Chapter 148: Not Used To Losing.
Heimdall was anything but satisfied as he slowly moved away from Jacob. In thsg moment, Jacob had returned his skill to him but he was unaware of it, all he could feel was a soft jolt of power that coursed through him from nowhere.
He could not explain it, he just stopped in his tracks for a moment, staring at his hands. Then he continued moving as though nothing had happened.
He didn’t so much as turn back as he moved towards the stairs, gracefully. Looking back at Jacob would be considered weakness on his part, and although the boy had utterly humiliated him before the Primarch; the man still had a hint of pride, one he was not very eager to let go of.
Heimdall had not seen the Primarch since he was released from the ward, mostly because he could not hide his shame, but it was really because he feared what the man would speak in his mind.
In the presence of the Primarch, Heimdall was never able to help but read his thoughts. The Primarch knew of this, but he never hid his thoughts from Heimdall.
After all, what was he going to do? The most he could do was take the unspoken words and act in them, or, in the case of it being any form of criticism; work on them.
Heimdall had finally worked up the courage to go and see the Primarch after a few days of stalling. He knew the man would reprimand him for losing to a child many years younger than him.
But certainly the Primarch saw what happened that day, he saw that it could’ve taken only a transient being to defeat someone like Jacob.
If the man blamed him, then he would accept the blame, but not before he tried to make him see reason.
"Good day, Sir Heimdall."
He was greeted by one of the maidens who passed him, carrying a tray of left over food, she bowed her head quickly as walked by him. The scent of her perfume quickly filling his nostrils.
He recognized her smell, he recognized all their smells, at least the ones he had been with.
He was a man who occupied a high position in the Wutherhorn dynasty, and powerful men weren’t without their flaws.
"Is the Primarch in?" He asked without looking back.
"Yes, Sir Heimdall." She turned back and curtsied, then scurried along, she looked as though the tray could fall from her grip at any moment.
It was almost nightfall, the warm evening glow poured in through the windows as Heimdall walked through the hallway. He had a soft limp and a few scars on his face, but most of his injuries were completely healed up.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
The Primarch heard a soft knock on his door, there was only one person who was required to knock in that manner throughout the entire estate.
’He’s finally decided to show his face, how unpleasant.’ The Primarch thought as he looked towards the large golden door.
Heimdall heard his thoughts through the door, and instantly thought about turning back, but he had already come too far, he would be branded the ultimate weakling if he never did something like that.
"My Lord, it’s me, Heimdall."
"Come in."
Heimdall slowly opened the door to see the man sitting on the very comfy looking mattress, sitting in a bed frame made entirely of clear gold.
The canopy curtain was pulled up in a very fancy manner, suggesting it was done by the hands of Cecilia, who was nowhere to be seen at the moment.
"Good day, my Lord." Heimdall bowed as he greeted the Primarch, who pushed his glasses down and peered at the man through the top.
The Primarch had a book in his hand, he quickly shit the book and placed it on top of his dresser, took off his glasses and did the same thing.
"Good to see you’re doing well Heimdall. I had no idea your treatment would take this long." The Primarch said to him.
"In truth, my Lord, my treatment was over days ago."
"And you neglected to inform me of this because?" The man squinted his eyes, waiting for a response from Heimdall, who stood before him. ’Better give a proper answer.’ The Primarch thought.
"My lord, I did not know how to face you. Losing to that Ironfell boy in that manner..." Heimdall’s voice trailed off, as though he didn’t know what else to say, he just hung his head low, shame written all over his face.
The Primarch remained silent, then he got up, stepped in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He was a tall, muscular man, with long brown hair that now reached his shoulders. He had dark green eyes, a brown mustache that complemented his long hair, and he wore a long black robe.
Heimdall watched silently as the man groomed himself for at least five minutes, ignoring the words that he said, but he could not move. The man didn’t think anything in that time. He just quietly adjusted his clothes, brushed his hair and his beard.
Eventually, he turned back to face Heimdall, glaring at him with his icy green pupils. "That’s a pathetic excuse. We all watched the battle, we saw how very clearly outclassed you were."
Heimdall raised his head up, his eyes were closed in their usual fashion but the Primarch didn’t seem to mind, he was used to it.
"That Jacob boy, he’s certainly something special. But you disappointed me. You weren’t even able to land a single hit." The Primarch said, still looking at Heimdall, his gaze never shifted.
"My Lord, it’s harder than it seems, the boy is like a snake. The whole time, it felt like he was toying with me. I can’t explain it..." Heimdall’s voice trailed off again.
It felt as though he was trying to explain quantum mechanics, even now, he could not fathom what he had seen. He was powerful, but the boy had made him feel like nothing.
The Primarch wasn’t impressed at Heimdall’s newfound behavior, but he knew what happened when men who weren’t used to losing finally lost. It had begun to mess with Heimdall’s psyche.
’Sooner or Later, the same fate would befall Jacob.’ The Primarch thought, seeing as Jacob struck in as someone who also wasn’t used to losing.