I bounced around in a large and cavernous room, with my every move cratering the surface that I landed on. It covered the ground of roughly two rugby fields, and the ceiling was one hundred metres high. The warm air had the stench of soot as the man who stood in the middle, powered up more fire spells and sent them off to my direction. They all missed. I kicked off the walls, bouncing into a pillar and pulverising it, with the now powdered stone dissipating into the air. It made an effective smoke screen.
With a swing of his arms, a sea of flames the size of entire buildings erupted from the floor. I leaped up to reach the ceiling and avoid the onslaught. Just as I had expected, he was expecting me to be here.
An influx of magical energy released from that thing. With both of his arms pointed up, he shouted, "Eternal salamander, ignite to life!" His face twisted with glee, showing off his fangs. Then a beam of three blue flames flew through the air, reaching over to turn me to ash.
I cast a spell of my own as I loaded my legs for another leap. "Djinn's swipe." And a horizontal slash of wind cleaved through his spell, forcing it to dissipate. I crashed down to the ground as I followed my own gust of wind.
It was already over once I landed. A beautiful blade was in my hand. His eyes became golden, but it was far too late. My sword shone silver as I thrust it into the exposed chest of filth incarnate. Not a second later, its silver edge was mired in red, stained by blood. Standing before me was a well-dressed man. His hands were outstretched as he cried out in pain, his blood dripping to the floor. It pooled up into a puddle.
An exhausted sigh escaped from my lips before my lips widened into a smile. I was drained of magical energy and my legs felt like they were on fire, but I had won. "The hunt ends," I whispered as he lost his strength. His heart pierced, his hand grew limp just as he took his last breath. He slid off of my sword when I lowered it. My magic crest glew brightly from my back, emanating a golden light, not unlike the sunlight during the day, illuminating my surroundings. I wiped the blood off of my face and walked up some stairs, dragging along the corpse with me.
I was greeted by a beautiful full moon as I looked outside and removed the blood staining my blade. It now glimmered spotless when I raised it up and let it reflect the moonlight to my face. "To all participants of this hunt, the Superior Dead Apostle has been vanquished. I have its corpse. Return to the original positions."
There was a sense of satisfaction as I looked down on its dead eyes. But that was it. It had been a routine for years now. But still, despite that, I failed to hold back my own laughter. This was the first time I managed to kill a Dead Apostle empowered by the full moon, by my lonesome at least.
My legs felt like they would give out, exhausted from what seemed like the most intense battle in my life. Still, I forced myself to stand; it would have been shameful had I been brought to my knees by a bloodsucker.
The wind whistled as footsteps came from right behind me.. "Well done, Saif," the familiar voice of my older brother praised me. Golden locks of hair entered my peripheral vision as I felt myself get lifted off the ground. "You look like you'll stumble any second now so I'll just carry you."
I rested limply on his shoulder as I replied with a simple grunt.
He chuckled, "I'll take that as a 'thank you,' dear brother."
The Dead Apostle I fought infested himself in a rural village west of Penzance. It had eaten through the village, forcing most of its inhabitants to become mindless ghouls. Considering that it had somehow carved through so much land underground, and made all of that free space into its labyrinth, I had suspected that it had eaten through the village slowly. There was a nearby tourist spot here also; it was the preserved ruins of a village from mediaeval times, so he likely preyed on wandering tourists as well.
It had grown strong, far stronger than most Dead Apostles I've fought, and it was likely as old—if not older—than my father, who was going to have his one hundred fiftieth birthday this year. The vampire had let its own hubris kill itself, thinking that just because it was a full moon tonight that it could act like an idiot. So much for living so long, and so much for being gifted by an Ancestor.
"How did you know where to find me, Nabil," I inquired as I focused magical energy into my legs. A faint, blue light emanated from my thighs as I felt the muscle fibres in my legs be wound back together, slowly.
Nabil was unimpeded by my weight as he walked. "Guess."
"Noise?"
"Noise."
Nabil was my trusted older brother. He was reliable: when I had first become the head of the Salafi clan and I was stretched thin with all of the tasks I had to perform, he was there to help me, ensuring that I maintained my health despite the fact that I was unable to sleep for a week when I first started out.
"You've grown strong, brother," he chuckled, sounding proud. "Stronger than anyone in the history of our clan."
My eyes narrowed in disappointment. "Yes," I voiced out. "But Valdamjong continues to live." I felt my stomach churn as I imagined that thing unchecked.
"That it does," he nodded his head in agreement. "But the Golden Princess hunts it down." Another 'person' that scum messed with.
Micheal Roa Valdamjong, a Lesser Dead Apostle that had the ability to reincarnate whenever its living vessel was killed. During the time of my grandfather's childhood three hundred and forty two years ago, it had assimilated its soul into the firstborn son of Salafi the Prodigious, turning a majority of the Mage's Association against us.
Only with my father's diligent attempts of cordiality were we given a second chance, but even that took him approximately sixty years to accomplish.
"I hate the Golden Princess as well," I cursed underneath my breath. She was the one who made him a Dead Apostle, after all.
"What will you do about it?" Nabil asked.
I gave my answer no time to mature. "Nothing."
Because she was the strongest in the world. And no matter how much I hated both the last True Ancestor and all Dead Apostles, I was not suicidal enough to provoke her. Had I even wished to die by her hands, I never would have found her, anyway; she was most likely to be the most elusive being on the planet.
"Exactly. I doubt even the Magicians could individually defeat her."
I scoffed. "One person in our clan will reach the Akasha, one day," I declared.
Nabil laughed heartily in response. "That's what all of us magi say." He ruffled my hair as if I was a child—I was fifty three years old.
I shook his arm off as I laughed with him. "That we do." Oh, how glad I was to know that Nabil, Rami, Aiko, and Faris loved each other dearly. That unlike other families we could trust each other not to stab each other in the back.
It had been five minutes since Nabil began carrying me. Since it was nearing where the others were, I pushed myself off of his shoulder.
"I've healed up most of my injuries. Thank you for your assistance, brother."
He closed his hands to a fist and gave me a thumbs up as he grinned.
Standing down showed that I made a good choice as one of the Church's executors approached us just a few seconds later. "Thank you, Saif, Nabil. Thanks to you and your siblings we were able to clear out the nest and exterminate their Lord." He then set his gaze down to the corpse right behind my brother. "I presume that is its corpse?"
He threw it over to the executor. "It is."
The executor caught it with ease. "Thank you, we will be burning it away soon. You can stay if you wish to join us and pray; once we have all gathered in five minutes."
I answered for us. "We thank you for the offer. However, we're quite exhausted after the hunt." It was the polite way of saying 'I would rather sleep.'
"That's a disappointment," the man says before he walks off into the distance, where the other executors were gathered.
Even through the short conversation I kept my primary focus on my healing magecraft, and my legs were now completely fine—if not for the fact that they were in need of rest.
It did not take long for my other siblings to come back. I could tell from just the way their golden hair reflected off the moonlight. It was not a surprise that they seemed to be mostly unaffected. They fought off the subordinates of the one I was battling, and they had help too.
"What's with that smirk?" our youngest sibling, Rami, asked as he yawned in a hunched position. I raised my eyebrow before I realised that he was referring to me.
I defended myself. "I was not smirking."
Everyone but Nabil, who stood beside me and couldn't see my expression, called me out for a liar.
I promised myself to keep my own feelings of self-satisfaction to myself.
In an attempt of saving face—which I knew was going to backfire—I retreated inside the limousine. Surprisingly enough, when I sat on the plush seat in the middle, they chose not to proceed with the case. Who knew siblings could mature?
That was before I realised that rather than forget my misdeed of smirking, they caught themselves in a bicker involving the amount of Lesser Dead Apostles they managed to kill.
I looked at them with a bemused stare as they fought for—in my mind—the chance to gloat for second place. I was the one who eliminated the Superior Dead Apostle, after all.
As they bickered on, and on, and on, they began to gang up on Rami as he happened to kill two less than tonight's second worst performer. Our youngest brother's response to the teasing was to sleep.
How unfortunate of him; we were just about to start gossiping about other mages. And that was his favourite pastime.
"I'm surprised that the Barthomelois didn't participate in the hunt," my younger brother—Faris—mumbled to himself as he poured some wine into his glass.
Gossip wasn't a proclivity of mine, but the topic seemed interesting. "I actually talked with Alaric about that," I joined in. "He said that he'll be transferring the Barthomeloi crest to his daughter, Lorelei."
Nabil tapped my shoulder. "Isn't she sixteen?" he asked as he folded his legs and stretched his arms. He then gestured for Faris to pour him some wine too. Apparently Faris took too long and so he stole our younger brother's glass instead.
"Yes. What about it?"
"That's quite young, don't you think?" he said, drinking Faris' wine as he laughed.
"Possibly. I'm not too sure about it." I shrugged my shoulders. "Kayneth once told me that he'll give his future child their family crest—should they pass his trial."
Kayneth was a good friend of mine; he was a good man to anyone he deemed an accomplished magus. He had the issue of being somewhat cruel to everyone else though. Still, the man was talented; he earned the second highest ranking in the Clock Tower a decade ago. In fact, he even surpassed me when it came to his magical knowledge.
I remembered my last conversation with him a few weeks ago as if the both of us just talked a few hours ago. He was declaring his intentions of winning the Holy Grail War, but he talked about something much more interesting—to me, at least: he expressed interest in having a child after his 'victory' in Japan.
I found it more interesting because I considered the both of us to be the same in that regard: our fear of raising children as talented as us. I wondered what conclusion he thought of when he made that decision.
"Kayneth will be having a child once he's done with the Holy Grail War," I said, introducing the topic to my siblings.
Aiko, my older sister, scoffed in response to my statement. When all of our gazes converged to stare at her she crossed her arms and yelled out, "What? I just find it… humorous that he'll be having a kid soon. He'll be a father before you will be. You're already fifty three, Saif." My eyes were trained onto her. "Besides, he might die in that war for all we know."
"I doubt it, him dying; he summoned Alexander the Great," I expressed my thoughts. "And what's wrong with me being fifty three? Father was over a hundred years old when he had you!"
"That was Father! All of us have children, even Rami has a daughter and he's 'only' thirty two."
She did not understand what she was talking about. My circumstances were different compared to theirs as Father picked me as the one who would become the head of the family and groomed me to deal with the responsibilities of navigating through the Clock Tower's messy politics.
"What are you guys talking about?" uttered Rami, who had just awoken from his sleep.
Both Aiko and I had a staring contest as we answered. "Nothing," the both of us said simultaneously, the current mood in the vehicle turning gloomy.
It was quiet. And awkward. No one even muttered a single vowel for a minute straight.
Almost in perfect timing, a high-pitched toon sounded out from my left pocket. Someone was calling for me on my phone.
From the green tinted screen it displayed the name Barthomeloi Alaric.
I answered it, placing it against my ear. "Good evening, Barthomeloi. What do you need?"
The man rarely contacted me, much less through a phone. For him to use such uncharacteristic measures suggested that whatever the contents of the conversation was going to be, it would be something bad.
An intrusive thought in my head assumed that Lorelei's transplant had gone wrong, but the words that vibrated through my ears had me by surprise.
Four simple words made me tense. "Kayneth requires our help." Another four shocked me. "He's in grave danger."
"..."
"Salafi?"
It took me a second before I awakened from my stupor. "I—I'm here. He is in Fuyuki, yes?"
What juvenile mistake had he made? It was clearly his own hubris at fault considering his current state. At least I hoped it was. Had it not, it meant that a genius among geniuses was in Fuyuki.
Even through the low fidelity of my phone, Alaric's resoundingly deep voice spoke loudly, reverberating throughout the car. "Yes. I have tried contacting him again. It was unsuccessful."
"Understood, Barthomeloi. May the transplant be successful."
"It was. Have a good evening." And with that, he ended the call.
Storing my phone in my breast pocket, I ordered my siblings. "Aiko, inform the others that the jet needs to be fueled at precisely eighty percent of its maximum capacity. Nabil, tell Carys to take my mystic clothing out of my personal workshop—he knows how to navigate through there. And Rami, tell our chefs to reheat the leftovers."
I wasted no time exiting the car with my sheathed shortsword in my hand. I watched them drive away, out of view before I closed my eyes to focus.
I imagined the sight of the void.
My magic circuits flared up. The life force in my body became magical energy. It first permeated through my bones and ligaments, then to my muscles and tendons. "Temper." I let the word echo through my soul.
A golden light illuminated the darkness as I looked through the catalogue of spells in my magical crest. Three spells came to mind: a spell which reduced mass, a light refracting spell, and a spell that displaced the air in front of the user. As much as I loathed to say it, I had nearly used all of my magical energy during my earlier battle, so I had to use my spells sparingly.
With my preparations over with, I leaped out into the night sky, blowing away the leaves and branches nearby, cratering the ground where I once stood.
The distance from Suncreed Village to my home was approximately three hundred and fifty kilometres.
Every minor leap I took was five hundred metres covered. Moving at speeds nearing three hundred metres per second, I was at a pace of reaching home in twenty minutes. That was with the assumption that I would be able to maintain those speeds.
I would have loved to feel the wind brushing past my face as I sprinted, and had I not needed to preserve my stamina, I wouldn't have used the spell which allowed me to ignore air resistance. An ephemeral feeling of fun wasn't as important as efficiency, at least not in this situation.
Twenty-eight seconds into my run, I was nearing a cliff face looking out into the sea. I had leaped off of it, and just as I was about to get wet, I pushed off and ran on over the water.
It was harder to push off of it compared to when I was on the ground, and so my speed decreased to just over two hundred metres per second, and it was far more taxing on my legs just to maintain that sluggish speed. There was about a hundred kilometres before I reached Lundy Island. From there, I could recover for a minute or two before I had to run over the water again to reach Wales.
With the only sight before me being the beautiful—but boring—vast expanse of the dark, moonlit waters, I was left to wander my own thoughts. It allowed me to reminisce about my last conversation with Kayneth three weeks ago, where we discussed what our plans were for the future.
It was a peaceful afternoon. I was in his mansion, seated opposite of him on a small but extravagant table as we both drank some tea. "I will be summoning Alexander the Great for the Holy Grail War with this catalyst," he uttered with pride as he showed a photograph of a red piece of cloth. "It was from his mantle, supposedly torn apart through one of his battles."
I sipped some tea before I asked, "Where is it?" It was nowhere near in sight.
"It was found in Macedonia; it will take time for it to reach London."
"Do you trust that you will win the war with him?"
He scoffed, then declared, "But of course. His conquests caused waves throughout the world which shaped our world today."
"I do not question his capabilities; I question his integrity," I elaborated. "You have to remember: that man conquered what he believed to be the whole world—I presume that anyone who would do such a thing is very likely to be greedy."
He brushed away my concerns. "Worry not, I am well aware of that," he replied. "Besides," he removed his gloves and displayed his right hand, showing off the red markings. "I can control him with these—the command seals."
"Is that so?" I mused. I gazed at the patterns listlessly before I realised I had forgotten to ask a question. "By the way, have I ever asked why you wished to join the Holy Grail War? I've heard that the winner is granted a wish."
"Oh, that? I joined to win. I have been awarded with many accomplishments. I plan to win the War and show that I am no slouch in combat, as well," he said, as if it was natural to risk one's own life just for bragging rights.
"You make it sound like you're trying to fill out a curriculum vitae," I interjected with a blank stare.
He stared at me wide-eyed for a moment before he burst out in laughter. "You make good jokes, Saif," he said as his expression showed a confident grin. "Though yes, I do suppose you can consider it that."
Despite my laboured breathing, I could not help but chuckle in disbelief. It wasn't a laugh out of spite or mockery for him—it was just unbelievable in my eyes for him to be so close to death's door. To make the situation more dire, his location was unknown to me, and so I practically had to look for one person through an entire city.
It was why I was in such disbelief: it was as if everything had gone wrong for him. And for all I knew, Kayneth may have already been a corpse. I needed to confirm with the war's overseer to know if he was still alive.
I cast my gaze on the bright, full moon, its resplendent light casting my shadow on the reflective waters of the sea. Every step I took produced a resounding splash on the water's surface. It served as a pleasant distraction, lulling me.
By the time I had snapped back from the routine, I could see an island in the distant horizon. It had taken nine minutes, but I was able to rest easy now that I was more than two-thirds done with my trek on the sea. Soon, I would be able to run on stable ground again.
When I had analysed my legs, I was glad to discover that there was only a minor buildup of lactic acid, particularly on my quadriceps and hamstrings, and not any damage on my muscle fibres. I had recovered some of my magical energy as well.
Which meant that I could forgo the exhaustive part of running in the ocean and just fly instead. Finding an abundant field of grass—which Lundy Island was mostly composed of—I cut down some tall patches with my sword and weaved the material into a wide fabric for a makeshift glider. Since there wasn't any wood to act as its skeleton, I had to split off a chunk of stone and used reinforcement to shape it. Fusing them together, I was done. I had wasted two minutes creating it, but now I could move faster.
Reconjuring the earlier spells, I jumped off the highest cliff and I propelled myself with pressurised gusts of air, acting like a rocket ship. It was quiet, but I could imagine just how loud the wind would have whistled past my ears had I not used that spell again. With this, I could fly all the way back home. And it wasn't like I was wasting magical energy—I could simply replenish it all during the flight to Japan.
There was no mach cone despite the fact that I had now moved at speeds twice the speed of sound. The only way of observing my actual speed was by looking at how quickly the bays of the southern Gower seemed to expand in my view as I rapidly approached it.
It took me just shy of four minutes to reach home after I had ridden on the glider, but there were only tall trees on sight. At least, for those who knew nothing of the bounded field encompassing the Salafi estate. Nearing the end of the eighteenth century, the second head of the Salafi—my grandfather—bought every piece of land in the south-east part of Denbighshire. That included Cynwyd forest, where the Salafi estate was hidden.
The entirety of my clan's estate was less of an estate and more of a luxury village. In a c-shaped layout were three manors which housed all family members; they were built deliberately near the entrance of the bounded, and the manor in the middle—the 'Head House'—housed just me. Though most times my relatives intruded, keeping me company.
The manors were connected by stone brick walkways which all converged in the centre of the formation, forming a ring around a date palm tree that was sixty metres tall, double the height of a usual one. There were other walkways for the buildings just past the manors, but even those walkways converged into the airfield behind the Head House.
Once I entered my home, I placed my short sword away and walked over to the bathroom. My mystic clothing was hung on a clothes rack, courtesy of my young nephew. It took no more than just four minutes to finish my shower.
I wore the clothes. They weren't the most stylish, but I wore them for practicality, not looks; the thread used to make them was my own hair, meaning that they were protective and were able to channel my own magical spells. The clothes featured a black undershirt under a golden suit jacket and a golden pair trousers—topping it all off was a black overcoat.
Walking over to the dining house, I saw a few family members chatting as they were eating. They bowed their heads when they noticed me. I greeted them before serving myself a dinner consisting of biryani and makhlama lahm. I was tempted to eat with my relatives but I was chatty when it came to family and so I decided to eat alone. I sped through it and after five minutes of non-stop eating I was full.
The food was delicious but stress prevented me from appreciating it thoroughly.
After I brushed my teeth, I walked over to the airfield. The jet looked pristine. Surrounding it were Carys and a few people. They all also had golden hair. Carys seemed to have been waiting for me as he held a sheathed dagger.
He gave it to me, and when I asked them a question regarding the plane's structural integrity they all said that it was perfectly fine. I trusted their word for it.
Just before I entered inside, I rested my palms on its exterior walls, activating my crest once more, using the very same spells I had used earlier. As for the air deflection spell, I ensured that it would only occur for the body of the plane and not its wings as the engines required air pressure.
After that, I entered the cockpit and sat myself down.
Pre-flight inspection was a breeze. All instruments and avionics were functioning at their best. The APUs were engaged before I started the engines. Then it was the matter of taxiing the plane. It was just a matter of accelerating it and throttling the jet to lift off.
I let it function on autopilot once it climbed up to an altitude of five kilometres, its destination: Fuyuki Airport.
Thank you for reading the first chapter of 'The Great Salafi Clan's Heir!' I assure you all that this would be the first of many to come. With great luck, I would be able to write the chapter 2 within the end of this week. However, subsequent chapters will likely take longer.
For those who may have read 'A Magus' Life,' I wish to inform you this will effectively have the same protagonist—eventually—but a different take on it.
For those who have not read A Magus' Life, I suggest you not as I was a horribly verbose writer during my time writing it. It's also dead.
Do consider giving this story a follow!
