A New Light (The Astral Wanderer Book 1), D'Artagnan Rey [best romantic novels to read .TXT] 📗

and he breathed heavily as he tried to peer through the dust that swirled around the arena. Zier waved his hands and Jazai shielded his eyes, although he tried desperately to find a way to peek through the haze to see what had happened.

The boy brought his sword in front of him defensively and waited for Wulfsun’s reaction. He was not sure what had happened to the commander, but he imagined that if the attack was as powerful as it felt and looked, he would be mightily pissed if he was still standing.

A spark of yellow light caught his attention before the dust blew out of the center of the arena, past him or into the air. He raised a hand to stop the dirt from getting into his eyes, but after a few moments, he peered through the cracks between his fingers. The Templar stood strong in the same position where he had been before, utterly unmoved. He cursed under his breath. Had his assault accomplished nothing? Was his majestic nothing more than a sword with a fancy type of light?

Jazai grimaced and leaned against the railing again. “Damn, was that nothing more than sparkles and prayer?” He drew a deep breath. “I know we still aren’t sure what it does and Devol isn’t properly trained yet, but it looked impressive, at least.”

“Just because it did not have the reaction you expected does not mean it did nothing at all,” Zier responded, his head inclined slightly as he observed Wulfsun.

“What do you mean?” the apprentice asked and looked from his mentor to Devol. “Did I miss something?”

“It appears the attack did not harm Wulfsun in any physical way,” the scholar said, his expression thoughtful as he stroked his chin. “But that look on his face is not one of anger or even disappointment. He looks almost…rattled?”

Jazai stared at the giant Templar, who stood firm with his arms folded again. He took a moment to study his face and scrutinize his features. Zier was right. He did not know him as well as his mentor did, but from what he could see, Wulfsun did have an odd expression. Most wouldn’t say rattled perhaps, but he did look a tad confused, even if it seemed he tried to mask it behind a façade of indifference.

Although the man stood motionless, he considered everything that had happened in silence. He felt lighter and heavier at the same time. For a very brief moment, it had felt like his Anima had almost given way. He took stock of his Mana. It had certainly drained although not by much. Perhaps he’d charged his armor a tad too much. No, he would have noticed something as obvious as that. And something else was missing too—the power his armor had siphoned from the boy’s strikes. He had used most of it while showing off before, but some had remained and he could no longer feel it.

Devol also thought things over—and most importantly, what he should do next. He had accomplished something with that attack. While he was certainly more fatigued now than a moment before and his Mana was weaker, it appeared that whatever he had done was ineffective.

Should he simply go on the offensive again? Maybe the strike did do something to Wulfsun and it was not obvious. Perhaps he had created an opening he should exploit. But if he was wrong and the Templar kept his word about not holding back, he would find himself most likely pounded into the dirt very shortly. What should he do now?

“Is that it, boyo?” the commander roared and snapped him out of his thoughts. “Unless you got something else to try, I’ll be coming for ya soon enough!”

If his strike had done something, it sure as hell was not enough to deter the Templar. Devol glanced at his blade and contemplated setting it down. In sparring matches with his father and friends, it was a sign of respect to know when one had been bested. It meant you had that much more time to train. But seeing the man’s bravado, he felt he probably would not take it that way.

“You’re taking an awfully long look at that sword there,” Wulfsun noted and stroked his beard as he arched an eyebrow. “You do realize what it is, right?”

Devol looked at him. He wanted to say he knew and that was what he had spent all that time learning. But then he realized that more often than not, he referred to it as a blade or sword in his head. It certainly was meant to look and feel like that, but a majestic was far more than that. Maybe his power didn’t work right because he didn’t use it correctly.

“Starting to dawn on ya, then?” Wulfsun asked with a snicker. “One of the things we’ll need to train you in is to not be read so easily. A majestic is more than whatever item it happens to take the form of. It is the channel of your power to grant abilities far beyond what almost anyone is capable of. It is a majestic!” He pointed a large finger at him. “Take note of the name, boy, and focus.”

The boy looked at the weapon in his hands. He could summon the light easily enough, but he could do that even with a regular sword and a cantrip. If he wanted to take advantage of having a majestic, he should use it in a different way. He held it aloft and brought the light forth again.

“He’s going to try another big swipe?” Jazai sounded exasperated. “Maybe something clicked?”

“You still need to work on patience,” Zier noted and gestured at the young combatant. “Watch closer.”

Devol watched the light form around the blade but this time, he did not simply let it spool around the edges. Instead, he did his best to reach out to it and draw it in. The light responded to this desire and began to flow into it to course