A Testament Of The Dark Magician

Roland POV 

Several mornings arrived and went.

Roland spent the passing days either training with his death knight or making plans for what he desired his future to look like. During the training sessions, the Willow was unsurprisingly quite the formidable expert in hand-to-hand combat and perfecting foot technique. Foot technique was a component of fighting in this world that meant something.

According to his death Knight, mastering movement was perhaps the most crucial aspect of a warrior's training. The application of strength arrived afterwards.

One significant benefit of retaining muscle memory from his old body was that he was already at a considerably high level when it came to combat. So Roland found it a little easier to adapt to his body's strange forms and responses when it came to imitating these sudden movements.

His only misgivings were the frailness of his new body, and there were no shortcuts to improving that.

When Roland wasn't losing the one-sided spars between him and his unorthodox trainer, he spent most of his somewhat free time in the library. Deciding to adapt himself to a rhythm of focus, not caring so much about what was happening around him. Instead, he used his spare time reasonably to train his body, with the occasional conversations between him and Omega helped train his mind.

As the days folded away like distant dreams, Roland grew near enough obsessed with the topic of the undead. Ever since he witnessed his arm healing so quickly after that severe case of frostbite. The only viable option left was to test his theory out.

He started one day during his sparring, paying attention to making sure he took some of his death knights' blows head-on to measure how long it took him to recover from specific injuries. The results, of course, were just as shocking as much as they were intriguing.

Swelling and bruises lasted only a few hours, whilst cuts and fractured bones cleared away after half a day at most. The most surprising thing about this regenerative process was how subtly apparent it was that his body was changing each day.

After the initial shock factor wore off, Roland wasn't too worried about the strange discovery concerning his body that much; in any case, this was another weapon to his arsenal. Roland's real concern dwelt with the Bloodthirst percentage gradually rising each day. 

One morning, Roland sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his body's statistics after nearly two and a half months of rigorous training. 

Strength: 0.8/5 

Speed: 1.0/5 

Vitality: 1.7/5 

Intelligence: 2.1/5 

Body Tier: 1.1/5 (Early Iron) 

Mentality: 3.27/10 

Mana Core (1): 15% Synchronization 

Mana Core (2): 0% 

Bloodthirst: 64.89% 

There was a sense of gladness to see a slight increase in his physical. Omega warned him that this noticeable change became harder the more he trained. Roland glared at the Bloodthirst. And he felt a stone dropping in his gut. Not knowing what would happen once that metric reached 100 was worrying. He did have his own guesses, but Roland could never be so sure. A distant bird call squalled from the outside. And the boy's large eyes perked up at a sudden.

"Oh right, it's time for my morning training."

 ****

The walls were smoothly polished and beige. Dark blue cedar pillars rolled around the spherical-shaped hall. Rows and rows of blue stone seats covered the entire halls. Roland stared at the speculative place in awe. Under his feet was solid ground with layers of black sand. He remembered a coliseum or a fighting ring. It was definitely a fighting ring. He was forced to stand and wait in the dead centre; his clothes had been replaced with a similarly styled one-piece combat uniform the Willow wore.

Only his own was light grey.

The Willow appeared against the stage like a bird sinking from the skies. His landing was almost silent. Roland still found it hard to catch his movements. The masked fellow approached him slowly, and a cold chill deservedly ran down Roland's back. 

"Today, we spar again. I'll teach you a particular fighting style, one we death knights have prided ourselves in."

The Willow parted his feet and took a stance, tucking one arm close to his body while extending the other out, his palms facing Roland.

"We call this Shadow Jitsu. Given that I have your full consent for what is being asked of me, I will fight you as I mean to train you. Any problems with that?"

Roland shook his head in response.

"Good, I will begin when you are ready?" 

"Ok! Phew! Right then (smacks cheeks), Give me some advice; how should I fight you. How do you want me." 

"..." 

"No-no I mean-n-not like...sigh, let's just begin." Roland stammered awkwardly.

Once he uttered those words, Roland swore he blinked once and saw a blur streak across his vision. He rubbed both of his eyes and took a careful look around; the hall was seemingly empty. But then. 

A sharp hush sounded right behind him. He felt his presence a second later. 

"You should never lose sight of your enemy. You do that, and you're dead. This fighting style relies on bending the enemy's senses to work with you. Every sound, every movement, every blink. We use the subtle things at our disposal to gain an advantage." 

His icy voice grated Roland's ears.

"And then, we pounce."

Before he could even react, he felt a heavy force almost caving him into two. The next few seconds happened pretty quickly; pain raced through his body before the air from his lungs was snatched like a thief in the night. His world spiralled as the wind carried him towards the firm wall like a sack of hay hurled across the field. At the very least, Roland managed to shield his head just before impact.

*BOOOM* 

Chirping birds and a whining sound screeched a painful song through his thoughts. Roland was sure he almost died there. He rocked himself back to his feet, stumbling almost by instinct back to the centre of the ring. The Willow, this time, walked directly to him. Roland tried to shake away the three versions of the Willow currently in his hazy view. 

'Shit-shit he's too fast. Omega...Omega I need your-' 

{How may I be of service my dear host} 

'What's going on? Why can't I see his movements? Can you see what kind of trick he's using?'

{There are high levels of a foreign agent surrounding the host's wounds, fast draining your energy. The hose was struck 4 times, the torso, inner thigh, neck and forearm. According to my index, this substance would be known as…Ki} 

{Ki, a byproduct of concentrated kinetic energy, used to strengthen, guard or ignite foreign powers within the human body} 

Roland's frail body seemed to move on its own; he attempted to sidestep. The shadow was quicker than he could've anticipated. And arrived like a hammer slammed against his ribs. Roland felt his world stop for a few seconds. All the air was snatched clean from his chest. The impact to follow left him crumpled in a heap to the side of the large ring. 

Once his body came to a standstill, he could only wryly look on. Trying to work out if this fellow knew what the term taking it easy meant. 

35 minutes later. 

Roland was swimming in a pool of darkness. But it was safe to say he was very much still alive. The mechanical chime sounding within his thoughts was all the proof he needed. 

{light damage sustained} 

{light damage sustained} 

{Host has suffered considerable damage to the body. Although no vitals seem to be in danger. Refraining from engaging again is advised. Might I recommend an escape plan?} 

Roland heard that and almost wanted to spit blood. He had already been planning one since he took that first blurred hit. What spurred him up to this point was figuring out just how quickly his body healed itself.

The Willow folded his arms and stood adjacent from where he was almost lifelessly sprawled. 

Whilst desperately yearning for breath, Roland shifted his gaze towards the side. Where he saw the ghoulish shadowy figure slowly clapping his hands together. 

"Very well-done young lord. Here these are for you." 

The Willow allowed a small vial containing milky liquid inside to roll off his palm. Roland caught it gracefully before fiddling with the thing between his two fingers. 

"Drink it, please." 

Roland took a few minutes to observe the vial of liquid before turning his gaze back towards the mask-wearing man before him. 

'Omega?' 

{I detect high levels of catabolism and anabolism mixed in with various unknown components} 

'What does that mean?' 

{This solution will greatly aid the repair of your body. However, Omega cannot guarantee or identify what other changes may occur. To run a full scan and diagnostics, Omega will need to complete pre-} 

Roland removed the cork from the test tube with a popping sound. He tilted his neck back and poured the minty-tasting liquid down his throat without further ado. He paused for a few moments before his eyes slowly widened out of shock. The pain had drifted away like magic! Better yet, the soreness and fatigue in his muscles had vanished as though he had blinked, and the pain had run away. 

'So I can drink these minty-tasting liquids to heal as well? Heh- niceee'

Other POV

Beyond the twisting golden roads beneath the sloping jade hills, a familiar long wall appeared just a distance away from the carriage. Busying inside the moving carriage, a round-faced girl appeared between the drawn-away curtains.

Her appearance was childlike, and coupled with her very intriguing choice of clothing—a long black hat with a pointed top that flopped to one side, a sporting black cloak that was a little short and formed a cute cape glued to her back—she was also wearing a trimmed purple skirt and knee-high striped socks. One glance at her, and you would expect her to be a cute little girl playing dress up.

She creased a warm smile revealing her dark freckles, which sat on her rounded hill cheeks, her dazzling blue eyes as deep as the azure heavens above shone with excitement. Interestingly, her shortfall of hair was also a bright blueish colour, making her beautiful countenance seem all the more captivating. Her curious gaze captured the approaching tall walls, signalling she had finally arrived at a city. Despite her childlike appearance, Belle Violetseed was 24 years of age. She withdrew her gaze from the bright outdoors and sat delightedly against the leather-seated interior. In her hands, she caressed a little ginger-furred feline with white paws; she hadn't lowered her eyes once but continued stroking the soft-bellied animal. 

"Sir Minx-a-lot, this place feels quite strange; for one, I seem to feel an abundance of Mana gathered around this region, yet how could that be? I thought all the Mana veins had dried up on the mortal plains by now."

If Belle recalled, these northern realms have had their veins uprooted for over 100 years. Perhaps she was being highly perceptive to some kind of magic creature here.

"Hmph, something seems fishy. No matter, Sir Minx-a-lot, perhaps the truth shall reveal itself during our short stay here.

"M-miss did you say something to me?" Asked the carriage driver from the front 

"No, I did not. I was talking to my cat." The carriage driver decided to say nothing more. Belle furrowed her brows a little. She didn't like people disturbing her thoughts or butting into her conversations with Sir Minx a lot.

Meanwhile, the cat paid no attention to them and continued to lazily sprawl itself over her lap. Meowing softly before it bundled into a ball, making itself more comfortable. Belle playfully tickled its ears, then raised her blue gaze, peering into the outdoor world again. The carriage zipped past a hurdle of trees, lawns of jade pastures and golden fields filled with wheat. Closing in on the tall grey walls, people started to appear. Usually, farmers or bricklayers roam around the fields, doing their laborious works and projects; horses, cows, and a few black-skinned bulls were also present.

A noisily brief time later, the travelling carriage finally emerged by the foot of the 20ft tall stoned walls encircled the entire city. A fenced metal gate stood between the arriving carriage and the city beyond. Belle stuck her little round head out of the window. Her curious gaze first took in the red and black flag draped over the tall wall. Next, she noticed the small number of guardsmen fastened into boiled leather, manning the tall fence with stiffened gazes bearing down. She couldn't help but think how boring such a job must be. 

"Business or pleasure?" A deep voice echoed from the wall, but the carriage driver, who had obviously been making these trips quite often, pulled out a folded yellow scroll fastened in a red ribbon and waved it over his head a few times. No more questions appeared, and instead, the grinding noise of wheeling irons sounded, followed by the slow rising of the lowered gate. Dutifully, the carriage rolled through the arch-shaped entryway. Belle heard a second voice this time, 

"Welcome to the cloud country's unfilial son, Draymonte City."