Songs of Souls

009: Baptism by Combat and Spice

The familiar sting of sweat in Hirua's eyes made him blink. Around him, the training yard pulsed with life - grunts, the dull thud of practice weapons, the metallic tang of exertion thick enough to taste. Light glinted off damp skin as recruits sparred, a chaotic dance of training drills. He grinned, savoring the spice of competition in the air.

The curve of the Fire Bolo felt good in his hand, a natural extension of his arm. He could feel the heat thrumming beneath the elemenium, a whisper of fire against his palm. He swung the blade, feeling the air shift around it. Just like his old sword, this one was an Infusion Type too - energy coated the blade directly. He fed it his focus, a trickle of energy from his hand, and the blade blazed – a sharper, hotter tune than his old one ever did, all without breaking a sweat. Sweet!

And with Amplification, an added attribute— He was about to crank up the heat, see what this attribute could really do, when Einntyr's booming voice barged in.

"Your new weapons are incredible," His brother flexed those bandaged fists of his, grinning from ear to ear. "But nothing beats the raw, bone-crushing power of my lagrings!" His boisterous brother thumped his fists together, a muffled thud that kicked up a cloud of dust.

He crossed his arms, a snort rumbling in his chest. Heat prickled under his skin, little flickers of flame dancing around the bolo's edge. "Those pebbles of yours? You think they can handle anything, huh?" He snapped his arm out with a flourish, the blade flashing in the waxlight as he pointed it directly at Einntyr's chest. "Let's see if you can back that up."

Einntyr puffed his chest, his orange garb straining at the seams. "Foolish Hirua!" His laugh boomed across the yard. "My lagrings can handle that fiery stick, and I'll toss it back with a flick of my wrist!" Einntyr crouched, hands a blur as he affixed his lagrings on his palm. "Come, my friend! Let's test your fancy new toy."

A hand clapped on his shoulder. "Both of you raise valid points," a familiar voice chimed in. He turned to see Deynfif, lips curled into a half-smile. "Einntyr's lagrings offer unmatched versatility," his brother continued, gesturing towards the fist-wrapped bandages, "while your Fire Bolo can, well..." Deynfif paused, gaze shifting to the blade. Tiny pops and snaps punctuated the stillness, the scent of ozone tickling his nose. "...literally burn through any situation."

He jabbed a finger towards Deynfif, the grin on his face widening. "Told ya, Einntyr!" He puffed out his chest, heat rising in his cheeks. "Even Deynfif's on my side."

Einntyr's head tilted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Hey, don't get ahead of yourself," His brother flexed his fist, the bandages around it stretched. "My Lagrings can adapt to anything your fiery stick throws at them!"

The hair on his arms prickled. A shadow swept over him. Heavy footfalls pounded the earth, each step drawing closer. Einntyr's booming laughter abruptly ceased, replaced by a chorus of nervous "Aye, sir!" from the other mercenaries.

His gaze raked over the newcomer. The man's jaw was a hard line, like a slab of granite, and beneath those eyes... a shiver, a chill, colder than a snowdrift, prickled down his spine. This wasn't some soft-bellied instructor. The officer reeked of scorched metal and singed leather; held himself like a weapon, sharp and dangerous.

"Fledglings," the officer's voice cut through the air. "Seems the quartermaster finally delivered your new war-toys." he barked, gaze locking onto theirs. "Then it's time to see if they're naught but gilded trinkets. This day, we test your mettle in a mock skirmish."

He glared at the officer, his eyes burning hotter than a chili pepper. If that furrowed brow could launch a boulder, he wouldn't be flustered. Fists clenched, and he muttered, "Not fair!" Scars crisscrossed the officer's arms. Battle scars? He eyed the other soldiers, noting the grim set of their jaws, the way they held their weapons like they knew how to use them. This wouldn't be a stroll through the meadow.

Einntyr's booming voice jolted him from his thoughts. "So, who gets the honor of my power? Hirua? Deynfif?" His brother slammed his fist into his palm; vibrating with excitement, like a pot of stew bubbling over a fire. Arms fidgeted, eager for a brawl.

"Nope," the officer barked. His words were harsh, but a tremor in that stony jaw, a twitch at the corner of his mouth... Did that granite face almost crack with a smile? "Neither, you oaf of grand proportions." A low rumble, like rocks grinding together, escaped the officer's throat. Was that... a laugh? "This is a test of fellowship. Three of you against another trio."

A tingle ran up his arm, heat prickling beneath his skin. Three on three? He grinned. Finally, a chance to really test his new blade. He could almost see it, infused with his energy, cutting through the air. The Amplification attribute—he could practically feel it thrumming in the elemenium—promised to make each swing hit like a raging inferno against his adversaries. The smell of victory – no, wait...

That smell...

His stomach growled, a low rumble echoing the officer's chuckle. What was that? Spices, sizzling meat...the aromas were a symphony for his senses. He licked his lips. The warmth in his belly felt better than a roaring campfire. Darn it, kitchen! Spicy boar stew? Honey-glazed pastries? His mouth watered. No! Not now!

The officer pointed towards their opponents – a strange mix of fighters. In the lead was a tall woman, her blade crackling with frosty power. The blader's eyes flickered between them and the officer, her expression as torn as a child before a table laden with sweets. Next to her stood a lancer, a walking thunderstorm of sparks and noise. His spear snapped with energy, as loud and jumpy as bacon hitting a hot pan. The lancer's lips were curled, as sour as spoiled milk, his eyes burning holes into their clothes. "Leave the giant to me," he barked, jabbing a finger at Einntyr, who just puffed up his chest like a rising dough.

Lastly, there was a skinny guy at the back, twirling a stick that stirred a breeze around him. The magus gave them a friendly wave and a "Hail there!" that didn't quite fit with the others' sour expressions.

"Take a moment to strategize, fledglings." the officer ordered.

An insatiable fire blazed in his gut, fueled by the anticipation of both combat and cuisine. Einntyr's voice boomed, "Deynfif, which lagrings for this brawl?"

Three colored crystals dangled from Einntyr's hand. Warm, inviting, like honey-glazed bread crust - that's what the first one looked like. The second, deep blue like candied blueberries, screamed sweetness. And that last one, gleaming green - green apple, that's what it brought to mind.

His stomach grumbled, louder than Einntyr's booming voice. Honey-bread, blueberries, green apple... focus, Hirua. Those weren't even edible!

Deynfif's brow was a furrowed field. His gaze jumped between their opponents, quick as a whipcrack. Tap-tap-tap. Deynfif's fingers danced against the lagrings, like he was chopping onions for some grand repast. "Only these two for now, Einntyr. Let's do our 'Confuse and Capture' strategy."

The smell... it was like someone was roasting a whole feast over a crackling fire, spices and all! His taste buds tingled, forcing a swallow. "Alright, alright, let's get this done already. That smell from the kitchens' getting out of hand. Something incredible must be roasting..."

A bark from the office, sharp as a cleaver, echoed through the training ground. With a sharp snort, he banished the tempting smell from his nostrils and whipped the Fire Bolo through the air. Einntyr shifted from foot to foot. A wide grin, big enough to fit a whole spitted hog, split his brother's face. Deynfif, though... He stood still as a statue, barely even blinking.

He squinted at the other team, his eyes lingering on the Lightning Lancer. The guy was grinning as he cracked his knuckles – cocky, as if victory was already his. But the Ice Blader... something about her was off. Her eyes were glued to the officer, her face flushed red as a ripe tomato. Maybe the heat was getting to her? Nah, that wasn't it. The Air Magus, meanwhile, gave them a lazy thumbs-up. His stomach rumbled again. He was already bored.

Sweat, leather, and cheap ale – the crowd reeked. But something cut through the stench, something delicious. He gripped his Fire Bolo tighter. Almost time for food. Almost time for a fight.

The officer's hand shot up, blocking the Light and turning his face even grimmer. Then he roared,

FFFFFFIIIIGHT!

His teeth rattled. That wasn't a shout, it was a mountain crumbling.

A thud echoed from behind him, the ground shuddering beneath his feet. Time to feast!