Paragon of Skills No Chapter 16

“We’ll et again, boy,” she says, as she points at the entrance of the tent. “My ti in Clearwater is up, but I suppose I found what I ca to look for.”

This is very weird individual, I think to myself, smiling as I clutch the small chest full of Skill Crystals. At least she didn’t kill

or worse, dissect

alive to try and get to my Skill.

“See you,” I say, feeling a pricklish sensation on my skin now that I now how powerful she is.

* * *

Tutor Sevv adjusts his robe and smooths the front while he tries to ignore the chill from the tower room’s draft as he faces the tall-backed chair. The windows are latticed in gold and shaped like leering birds, because the Clearwaters delight in garish design. He sips spiced wine and keeps his back straight.

The chair turns.

Lady Adrienne Clearwater is the eldest daughter of Lord Sigmund and she regards him with eyes that shine like polished eralds and feel as cold and sharp as steel; she does not rise.

“Well?” she asks.

Sevv swallows and sets the cup down.

“I’ve been dismissed.”

There is a pause. Then Adrienne arches a brow.

“Excuse ?”

“Dismissed,” he repeats, a little louder and a little stiffer. “Felisia has chosen to replace . With a peasant. An unclassed boy who calls himself ‘Bocaj Duolc.’ ”

She blinks once, slowly.

“That is not even a real na.”

“No,” Sevv agrees, his voice tight. “Yet the little kid manages to outperform

in front of Greyson, and Felisia.”

Adrienne rises and moves to the window. Her steps remain silent on the marble floor and her shadow stretches across the tapestries that display hunting hawks and slain beasts.

“Tell

how.”

Sevv’s jaw tightens.

“He corrects her stance, her grip, her mana flow. At first the advice is textbook, but then it departs from every text I know. He ntions vein paths that I have seen only in Guild treatises. Sohow he sees every imperfection in her form, and when she tries again under his guidance the Skill jumps five levels in under ten minutes.”

He does not ntion how Felisia smiles or how she looks at the boy with the respect he has never earned in three years of servitude.

“Did he use a Skill?” Adrienne asks while she still watches the canals beyond.

“No,” Sevv says. “Or if he does, he disguises it. I couldn't tell, milady. He is unclassed. He is dirt.”

Adrienne remains silent.

“Good. That ans he is no one, and no one can be removed.”

Sevv blinks.

“You… approve?”

Adrienne turns back toward him.

“Felisia is stagnant, useless. I need her to find so hope, a reason to rise so that I can break her again. I want her proud before she falls, proud enough that it hurts.”

Sevv’s skin prickles. “And the boy?”

“He will serve as an example. At the Sky Hunt I plan to cripple her, Sevv, and I will do it publicly. If this peasant tries to interfere, I will have him maid on the dueling grounds. Without a Class, he is even easier to destroy.”

“Won’t that risk angering Lord Clearwater?”

Adrienne smiles in a razor-thin line.

“I will let Father believe it is her fault. She will seem to have pushed herself too hard, and her Tutor will appear to have failed her. The boy will vanish. Accidents happen all the ti when mudfolk try to play noble.”

Sevv looks away. He is not a sentintal man, but sothing in Adrienne’s voice makes even him feel the cold.

“If the boy is half as clever as he seems, he will not stay long,” he mutters.

“Then let us see if he is clever enough,” Adrienne replies as she lifts her glass in a mock salute. “To Felisia’s final lesson.”

Sevv drinks, and this ti the wine tastes like blood.

* * *

The coast outside Clearwater is a strip of broken cliffs and narrow sandbars, the kind of place where sea ets stone in a grudging truce. The sky is a bright, cloudless blue, but the air is salted and sharp, and gulls circle overhead like nervous thoughts.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“How are the Skills coming, Young Bocaj?” he asks, voice calm but curious. “Found anything else since we parted ways?”

“Actually, yeah,” I say. “Just one more to go. Fire Walk’s the last one in the Hell’s Sword set I haven’t gotten my hands on.”

Greyson lifts his brows.

“Just one?”

“Yep. I’ve got Fire Slash, Fire Armor, and even a weird one—Fire Veins. Found a really helpful rchant who gave

a few clues about its synergy. I’m going to start refining and absorbing them tonight.”

Greyson’s brow furrows slightly.

“You plan to take in all of them at once?”

I shrug.

“I’ve Mana Pool now.”

Greyson watches

for a mont, nods slowly.

“Just make sure your body can keep up with your mind. You’ll need a lot of mana to practice all of your Skills.”

I plan to actually fix the flaws that make them less efficient first so I can reduce the mana drain to the minimum.

“I’ll take it slow,” I lie.

He gives

a sideways look that says he knows I won’t, but he lets it go.

A minute passes in companionable silence as he adjusts one of the footwork poles.

Then Felisia arrives, walking down the narrow slope with her rapier at her hip and her braid tight. She doesn’t say anything, just nods once and steps into place at the center of the markers.

She raises her hand.

“This is one of my auxiliary Skills. Water Dash. Gold Rank. It’s still level seventeen.”

A mont later, she stabs a toe into the dirt, and a thin film of water shimrs beneath her soles. With a flex of her hips and a pulse of mana, she skates forward—fast.

The water doesn’t splash—it bends. It coils under her like a serpent of glass, winding around obstacles, gliding her in a loose curve. Her cloak flares behind her as she skids to a stop near a sea-blown rock.

For a mont I say nothing, because I am starstruck by her beauty. Her turquoise hair shimr in the sunlight and her eyes are very intense.

“So, what can I do to improve it?”

“Huh—show

again,” I say, clearing my throat. “I was distracted for a mont.”

“Why were you distracted?!” Felisia stomps on the ground and gets ready to use the Skill again.

Then, suddenly, a figure appears from atop the cliff.

Water bursts from beneath her boots—straight out of the sea, twisting into a ribbon.

She skates down the liquid spiral with terrifying grace, twirls once in midair like a dancer, and then rides the arc of water all the way across the bay, skipping over the ocean surface before looping back toward shore on the sa conjured path.

Felisia’s jaw tightens.

The figure slows, twirls once more with theatrical excess, and then slides up the remaining ribbon like gravity doesn’t apply. She lands lightly on the sand in front of us, her boots barely touching the ground before the water unravels behind her.

“Milady Calantha Clearwater,” Greyson says, bowing stiffly. His tone could cut stone.

Calantha, Felisia’s older sister, flips a strand of salt-wet hair over her shoulder.

She has green hair and matching green eyes, unlike Felisia’s turquoise hair. However, I can tell from her features that they’re sister. Calantha is almost as beautiful as Felisia.

“Sir Greyson,” she says, drawling it like a child saying bad dog. Then her gaze slides to Felisia. “Still playing with puddles, little sis?”

Felisia doesn’t respond. Her spine goes rod-straight.

“And this,” Calantha says, her eyes finally settling on , “must be the famous rat-cloak. What was your na again? Rat Boy?”

“Bocaj Duolc,” I say, flashing my best smile. “But for you, I’ll answer to Your Unpleasantness.”

Felisia lets out a single cough that might be a laugh. Greyson doesn’t move.

“Careful,” Calantha purrs, stepping closer. “I’ve been known to drown pets that yap too loud.”

I glance at Greyson, expecting a reaction. His jaw is locked, but he doesn’t reach for his sword. Doesn’t speak.

What the hell?

Then I notice the air behind Calantha shift.

A shadow ripples.

And then it steps forward.

A man—if you can call him that—stands a full head taller than anyone I’ve ever seen outside a parade formation. He wears black armor, polished but dull, like it drinks light instead of reflecting it. The helm is featureless. No plu. No insignia. Just a blank mask with no eye slits.

He hasn’t walked up. He hasn’t arrived.

He’s just... there.

My mouth goes dry.

“What’s wrong?” Calantha asks sweetly, turning and running a hand along one of the Knight’s vambraces. “Don’t like my shadow? I keep him around for parties.”

“Is he your bodyguard?” I ask, trying not to let my voice crack. I fail.

“He’s my personal Knight,” she says.

The black Knight doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

I can feel the mana rolling off him like heat from a forge.

Calantha leans closer to .

“Be careful where you point those clever eyes, rat. So things don’t like being looked at.”

She snaps her fingers, and a new ribbon of water shoots from the surf to her heels.

Without another word, she starts gliding back toward the cliff—upward, against gravity, her back to us the entire ti.

“Hey! Care for a little bet?!” I shout before Calantha can reach the top of the cliff.

She stops midway through and looks down with a cat’s smile on her face.

“Oh?” She goes.

I see the black Knight slowly turning his helm toward .

Calantha hasn’t even turned around before I speak up, loud enough that my voice carries up the cliffs.

“Three days,” I say. “We’ll race. Water Dash. Full course. You pick the terrain.”

She stops mid-ascent. The ribbon of water she’s gliding on still holds her, coiled like a wave paused mid-break. Slowly, she rotates and rides it back down until she’s standing on the sand again, arms crossed.

“A race?” she repeats, amusent curling at the corners of her mouth. “You want Felisia to race ?”

“She’ll win,” I say. “It won’t be close.”

Felisia glances at , startled. Greyson shifts slightly, not saying a word.

Calantha’s laughter is clear and vicious. “My Water Dash is level fifty. She’s not even in the twenties.”

“Exactly,” I say, stepping forward. “That’s why you’re nervous. You know you’re going to lose.”

Calantha’s smile dies.

“What’s there to win?” she asks coldly.

I turn toward Felisia.

“What do you want to win?”

Felisia hesitates. Her gaze flicks from

to her sister, then back. For a mont she looks uncertain, caught between pride and hesitation.

But I give her a look.

The sa one I gave Orvick when I told him we’d win the contest. The one I gave Greyson when I offered to help. The one that says I know how this ends. Trust .

Felisia straightens.

“I want the Great Tide Bracelet,” she says.

Calantha freezes.

Felisia continues. “The one Mother gave you before she died.”

A muscle twitches in Calantha’s jaw. “That bracelet is mine.”

“Then don’t lose,” I say.

Her eyes snap toward . “And if she does?”

I don’t answer. I look at Felisia.

She swallows, but then she nods and lifts her chin.

“If I lose… I’ll withdraw from the Sky Hunt.”

Greyson stiffens. “Felisia—”

But she doesn’t take it back.

Calantha’s face turns hard.

For the first ti, she looks unsure.

Then she steps back and flares her fingers. A small surge of water lifts the hem of her coat.

“Three days,” she says. “And when you lose, don’t expect your little rat Tutor to save you from the sha.”

She turns and glides away without another word.

Felisia exhales, quiet but shaky.

Greyson says nothing.

This is a big responsibility.

“Hey, Felisia. Show

again. Let’s start the training.”