Danmachi: Fated Hero or Foolish Demise?

Chapter 8: Trials of Fate (Day 2)

The boy sat there on the drenched bed, his body too soaked by water. His eyes were enthralled by the silhouette of the instructor, whose person cast a blanket of shadow over him. A being that light bent around, and for the light that didn't alter course, none of it was reflected out. Over half of his face lay hidden, and as for the visible portion, no suggestions of an emotion dared to cross it. A singular element that captivated attention was his one silver eye that could seemingly emit a gleam of various degrees of luminosity. Contained within that eye was nothing but a shallow reflection of the boy.

Next to him rested his cane against the wall, with his left hand holding a now empty bucket. The instructor's voice was simultaneously dulled by the absence of emotion yet was ever sharpened by the strength exhibited in it. The two words of "Wake up" were lined by nothing except power, power absolute. More departed from his mouth as he whistled a perfect high C before extending his right arm. Said whistle was the only aspect of his character that felt as if he was alive.

A moment passed before his right arm was used as a perch for the eagle that shined gold. An eagle that stood taller than Lili and had a wingspan matching the instructor's. It's beak held onto a towel before transferring it to the instructor's right hand. Once it had, it took off from the perch before exiting the room into the hallway.

The towel color matched that of the instructor. It was tossed over to Bell, who caught it with bewilderment etched onto his face as his mind felt aimless, even with his ruby-red eyes fixated on the event that unfolded before him. The instructor's presence locked his speaking ability and reduced his air intake to nearly nothing. An echo of silence would not occur, for it was ruptured by Wanderer's voice.

"Dry off, then follow Ospin."

A statement that forgone words whose sole purpose was of trivial extensions. His voice acted not as a means of expression but as a delivery system for commands.

Bell did not move a muscle and stifled all breaths in light of the words spoken. This wasn't out of a conscious effort; his body and mind were at odds, keeping him in a state of deadlock. But with the statement announced, Wanderer saw himself out after grabbing his cane and closing the wooden door.

The door's click, combined with footsteps diminishing in intensity, encouraged Bell to let free the breath he had held onto since the second comment. Hunching forward, he took a multitude of sporadic breaths. This was joined by his torso vibrating with his eyes, both shaking in fear. He placed his hands on the side of his head in an attempt to calm himself. His breathing returned to a semblance of normalcy, but the ferocious shaking did not subside. One topic circled throughout his mind.

"That was just the first day?!?!"

When Bell signed the contract that placed him into the direct tutelage of Wanderer, he was of the preconceived notion that he understood the intricacies of what he signed: One week of training described as the antithesis of mercy with death making a reference. These were the details he thought he understood... but all prior notions were abandoned after the previous day. A day that readjusted his perception of what the antithesis of mercy meant. In terms of physicality, it was just shy of the torture that Freya Familia dealt. In terms of mental distress, it, too, was at a similar level to what Freya Familia did.

The strength displayed yesterday alone was terrifying. Disregarding the unquantifiable amount not presented, what was shown disabled Bell's arm easily and could have killed him should a strike have been placed in a vital area. Yet that strength did not capture his mind's attention like the speed demonstrated. The strength was terrifying for being leagues above his. The speed was horrific because it was at, or perhaps just above, his own. Yesterday was not some hopeless spew of attacks that he threw out; it was attacks avoided with calculated precision. Nothing directed at Wanderer caused concern, with every movement he made was not a hair's thickness from flawless.