abnabooks Chapter 419 Where Danger Lies - Part 7
Chapter 419 Where Danger Lies - Part 7
Oliver glanced around. There were a few other instructors wandering through the sparring students, offering advice here and there. But they served Heathclaw – he was the one in charge here, even with the other members of staff standing around, ensuring that no one got injured.
"...You're not going to try and convince me that he's a student, are you?" Oliver asked, pointing at Bournemouth. The man was as big as Judas, but much wider, as much of a barrel as Heathclaw himself was. With that beard on his chin, and his weathered skin, he was quite clearly a man late into his adulthood.
"Why would I need to convince you of that, boy?" Heathclaw asked, supremely confident.
Again, Oliver looked around. It should have been obvious by now what was happening, and yet no one interfered. The students were preoccupied with their duelling and of the staff members – there must have been nearly 20 of those in total – none of them spared an extended glance in their direction. Either what was happening was normal, or they were simply turning a blind eye to it.
He merely shrugged. He was no stranger to thugs. If Heathclaw had decided he had a dislike of him, then that was merely what it was. At least he was being pointed about his hostility, sending a man to face him in the open. He knew of a particular merchant that would have gone about things quite differently. Explore stories on empire
"Do I get a proper weapon then, or am I just stuck with this sword?" Oliver asked.
Heathclaw's grin widened, as though he'd just come up with an idea. It was a thoroughly disconcerting grin, the grin of a man that knew he was being cruel, and delighted in it. "Why, isn't that a good idea? Since you're so sure of your swordsmanship, you shouldn't need a blade. In fact, I do recall your father making a boast like that, several times in the past.
I think it went something like 'the Heathclaw soldiery are so lacking, I could beat them half drunk, with a stick, lacking both my legs. You would stand by his boast, wouldn't you?"
Oliver had to fight the smile off his lips. Heathclaw was quite sure he was being intimidating. He stood over Oliver, as he hissed his confession, thinking that it was the appropriate time to air such dirty laundry, but when the fear did not come as he'd hoped, he merely made himself look petty.
Beneath the man's helmeted head, Oliver saw the first hint of light in his eyes. His pudgy face curled up in a fool's smile, filled with malice, as though he'd just been given a crab whose legs he was allowed to rip off.
Finally, one of the other instructors seemed to notice what was going on.
"Professor Heathclaw! What's the meaning of this?" The man shouted out in a panic. "You can't be setting armed soldiers against students! They're children!"
Heathclaw glared at the man as he approached. "Don't get in my way, Verdant. Besides... It's already started. Are you going to be the one to stop him?"
Bournemouth charged angrily across the sand, his sheer primitive malice was comparable to that of a hobgoblin.
Oliver's breath hissed in through his teeth, as golden flecks sparkled in his eyes. He felt a similar malice curling within him. The want to slay. It had been two weeks already. Was this what battle had made him?
It didn't matter, he lunged forward, a blur.
The students that had been watching before didn't even bother to keep up the pretence of disinterest now that the battle had begun. Many found themselves watching with frightened eyes. This was the first time many of them had seen true bloodlust, a man moving to kill. And it seemed obvious to them that was Bournemouth's intention. The man didn't have the intellect for half measures.
He brought his mace down, like a giant, angry toddler with a rattle. Oliver's head was lowered, committed to his strike, the mace lined up perfectly with it, ready to dash out his brains.