The next morning, Valia stood in the garden behind her home, overgrown after a year of neglect, but still beautiful. She held her sword out in front of her, breathing deeply. Step by step, she underwent the Dance of the Ivunara, an elvish custom performed before battle, as well as for exercise. It was a war dance to ease the body’s mana flow and loosen the muscles. Each day was easier, and she felt like she almost back to her old self.
Beside her, Noah was performing his own unique workout routine. Like the day before, he was wearing the duplicate headband he made. All of his muscles were under magical restraint, so not only did his workout stress his physical strength and stamina, but his mana as well, leaving him drenched in sweat, but unlike the day before, he completed the workout. Once they both finished their routines, she turned to him.
“Are you sure it’s not too early to incorporate that headband into your training?”
“I only get stronger by pushing my limits. Besides, I’d say I have a good grasp of this technique. I proved it last night, didn’t I?”
“The sex was certainly interesting, but you have to admit, Shannon and I were on top a lot more than usual.”
“Hey, you said you were feeling better and wanted some exercise. Men and women should spend equal time on top. I can’t be doing all the work.”
Valia laughed. “Oh please, you were just being lazy, trying to hide how much you were struggling to move.”
“Trust me, I’ll be back to my old self tonight.”
“You aren’t going to sleep with it on again, are you? You were so still last night; it was like sleeping with a corpse.”
“And thanks to that, my magical strength and dexterity have greatly improved since yesterday. Now, let’s try something a little more vigorous.” Noah drew his sword. “Shall we?”
“You’ve never beaten me before, and now you want to try and fight me while wearing that headband?”
“Well, you aren’t back to full strength, right? That’s quite the handicap you’re suffering. Maybe today’s the day.”
“Oh-ho, you’re going to pay for that,” Valia said with a grin.
The two of them faced each other with their swords raised. They locked eyes, feeling each other out, and then, without a single word needing to be said, they clashed. Valia’s blade came towards Noah like a volley of arrows, as if she was simultaneously attacking from a dozen different points and angles. Noah fended off her attacks, powering through the hindering weight he felt on his limbs, but just barely. Such rapid movement was a challenge, as it felt like he had cinderblocks hanging from his limbs, and an invisible bungee cord linked his blade to his chest, making every reach and swing an ordeal. On the other hand, Valia’s attacks were slower than usual, but clearly, she had regained most of her strength. It wouldn’t be long until she regained her original strength.
After exploiting a gap in her attack, Noah lunged and swung at her, his blade coming within inches of her throat as she backflipped beyond his reach, kicking his sword to try and knock it out of his hand. He succeeded in hanging on and went in for a thrust, but she parried his attack and countered with a diagonal slash, stopped by him catching her blade with the guard of his sword. The two of them went back and forth, launching attacks at each other while struggling to endure the onslaught they were both receiving.
Suffice it to say, Valia wasn’t giving Noah an inch. On the plus side, he had completely forgotten about his magical restraints, as he was too preoccupied with fending her off and trying to circumvent her guard. The effort needed to move never got easier, but it was steadily becoming second nature, and it all came down to stamina. He was doing better than he thought we would. He could also sense how much Valia had dulled during her weeks of recovery, but her skills were sharpening with every clash of their swords. Her muscles, which had softened from bedrest, were regaining their firmness.
Eventually, the two of them separated, each gasping for air. “Ready to take back what you said?” Valia teased.
“One more round,” said Noah, removing his headband. He felt utterly weightless, as if floating in space. He assumed a stance, pointing his sword at Valia. “Prepare yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s go already.”
Noah rocketed towards her, and for one brief fraction of a second, he saw the shock in Valia’s eyes from his boosted speed. He, too, was surprised, feeling like he was wearing his anti-paladin cloak. It was natural to feel lighter and faster after removing weights, but removing the headband was a new definition of liberating. Valia intercepted his attack, but only just, and Noah rained slashes and stabs upon her, putting her solely on defense. She was forced back, unable to maintain her position with such a ferocious chain of attacks hammering her defenses. Finally, Noah slipped past her guard and held the tip of his sword up to her throat.
“What do you know, today really is the day.”
“If you want to pat yourself on the back for besting your teacher while she’s still recovering, go right ahead.”
“Spin it however you want,” Noah said with a smile as he sheathed his blade. “That was a good match.”
“Indeed. It’s been a long time since I experienced a loss in a swordfight. Well done.”
“I can see you’ve regained most of your strength. But what about magic? Have you tried casting any since you reached Colbrand?”
“No, but I figure now is as good an opportunity as any.” She sheathed her sword and stepped back, pressing her palms together. She began gathering her mana, but it was slow to react, like a creature awakening from hibernation. “Zodiac: Avagath.” A large silver magic circle appeared on the ground, showing the ten constellation runes open to her, and through them, she could feel the power of the cosmos beginning to flow into her. It was a feeling she had missed. Whenever she activated her magic, she could see the stars with her mind’s eye, the flickering light in the darkness, especially when she used Avagath, which expanded her sensory abilities.
Everything seemed fine, but only for a moment. Valia felt something seize her mind, like a hand around her throat, forcing her to look at something she didn’t want to see. The stars she normally saw through her subconscious, those flickering lights, were brushed aside, and beyond them, new stars could be seen. However, they didn’t produce light, so much as bend the light around them, staining it with malevolent haze.
These dark stars made her shudder in fear, for while she looked at them, she could sense them looking right back at her, weighing down on her soul with their insidious will. There were no thoughts, no feelings, but what she felt was unquestionably evil. The magic circle around her feet shattered like glass, and Valia dropped to one knee while clutching her head and hissing in pain.
“Valia!” Noah exclaimed, kneeling beside her. Valia didn’t respond, instead letting out a soft cry of anguish with her eyes screwed shut.
“I don’t know. She tried to activate her magic, and something went wrong. Let’s get her in the house.” Noah scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside, with Shannon nervously following them.
“I’m ok, I’m ok,” Valia said as he set her on the couch.
“You’re not ok, not even close,” said Noah.
“It’s fine, the pain is receding.”
“The pain’s disappearance doesn’t concern me as much as its arrival. What happened?”
“I don’t know, I saw something, stars I didn’t recognize—dark stars. It felt like they were crushing me.”
“Have you ever felt anything like this before?” Shannon asked.
“The closest thing I’ve ever felt was…” She paused and looked at Noah. “It was like when we sparred at the academy, and you stepped into my sensory field while your magic was active. It was that same nauseous feeling, but a thousand times worse.”
Noah wasn’t sure what to say.
Valia abstained from joining Noah at the arena, still feeling under the weather from her spell gone wrong. Shannon stayed with her while Noah set out. He still had a job to do. He arrived at the arena to find Cyrilo and her entourage joining in with the crowd.
“So, you decided to finally come out and see the fights?” Noah asked.
Cyrilo flashed a wry smile. “All the low-rank fighters have been purged, so now the real show will begin. Besides, with this tournament going on, I barely get any customers during the day, so I might as well close up and go see what all the fuss is about.”
“Man, this is so cool,” said Daniel. “I feel like I’m in ancient Rome. All we need is a few lions and some Christians to feed to them.”
Noah then met Berholm at their usual spot and was given a list of names.
“These are church agents? None of them gave that impression.”
“Our plan is working well. The losses you’ve given the church have cost them more money than their wins have earned them. Now, they are turning their attention to other contenders. I don’t know how you’ll pull the strings with that barrier up, but I trust you to provide good results.”
“Good results for good payment,” said Noah, walking past him. Once alone, he activated his invisibility and headed down into the bowels of the arena, where all the fighters were psyching themselves up for combat, while keeping their distance from each other.
Outside, Roc was engaged in the opening battle of the day, fighting against a talented warrior who could use both shield and sword magic. Again and again, he pounced on his foe, trying to smash through his defenses with powerful kicks and punches. However, even while his limbs were wrapped in mana, he could not break through the glowing tower shield the man wielded. With every attack that failed to break through, his enemy would counter with a slash, able to swing his sword with more speed and force than an average warrior could ever hope to achieve. Roc relied on his wings to pull him in and out of danger, but they were all that was keeping him alive, and he was left bloody from numerous close calls.
Realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere, Roc took to the air, flying in loops over the arena. People in the audience shielded their eyes from the sun and pointed at him, trying to keep him in their sights as his speed grew. As he built up his acceleration, he channeled mana into his right leg, and a sheath of energy enveloped eagle talons. “Decisive Divebomb,” he cast, prompting a magic circle to appear around his ankle. Beast Art, the combination of shamanism and monk magic. When he fought Aithorn, he could only use basic mana enhancement on his attacks, but by honing his monk magic by fighting Seraph over and over, his training back in the Ashok Mountains had been fruitful, and he had reached the league of true beastman warriors.
Now fully powered up, he flew up high above the city where no one could see him, then turned and rocketed straight down, using his wings to augment the speed of his descent. As with his fight against the wolf fiend during the Red Revelry, he adjusted his trajectory at the last moment, curving his descent. His enemy raised his shield, putting everything he had into his defense, but Roc’s power was too great. He kicked the man’s shield with all the magical and kinetic force he could muster, striking like a meteorite. His enemy resisted valiantly, but his footing gave way, and Roc smashed him into the ground, carving a trench through the earth before slamming him against the wall of the arena. Brick and mortar cracked like so many bones, and the man went limp with blood dripping from his mouth.
“And contestant Roc is the winner!” the referee announced, drawing a chorus of cheers and jeers from the audience. Many admired the tenacity of this one-armed beastman, and plenty of others felt threatened.
Roc left the ring, eager to get his wounds treated, though putting on a brave face. As he entered the hypogeum below, Foley met him. “Nice work out there. Just don’t go thinking that your fancy kicks will knock me over like him.”
“What, you’re still here? I thought for sure you had lost the previous round,” Roc countered.
“In your dreams! You’re talking to the world’s smallest mountain, and no man can move a mountain!”
The fights continued, but they were becoming more and more drawn out. The weakest combatants had all been culled in the first three rounds, and now the remaining warriors were going at it with everything they had. Eventually, Noah’s first target entered the arena. He was a young man, spirited and garbed in plate mail, having won his fights with hard-won determination and effort. His name was Falco. Noah followed him outside, the warrior unaware of his presence. On the other end of the ring, his opponent arrived, another man, a few inches taller and years older, wearing dark clothes and an amused smirk upon seeing Falco. Both were brawlers, entering the ring without weapons.
“I’m not your brother, not anymore, not after what you did to our family! You killed our master and our sibling disciples!”
“All I did was sever the bonds holding me back. Family? Love? That’s for the weak!”
“I’m going to avenge everyone you killed and restore the honor of my school! Mine, not yours!”
“I discarded those pieces of trash, along with such foolish notions like honor. All that matters is strength!”
As the two youths bickered over their shared drama, Noah stood by, waiting for the referee to hurry up and do his job, but he was eating up the dialogue.
“We have a special treat for those in the audience!” the man boomed. “Brother against brother, a fight for the ages! In this corner, we have Falco Leon, and in this corner, Viktor Leon! Let the match begin!”
“I just said I discarded that name!” Viktor barked.
“This bastard isn’t my brother anymore!” Falco added.
“Just fight already!” the ref yelled.
Falco slammed his fists together. “Heavy Water!” Moisture was gathered from the air and formed two liquid spheres, immersing his hands. Noah had seen him use this technique in earlier matches. Despite being made of water, the two spheres were hard as rock, and their added weight made his punches stronger, but that wasn’t all. Along with strong offense, the orbs provided good defense, acting as both shields and catcher’s mitts for enemy attacks. It was a simple technique, but quite potent.
That said, Viktor was bringing the power as well. He extended his arms, and his hands caught fire, with his flesh blackening and hardening, soon resembling cracked volcanic rock. “With these hands, I slaughtered our foolish master and the rest of those whelps. Now, when I close them around your throat, I wonder which will kill you first, the heat or the strangulation?”
“I’ll sever those hands and lay them upon their graves, so they know they’ve been avenged!”
The two former brothers then charged towards each other and began their fight. Falco hurled punches with the skill of a trained boxer, every attack carrying the energy of a sledgehammer at full swing and relying on blocking with water for defense. Viktor replied with animal-like slashes, each finger capable of burning right through armor like it was cotton, and banking on his agility to avoid harm.
Their movements were rapid and well-practiced, displaying years of training to hone their martial arts. They did their best to avoid touching each other’s hands, but contact was inevitable, each having to negate the other’s attack. Every time their hands met, jets of steam and smoke would hiss from the contact, with Falco’s water coming to a boil, and Viktor’s flesh threatening to crack from the quenching.
As the fateful duel erupted, Noah paced around them, undetectable to everyone. The skills and techniques they displayed were impressive, particularly how they incorporated their magic, but while he took the time to appreciate, he also stayed focused on his goal. He had to make Falco lose the fight, but do so in a way that wouldn’t draw suspicions. He couldn’t use his guns, or any of his illusion spells while he was concealed, but he had other ways of sabotaging him.
He conjured a gas mask and metal canister from his ring, alchemically-formed, as was the carbon monoxide within. Any time the two brothers separated, Noah would creep up beside Falco and spray him with the gas. Odorless and colorless, Falco was completely unaware, mistaking the air on his face for the wind, with Noah using his mana to conceal the sound of the gas being released. It wouldn’t leave lasting damage, nor was it a threat to the crowds, but the more Falco breathed it in, the weaker he became.
His movements slowed, and his water magic flickered like a candle at the end of its wick. Regardless, he powered through, and after several minutes of relentless combat, he delivered a critical blow, punching Viktor in the chin and sending his brain rattling around in his skull. He staggered back, using what little mental capacity he retained to stay upright, while Falco hobbled over, his strength fading. He and everyone else simply assumed his condition was due to fatigue.
“Now you know how it feels to be the receiver,” Falco panted, “to be the one hoping for mercy from someone you once knew and trusted. But I won’t give it to you. Today, your story of murder and betrayal ends.” He pulled back his fist, ready to deliver the finishing blow. “Today, justice will be served!” Then Noah dosed him with more gas, and his legs gave out from under him. At that moment, Viktor threw himself forward with all the strength he had left, driving his burning hand through Falco’s gut and bursting out of his back.
“Like I said, strength is all that matters,” Viktor sneered before dropping Falco.
“The winner is Viktor!” the referee announced to the cheering crowd.
As Viktor basked in his success, healers rushed out and put Falco on a stretcher. Fortunately, the wound was mostly cauterized, and his organs weren’t damaged beyond the point of healing with magic.
“You’ll get him next time, sport,” Noah said under his breath as the defeated warrior was carried off. Already, the gas had dissipated in the open air, fading into nothingness above the crowds.
Noah’s next target then stepped out, Abner. He was another young man with that same glint of determination in his eyes and a sword on his belt. He had won the hearts of many spectators with his willpower, getting knocked down countless times, but always standing back up. There was a lot of money riding on him. His enemy also stepped out, a larger, older man sporting long hair woven into braids.
“In this corner, we have Abner of Solgen, and over here, Reiss of Dermott. Let the battle begin!” boomed the referee.
“Defeating you is just another step towards achieving my dream!” Abner shouted with a confident smile.
“Bring it on, kid,” Reiss grunted.
Abner drew his sword, and the blade glowed with searing intensity as a sheath of lightning enveloped it. Applying elemental energy to one’s weapon was basic magic, akin to dousing a blade in oil and lighting it on fire, but this was the next stage, the true combination of warrior and elemental magic, more like a white-hot sword pulled out of a forge. It reminded Noah of plasma weapons he had used in the past, capable of cutting through steel like butter, and Aithorn’s spear techniques.
Abner charged towards Reiss, and this time, Noah kept his distance. Assuming a combat stance, Reiss punched the open space, releasing a powerful shockwave from his fist. It was wind magic, solidifying the air with mana so that it hit Abner like a charging bull. He was knocked off his feet, flipping like a coin before taking a hard landing. After a blow like that, it was understandable that he had difficulties getting up.
“Had enough, ready to give up?”
“I never give up because I believe in myself!”
He got back to his feet and charged recklessly at Reiss. Reiss sent another air blast, but Abner dodged, though he was once more sent flying by the second that came immediately after. To his credit, he got up faster this time and took off again in a serpentine pattern, avoiding the barrage of air blasts from Reiss. Even Noah had to be careful not to be hit. Fortunately, the barrier protecting the crowd was doing its job, and every spell sent towards the stands was blocked. Abner got in close and jumped into the air, about to cut down his opponent, but Reiss was faster, and roundhouse kicked him with an added burst of wind, knocking Abner into the distance.
“You can’t win, kid. Surrender before you’re ground into paste.”
“As long as my friends are watching me, I won’t quit, and I won’t surrender!”
He went at it again, sprinting towards Reiss. An air blast was launched towards him, but he raised his sword and cut through it, shattering the spell like a pane of glass. Reiss continued hurling blasts, with Abner slashing his way through each one. He got in close, dodging another kick from Reiss, and finally landed a cut on Reiss’s shoulder. Reiss hissed in pain, but gathered his strength and grabbed Abner by the throat, holding him off the ground. For the wound Abner landed, Reiss paid him back with several punches to the gut, the last punch accentuated with an air blast that launched Abner like a champagne cork. Abner hit the ground rolling, though not by design, and left behind several blood drops before stopping.
“You’re going to die today, boy.”
Chuckling and spitting up blood, Abner slowly got to his feet. “You’ll think you’ll win this just because you’re strong? You don’t know what real strength is, the strength of having friends at your side, cheering for you! As long as I have them and hope in my heart, I can never die!”
The fight continued in that fashion. Over and over again, Abner charged Reiss, only to be soundly beaten and hurled back. He’d hit the ground and slowly get to his feet, often while reciting some motivational quip that made Noah roll his eyes. The young man’s tenacity was admirable, but Noah wished he would stop screaming about the merits of determination and friendship. He had a rule against taking pleasure in the suffering of others, but was letting this fight continue for his amusement in seeing Abner getting knocked around. Even for an ancient spirit like Noah, the young man’s unrelenting “put me in, coach!” energy was aggravating, and he wanted to see his spirit break.
However, the tide of battle began to change. Despite Abner receiving all the damage, Reiss was the one getting tired. No matter how much blood Abner puked up, he kept getting to his feet and charging, while Reiss, after every blast, was breathing harder and harder with a noticeable tremor of fatigue running through his body. Noah decided it was time to end the fight. Once again, Abner, albeit slowly due to all his injuries, hobbled towards Reiss, shouting with resolve. Reiss, scrounging up what little strength he had left, hit Abner with a weak blast, knocking him back only a few feet and kicking up a cloud of dust. Once again, Abner started to get up.
“Why won’t you just fucking die already?!” Reiss shouted in understandable frustration.
“Because I have a dream that you and no one else can stop! I make this pledge: I will defeat you, I will win this tournament, and I will become the—”
Abner was silenced as Noah, in his invisible state, covered his mouth with a rag dosed with Duska’s succubus powder. He tried to resist, but in his wounded and weakened state, the dust did its work quickly, and he couldn’t even raise his arms. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” Noah silently hissed as Abner passed out. Thanks to the dust cloud providing extra cover, it looked like Abner had simply fainted from his injuries. He’d wake up, barely remembering the fight.
“And the winner is Reiss!” the referee announced to the adoring crowd.
Abner was carried away, and Reiss limped back into the hypogeum. The next two fighters entered the ring, and one of them was Noah’s next target. Hopefully, this fight would be simple, but he noticed the man he was after pulling out a medallion and kissing it. “Soon, my love, I’ll win this tournament, and with the money, I’ll be able to pay for your medicine, and we’ll live happily ever after.”
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Noah thought to himself. It was time to crush another man’s dreams, something he was used to doing, but didn’t anyone enter this tournament simply because they were bored?
The rest of the fourth round continued without issue. Foley held his own in a fight against a woman armed with two quarter staffs, relying on his tried-and-true method of putting up his defenses and waiting for his enemy to tire. For several minutes, she beat on his shields like she was playing the drums, but when she realized she couldn’t break through, she surrendered, able to walk out of the arena with some of her dignity intact. Not long after, Saimallah claimed victory in another one-sided beatdown against a church agent, never even touching his opponent. The round ended with Seraph narrowly defeating an axe wielder, due much in part to luck. The man was mighty and skilled with his weapon, but the fact remained that if Seraph still had his magic, he wouldn’t have even been a challenge. All of the prince’s victories were won by the skin of his teeth.
There were four rounds remaining, and only sixteen combatants. Before the fighting could resume, there was a brief intermission. Daniel was giving another performance, and as the music played, Noah went to see Saimallah.
“Here,” he said, handing back the monk’s headband.
“Too much for you, huh?”
“No, it’s perfect, exactly what I’ve been looking for. I’ve just already replicated it.” He raised his hat, showing the duplicate headband underneath. He didn’t wear it constantly, like when he used his magic, but he hoped to be able in time. The sight shocked Saimallah.
“That’s impossible! How are you walking around? It should take months before you can even stand!”
“It was definitely intense at the beginning, but I figured it out. Like I told you before, I have extensively studied martial arts. Mastery over one’s body is fundamental. I can already feel my magic growing stronger thanks to it. We have some time before the intermission ends. Shall I begin teaching you the workout? I feel like I get the best results when I do it while wearing this.”
Saimallah put on his headband, and Noah could see the strain of the magical binding, but it wasn’t what caused him to lower his head. It wasn’t enough to be called a bow, but the act showed evident respect and a revised impression. “Please proceed.”
Outside, Daniel continued to play, with his mana and sound echoing through the arena and bouncing out as if the structure was a giant speaker. The people, originally drunk on bloodlust, were soothed by the reverberating tunes, and his energy filled their minds like a sweet drug. He eventually finished his concert and received a standing ovation. However, it wasn’t just his playing that got them all riled up. Now, the fifth round could begin, and the first fight was bound to be an interesting one.
As Daniel left the ring, Roc entered, while on the other side, his challenger appeared. Several beastmen had entered the tournament, with only three left, and the one facing Roc was another bird type, already stretching his wings in anticipation.
The ref raised his arm. “Welcome to the fifth round of the tournament! We start with our remaining winged combatants, Roc and Ingram!” As the audience cheered in anticipation, the two foes glared each other down. Normally, Roc would enter the ring with a stoic scowl, sharpening his mind for battle while spitefully feeding on the boos from beastman haters, but this time, he was smiling.
“What are you so happy about?” Ingram asked. He was taller and older than Roc, with hair that fittingly resembled an owl’s plumage.
“This isn’t our first time fighting. Do you remember a certain snowy day here in Colbrand, two winters ago?”
Ingram’s eyes widened. “It was you! That fucking eagle interfering with my mission! Do you have any idea how much trouble I got in because of you?!”
“You know how it is. Eagles and owls are natural enemies. This rivalry is in our blood.”
“Laugh while you can, because I’m going to take your other arm and turn you into pellets!”
“This time, try not to fly off with your tail feathers between your legs.”
Both fighters assumed their stances, and the ref dropped his arm. “Begin!”
Roc and Ingram hurled themselves forward, propelled by a pulse of their wings, and met in midair with two kicks swinging, only for their legs to collide like dueling swords. They dropped down to the ground and again went at it, hurling attacks at each other with rapid speed and ferocious power. Their long legs swung wide, their talons capable of gutting each other like fish. Ingram used a similar fighting style to Roc, relying on kicks imbued with slashing talons, but just as Roc was skilled in the technique, so too was he accustomed to defeating it, having fought countless eagle warriors back home like himself.
Roc had the advantage of experience against this style, but his missing arm proved a debilitating handicap. In one regard, it made dodging easier, as he had less mass to move out of the way of Ingram’s attacks, and he couldn’t be slowed down with painful flesh wounds to the missing limb, but it also left his offense and defense on his right side almost nonexistent. Depending on who he was fighting and what type of combatant they were, the severity of such a handicap was variable, but against such a similar warrior, his disadvantage was increasingly evident with each passing second. Back and forth, over and over, they hurled attacks at each other and then pulled back, using their wings to move in and out of each other’s reach.
Roc was narrowly holding his own, but he realized the battle couldn’t be decided on the ground. He pulled away from Ingram and flapped his wings, taking to the sky with his nemesis chasing after him. They flew laps around the arena, colliding and exchanging blows in midair. The audience raised their eyes and fingers to the sky, watching the airborne battle in shock and awe. Both feathers and blood were shed with each collision, with talons ripping through flesh and punches landing with devastating force. Over and over, it seemed like they would crash into the stands, but by some miracle, they stayed in the air. Higher, they rose, taking their battle above the arena. The tournament no longer mattered, only the battle, and there were no edges in the sky.
After taking a solid punch to the jaw, Ingram pulled away, needing time to recover. He turned from Roc and dove into the city, trying to open up some distance. Roc chased him through Colbrand, the warriors flying down the city streets and kicking up dust clouds. Pedestrians shrieked and ducked out of the way as they were hit by the resulting pressure waves, with the wake behind the fighters slamming like a hurricane gale.
With his superior speed, Roc eventually got the drop on Ingram, attacking from above. His hit landed, but Ingram twisted in the air and kicked Roc in the gut. Roc lost his balance in the air and hit the ground, rolling over a hundred feet across the rough street. Thinking he had seized victory, Ingram turned and flew back to the arena, but Roc, although spitting up blood and covered in bruises, wasn’t ready to quit yet.
His wings were aching and threatening to snap, but he forced himself to his feet and returned to the sky. He took after Ingram, once again attacking him from behind. The two of them crashed atop the edge of the arena, overlooking the crowds. It was little more than a cement lip encircling the arena, offering some protection from the sun and the weather. The two got to their feet, both bruised and exhausted, with the spectators cheering as they spotted the combatants overhead.
“Look at them all. We’re nothing but a novelty in their eyes, like a pretty canary in a cage,” Ingram huffed.
“Maybe so, but I’m the canary that’s going to crush their champions,” Roc shot back.
“So that’s why you’re here. You’re nothing more than a petulant child trying to stir up drama and prove himself.”
“And who are you to judge me?”
“I’m just a lowly mercenary. That’s all they see me as. They hire me to do their spying, to fulfill the tasks they can’t, but they don’t have to respect me as long as they throw money at me. No matter what I do or how many times I risk my life, I’m an expendable asset. They’d never let someone like me into the knighthood on my own merits, not a filthy beastman, but I’m going to change that. Once I win this tournament and become a silver-rank knight, I’ll command authority and respect. They’ll have to acknowledge me and all beastmen.”
“How noble,” Roc scoffed.
“Better than you, feeding on people’s hatred and coming here purely out of spite. I’m trying to accomplish something, to change things. You just want to enrage people and bask in their disdain.”
“Don’t you lecture me. You’re just fighting so that people will like you. You’re so desperate for their approval, yet have the nerve to call me spiteful. My path as a warrior doesn’t lead to acknowledgment or people carrying me on their shoulders. I don’t fight in life because I want to be idolized. I fight to understand myself, to know my limits, to know what I’m capable of, and to go even farther. The challenges I’ve overcome, the setbacks I’ve endured, the boundaries I’ve surpassed! Those are what define me as a man, as a warrior! I walk this path because life is most valuable when you have to fight for it!”
He attacked Ingram, and the two went at it again, exchanging kicks and punches while the audience cheered them on. The winged fighters were throwing everything they had at each other, with adrenaline flooding their veins and the blood steaming as it flowed from their wounds. Every lesson they had ever learned, every technique they had acquired, every spark of experience they had, they directed into their moves, punching and kicking as hard as they could, with mana roaring around their limbs.
The moment came, Roc ducking under Ingram’s leg, his speed enhanced with eagle reflexes like in his fight against Beck. He compressed his mana into his fist and punched Ingram in the jaw, jerking his head back. However, the instant he made contact, Roc realized something was wrong. He thought the punch landed, but his fist skidded off Ingram’s face as he twisted his head around 360º like an owl, allowing him to deflect the force from Roc’s attack and send his fist hurtling past him.
At that moment, Roc was helpless, and Ingram didn’t let the chance go to waste. He kneed Roc in the gut, knocking the air from his lungs, and then grabbed Roc by the arm and one of his wings and leaped off the edge of the arena. In midair, he seized Roc’s legs with his feet, leaving him unable to fly or resist as he took to the air, rising into the sky above the arena, and then dropping into a divebomb. His plan was simple: fall towards the arena with Roc in his grip, then let go and pull back, sending Roc crashing into the ground before landing daintily like a butterfly over the pulverized eagle warrior.
Roc struggled against Ingram, but desperation made the man’s grip as solid as steel shackles. With all three limbs and one of his wings locked in Ingram’s grip, he could do nothing to fight back. He couldn’t even save himself when Ingram finally let go. Was this it? Was he going to lose? Was he going to die? If he just had his arm, he could win, but without it, this was the end. Plummeting towards the ground, he glanced at the useless remains of the appendage. If he at least had his elbow, he could have affixed a wooden hand or a blade, something to help even him out, but he was just left with a useless stump, like a clipped wing.
“Damn you, Noah,” he hissed.
But at that moment, a memory flashed through his mind, something Noah said to him after he lost his arm. ‘People don’t know how to fight someone with missing or prosthetic limbs. It throws them off balance, and he took advantage of that. No one expects to be kicked in the chest with a peg leg.’ He glanced at Ingram, focused entirely on the fall and keeping Roc restrained. From the look in his eyes, he was most worried about Roc’s free wing getting in the way or failing to pull away in time and crashing with him. For all of his focus, all of his determination, his guard was dropped entirely.
Harnessing all of his strength and gambling his life, Roc slammed Ingram square in the face with the stump of his missing arm. It was far from a graceful punch, more like a clumsy jab, but Ingram, so focused on everything else and having never expected such an attack in a thousand years, was utterly discombobulated by the hit, and inadvertently released Roc. Roc pulled away and escaped to the sky, with Ingram having just enough time to slow his descent and avoid a fatal impact. He still hit the ground with bone-breaking force, but he was alive. Roc landed beside him, staring at his vanquished opponent, with the crowd still trying to process what had happened. Until now, Roc had never acknowledged them, but now, he raised his missing arm, as though holding up an invisible fist in triumph, and the spectators erupted into cheers.
He moved to the entrance of the arena substructure where Noah was waiting. “Impressive. I wasn’t sure you were going to win that one.”
“Well, like you said, hit hard, fast, and unorthodox. Enjoying your view from down in the dust with the rest of us?”
“It’s just not a proper sport if I can’t smell the blood.”
Viktor then walked past them with a confident smirk. He was Noah’s next target. What concerned him, though, was that Reiss was nowhere to be found. He was down in the hypogeum during the intermission. Was he using the lavatory? Viktor was standing by the ref, waiting for his opponent to show. If Reiss didn’t show up, he would win by default. The crowds quickly started to murmur in confusion, wondering what the hold-up was. Eventually, the ref had to act.
“Since Reiss has not appeared for his fight, he is declared—”
“Hold it right there,” said Noah, entering the ring while raising his knight emblem.
“What is this?” Viktor angrily scoffed.
“Sir Knight, you have something to say?” the ref asked, confused. The sentiment was shared by all in the arena.
“I am Noah, the Wandering Spirit, and I think I speak on behalf of the crowds when I say that a win by default is in no way satisfying. These people deserve to watch a real fight. I’m sure Reiss is still on the premises. Give me the chance to find him.”
The echo of Noah’s name shocked all who heard it. Those who frequented the Knight’s Sheath had seen him and Daniel perform their evening concerts, but for most, those who had only heard of him through rumors and stories, they were seeing him for the first time. Up in his box seat, Galvin’s nervous tick began to reveal itself as he trembled from head to toe.
“If the coward hasn’t shown up, he’s surrendered his place in the tournament!” Viktor argued.
“He has a point, Sir Noah. We can’t wait all day for every combatant.”
“You don’t have to wait all day. Count to 300; if I haven’t found him by then, you can declare the match. The people deserve that much.”
“Very well, I’ll give him a chance.”
Viktor immediately and noisily objected, but Noah didn’t bother to listen and strode back into the hypogeum. “Do me a favor, help me look,” said Noah, walking past Roc.
They scoured the underground rooms and corridors, searching for Reiss. Noah checked the waiting and recovery rooms, eventually finding the man’s belt. He wouldn’t leave it behind if he had simply quit the tournament. He spotted a puddle of wine on the floor nearby, but no cup. Noah sniffed the wine and tasted a small drop, feeling his tongue burn. He looked around and noticed a broom closet with broken doorknob. Noah pried it open with his sword, and out fell Reiss’s corpse.
“Of course,” Noah muttered.
Reiss had been poisoned, likely by Viktor, but without solid proof of his involvement, there was reasonable doubt. Considering that the church and countless other spectators were betting on him, it could have easily been someone else. It seemed there was only one way for Noah to make the fight go how he wanted. He had hoped to avoid involving himself in the tournament like this, but considering how he screwed up Falco’s chances at revenge in the previous round, perhaps it was fitting he be the one to punish Viktor. He placed his hand on Reiss’s corpse and cast his cloning magic, taking on the dead man’s appearance. He then stuffed the body back into the closet, planning on dealing with it later.
“Oh, Viktor, you should have just fought the man and let me sabotage you. Instead, I have to break you.”
Outside in the ring, the referee was still counting. “286… 287… 288…”
Next to him, Viktor was impatiently tapping his foot, and the audience was close to running out of patience. Their frustrated silence turned to cheers when Noah stepped out under the guise of Reiss. Upon seeing him, Viktor turned deathly pale, not unlike the corpse he left behind. His guilt was unquestionable.
“What’s wrong, boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Noah as he approached. He then turned to the ref. “Sorry, I’m late. I think I drank something that didn’t agree with me.” He flashed Viktor an accusing glare, with the warrior trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Well, as long as you’re here, we can start the fight.” The ref stepped back and raised his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience! The tournament can now resume!”
“You should have quit while you had the chance!” Viktor barked as his hands came alight.
“I won’t give you that opportunity, no matter how much you beg,” Noah replied.
“Reiss vs. Viktor! Let the battle begin!” the ref shouted.
Viktor charged towards Noah, sending one of his burning hands forward like a spear, ready to pierce Noah’s gut the way he had Falco’s. He was fast, but not fast enough. Noah grabbed his arm with lightning speed before he could touch him. The whole audience was shocked, but no one more than Viktor.
“Considering what a raw deal Falco got, I think it’s only fair that I give you what you deserve. But don’t worry, I’ll save the pleasure of killing you for him. I’ll just make you wish I’d kill you.”
Noah then struck Viktor’s elbow, breaking his arm. Viktor screamed and tried to pull away, but Noah silenced him with a jab to the Adam’s Apple. Crippled by pain and struggling to breathe, Viktor desperately swung at Noah with his other burning hand, but just like before, Noah grabbed his arm and then broke it. Noah then slammed his knee into the young man’s solar plexus over and over, not stopping until he was puking blood. He held Viktor by the collar to keep him upright, and from there, the punches began, Noah’s fist striking Viktor’s face with rapid speed and crushing force, splattering blood and disfiguring flesh. Noah had pummeled Galvin the same way in their duel, moving his arm like a piston.
“I… I surrender,” Viktor groaned with his face drenched in blood and tears.
“Remember what I said earlier about how I wouldn’t let you quit? This is what I was talking about.”
A solid kick to Viktor’s balls brought him to the ground, but Noah wouldn’t let him go that easily. Several hard stomps pulverized the man’s legs, and then he seized his broken right arm and continued snapping the bones, along with his fingers. One might think the audience, having cheered through gruesome violence for fight after fight, would be overjoyed by this display of brutality, but it was the opposite. They were dead silent, feeling their earlier excitement wither with every pained howl, and when Noah twisted Viktor’s left arm until his broken bones tore through his flesh, many turned away, unable to watch anymore.
“Reiss, that’s enough!” the ref shouted.
“You’d think so, but you’d be wrong.”
Noah then grabbed Viktor’s mangled legs and began swinging him around, smashing him against the ground over and over again, just gentle enough to keep Viktor from dying. The broken warrior inevitably blacked out, but there was no escape. It wasn’t just about punishing Viktor; Noah had to ensure that “Reiss” would be kicked out of the tournament.
“The match is over! Stop this right now, or you will be disqualified!”
“Then consider this as me forfeiting the next match.”
Viktor was forcefully awakened by three more kicks inflicted on his jewels, prompting him to vomit more blood.
“That’s it! You are disqualified from the tournament!”
“Fine by me, just make sure it goes on the record that this is his loss, understand?” The ref was silent. “Understand? I don’t care about the next match, just so long as I am the winner of this one. So go ahead and say it. I want to hear you say it.”
Noah took a step towards the ref, who immediately gave in. “Reiss is the winner, but will not compete in the next match!”
“Good man.” Noah turned to leave, but before doing so, he grabbed Viktor by the hair and pulled him up. “For someone who cares only about strength, you are so fucking weak.”
He then tossed Viktor aside and left both the ring, and a fearful and disillusioned audience. Looking into the stands, he spotted Falco and gave him a thumbs up. Hopefully, this made up for sabotaging him in his fight. Many knights were also in the stands, all having sudden flashbacks to the last Knight’s Day. Watching Reiss tear Viktor apart reminded them of when the Wandering Spirit pummeled Seraph until he tried to kill himself. The brutality was precisely the same, imparting the unforgettable chill upon their spines.
The following two fights went by with little enthusiasm from the audience. Their thirst for blood had been beyond satiated, and now they were simply left sick. Foley withstood his opponent’s attacks as always, waiting for him to tire before opening his defenses and striking back. Saimallah crushed his opponent without touching him, ending the match in seconds.
During Foley and Saimallah’s matches, Noah dealt with Reiss’s corpse. He laid the body on the ground and pulled out two magical tools, each with a different enchantment. All the time spent runecrafting was for situations just like this. He stabbed the body with the first tool, the hollow rib of a powerful aquatic monster, prompting blue runes to glow along the side, and then water began to shoot out like a straw. It was water magic, draining all of the moisture from Reiss’s body and causing him to shrivel up like dried fruit.
Once he had been reduced to kindling, Noah pulled him out of the resulting puddle and stabbed him with the second tool, a metal spike wrapping him in smokeless fire. The magic flames worked quickly, reducing him and his clothes to ash in less than a minute. Minus his metal belt buckle and a few shards of bone, all of the trace evidence was removed, and Noah swept the remains into the broom closet. No one would ever know what happened to Reiss, but at least his killer suffered for what he did.
Back outside, the fifth fight garnered some attention. It was between another church agent and the only other beastman in the tournament, now that Roc had defeated Ingram. Cain, he was rhino-based, and at first glance, Noah thought he was a fiend, but only because of his outrageous stature. In his semi-transformed state, the man was over seven feet tall with limbs like tree trunks and devastating strength, and the long horn growing from the bridge of his nose had gouged multiple opponents. As a beastman, he was almost on par with Kaisen, a natural-born juggernaut with physical and magical talent. The problem was his attitude, having killed all his opponents with great pleasure.
“Take that, bug!” he laughed as he knocked his foe through the air; Thera, a woman with long hair, and wielding two whips of suspended water. She had blocked at the last moment, reforming her weapons into a barrier that cushioned the impact, but she was sent flying like a golf ball by his swinging arm and hit the ground, rolling in much the same way. “This is amazing, I get to slaughter people, and the crowds love me for it!” Despite his words, no one was cheering for him, but this violent brute was certainly under their wary gaze.
Getting to her feet, covered in dirt and sweat, Thera cracked her whips and wrapped them around Cain’s neck and wrist, then pulled. The surface of the water, solid and smooth like polished stone, became rough and sharp like a cheese grater, and as she pulled, it ripped across Cain’s skin. All of her previous opponents had suffered this fate. At best, they received epidermal abrasions similar to a bicycle accident, and at worst, their flesh was peeled off like an orange. However, Cain laughed and snapped the liquid coils. His flesh had been scoured, but it just barely. It wasn’t just the muscles and horn of a rhino; he also had their tough skin.
“Typical woman, just flailing your arms and afraid to fight up close and personal like a real warrior. You long-range types are all cowards! Let me come over and say hello!” He then got down into a sprinter’s position and bowed his head. “Linear Crush!”
He then charged towards Thera with mana radiating from the tip of his horn and flowing over him like fire around a meteor. Every footfall shook the ground as though he was made of solid steel, yet his speed was remarkable. Thera reformed one of her whips and swung it to the side, grabbing the ground and then using it to pull her out of Cain’s way. He continued his charge towards the edge of the ring. A magical barrier protected the audience from spells, but the spectators in his path still scrambled to move. They were right to flee, as Cain hit the stands like a runaway semi, smashing through the wall around the ring and bringing down several levels of seats. By some miracle, no one was killed, but that wasn’t to say there were no casualties. Not all of the spectators had managed to escape the destruction.
Cain stepped out of the resulting crater and laughed at Thera. “Keep running, little bug! That’s all weaklings like you can do! None of you are strong enough to beat me!”
He again got down on all fours and charged towards her. Thera once more dodged with one whip, while this time swinging her other whip towards his legs, trying to trip him up so he wouldn’t crash again. She failed to snare him, as the water simply splattered when it met his aura. Once more, Cain met the wall and ripped through stone and wood, but the audience managed to get out of his way this time. He once more stepped out of the mess and into the ring.
“If you hit the stands again, you will be disqualified!” the ref shouted.
“Disqualify me, and I’ll run you down,” Cain growled.
He was then silenced as Thera wrapped her whips around his head and formed a liquid sphere, not to hold or wound him, but to drown him. Cain clawed at the bubble but was unable to break it. Realizing his only option, he sprinted towards Thera. She dodged and ducked away from his grabbing hands, relying on her agility, but Cain was more dexterous than he looked. He finally managed to grab one of her arms and then her leg and hoisted her high above his head. Mana surged from the tip of his horn, popping the bubble and letting his furious roar echo across the arena, telling the audience that this fight would end just like the others.
The ref tried to intervene, but Cain impaled Thera on his horn and then ripped her in half with it like it was a knife. He held the two halves of her shredded corpse, letting her blood pour down onto his face and paint him red, all while he continued to scream in a berserker’s euphoria. Once the crimson spray had slowed, he tossed Thera aside and pointed to the crowd.
“You like that, Uther?! I’ll never stop! Throw your best fighters at me, and I’ll throw them back in pieces! I am invincible!”
After Cain’s fight, the seventh match proceeded without a hitch, and as always, Seraph stepped into the ring for the final battle of the round. Though his earlier wins had been desperate and narrow, the prince’s arrival brought a chorus of cheers from the audience. One might expect this noisy support to bolster his confidence and turn him back to how he was, but he remained humble, or perhaps ‘fearful’ would be a better word. Every win would plague him with doubts, doubts that he was really strong enough to have defeated his opponents. All of his accomplishments were surely due to plain luck, or maybe his enemies had been paid off to let him win.
His opponent was a water mage, Phune, garbed in fitting robes and carrying a grimoire. He had a vague understanding of Phune’s magic, having heard the screams and seen the injuries his previous enemies had received when carried out of the ring. The ref started the match, and Phune was quick to open his grimoire while Seraph set off in a run.
“Scalding Splash!” Phune cast.
Spheres of water formed around him, gathered from the moisture in the air, and he launched them towards Seraph. Sprinting as fast as he could, Seraph narrowly dodged the incoming bombs, each bursting like a water balloon when it hit the ground. The drenched ground would immediately begin to smoke as the sand was dissolved. Watching from the edge of the ring in his invisible state, Noah decided to investigate one such puddle nearby to test a theory.
Whatever touched the water would begin to corrode and dissolve as if exposed to acid, for that was precisely what was happening. Upon contact with another material, the water would break up into hydrogen and oxygen, which would then bond with the surrounding matter, forcefully dismantling all molecular structures. It was rapid oxidization and acidification, turning regular water into the most corrosive substance in the world.
This wasn’t simply water magic; it was water magic and alchemy combined. Normally, alchemy couldn’t be applied to living tissue, as the mana produced by organisms interfered with the magic, but this potent combination allowed Phune’s magic to overcome that restriction. Noah couldn’t help but wonder where Phune had acquired such magic. Since it was written in his grimoire rather than an intuitive ability, either he figured out the formula himself, or someone else did. Whoever it was, did they have any idea what kind of threshold they were on? The surface they had just scratched?
Seraph circled Phune, avoiding the mage’s attacks while replying with blasts of holy energy. They were small and weak bursts, as Seraph had little mana to spare, and were meant to distract more than harm, at least long enough for him to get in close and land a hit with his mace. That said, Phune wouldn’t have made it this far in the tournament if he could be defeated by such rudimentary tactics. He was quick on his feet, able to dodge with great skill and summon water barriers to block Seraph’s magic. Seraph was being kept at a distance, and getting in too close without a proper opening would be suicide.
In their exchange, Seraph finally managed to wing Phune with a holy blast, leaving his arm numb, but with a frustrated snarl, Phune waved his other arm and hit Seraph in the leg with a sphere of water. Seraph collapsed, howling in pain as the water dissolved his clothes and flesh. He had felt this burning before, this corrosion of his skin. Noah had used acid against him during their fight, and right now, a tsunami of bad memories was washing over him. In his mind, he was back in the slums with Noah standing over him. Considering where the arena was built and where Noah was watching from, his delusion wasn’t far from reality. He couldn’t go through that pain again, that horror.
“Don’t tell me you’re quitting already. I’m just getting started,” Phune growled.
Should he do it? Just forfeit the match? To admit before the crowd that their prince was too weak to fight back? After everything that had happened to him, he had no pride left, nothing to lose. Maybe it was better to accept his failure and resign himself to his shame. Lying on the ground, he raised his arm, about to surrender, but stopped, thinking back to a conversation he had with Tarnas. It was during the year of training, the two of them sitting around the campfire on an autumn night. Seraph was staring deep into the flames, into the light and warmth, but all he felt inside was cold darkness.
“She was crying, begging me to stop, saying that I was hurting her. I just laughed, telling her she should be grateful to receive my affection, and that nothing in her life would compare to the glory of bearing my child. Galvin always told me that it didn’t matter what happened to the weak; it was our birthright to take what we wanted because we were superior in blood and magic. I wanted to believe him, because with him, I wasn’t alone. We had fun, we laughed, and we dismissed everyone and everything that got in our way. I wanted to believe that there was nothing wrong with us, even if, deep down, I knew the truth.
I left her there, naked and bleeding, and the next time I saw her, she was at the base of the west tower, having jumped to her death. Galvin told me not to concern myself with her, that she was simply a broken toy, and that I would find another. But I knew different. She wasn’t a broken toy, and though she made her choice, it wasn’t suicide; it was murder. I killed her. I hurt her, I violated her, and made her life so painful that I might as well have pushed her off that tower myself. I knew it, but I didn’t want to accept it.
I ran from my guilt, immersing myself deeper in Galvin’s lies, telling myself that my power protected me from all accountability. The things he did were even worse, the things he did to women, but he was so sure that it was his right, that any wrongdoing could be dismissed, and I wanted that assuredness. I wanted to never have to worry about what I was doing, to never doubt or question myself, because as long as I thought what I did was right, I wouldn’t have to fear failure or be afraid of making mistakes. But that was the true mistake, my greatest failure, and so many people suffered for it.”
A moment of silence passed before Tarnas cleared his throat and began to speak. “That truly is an unforgivable crime. You are right to feel guilty, to hate yourself for the things you’ve done. That is what you are supposed to feel, and to admit it now means you are on the correct path. It means you are learning from your mistakes and want to do right. Whether or not you can ever truly make up for what you have done, you can still become a better man than you were before. You can become a man who helps instead of hurts, who strives to make the world a better place.”
“But I CAN’T make up for what I’ve done, don’t you understand? I can’t bring back the people I’ve killed. I can’t heal the people I’ve hurt. I can’t undo the damage I’ve wrought. One lifetime is not enough to properly repent for my sins, so why bother living? Maybe N-N-N-N… he… should have just killed me. I don’t deserve to live for what I’ve done. He said he would take everything from me, every sensation I can enjoy, every thought and feeling that makes me who I am, my hopes and dreams. He was right, it took it all, but he let me keep me life. I wish he hadn’t. I don’t deserve it.”
“That is the coward’s way out. Dying solves nothing. It doesn’t make things right. It doesn’t make up for your crimes. It’s just a way to escape your guilt and avoid facing what you’ve done.”
Seraph gripped his head, threatening to rip out his hair as tears poured from his eyes. “I am a coward, remember? I ate that plum because I wanted to escape the pain I now know I deserved. But I wish that plum really had killed me. I wish I had died that day. It would have been better than a life with no hope of redemption. Every morning, I open my eyes and remember waking up after the fight. Realizing you’re alive after trying to end it all, I never knew something could be so painful. Every breath hurt, every beat of my heart was agony, every thought in my mind felt like hot lead, and it all comes again fresh every morning. All I’ve wanted to do since then is… finish what I started.”
“I know how you feel.”
“No, you don’t. How could you possibly know? There is no coming back from what I’ve done. No forgiveness for my crimes.”
“Because I was like you when I was young. My ego was as great as my powers, and I did awful things because I thought right and wrong didn’t apply to me. Then, when I was finally put on the right path and looked at myself, the guilt was unbearable, eating away at me like a swarm of goblins. My mentor, my predecessor as Light’s Emissary, helped me bear my pain and taught me to carry the guilt instead of dragging it behind me.
I’ve spent my life since then working to repent for my crimes through my actions, to help and protect people, and to strengthen Uther so that the Profane won’t succeed in their ambitions. To walk the path of light doesn’t mean to be without a shadow; it means to walk with your shadow behind you as you strive for brighter days and illuminate the shadows of others.
Our pasts burden us with guilt but bless us with knowledge, so that we can ensure that we and those around us don’t make the same mistakes, and help those who do make those mistakes learn and grow to be better people. Even if there is no way to truly repent for our crimes, to make up for what we’ve done, that doesn’t mean we should ever stop trying.
Maybe you and I do deserve to suffer for our wrongdoing. If that’s so, then it means that when things get painful, when things get difficult, we don’t have the luxury of quitting. We don’t get to end our lives to escape what we did. Whatever form the pain takes, we bear it, we endure it, we welcome it, all while we try to make this world a place where people like us, like how we used to be, have no place, and the people who would be hurt can instead live in peace. The next time you encounter an obstacle you cannot overcome, when you just want to curl up into a ball and quit on the world, remind yourself that you don’t deserve the peace of surrender. You have to keep working, to keep fighting, to keep suffering, until the day when you’ve fully repented.
That is the path of Light’s Emissary. It is a difficult, painful path, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Prince Seraph, are you surrendering?” The ref asked, shaking him from his memories.
Seraph, his arm raised, slammed his fist against the ground and slowly got up. He channeled his mana to his wound, trying to repair the damage. He may have lost his might as Light’s Emissary, but his abilities, albeit weakened, remained, and new flesh slowly grew to cover the burned tissue so long as he actively focused.
“No, I don’t have that right yet. I haven’t suffered enough.”
He then began to charge up his mana, trying to gather up every last spark in his body and form the golden aura he had long since lost. With his diminished strength, it wasn’t nearly as powerful as it once was, and it only covered the front of his body, but that’s all he needed.
“Out of the way, ref!” Phune shouted before launching a blast of water at Seraph.
It hit him dead-on, with the audience looking away, not wanting to see their prince reduced to a pile of melted bones, but though steam and smoke filled the air around Seraph, he was unharmed, albeit soaked. His aura had protected him, undoing the magic enhancement on the water, so when it hit him, it was chemically inert. The moment the blast ended, Seraph dropped his defenses, gasping for air from fatigue. What he would give to be even half as powerful as he was a year ago. He didn’t have time to rest, as Phune immediately commenced another attack. A continuous jet of water slammed against his raised palms and clashed with the light aura before him. Every loose drop hitting the ground smoked from the acidic burn, a reminder of what would happen if his strength or focus faltered for even a second.
Once again, Seraph thought back to Foley, and how they faced off in their duel at the academy. The stubborn dwarf had withstood a similar attack from Seraph, deflecting Seraph’s light blast even while spitting up blood. Seraph kept that image in his mind and slowly began to approach Phune. Now, it was a war of attrition to see who would lose their strength first. Would Seraph falter and be annihilated, or would Phune’s burning river turn into a dripping faucet? With every step Seraph took, that question echoed through the minds of everyone observing. The audience sat with bated breath, waiting to see if their prince would succeed.
“Why won’t you die?!” Phune shouted, reminding Seraph of his old self.
“Because death is too good for someone like me,” he hissed, finally reaching Phune. He grabbed the mage’s wrists, stopping his attack, and proceeded to headbutt him into submission. Phune soon collapsed, his face a bloody mess, and the ref raised his arm.
“Prince Seraph is the winner!” he announced to thunderous cheers.
With that, the fifth round was finished, and only a handful of fights were left. Soon, the champion would be decided.