Entering the Amphitheatre of the Twin Suns, the trio followed directions for new cadets until they found their seating. Somewhat surprisingly to Det, they were put in the stands, overlooking a single podium standing alone on the arena floor about fifty feet from the wall. Around them, others in familiar cadet uniforms likewise took their seats, with the area being pretty damn near full.
“How many do you think there are?” Det said to Sage, the man sitting beside him, with Calisco on his far side, having deigned to grace them with her continued presence.
“Two hundred at the most,” Sage said. “That’s how many ReSouled are born every cycle. Whether they all make it to their twentieth birthday and Mount Avalon is the real question.”
“It’s always two hundred?” Calisco asked.
“Always,” Sage said. “Just from the looks of things, most of us made it this time.”
“Is that strange?” Det said, leaning in closer so he didn’t have to yell over the low din of the crowd speaking.
“Not really,” Sage said. “As far as I know, the smallest ReSouled class was about one-fifty. It was considered a bad cycle, for obvious reasons. Most times, I guess ninety percent of us make it here.”
“Two hundred every cycle seems like a lot,” Calisco said.
“Feeling less special suddenly?” Det jabbed.
“If you think about it,” Sage smoothly interrupted before the pair could start. “That’s two hundred every twenty years. It may feel like a lot right now, but if we’re all still alive in nineteen years, we might look back at this and think it wasn’t nearly enough.”
“You say that like the survival rate between cycles isn’t high,” Det said.
“We have a very dangerous job,” Sage said. “Avalon will do what it can to prepare us, but it’s not foolproof. My uncle is evidence of that.”
“I thought you said he was still alive?” Calisco said.
“He is,” Sage said. “But he’s… how can I put this gently? Nah, there isn’t a way. He’s a disappointment to the family. He barely reached C-Rank, and he’ll never go any further. He doesn’t deal with threats any higher than D-Rank—and only as part of a group—because they’re outside his capacity.”
“How?” Det said. “I mean, Captain Simmons said everybody who gets reborn as a ReSouled has what it takes.”
“I may have to disagree with the illustrious Bladestorm on that comment,” Sage said. “It’s true, almost all of us have the right mentality for what we’ve become. We’re driven to survive. The problem is the reason for that.
“You, Det, you want to get home. Back to earth. That’s what’s driving you. Calisco, she wants to prove she’s better than everybody else.”
“I am better than everybody else,” Calisco said matter-of-factly.
“See?” Sage said. “Those reasons will get you through the academy. Probably. And, before you ask, there’s a fun theory going around that our ReSouled bodies amplify our reason, like they do for any of our skills. Makes us push harder, even if the reason—back on Earth—wouldn’t be enough to go to the lengths we will here.
“That doesn’t mean they are absolute or unstoppable, though. Especially not for people that either reach their goal, or face something so beyond what they can overcome, they kind of break.”
“What about you?” Det said. “What’s your reason?”
“Me?” Sage said. “I…” he trailed off as a hush fell over the crowd, and the three of them looked around before spotting a line of people standing behind the podium on the arena floor.
It’s starting.
Among the line of people, General Vans and Captain Simmons were a pair of familiar faces, along with Beauty and Beast. No sign of Jeckles, though. Along with the four Det recognized, there were twenty other individuals. ReSouled, probably. Some of them even wore Wordless equipment, though none of them had a full suit of armor, weapon, and shield like The Wall did.
A few were close, with Captain Simmons wearing comparatively little. One woman over there even seemed to have a set of angelic wings made of the white material tucked behind her.
How would those even help in an emergence?
Det shook his head at his own internal question as one from the line stepped forward to the podium. Somebody that was not General Vans, who stayed behind the other man in the line.
This person, the one who’d stepped forward, wore a white robe that reached all the way to the ground, though it didn’t look quite the same material as the Wordless equipment. Correction, it looked to have some almost invisible plates—almost like scales—covering it, when the light hit it just right. In one hand, he carried what was definitely a Wordless staff, and he had an unmistakable air of power to him, along with a short, white beard.
“Welcome,” he said. “It does this old heart good to see a full class of two hundred ReSouled sitting in front of me.”
“Everybody made it,” Sage said quietly, other whispers from the crowd indicating he wasn’t the only one surprised by the statement.
A knock of the man’s staff echoed out like thunder—despite coming down on sand—and silenced the crowd, though the man wore a warm smile.
“Don’t worry, I am sure you will have plenty to talk to your new classmates about after our short ceremony,” the man said. “Before that time comes, however, introductions need to be made. I am the headmaster of the Mount Avalon Academy, your home for the next three years. You may call me by my title—headmaster—or by the name I have been given as a ReSouled. Myrddin.”
Myrddin? Isn’t that one of the versions of Merlin? Of course, Avalon, Merlin, it would make sense.
“While mine is the final say on all that happens within these walls, it is those behind me you will most often deal with. These fine instructors will be the ones wo guide you on your path forward as ReSouled. They will forge you into the living weapons necessary to protect the Nivelhime Kingdom from the numerous forces that threaten it.
“Over the coming weeks months, and years, as you are arranged into classes and groups, these men and women will become an integral part of your lives. Some of them you will come to love like older brothers and sisters. Many of them you will come to hate like older brothers and sisters.”
Myrddin chuckled at his own joke, though nobody—other than the ever-smiling Captain Simmons—standing behind him seemed to have the same feeling. For the most part, the other twenty-two individuals wore serious expressions. Beast openly glared.
Myrddin collected himself with a harrumph, though the grandfatherly smile didn’t fade from his face. “From the chatter I’ve heard, many of you are familiar with what we—the Mistguard—are responsible for. Some of you, from pillars with less convenience, may know little beyond what you were told on the mistship ride here.
“So, let me shed some light on what your new life on Elestar is. For those of you who have heard this, I apologize for the redundancy, but it’s important we all know what stands before us. This should also, hopefully, answer some questions you may have about your second life.
“To get this out of the way,” Myrddin said. “No, we don’t know why we are reborn as ReSouled. We do not know the mechanism of how we are chosen, or how we end up here. We don’t know why our ReSouled bodies are so different—so much more powerful—from normal people. The source and difference in power of our varied magics remains a mystery. We don’t know why two hundred ReSouled are born every twenty years—what we call a cycle—like clockwork, or why it started in the first place.
“To some of these questions, we have theories, and little more. Theories you will be introduced to during your second year, after you’ve become more familiar with the body you now find yourself inhabiting. And it’s limits. Perhaps, in the future, one of you will be part of the research or investigation that sheds light on the truths that have laid shrouded in darkness for numerous cycles.
“I know, I know, it all sounds very cloak and dagger,” Myrddin continued with another soft smile. “But, believe me, it will make more sense once your instructors have put you through your paces. On that note, let’s move on to what it means to be a ReSouled with the Mistguard.
“While our organization, broadly called the Mistguard, contains both ReSouled and normal people, when the common person says our name, they mean us. We—the ReSouled—are the power behind the name. The ideal.
“The threat.”
Myrddin let the words sink in for a few seconds before he continued.
“Because of the work we do,” Myrddin continued. “Most pillars know lives of peace and prosperity. They aren’t aware of the dangers we protect them from, and that’s the way we’d like to keep things. The Kingdom agrees, and they support this stance, though we ultimately remain a separate entity. We fall under no King or Queen’s rule, and though we shield Nivelhime from the things that go bump in the night, we do not take orders from them. Importantly, we also keep them in line. We are the reminder—the leash—that stops any from taken advantage of the common citizen.
“We aren’t here for the kingdom, we’re here for its people.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“We protect the people who cannot protect themselves. Remember those words. They are the mantra by which we serve.”
“Why?” a voice from the crowd of cadets called. Every cadet began looking around at who’d asked the question, and a single man at the opposite end of the row Det sat in, stood. “Why are we risking our lives to protect people we’ve never met? If the Mistguard is so powerful, why aren’t we the rulers. Why aren’t you the king?”
Impressively, the man’s voice was level the whole time, like it was a practical question. And, in a lot of ways, it was. Det couldn’t argue he wasn’t curious to know the answer.
“An excellent question, Cadet…?” Myrddin prompted.
“Weiss,” the man said.
“Cadet Weiss, thank you for being brave enough to voice your question,” Myrddin said. “As to the answer, it’s quite simple. Ruling is tiresome.”
The blunt—yet brief—statement had the cadets looking at each other and chuckling, while they waited for a more in-depth response. One that didn’t come.
“Headmaster?” Weiss finally asked on the behalf of everybody else.
“That’s the answer,” Myrddin said. “Ruling a kingdom is a lot of work. Work none of us are interested in. And,” he went on when Weiss started to open his mouth. “If it’s a question about power, we already have enough of that. More than the kingdom would like to admit, and more than the average citizen needs to know, unless it’s being used on their behalf.
“The Mistguard has nothing to prove, and as you will learn in your next three years on Avalon, nothing to want for. You each will earn a very good living working with the Mistguard during however many years you serve. To many, it will seem as if you live like kings, without all the responsibility that goes with the crown.
“Does that answer your question?”
“It does, for now,” Weiss said, and sat back down.
“Excellent,” Myrddin said. “While I appreciate the question, I would ask that any further questions be held for the end of this introduction, or perhaps for when you meet your instructors. They will be able to go into more details, having more time allotted. Already, we’re running longer than I was told I was allowed to ramble along.” Another chuckle from the headmaster.
“As I was saying, we protect Nivelhime from a number of threats. The ones you will most likely face—and prepare for in your first year—being pirates, and those from the Corelands. Yes, pirates are real.”
The words came out like some great revelation from the headmaster’s lips, and when everybody looked at him a little blankly, he chuckled again.
“Ah, it’s probably the Cored and Uncored you’re more curious about, eh?” the headmaster said, and Det wasn’t the only one who leaned forward a bit more at the words. “More details will be given during your classes,” Myrddin said, which immediately elicited a groan from over a hundred cadets—Det included—before the man held up his free hand to pat the air. “But I shall give you the short version, as the danger from the Corelands is one of the greatest you will be expected to face.
“The Corelands are called as such because they are the only place in the known world where one can form a core. Yes, I said the known world, as we only have sparse reports from beyond the Corelands. How much we can trust them to be more than fiction is still up for debate.
“A war-torn land with magic much like ours, but fueled by pure chaos? An army of tuxedo-wearing enforcers? It all seems like something out of a novel, doesn’t it? Like the research into our history and secrets, perhaps one of you will travel beyond the borders of the Mistsea and the Corelands to explore those mysterious lands.
“Back on topic, though, what’s a core, some of you may be asking? It has several names. A second heart. A cultivation core. A golden core. A nascent soul. All of these things are at least partially true, but the naming conventions are not the important part. The power and strength they bestow, are.
“While a normal person born upon a pillar can never become a ReSouled, they can become a Cored or Uncored, if they are brave enough. The process is neither easy, nor without extreme risk, but it is the one path that consistently leads to great strength. Enough to threaten even a ReSouled. You will learn more about the process of how it can be done, along with the native race that lives within the Corelands—the Kindred.
“While they themselves are very dangerous, they rarely leave their lands. They are also not what we refer to as Cored or Uncored. These are the two possible results of undergoing the process. Should somebody undertake the ritual and succeed, they will become what we call Cored. They will still be themselves, though with power entire scales of measure higher than what they began with.
“The Cored have the potential to master many techniques, and could shatter granite with their bare hands. These are the people who will often return to Nivelhime, heading a pirate ship or fleet, in an attempt to take over.
“Unlike the Mistguard, these people want to rule.
“As for the Uncored, they are the ones who fail the ritual to gain a core. This is the majority of people who attempt it, with a failure rate of over ninety-five percent. While the Uncored don’t possess any less power than the Cored, they entirely lose their sense of self in the process. They become nothing more than beasts, both in form and mind. Their bodies warp, becoming slaves to the power now residing in them.
“The Uncored do not seek to rule or invade, just to destroy. They will not lead a pirate ship, because they lack the ability to think. Due to their nature, they rarely find their way into Nivelhime unless they can fly themselves—giving them the ability to navigate above the mists—or are captured by the Cored. There has been more than one record over the years of the Cored unleashing Uncored like a living weapon upon a pillar.
“This is one of our worst-case scenarios, as it takes an extremely powerful Cored to capture and use an Uncored like this. Don’t worry, you will spend several classes studying these events, how they were handled, and offering your own suggestions on how they could have been handled better.”
Becoming Cored is another path to power? Is it something that could help me get home? I’ll need to look more into this, even if it’s such a risk.
“Being a Mistguard is more than just theory, though,” Myrddin went on, pulling Det out of his thoughts. “While we have our researchers and academics, our primary role tends to be far more… physical. We are warriors. As such, each of you will be divided up into one of six classes. Roles. These will not define you, but they will assist in directing the specialized training you will undertake, and the group you may eventually be placed into.
“Depending on your strengths and advantages, there are many tasks that may be given to you as a Mistguard, and being part of a group is just one of those possibilities.
“As such, let me tell you about the classes. Each archetype will receive a different set of instructors to sharpen your magic, and make you into the weapons you are destined to be.
“First, like General Vans behind me, is the Bulwark class. These are—for those of you who were gamers in a past life—your tanks. The frontliners. They stand directly in front of the greatest threats, and take the hits so the rest of us don’t need to. You’ll find yourself allotted to this class if you have a magic that offers protection—like The Wall’s barriers—or self-enhancements that make you stronger and more durable.
“Of course, even the strongest Bulwark cannot stand forever without a competent Medic behind them. These are our healers. Our doctors. Their magic will mend wounds, reattach limbs, or vastly speed up natural healing, to name a few types I’ve seen over the cycles. If you have any kind of restorative magic, this is likely the class you’ll find yourselves in.”
The headmaster let those first two classes sink in, quiet conversations sparking amongst the cadets as people learned where they would fit. After he gave them a few seconds to get it out of their system, he continued.
“From what might be considered the two most iconic roles,” Myrddin said. “We move on to our Duelist. These are our swordsman, our spear wielders, and our pugilists. Anybody who finds their magic connecting them to being up close and personal, like Captain Simmons—or, Bladestorm, as some of you might know him—will be Duelists. It doesn’t matter if you use a weapon, your body, or very close-range magic, any of those will put you in this category.
“But, what about for our long-distance cadets? Our archers or spell-throwers? You, my new students, will find yourselves in our Artillery class. If your joy comes from dropping a meteor on a target’s head, flinging lightning from your fingertips, or threading a needle with an arrow at a thousand paces, this is the class for you. Your instructors will teach you how to get the most range—and bang—from your spells. How to move around to keep yourself safe from somebody like those pesky Duelists…” he chuckled yet again, “… and how to truly devastate your opponents.”
These two classes got even more excited chatter from the groups. Maybe it was the headmaster’s colorful description, or maybe it was just people with that kind of magic tended to be predisposed to making a scene, but the cadets were louder than ever. Calisco was practically frothing at the mouth while she mumbled about how she’d show all those other Artilleries—was that even a word?—how much better she was than all of them.
Explosions clearly trumped meteors. At least, in her mind they did.
“That just leaves us with two classes,” Myrddin went on. “Up next are our Vanguards. Those with magics that allow them to move quickly, sneak into places undetected, or scout ahead of their allies for dangers. It is a broad category, and while this group will of course be trained how to fight, the focus will be on how to move. Variations of stealth-type abilities are one of the most common that fall into this class. However, let me stress that common does not make something weak.
“Every cycle, at least twenty percent of our new Vanguards have some kind of ability that allows them to hide or remain hidden. And, every cycle, these are some of our most successful Mistguard both in the missions we assign, and the academy dueling circuit. Invisibility is very potent in the right hands.”
Just the thought of having to duel somebody Det couldn’t see made him shiver, and it only got worse when the two people sitting immediately in front of him were simply no longer there. Had he looked away? Had they moved? Did they just vanish? He… couldn’t remember. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what hair color they’d had, or if they were boys or girls.
A few seconds later, while he’d wracked his brain, the pair was just as suddenly right back in front of him. A boy and a girl, it turned out, with such a resemblance they could only be twins.
There can be twin ReSouled? With the same magic… how does that even work…?
“Glad to see some of you are having fun with your magic,” Myrddin said. “After this ceremony, you will be properly instructed on where and when you are allowed to use it, but I won’t hold it against you for not knowing now.”
The minor scolding got a few winces from the group of cadets, along with some embarrassed half-laughs. Myrddin was merciful, though, and he quickly moved on.
“Last, but certainly not least, is our sixth and final class. These are the people who don’t fit in anywhere else, because their magic is either so esoteric, or so hyper focused. These are our Arsenal. They are the unpredictable element that no opponent can truly ever hope to completely measure. Their every skirmish will look different. Some, like Beauty, control sound and music to bring a wide variety of buffs and debuffs to the battlefield. Or, like his partner-in-crime, Beast, whose ability to shapeshift into nearly anything means she can go from a frontline Duelist to a scouting Vanguard within seconds.
“I am told we have several promising Arsernal candidates among our group this year, even though it tends to be the smallest of all the classes. Though, much like common is not weak, neither is rare.
“I speak from experience.” As Myrddin said the words, there was some kind of ripple that pulsed out from him, and the arms of Det’s chair suddenly angled in like they were grabbing on to his chest. All around him, the same thing happened to every cadet, before the chairs bolted down to the stadium unscrewed themselves.
Just like that, the seats lifted off the stadium, then flew up into the air to circle above the headmaster, like each of the two hundred cadets were in their own seat of an amusement park ride.
“As an Arsenal myself, those of you who become part of this class will get to… enjoy… several of your lessons with me personally,” Myrddin said, something about the gleam in his eye absolutely not making Det look forward to the lesson.
After about fifteen seconds of that—three full circles above the headmaster’s head—he returned each cadet to exactly where he’d gotten them. As soon as they landed, the seats rebolted themselves, and the arms of the chair went back to their original positions.
He’s got to be S-Rank too…
“Now that we’ve all had our fun,” Myrddin said—with more than a few exasperated looks coming from the instructors behind him—let’s move on to the final part of our entrance ceremony. We just spent time discussing the different classes and where you will each fit in, so why don’t we get a bit of a taste for it.
“It’s time for your first tournament arc.”
