Sparring

Vincent turned the ring on his finger. It was plain, simple and made out of steel. He had three rings on his right hand and two on his left.

Four of them had been a present of Arminius, one of them the shaped coin he got from Svend.

A precious gift, metal was scarce in Italy, most of it had been imported on the Roman roads and boats from all over the empire. Steel in particular, it had been developed recently in the capital and required much money and connections to buy. The senate promised it would revolutionise warfare.

Materials were not completely similar how they had been on earth, some had different structural integrity and most importantly magic.

There were substances who had the mysterious power woven into their very fabric, giving them ability's beyond compare.

Gems and scarse metals such as platinum and gold were among them.

Pure steel was the only known synthetic displaying similar capability's, making it the persuit of blacksmiths and alchemists for centurys.

A dark shadow rushed out of the thick bushes. It wielded a blue dagger made out of ice, partially reflecting the dim light falling through the thick celling of green leaves.

Vincent did not even look at it, only waving his hand.

A small needle, almost invisible, shot out and pierced the eye – the figure collapsed into blood, the core in it's head destroyed.

Nothing remained of the scene except a small patch of red that was slowly disappearing into the woods.

He did not chase it, for he knew where it would lead. Towards his inevitable defeat.

With fast movements Vincent picked up the metal from the ground, morphing it back into the ring.

His hands were lean and slightly rough. More than one scar was visible.

Another shadow ran towards him, knife out. It was deal with swiftly too. 'There are more of them..'

A projectile, quite similar to his own only bigger, tried to skewer his brain.

Without effort Vincent dodged and repaid the favour in kind.

He sprinted towards the point of impact. They were already catching up, soon there would be too many. He would just pick up the needle and then make a run for it.

Sadly life did not agree with his plans, it rarely did.

More figures rushed to him, all wearing strange shades made out of shadows, flowing around them, making them almost invisible to the nacked eye. Not a speck of metal.

He dispatched two, but another arrived striking him with his frozen gladius.

Blue lines flashed over the surface of the grey steel as the weapon deflected from his metal coated hand. Not a single scrach appeared on the surface, jet his arm was jancked to the side. He was still weak.

Placing his palm on the exposed arm Vincent grinned. His brother had tried teaching him martial arts, he failed miserable. In the end he did not need them.

The flesh, or more accurate blood, exploded into a swarm of mosquito landing on the head of the victim. Then they destroyed his core, killing the creature.

Still not satisfied, some flew outward, searching for more.

Sadly once they reached a distance of ten meter Vincent could feel their lives beeing sniffed out.

He had been ambushed, and they knew exactly where his mana perception ended.

Drastic times called for drastic measures.

Vincent used his arms to shield his eyes and dashed through the tick undergrowth, back to where he came from. He hoped the bushes would conceal his small figure.

Small twigs scraped his skin, the injury's were too minor to wast mana. It would also reveal his position if he did managed to shake them of.

Sadly his pursuers were almost two meter tall muscular adults who felt no pain. He was none of these things.

It took them but a moment to catch up – after he killed a few of them with needels to the head.

A fist hit him in the stomach, landing on the iron coating he had summened up in the last moment. Fingers were bend in strange, unnatural positions. Sadly Vincent fared not much better.

His small body was thrown through the air, like a rag doll, slamming into a near tree.

Vincent slumped down to catch his breath, his lungs burning.

He wanted to move, healed himself while running.

Dark mist rose from his body, the curse immobilising him.

'How did he arrive so fast?'

The scouts, not wasting the opportunity, jumped at him lick a pack of wild dogs.

With all his mana he launched a desperate counterattack, killing all six figures around him. Shrapnel penetrated their bodys all over, flying into the dark of the forest.

Sadly the rest of the projectiles were stopped by dark figures marching towards him – the enemy's he hated the most, heavy infantry with ice armour, tower shield and gladius.

Vincent was not even affected by the overdraft when he stood up and turned around, ready to continue running. The weak curse driven out by his aura. Sadly it was too late.

Pila made of ice swarmed his view, raining upon him. All thrown from precisely ten meters away.

He gave up.

They impacted the trees and soil around him, jet nothing hit.

"You should have coiled up, covered yourself with metal."A sharp voice sounded from the lines of soldiers.

"Then what, died a few seconds later." He did not mention that his metal and mana was empty. The only response to that, would be the question, why he wasted it then.

A black haired young men walked towards Vincent, the lines of inhuman soliders opening their lines so he could pass through. His black coloured uniform was in perfect condition, clean and tidy.

A sharp contrast to the bloody, dirty and ripped civilian clothes the almost ten year old boy wore.

"You could have let yourself captured, then waited for allies to drag you out. There is no shame in depending on others. Honer dies with the one upholding it."

Arminius threw a stone plaque at Vincent

"You should know what it means."

Vincent cached it out of the air with ease. His arm and stomach was already healed. He had enough practice with his own anatomy to cast mould flesh within nothing but the blink of an eye, if there was time to concentrate. And if he did not have to worry about spending his pitiful amount of mana.

"My invitation."

A military map and a dagger, the symbols of the academy, were drawn on the stone with red paint. In the bottem of it stood engraved with golden letters, SPQR. In the name of the senate and populace of Rome.