Headed by a Snake

Chapter 549 New Challengers

?Tycondrius stepped into the ritual formation, allowing the concentrated mana to wash over him.

The mana flow was good-- in particular, the pressure of the stream. The purification circles were working perfectly, it felt good breathing it and against his bare skin. Where Sasha's rune work was admittedly average, she excelled at precisely measuring the requisite amount of mana for the formation to function, and maximizing its purity.

Tycon instilled mana down his arm, to the very tip of his finger... and drew a sigil in the air. In completing the inner seal, the mana lines began to light up, shrouding the room in a dim, golden glow.

"Young lady, if you would," He nodded to his daughter.

"Aye aye," She knelt down, placing her hands into the activation circle. "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

...

It was dark... but there were torches enough for Pale to see.

The boy had inherited Elven eyes from his father. Where a human could peer into the far distance with a focused lantern, Pale needed but a single candle.

Tycon could see just as well-- even without.

They were underground, in a narrow passageway surrounded by stone walls, cold and damp. It stank of blood, sweat... and shite.

It was unpleasant... but familiar.

He nudged the boy at his side, "We're here."

Pale blinked, rubbing at his eyes, "Huh... are we in... a Dungeon?"

Tycon smirked, "Something like that."

"So this is where we're going to be training..." Pale pouted and shifted his weight.

Suddenly, he tensed up, grabbing himself in confusion, "H-hold on?! Where's my armor? M-my spear?!"

The young man was without his personal effects, wearing a mere simple tunic. Tycon was the same.

He recalled being in a near-identical similar situation only recently. Much to his embarrassment, a young admirer of his named Suka bore witness to his distress at not having his luxuries: his spatial ring, in particular.

Spatial items were damned difficult to find.

"They won't be necessary," Tycon shook his head. "I'll have you armed decently when we arrive at our assigned room."

"At our... assigned room?" Pale dipped his head, deep in thought. It seemed he was having trouble making sense of his situation.

...Admittedly, it was a bit ridiculous.

"Why are you two here?" Tycon asked the gentlemen behind Pale.

A massive orc with a tight-fitting shirt stood behind the boy, barely able to fit in the narrow hall. In front of that fellow was a transparent shadow in a comparatively baggy tunic.

The shadow shrugged with open palms, not betraying any particular emotion.

Garock smiled with chagrin, "Your Reality Marble is an extension of your memories... It seems that the two of us can take form, here."

The orc was a Gold-Rank weapon spirit that inhabited one of Tycon's swords. The shadow was a summoned spirit of his that always acted with sentience. It wasn't supposed to be sentient, but Tycon had stopped trying to make sense of its actions, long ago.

"Hm. Granted. Garock, Shadow, go entertain yourselves," Tycon waved dismissively.

"Very well," The orc inclined his head. "Do well in your training, young elf."

The shadow gave the boy a thumbs-up gesture.

"Um. Thanks?" Pale smiled politely.

"Pale, with me." Tycon turned and began down the torchlit corridor. The young man's light footsteps soon followed close behind...

Tycon had visited below the arenas at Caeruleum several moons prior. At that time, there were plenty of painted arrows on the walls and floor.

But even without such guidance... Tycon found that he already knew where to go. He walked confidently, stepping around uneven flooring and even pointing out the location of amusing works of graffiti.

Conversely, the nervous boy at his back was... troubled. Despite his excellent eyesight, he stepped into questionable puddles. He flinched as the crowd aboveground roared as a whole, pounding their feet as they cheered and booed for their gladiators. The boy even lost his balance and skinned his elbow on a wall-- surprised as a wild direbeast's death cry reverberated throughout the labyrinth.

"Sir Tycon?" The boy yelped, "You still haven't told me what kind of training this is?"

"Have patience, young friend," Tycon gently chided. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."

He stopped in front of one particular door, "?Lock Tap.?"

The door crashed in under the strength of Tycon's kick, its locking mechanism irreparably broken.

"Wh-what?! Who?!" A handsome voice inside shouted.

Pale turned to him with incredulous eyes, "B-boss? That voice is...?"

Without answering, Tycon entered the room... where he found a young male taking inventory of weapons and armor, "Good morning."

That fellow was a very attractive individual... though his face was marked by a number of piercings on his nose and brows that detracted from his professionalism.

"Oh... it's you," The young man pursed his lips and took in a slow breath... He had a sword held out in a neutral stance. It was reasonable, considering the circumstances, "Identifier, please."

"Qui audet adipiscitur," Tycon answered, speaking in the Holy Country's old language.

"Qui audet vincet," The man shook his head, sheathing his sword. "You're the one person I never expected to have to challenge."

"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "I find that doubtful. It was you who developed our system of code words, after all."

"Wha-wha-what's going on, Sir?!" Pale asked, "Why are there two of you!?"

Other-Tycon reared his head back in disgust, glaring at the boy, "And who in the seven hells is this... whelpling?"

"Quay's kid," Tycon shrugged. "And believe it or not, he's stronger than you are."

"Tss... is he now?" Other-Tycon rolled his eyes, sweeping back his luxurious green hair. "Granted. Then the question is: who's the mom?"

"No idea. And neither does Quay," Tycon shook his head. "Give me your armor. The boy and I are looking to participate in the duo match."

"Grr... That's the next one. Ugh, the Titanblood's gonna be pissed." Other-Tycon growled as he started taking off his armor. "You gonna help me out with these straps, or what?"

Tycon made a mental note to compliment his daughter. The ritual she crafted had excellent accuracy, in regard to its timing.

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