The Scumbag’s Second Life

9. Duel

Days turned to weeks. Weeks blurred into months.

A gentle breeze swept across the land, shaking loose the orange, star-shaped leaves of an old okari tree. The golden rays of morning crept over the dense forest, painting the world in warmth and light.

Beneath the okari tree stood two figures: a warrior woman gripping a wooden staff, and a tiny boy barely twenty-five inches tall, holding his own wooden sword with both hands.

That tiny boy was Hazrad. Nine months old but already far beyond ordinary children.

Far enough that he had trained day after day, until he finally worked up the courage to challenge Azra to a duel.

"I still don't know what kind of cockiness possessed you," Azra muttered, leveling her gaze at him. "But I'm not holding back just because you're a kid."

"Holding back would be disrespectful to me, lovely lady. Give me everything you've got." Hazrad smirked, curling his fingers in a taunting come-at-me gesture.

"Tsk. I'll beat that insolent attitude right out of you, brat!"

With a click of her tongue, Azra charged, kicking up leaves.

A faint blue magic circle flickered in Hazrad's right eye.

[Appraiser Skill Activated!]

The system began analyzing his opponent. It could read her strengths, weaknesses, stats and even predict her next move with low but usable accuracy. The predictions hovered around 20%, but Hazrad had learned to squeeze every advantage from it.

Or so he believed.

Their wooden blades clashed. Azra pulled away hers, attempting to strike him in the stomach fast and quick, but Hazrad, already anticipating the shift, blocked her neatly.

He grinned. I'm actually keeping up!

"Your strength is impressive for a brat," Azra admitted, pushing against his blade.

"Oh? Well, thank you, lovely lady!"

Her eye twitched. "I really hate that attitude!"

She suddenly shoved forward with full strength. Hazrad lost balance, stumbling backward. Before he could recover, Azra sprang into the air and brought her wooden sword down like a hammer.

He predicted the strike yet his body simply wasn't strong and fast enough to block.

His small sword snapped cleanly in half.

Bang!

Her strike smacked him square on the head, dropping him on the spot.

Azra could have worried. But beating the brat senseless filled her with a strange, wicked thrill she didn't even try to hide. A smug, evil smile curled at her lips.

"You're weak! Come back stronger, brat!" She planted a foot on his face, squeezing it a bit before she walked off.

On the sidelines, Nero snarled anxiously. Once Azra turned away, it dashed to him, pulling him upright against the okari trunk and licking his face until he groaned awake.

A few minutes later, Hazrad groaned awake.

"Master! You're awake!" Nero's telepathic voice quivered with relief.

"I… lost… without even putting up a fight…" Hazrad whispered hoarsely.

"You tried, Master. The woman is simply too—"

"I'll beat her with magic next time!" Hazrad cut in sharply. "I've been learning spells from books!"

And it was true. He had a natural affinity for water magic, and because he'd been using mana since he was practically a fetus, his reserves had grown absurdly large for his age.

And unlike others in this world who wielded Soul Energy—Hazrad alone could use mana too. A privilege of being a half-breed.

His system insisted he keep that fact a secret.

The next day, he challenged Azra again. And lost.

Then another day. Lost again.

Weeks became months. Months slipped into years.

Fourteen years later, he was now 15—already considered mature by Reaper standards.

Hazrad stood before a mirror, fastening the buttons on a crisp black blazer with white linings at the edges.

Not bad, he thought, touching his chin. Truly the pinnacle of beauty. Honestly, if I tried, I could be mistaken for a princess. Kekeke.

And he wasn't wrong. He had inherited his human mother's smooth skin and delicate features.

With looks like this, I'll make chicks go wild… kekeke. He nodded proudly, patting his short messy hair—one side black, the other white.

But when his gaze shifted to his left eye, his smile faded.

The socket was hollow, filled with shifting, eerie darkness that leaked faint gray smoke: something that will – with no doubt - terrify humans and supernatural beings alike.

Even Azra admitted she'd never seen anything like it.

Still, Hazrad refused to let one creepy eye ruin his swagger.

Today was his official start as an adult. He was leaving the isolated mountains behind and entering the real world—a world full of beautiful women of every shape, build, and different boob sizes.

Maybe I'll finally get laid. The thought practically electrified him.

With fresh confidence, he strapped on a black eyepatch he'd crafted himself.

It covered the hollow eye neatly, leaving his ocean-blue one gleaming.

Yup. Nick Fury vibes but hotter. He smirked.

A violent knock rattled the door. "Hurry up, kiddo! We're already late!"

"And whose fault is that?" Hazrad yelled back, adjusting his tie.

"Huh?! Are you saying it's my fault you stare at that stupid mirror for hours like a wanna-be slayqueen, you piece of shit?! I regret ever buying it!"

"I'm saying it's your fault for making me hunt boers, chop wood, and cook your breakfast first thing in the morning!"

"You damn pipsqueak! That's what all kids do for their big sisters! Now get out here!"

That, of course, was the story she always told him—that she was his older sister, and their parents were dead. He acted like he didn't know the truth.

Hazrad stepped out of the room, and Azra froze, eyes widening.

The academy uniform suited him almost too well. With his small stature and pretty face, he looked… adorable.

"You… um… you look kinda h—"

Azra's cheeks were already turning pink.

"I know. Thank you, lovely lady."

Hazrad took her hand with ridiculous confidence. "If it pleases you, may I take you out on a date tonight?"

Her blush evaporated, replaced by an instant scowl.

"How many times must I tell you not to call me that? It's Big Sister. Got i—"

She didn't get to finish.

Hazrad's hands had already moved like those of a professional thief—except stupider and landed squarely on her chest.

~squeeze~

"Yup. Just as I suspected," he announced proudly. "They've grown quite a bit since last week!"

Her entire face went crimson—

SMACK!

She slapped him so hard his soul nearly logged out.

"OW—! Lady, are you trying to kill me?!"

"CALL ME BIG SISTER!!!"

SMACK! BANG! BOOM!

A barrage of blows rained down on him.

Eventually she puffed her cheeks, spun around, and stomped toward the door.

"Move," she snapped.

She really had raised a scoundrel.

Hazrad groaned, dragged himself upright, and stumbled after her.

A wooden cart waited. Nero and its father, the two Cerberus dogs were strapped to the front as pullers, while Azra took the reins.

Hazrad climbed in, taking a long breath.

This was his true beginning. Beyond training. Beyond the lonely mountain home. Beyond assassination attempts to take his life.

Today, he stepped into the wider world.

Beginning with the Reapers' most prestigious institution:

The Umbra Magical Academy.

TBC