Chapter Twenty-Four – The Lonely Bull
Even when I was little, my father taught me how to be tough, because that was the only way he knew to make me strong. We trained with blunt sticks. I thought it was infuriating at first, but I grew to enjoy that time we spent together, and I’ll never forget when the day came that I knocked the stick out of his hands. Neither did he, I assume, because I knew it wasn’t raining, even if he told me it was.
But this story isn’t about my dad and I. Xeno, Ron, you both fill me with rage. I hope you know that. I’m sharing with you why you’re here only because soldiers need substance behind their fighting, I assume. That’s what my dad told me once. So sit back and I’ll tell you a bit of it, and you better damn well listen closely. I’m not repeating a thing. All right? Good. Though, I don’t know why I’d need to explain why magic is bad in the first place. You both experienced it first-hand. Twice.
Again, back to my father, but that’s where I have to start. I’m a descendent of the Bull clan of spellbreakers. Whether one realizes it or not, all spellbreakers come from one of many clans named after animals. That’s what my dad told me, anyway. He possessed no abilities himself. They skip generations, sometimes several, leaving some lost from their ancestral connections completely. He knew I had the abilities of a spellbreaker, so he had me practice. You might think this is why I hate wizards, and it might be part of it, but this isn’t the reason, no. It’s simply how I managed to enter this wizard’s world that hardly a person knows about.