This is a nightmare made reality, come to haunt him.

What is she doing here? Now that he has resolved to remain in the palace grounds, there should be no way for their paths to cross again. For god’s sake, they were miles away from his previous haunts where he first met her. 

“Could you forfeit already?” the smaller of the two asks politely, neatly side stepping a strike that could’ve cleaved her in two. Or caved her head in, judging by how dull the weapons used were. “It’d be better for the both of us. I’d rather not injure you too badly.”

The taller man’s face twists into anger from the perceived mockery. “The one who’s going to get it is you.”

“...Is this because I didn’t say please? Can you please forfeit?”

“Go to hell.” 

“Awww.” She pouts. “Well, at least I tried.”

The next time he lashes out, she ducks and kicks his shin. It’s the most gentle tap, and yet. 

An audible crack rings out as bones snap under her foot far too easily. Silence hangs heavy in the air as everyone looks on with disbelief. Including the perpetrator herself. 

“Not again.”

Conversely, her opponent drops to the ground and howls.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Curled up on the ground, his hand hovers over where his leg is unnaturally bent. Other knights flock to his side, attempting to pull him up, but he bats their hands away to snarl at her.  “Do you know who I am?”

She tilts her head. “Uhh, no?”

“I’m the eldest son of house Leclair. You think you can get away with this?”

…The Leclair house. He has not kept up with the noble families at all in his previous life, having far more pressing issues to deal with. While he has brushed up some on the major players in the political field, he hasn’t quite had the chance to fully put a face to the numerous names in his textbooks. 

Old portraits can only get you so far when they can become outdated so quickly considering the significant time and resources needed to sit for one. Most families don’t even bother getting one for any but the more important figures. Certainly not for the younger members, not when their appearance can change so quickly during their growth.

All this means is that Yves also has absolutely no clue who this person is. Their house is probably one of the minor trading families…? Was it gems they dealt in? Eh, it can’t be that important, certainly not enough for him to be that pompous. 

At least he isn’t the only one unconcerned with the person’s background. 

“...Sorry?” Erica rubs the back of her neck, reaching out to help him before thinking better of it. “I really am sorry though. I tried my best to be as gentle as possible, I swear.”

Clearly the wrong thing to say, judging by the indignant flush to his face. Before he can swear at her more, he is quickly swept away from the training ring. If he tilts his head, Yves can still hear the man swearing vengeance on her, the cries growing more and more distant. 

Erica scratches her cheek. “So… Does this mean I win?”

People shift around her, but none steps forward. Understandable, considering the groaning bodies that surround her, as well as the latest victim. 

“My turn.”

Erica blinks as she turns. 

The crowd parts to reveal another challenger. He’s closer to her in height, an arrogant tilt to his expression as he examines her. There is far too much confidence in someone who is greying prematurely, Yves thinks with disdain, watching as the new challenger runs a hand through his hair in some sickeningly embarrassing gesture. The sight is nearly enough to make him cringe.

Now who’s this other nobody? What kind of a job were the other guards doing, to let so many unvetted people in? He knew the standards were atrocious, especially with how an assassin managed to slip in so easily to his room, but this was ridiculous. He’s almost ashamed on the imperial family’s behalf. 

Looking him up and down, Erica pauses as she looks at his empty hands.

“Are you gonna get a sword or…? I can wait, of course.”

He sneers down at her. “I don’t need one for the likes of you.” 

Overconfidence, perhaps. But something in his expression, as if there is some knowledge only he was privy to, makes Yves inclined to think there may be more than foolhardiness behind his cocky words.

Oh, this might be interesting to watch. Maybe it won’t be a one sided beatdown. As entertaining as it would be to watch her sweep the competition, it does get a little boring if things end too quickly. Yves hopes he has the skills to back his talk. With bare hands…is he specialized in grappling? That doesn’t sound like a very good idea considering Erica is his opponent.

Even if he was all talk, watching someone fall to their hubris has always been an entertaining prospect. Will this one start crying, or will they howl at their defeat? Either way, Yves is glad he decided to skip out on his lessons today. Nothing beats a front row seat to someone getting their ass kicked. 

She tilts her head, flicking her wrists to loosen up before readying her blade. “Alright then. Suit yourself.”

The referee looks between the two, asking if the newcomer is sure he doesn’t want to grab at least something before starting the match, before shaking his head when he gets a dismissive gesture in response. 

“Start!”

Erica stares at her latest opponent for a long moment, before sheathing her sword. At the curious glances, she shrugs. “You don’t even have anything to block it with. Might as well even the field a bit for you. There’s been enough broken bones today, I think.”

Yet another wrong thing to say, judging from the incensed look on his face.

“Yeah? Well block this,” he says, raising his arm before slamming it down in a dramatic gesture. It would’ve been an embarrassing show, waving at the empty air like that but—

Erica drops. 

As if pushed down by an invisible hand from the heavens, her face slams into the ground with a muffled snap. From the brief glimpse when she shifts her head just enough to the side, it’s clear to see the crooked tilt of a broken nose, and she gasps for breath through the blood streaming down. Touching her face and staring at the red stains left on her hands in disbelief, Erica is left speechless. There’s an odd shiver to her frame, presumably from struggling against the weight pressing down on her. 

The crowd erupts in frenzied gossip. If Yves were to look around, he’d know he’d see nothing but confusion. Understandable, considering how unheard of this feat was. Because this, this was no display of divine powers, not with the lack of golden light. 

No, this was magic.

Yves leans forward in interest, watching the way the air seems to almost distort and darken above Erica. The same way it does during blistering hot summer days, except he can feel something almost uncannily familiar about it.

Oh?

A mage, just like him. How rare it is to find one out and about like this, especially when the number of people with enough magic to wield is slim enough for Yves to count on one hand and still have fingers left. From an exceedingly rare mage to the freak of nature that is Erica, it seems that today is a day filled with impossibilities. 

Regardless, the minuscule amount used in this one spell shouldn’t have been enough to keep anyone down for too long, certainly not as long as he’d expect for Erica. And yet…why does she still lie flat against the ground? 

It’s clear from the beads of sweat on his forehead that this mage is one unused to controlling his powers, so there is no reason for her to struggle against it so clearly. He supposes it should be expected for her to not be as strong as she was back then, not when she is so much younger than she was at her peak. Still, he hadn’t thought her to be this pathetic.

This is the person who will grow up to strike fear in battlefields? His most confusingly loyal weapon? Yves frowns, disappointment welling up in him. Surely not. 

“Do you forfeit?” Despite the trembling of his hands, the mage smirks victoriously, entirely too arrogant for someone with such shaky control of his magic. Yves looks at him with disdain. 

It’s simply too sloppy. It’s nearly visible, the way excess magic dissipates from him. As formidable as it looks to the untrained eye, the lack of control is clearly draining the young mage far faster than if he had kept an ironclad grip on it in the first place. He wouldn’t last much longer, not if he kept wasting his magic like that. Then again, he does have the upper hand at the moment. “You can’t even get up, can you?”

This is embarrassing to watch. If this is the extent of her strength now, there is no point in bringing her into his side. At this point, she is more likely to be a liability than a boon, especially in a treacherous place such as the palace. Good. One less weakness for him to worry about. Yves starts to turn away when a quiet sound draws his attention.

Erica’s response is muffled, and he steps closer. “What was that? Speak up, would you? Or is that too much for a bea—”

When he pokes her with his foot, her hand twists, grabbing it with a viciousness that makes the entire arena jolt in surprise. There is none of the feather light touch from earlier, none of the deliberate care in being as gentle as possible. No, there’s nothing gentle about this at all. With a squeeze, the mage screams as his ankle is crushed. It’s enough to shake his already shoddy control on his magic, and he yelps when Erica yanks at him with a snarl the moment the spell lifts.

It’s like a trigger flips.

The crowd flinches when he is bodily thrown through the arena, crashing into the stone walls. Instead of leaving him as is, instead of calmly claiming her victory as she had done for the previous matches, Erica lunges towards him with a familiar single minded focus. The last time Yves had seen that expression was during that final confrontation with the hero. The kind of expression one wore when heading into a life or death battle.

With every sickening crunch, more and more people blanch, frozen with shock at the sheer brutality. Some manage to shake it off, rushing to aid the pathetic sop. Others pale at a frightening speed. As people begin to jump into action, Yves can’t help but laugh delightedly. 

Now that is what he is talking about.

It takes several people to pull her off of him, but it’s too late by then. The young mage’s face is a mess, swollen and quickly bruising. It’s not this sight that elicits horrified gasps. As bloody as his face is now, it'll heal. Eventually. Mostly. 

More importantly, his hands are mangled. 

Fingers bent in a nauseating direction, flesh turned to something closer to paste than anything resembling human. Hmm. He isn’t well versed in the medical field, but he’s fairly certain the human flesh is not supposed to look like that. From a quick glance, it’s clear to see that he’ll need to be seen by someone from the temple if he wants any hope of regaining use of them. Of retaining them.

Divine powers, while incredibly rare, can perform miracles. From curing diseases to healing the most severe of injuries, there isn’t much it can’t do, according to rumors. This, he knows well enough, from the number of times he’s seen that damn hero and his band of merry fools stand back up after receiving what should’ve been a fatal blow. 

Despite how freely he had seen it used then, he knows it’s the exception and not the norm. It’s a carefully guarded resource, only shared to those who are deemed worthy of it. Of the pitiful few who were capable of even healing anything more than a paper cut, the vast majority lived in the main temple, tucked far, far away further down the southern regions. For such severe wounds, however, well.

For his sake, that fledgling mage had better hope the Saintess herself had some time to spare, as reclusive as she was. 

Yves watches the limp body get rushed away, the mage already having passed out from the pain. They'd better run faster than that if they wanted to get to her before he bled out. Not that it really mattered to him.

Yves must’ve been too energized by the fantastical display of violence, because he meets the knight commander’s eyes a little too cheerfully. Oh, there is no need for such a disturbed expression. It’s just a little maiming. 

Much more interesting than his morning lessons, for sure.