In this manner, their discussion ran long into evening, and then into night, all the while young Victor unknowingly began his tale in the examination hall of the academy. A school for monster slayers was not all that different from a regular school. Victor enrolled (with some reluctance from his father) on the morning of his fourteenth birthday. For two years, he underwent preliminary studies, what one would call the basics of monster hunting. Though his grades were average Victor elected to undergo a further three years of study, accompanying many experts into the field and assisting where he could. He was now eighteen.
The exam hall was quiet, disturbed only by the crinkle of turning pages and the scribbling of pens. Victor chose to write his final paper on the vampyre, as he considered this creature to be his speciality:
To what end would a man sacrifice his humanity only to cling to a life of darkness? The Miakkyra I can understand, for a witch has no humanity to sacrifice to begin with, but the Rocha were once human, and this is what drives my studies of this creature. The Rocha, or roaches, are most deadly in the hours of their conception, in the formless mass of a Blood Wraith, in which they trick the eyes and pass like mist through the night. The etheric body of a Blood Wraith, however, it quite unstable, and is easily dissipated by direct sunlight, running water or rain, and many acidic substances such are garlic…
In the end, he set down his pen and read the words written in his own small and feverish handwriting, not entirely satisfied, but not quite displeased. He stood up, stretched, handed his work to the examiner, and stepped outside to the courtyard. The sun fell softly on his skin, quite a relaxing sensation after being couped up at a desk for nearly three hours. His friend Hansel waited by the fountain in the centre of the courtyard, enjoying an apple and humming a tune. “Did you finish so early?” Victor announced.
Hansel was less of a man for writing essay and more for walking in the woods. “A good mark isn’t worth a sore wrist,” Hansel claimed with a mouth full of apple. “Besides, I spoke to Old Man Caesar yesterday.”
“The Old Man Caesar?”
“Yes, the Old Man Caesar. Turns out he knew my father, served with him in the army back in the day and what not. He tested me personally. My position in the Scouts is all but guaranteed.”
Victor gazed into the fountain and wondered. “A ranked officer of Silver’s academy. I wish my luck is as great.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it!” Hansel patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve proven yourself and everyone knows it. Silver would have to be a fool not to accept you.”
A voice, sweet as honey, emerged from the crowd leaving the exam hall. “I’ve heard many names for Mr. Silver, but I don’t believe ‘fool’ is among them.”
Samantha Sommer was victor’s oldest and dearest friend. She was a blessing of golden hair, freckles, a cute button nose, and an insatiable knowledge of alchemy. Despite her gentle appearance she was somewhat aggressive when it came to the competition of studies.
Victor smiled when he saw her. “There she is! How did you go?”
She shrugged, and Hansel chuckled. “This is Sam we’re talking about. With Mistress Ling travelling in the East she’s well on her way to becoming Haswhald’s leading alchemist.”
“I’m more concerned about beating dear Astrid on the scoreboards.” She watched Astrid, a friendly rival, exit the exam hall. Astrid was a cunning student, though rather quiet. Her pale complexion and fierce eyes were augmented by her red hair. A few paces away from her was Gretel Branner, daughter of Rodrick Branner, who was another worthy competitor of Sam’s. “Though I must agree. It’s taken a long time for us to get where we are, though I feel this is only the beginning.”
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