Innate Skills:
* Conceal [Grade: Mythical]
- The ability to conceal your level from anyone regardless of rank. You may choose what level you want to be shown.
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"Looking good," Atticus said with a smile as he observed his improved stats. 'I feel like I'm halfway into the intermediate rank,' he thought. Even while training his bloodline and sparring against the 14-year-old Magnus, Atticus didn't neglect his mana absorption.
He diligently absorbed mana every day, breaking through one sub-level after another, and he was now on the cusp of reaching the intermediate+ rank.
After concluding a sparring session, Atticus began making his way back to his room. As he stepped out into the corridor, his gaze fell upon a familiar figure – Avalon. The sight of his father was a rarity, due to Avalon's involvement with the obsidian order and his relentless pursuit of Ariel's killer.
Avalon's voice broke through the momentary silence, warm and affectionate,
"Hey, Kiddo."
Atticus responded, his voice carrying a blend of surprise and warmth,
"Hey dad, it's been a while." A small smile touched Avalon's lips as he affectionately ruffled Atticus' hair, a bittersweet undertone in his expression.
After a brief pause, Avalon's hand shifted to scratch his own hair, a gesture of mild awkwardness as he began, "Look, I know I haven't been around much these past years. Anything I say would probably sound like an excuse. So how about I just make it up to you?"
Atticus' heart skipped a beat, a sense of anticipation bubbling within him. Inwardly, he couldn't help but hope for something exciting.
He didn't really care that Avalon was distant, although he cared for him, Atticus knew he was going through a lot. His brother was killed! It was to be expected. But he's obviously not going to say no to free stuff!
His enthusiasm shone through as he inquired, his smile widening, "What do you have in mind?"
The corner of Avalon's mouth twitched,
"Since your grandfather promised you a weapon, I've decided to add an Art to it."
Atticus' eyes lit up with joy, 'An Art!'
Art were techniques documented in books. These books hold all the knowledge you need to master a certain skill.
Touching one of these books initiates a unique process, where the information encapsulated within the pages is effortlessly transmitted to the reader's mind.
However, while the transfer of knowledge is instantaneous, mastery demands dedication, time and hard work. And there was a limit; a novice rank could only learn a total of one art, while an intermediate rank could learn a total of three.
"I forgive you completely, dad!" escaping his lips. Playfully, he added, "Perhaps you should be distant more often?"
Avalon's response was a mix of affection and amusement as he ruffled Atticus' hair once more, his mouth twitching with a touch of fondness. "Let's go get you your things,"
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