They did not make it far before running into Brakus.
Why does God hate me? Illeuid thought to himself. H was not a perfect human, but he could not have done anything that should subject him to this.
Brakus's face twisted with disgust when he saw the youngest clutching their mother's hand. He ignored the twinge of jealousy he felt in his chest. Schooling his face to be more respectful, the second son of the Veilkerhurst family turned his attention to his mother.
"Greetings, mother."
Illeuid could just feel the grin alight across his mother's face. The one that appeared when she saw an opportunity to ruin his day. And maybe end up with him getting a few broken bones. Now that he thought about it, that was a trait she and his father shared. They really were the best power couple.
"Your brother and I can have tea later after visiting the training grounds. What kind of mother would I be if I prevented bonding time between my sons."
Illeuid felt his eye twitch in response to the dastardly grin that appeared on Brakus's face, one where the realized that it was a twisted version of their mother's. He sighed already accepting that he was going to end up back in the infirmary.
Yep. God hates me.
..............
Once again they were at the training grounds. Even though he did not have to endure the stress of being judged by their battle hardened father, he did not believe that he would fare better under his mother's more strategic scrutiny. As Illeuid did not have the prowess his eldest brother at age ten, he would often be forced to go through rigorous training in order to refine his reflexes. Brakus had the luxury of training--or more like breaking and humiliating--the most renowned swordsmen in the country, Illeuid would be left to his own devices. Their father could not waste any resource on someone who was still so weak. It would be a waste of everyone's time.
Illeuid knew that it really had to do with him throwing that tantrum in his first lifetime where he announced that he quit learning swordsmanship after the last teacher broke his wrist. He had no problem with roughhousing. He just drew the line at blatant torture. His father, deciding that it would be a wasted resource on his ungrateful youngest child, decided that he was just better off beig left to his own devices. Illeuid was still forced to come to the training ground where he would be subject to the jeers of Brakus and the other onlookers, but he was at least able to get exercise by repeating the basics of hitting the straw dummies with his wooden sword.
He did become happy to benefit from the neglect. By not being under the watchful eyes of his father--mostly due to the man's disinterest--he was able to utilize the skills that the system allowed him to copy, barter for, and level up his whatever existing skills he had in that lifetime. As it was always something different, he never ended up on his father's radar and he remained at the bottom of the totem pole. Still, he always made it to his twenties, got a chance to explore a little of the world he was trapped in, and could even be friendly with some of the commoners outside of his father's residence. The servants who followed him were more focused about surveying their surroundings on his infrequent outings than what the youngest Veilkerhurst was doing.
As Illeuid was never given the chance to have a proper teacher. He only knew some basic hand-to-hand self defense, learning the rest of his combat skill through trial and error. After dying young in his sixth lifetime, he had to acknowledged that he was not going to be enough when he had to face a rogue magician. Being able to implement his newly acquired skills in his next lifetime elevated his value in the eyes of the rest of the Veilkerhurst. He still did not receive a teacher. No, Brakus prevented him the right to one.
When he saw that his "poor younger brother" was in need of learning proper ways--and techniques of the Veilkerhurst family--Brakus had gone on to beg their father to let him be the one overtake his training. It was obvious that he had no intention of bettering Illeuid. Yet he still used the excuse that as his elder sibling, it was his responsibility to help rear him up as a competent warrior. And their father allowed it. This built up his resentment towards Vlaus Veilkerhurst.
Illeuid glanced at where their mother sat in the elevated stand. She had her head in that tilt. He could tell that she was searching for something, her curiosity felt invasive. Illeuid caught himself gritting his teeth. He had no reason to stress out as there have been times when his mother would observe their training. He tried to avoid a punch that Brakus threw at him. The wind that passed his face felt like static as it brushed by his face. He must have coated his fists with mana. It was alright, he told himself. He was used to this abuse.
His parents often emphasized that on the battlefield, their enemies would use whatever means necessary to kill them. This was the loophole his siblings would use to either poison him or break him. He just had to make sure that he stayed on his feet. Though it was definitely harder than usual. Maybe it was just his luck to always have a horrible ending every time he restarted this accursed life. He could only question why that jerk was rougher than usual. He usually would draw out the young boy's suffering by any means necessary, but it seemed like something had spooked him.
Absentmindedly, he reached for his storage bag before remembering that his stock was still at zero. Gritting his teeth, Illeuid dodged a jab before he belatedly realized it was a feint. He did not see Brakus's leg coming for his face. The other boy's knee made impact with his nose. There was a horrible crunch, as his head reared back so hard he felt his neck snap. He dully took note of the extreme injury, his head remained in that position as he pondered about how to navigate his injury. Usually, he would have either died due to the severity of the injury, or he would black out from being unable to endure the pain. Yet, his neck was definitely broken. He tried t pull his head back up into its proper position. Yep, he could feel that it was stuck in this position. It was a weird sensation.
It would be best for you to right your neck before it becomes stuck like that, dear player. His system advised him.
Am I more durable due to my strange skill? He asked the system. He felt his hands warm up, a sign that it was providing him with some magic to heal his broken neck. Placing one hand on his chin and the other on the back of his head, he quickly snapped his neck back into place. He spat out some blood.
When he saw Brakus's expression, it was all he could do to keep from laughing. The other boy looked so shakened by his lack of death that Illeuid could feel a manic grin span across his face. He took a step towards the other boy.
Brakus, shock of all shock, took a step back.
Illeuid's grin grew wider. He took another step forward.
Brakus scrambled back.
Illeuid laughed. A full bodied one. His laughed so hard that he brought his hands to his aching stomach. He even slapped his knee, something he had never one in all 76 of his lifetimes. He could feel the way the laughter rumbled through his body, but he could not hear it. His ears were probably still ringing from his earlier hit. No. Wait. He could hear something. It was the sound of cello music, the notes matching each inhale and exhale of his mirth.
"That is enough!" His mother called out.
Illeuid glanced at her. He felt his face twist into a frown, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. He was just starting to have fun. Then he grinned when he saw her expression. The other woman had become so pale that pallor took on a grayish undertone. Her face was a mask of stiff fury.
"Do yo think playing games will help you win against your enemy?" She questioned her youngest.
Illeuid's joy could not be tempered. In response he said: "But mother, I don't see Brakus as my enemy." The cutesy tone he adopted made her cringe in discomfort. He could now enjoy repeating something he had said in his first lifetime --and has haunted him through each on--and it no longer felt like chore. "He's my brother and I love him. I don't like fighting with him. Why can't we just get stronger together?"
That was a mistake. By turning his back to Brakus to tease his mother, he did the one thing he promised himself that he would not do. He let his guard down. The next moment he knew, he was flying across the field, crashing into the walls that surrounded it.
"Brakus!" His mother shouted down at him "I said that was enough."
His second brother stood before him, panting. He radiated a level of fury that Illeuid had never seen before. Illeuid let his smile slowly fade away.
"Are you angry with me, Brakky?" He made his voice sound small and vulnerable. A smile popped back onto his face when the other boy roared and rushed at him. There mother jumped down from her perch and got between them. Illeuid could not hear what it was exactly that their mother told Brakus, but he saw the result. The other boy grunted in anger, pulling away from their mother. He turned around and marched away from them, leaving through the other side of the training field. There was a strange dichotomy of silence, uncomfortable for the onlookers but amusing for Illeuid. He saw his mother peek over her shoulder, her gaze unreadable.
Illeuid grinned back at her, blood dribbling out of the side of his mouth.
She sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, before addressing the soldiers who were milling around. Many were uncertain on how to take in what they had just witnessed.
"Someone please take the youngest to the infirmary. It seems that he has acquired some internal injuries."
But Illeuid felt too much joy to wait for aid. In his gaiety, he managed to get back to his feet, somehow spinning from his seated position into a delighted pose. Like a jester, he had one leg raised up, making his legs resemble the mathematical less than sign. He brought his hands up to his face, his pointer finger poking his cheeks as if to highlight his grin.
"No worries mommy," he recalled only using that title when he thought it made him endearing to her. He now knew that she hated that one the most. "I can get myself to the infirmary."
With that, Illeuid spun around, slipping past the now gobsmacked soldiers and headed off the training grounds, all while whistling.