Online In Another World

Chapter 189 One-Sided Gift

Despite the increase in physical abilities, it didn’t seem to magically improve Jeane’s fundamental lack of basics when it came to hand-to-hand combat, as Emilio countered with a jab to his nose.

“Argh-!” Jeane winced.

The impact shattered the man’s glasses, causing them to crumble apart and fall into the sand. As blood spewed from Jeane’s nostrils, he realized he might’ve put too much strength behind his punch. To him, Jeane was still somebody with the potential of being a friend–he wanted to maintain that.

“Ah…my bad,” Emilio apologized, though regretted it immediately as he knew it would only be seen as an insult.

Though as he looked at Jeane, whose muscles cramped up with his eyes running bloodshot, Emilio realized the nosebleed wasn’t his fault, or at least not entirely: it was the side-effect of the concoction.

“I’m not done–!” Jeane roared.

Dashing forward, the gray-haired alchemist caught Emilio off-guard this time, slamming his knuckles against the young mage’s nose and sending him rolling across the arena.

“Umpf–!” Emilio winced.

Catching himself, he regained his momentum, rolling back onto his feet as he found a light amount of blood trickling from his nose.

That stung, he thought.

Due to his ever-evolving draconic constitution, his physical capabilities had increased more than his thought, making such a blow feel like nothing more than a casual slap more than a harmful blow.

As he rose to his feet, wiping the sparse amount of blood from his nose, Jeane was further disgruntled by his unshaken attitude after receiving the attack.

“If you’re so desperate to prove yourself to the world, I’ll give you what you’re asking for!” Emilio told him, conjuring a hefty amount of mana.

Through a single squeeze of his catalyst and a condesement of his focused thoughts, he manifested particles of water in the air that quickly swirled into strands of aqua, coalescing into the heads of dragons.

“Dragon Hurricane.”

“That’s…!” Jeane was in fearful awe.

Before the alchemist could attempt to counter, trying to fiddle through his cloak to retrieve a tool, Emilio sent the aquatic dragons forward as the audience watched in suspense from the grandiose spell.

It was a force of terror; the hurricane claiming the form of the beast that ruled the skies caused the air to vibrate in its presence.

Sweeping through the sandy arena, the draconic heads rammed into Jeane, lifting him into the air and slamming him back down into the sand with a resounding impact.

“Grghh…!” Jeane coughed out.

Such a devastating blow knocked the wind out of the gray-haired young man as he laid on the sand for a minute, wincing while the amplified state he was in seemed to wear off soon after.

“WINNER, EMILIO DRAGONHEART!”

In a bout that went by quickly, it was packed enough with high-octane clashes of alchemy and magic that the ground cheered nonetheless.

Jeane simply laid there on the sand, staring up with a painful look in his eyes at his own failure.

“…Like I was saying,” Emilio breathed out, walking over, “I’m not your enemy.”

As a hand from Emilio was extended down to the man, Jeane looked down, not knowing whether to accept that hand or not.

“Since the day I was born, I’ve had this weak body…Even the simplest tasks of labor were strenuous for more,” Jeane told him, “…Time and time again, I injured myself just helping around the house. My father believed me to be a ‘defect’–a child to be discarded.”

“–” Emilio was silent.

Looking at Jeane, he recognized that look of contempt in his eyes; a spitefulness born of his own misfortune, pointed towards others. It was an envy that grew like a weed, closing his heart off to others and their own hardships.

“I was tossed away like garbage, but…Teacher took me in–he gave me alchemy,” Jeane told him, reminiscing, “…magecraft, that art, boundless in its possibilities and nuance, is more beautiful than anything else in this world. I want others like me to realize that they too can reach their dreams, even if it’s said to be impossible.”

The honest, heartfelt words spoken from the young man only came forward when he was at his lowest; Emilio recognized it all too well, though it helped him understand.

He insisted on helping Jeane up, grabbing his hand and hoisting him to his feet.

“Hey–what’re you–!” Jeane said, surprised at being brought up.

Emilio smiled at him, “You’ve got an unbeatable talent of your own, right? I think you just showed that to me.”

“What?…No, I don’t have anything like that,” Jeane averted his gaze, almost as if ashamed.

“You do. It’s a talent for persistence; even with the shackles on your body, you persevered,” Emilio told him, “You didn’t run away. You faced it head-on and countered it. That’s amazing.”

A look of surprise came over Jeane as he looked at the person who was his opponent just minutes prior.

“Besides, those tools really are amazing…Magic is fleeting; it’s something you witness for moments–but those tools, it makes magic an everlasting thing, doesn’t it? That’s awesome,” Emilio told him with a bright smile.

Jeane was taken aback, “…You like tools that much? Despite not needing them?”

“Of course! I love everything magical–it’s just all so interesting,” Emilio assured him.

In Jeane’s mind, his loss to him signified what he feared: that those in the audience would look down on him as a magic trinket user. Though to the young mage’s surprise, the crowd cheered, supporting both of them.

“Nice fight, Jeane!”

“You held in there!”

“I’m totally going to buy some trinkets from his shop later!”

–

“Well…” Jeane said, “…I’m sorry, Emilio.”

“Don’t be. I get it,” Emilio assured him.

“How can you–?”

Though before Jeane could try and respond back with those words born from his own life of pain, one look into those soft, amethyst eyes belonging to the Dragonheart told him that he did indeed know.

Jeane sighed out, “When it comes to magecraft, I tend to lose my cool. I become a different person…I’ll make it up to you, how about it?”

“Oh?”

“Meet me at the shop later,” Jeane told him, “I’ll give you a gift, in honor of your victory today.”

—

With that promise in place, Emilio swung by Mr. Merryfoot’s room, receiving his lofty prize money–an entire one-hundred and fifty crowns, before heading out of the Tower, though Mr. Merryfoot tried to stop him to invite him to dinner.

More than that, Emilio was excited to return to the shop filled with magical tools and trinkets. As he returned to the bustling square of Indasia that housed the mystical shop, he entered its door as it jingled.

Surprisingly, it was much more quiet at this time, with many less customers.

I don’t see Jeane, he thought.

As he scanned his eyes around the store, finding a caged, snow-feathered owl of mystique, a sword that was said to be able to talk, and a constantly-spinning compass, he found himself looking at an older gentleman wiping down the shelves.

…The owner? He questioned.

Approaching the wizened man, who was slightly hunched over, but well-dressed with a long-sleeved, white shirt and an oak vest, the man seemed to expect his arrival as he looked at him with an audible “Ah”.

“You must be the one that Young Jeane mentioned. It’s hard to mistake a fellow with hair like yours,” the old man laughed.

“Err, yeah…where is he?” Emilio asked.

“Oh, pardon me, I’m Klaus, the owner of this shop,” the old man introduced himself, “Now, I already know who you are, Young Emilio.”

“Then–?”

“Go through the back; he’s waiting in the workshop,” Klaus told him.

“Thanks!”

As he passed by the wizened shop owner, he passed by shelves of nebulous trinkets before finding himself in the workshop, kept to the back of the establishment.

It was a large room filled with bookshelves and tables, messy with books, scattered pages, and test vials filled with unknown substances.

Sitting at one such workshop table, Jean was tinkering with his stone gauntlet, polishing it and the runes embedded in it.

“Yo,” Emilio greeted him.

With how focused Jeane looked when fiddling with the gauntlet, using precision tools to work on it delicately, he almost felt bad for taking that concentration away. Though, Jeane looked up at him with a smile, dissuading that notion entirely.

“Hey. Thanks for coming,” Jeane said, taking the magnifying glasses he wore off.

Emilio glanced around at the workshop; there were a wide assortment of tools and loose pieces of unbuilt mechanisms, as well as what looked to be less-than-safe runes that had yet to be used to craft their own magical tools.

“This place is amazing,” Emilio remarked, “I’ve never met anybody capable of making magic trinkets.”

“Well, being able to use magic is a much more appreciated skill, but…thank you,” Jeane smiled, learning to accept the compliment, “Anyway, I have something for you.”

Moving closer, Emilio stood by the young tinkerer’s desk, seeing that there was a small journal on his desk, filled with messy, uneven pages.

Jeane picked it up, looking at the leather-covered book fondly, “My teacher told me that tinkering was thought to be a dying art, but he believed otherwise–”as long as there are curious learners like you’, he told me. This journal contains generations of knowledge on tinkering and magecraft itself–with enough patience and elbow grease, you can start creating your own tools. He gave me this book with the idea that someday, I’d pass it along to somebody else.”