The Author's Playground-Chapter 36: You have no talent (3)

Chapter 36: You have no talent (3)

" I only knew 'success' when I was young. "

" A child who can memorize a book within minutes. "

" A young genius in theory and so on and so forth. "

" But at the day of age where I should obtain my first 'Mahika' "

" I received nothing at all. "

"Я знаю, ты очень старался" (I know you tried hard)

"Forse lo riceverai tardi" (Perhaps you will receive it late)

"איזו בושה..." (What a shame...)

" I could not understand why is that... "

" No matter how hard I worked... No matter how hard I tried... "

" That future was still out of my sight... "

****

Elijah's words cut deeper than any blade, sharper than the sugar coated reassurances Varden had been fed as a child.

"You are talentless."

The declaration hung a quiet, damning truth.

"Your hard work means nothing if you can't succeed."

Varden's grip tightened around his sword, his knuckles whitened, but something inside him refused to break.

"You think people care about progress?" Elijah continued. "The only thing that matters is the outcome."

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Lies.

Varden knew better—knew that those words were meant to crush him, to strip him of whatever dignity he had left. But then, why couldn't he argue against it?

"Shut up!"

With reckless desperation, Varden's hands shot forward, grabbing the blade that aimed at his throat.

The steel bit into his palm, warm blood dripping between his fingers. He didn't care.

Drip... Drip...

It's painful but it no longer matters.

All that matters for Varden is for his frustration to disappear.

Elijah's eyes flickered, and a brief glimpse of surprise flashed across his face before he instinctively withdrew his weapon.

Varden took the opening. He lunged.

No technique. No strategy.

Just raw, desperate strength.

"HAAAAAAAH!"

His sword cleaved through the air swinging wildly. There was no precision, no form—only sheer force and stubborn defiance.

And as expected, Elijah dodged effortlessly. Stepping back, tilting his head slightly as he watched Varden struggle.

The crowd murmured.

"Why is no one stopping this…?"

"It's already over."

"This is just pitiful…"

Lucian averted his gaze, unable to stomach the sight. But beside him, Victoria remained unmoved, her emerald eyes remained locked onto the battle.

Cheeks flushed red, voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "How does he do that?"

Lucian turned to her. "Do what?"

"Keep fighting, even when it's hopeless…? I don't think I could ever do that."

Elijah continued to evade, never striking back.

He didn't need to.

Instead, he let his words be the weapon.

"Why bother continuing?"

Varden's breath was ragged, his arms trembled as he forced another swing.

"Does it hurt your ego?"

The attack was sloppy. Too wide. Too slow.

Elijah leaned to the side, effortlessly avoiding the blade.

"How pathetic."

Varden staggered, his knees threatened to buckle. Yet Elijah's words did not dare to stop.

"Can't you see everyone is looking at you?"

Sweat dripped down his face, mingled with the blood staining his hands. He could feel their eyes—watching, judging, waiting for him to fall.

Yet he still swung his sword.

One last time.

Elijah sighed.

('That's right, be mad… You have every right to be.')

Then, with a single step, he closed the distance.

A brutal kick to the stomach sent Varden crashing onto his back.

His sword clattered to the ground.

Yet he… stood back up.

Shaky. Weak. Barely holding on.

Elijah tilted his head, his lips curved slightly.

('You don't get it yet, do you?')

Varden clenched his fists, his body screamed in protest.

He- wanted to win so badly.

Of course, that's impossible.

('The longer you deny the truth, you will never grow out of it)

As Elijah moved again.

A knee to the ribs.

A punch to the jaw.

Another kick to the side.

Each impact sent Varden stumbled, each strike chipped away at his strength. But he never fell.

Blood dripped from his lips. His arms hung uselessly at his sides, too battered to properly lift.

Then, before the darkness swallowed him whole, a voice echoed in his mind.

"Do you want strength?"

At first, Varden ignored it, sucking in ragged breaths, fighting just to stay conscious.

"Isn't it unfair? You know you can do better." But the voice continued to echo inside his mind.

His fingers twitched.

"Go on. Call my name…"

As if ensnared by something beyond reason, Varden slowly reached into his pocket.

The black gem.

The one that had been given to him.

Elijah's expression shifted. His amusement disappeared, replaced with fear.

His eyes widened in horror.

"Varden—stop."

But Varden barely heard him.

His lips parted, and he whispered a name.

"Mammon."