Re: Elf Prince—A Degenerate’s Second Chance

38. Sparing With The Cinder King

Eryndor stood there outside the cottage in a wide open space surrounded by the canopy of trees. The weather that day was especially snowy, the remains of the blizzard that went by days before. Almost five months had passed since he had reached the snowy mountains, five months since he had been "temporarily disowned" by his father.

During this time Eryndor had realised how weak he was, how foolish he had been. Eryndor had also become stronger and smarter. He was now more capable in his flame magic, graduating from the basics in record time. Because of his understanding of the mana veins Eryndor had become able to comprehend almost anything that had to do with magic in minutes. Mastering them could take hours at most days, Thalvarin did not know how to react to this act of genius.

Most mentors would have encouraged their students but Thalvarin was not other mentors neither would he adopt their teachings. He believed his training should mirror the real world, instead of encouraging his student he started to hurt even more challenges at him and was marveled by his quickly he grasped them. Techniques that took him months some years to perfect the young nephew of his learnt then in days and weeks.

At times he doubted that this was the same waste that had been brought to him months earlier. Thalvarin took his time to understand the mindset of his nephew and how to make him grow better. He noticed that Eryndor took a very direct approach to every problem before him, if he did not get it during training the next day he would be much better. He knew Eryndor trained in the night but not to such an extent, even after cautioning the young elf on the dangers of overworking the body he still persisted.

One of the things Eryndor had learned from himself during his time training with the cinder king was how slow he was to comprehend the basics knowledge leading him to work tirelessly all night to fill the gap. He knew he was considerably weaker compared to his siblings, Celyndor and Elantha. He had vowed to reach their level by his own strength and he was a long way away.

"Hey Sparky, eyes here." Thalvarin's voice snapped him out of his line of thought. He had gotten that nickname from the unusual drawback he used to have in his early days of flame magic.

Eryndor raised his wooden sword and faked a smile on his face, sweat trickled side of his face despite them being in the mountains. The body art has a way to reacting to his emotions, he was paranoid but he dared not show it. This time he was not simply sparing with his uncle, this time they were going to fight for real.

His uncle had thought him that the fastest way to learn the moon style sword art was to experience it, surely if was not compulsory but Eryndor preferred it this way. He had only learned the basics sword style and had very little knowledge on the forms of the moon styke battle technique.

His eyes shot up as his uncle started to move with no warning. He did not walk straight instead he moved around the edges of the the open space in a circle, Eryndor followed the same course and moved in the other direction. Together they formed a circle as they paced, Eryndor gauged his opponent as if seeing him for the first time. He wanted so badly to lay a single hit in his uncle anything more would be unbelievable.

Eryndor wondered if he should attack first or wait for his uncle to make the first move. Before he could make up his mind Thalvarin vanished from his line of sight, dissolving into thin air, the whole place went dead silent. Adrenaline rushed up Eryndor's head like the cork of a drink coming loose, he instantly knew he would soon be in a world of hurt. The difference between his current situation and a spar was that their movements would be restricted in a spar and things would end when he was disarmed but in a real duel, someone had to be knocked out or someone would give up.

Eryndor's senses were on high alert, he looked around and shifted his weight nervously. His form had been broken so quickly, fighting an opponent much stronger than him was terrifying. Just then he heard a loud voice.

["Your left!"]

Reacting immediately to his master's instruction he jerked to the right and raised his arm to shield his head. He had gotten used to the sudden intervention of his left eye to some extent and this was one of their practices routines.

A second later the wooden sword came out of nowhere as if materialising out of things air and cutting through the air sideways. It impacted Eryndor's right hand and a loud snapping sound followed, the recoil of the attack sent Eryndor skidding through the snow. He let out a loud scream as he felt the bone in his left arm snap in too, the pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was torture.

The moment he came to a stop a few feet away from his opponent he cursed under his breath. "Shit! Why did he hand to break my damn arm, it was already one sided. That bastard if I get my hands on him."

["Focus! Move!]

Eryndor came back to reality and jumped to the side unsure if which direction to go he relied on instinct. A second later the ground where he was standing exploded sending dusts of white flying everywhere. Eryndor could not help but voice out his complaints, "Are you trying to kill me you bastard!"

Eryndor did not get a reply, moving around with his left arms broken was a pain. He did not have time to think of a strategy neither did he care for one. He poured mana into his left eye and everything blurred out, he could see the trails of red that showed where his uncle had been. Since his uncle was the cinder king, the only elf to ever master fire it meant his heat signature would be hard to miss.

The next time he attacked Eryndor was sure he would not miss.