Paragon of Destruction

Arran awoke before dawn, and after a quick breakfast of dried meat, he broke camp and set off toward the battlefield.

A night of sleep had replenished most of his Shadow Essence and left his body well-rested. And that was a good thing, too, because his days of peaceful travel were at an end.

He had traveled slowly during the past few months, careful to give his body the time it needed to recover. He'd walked instead of running, and feasted on the meat of every animal he encountered that had any Natural Essence worth mentioning.

The regimen had worked remarkably well. While he hadn't regained all his strength just yet, he was rapidly approaching his previous peak. And in a fight, that last bit of strength he still lacked would make little difference.

Either way, it would have to be enough. His stay in the mountains had been longer than planned — well over the two years he'd intended to remain — and with every day that passed, war between the Hunters and the Ninth Valley was getting closer.

If he was lucky, he'd have another five years. That would have seemed like an eternity before he entered the Shadow Realm, but now, he knew just how short it really was.

Feeling the pressure of time weighing down on him, he ran toward the battlefield at a pace no commoner could have maintained for even a moment.

As a youth, he'd had always been envious of wealthy merchants and their horses. But now, his own legs carried him faster and longer than any horse could.

He did not use his Shadowcloak as he ran through the densely forested area around the battlefield. Although he knew there were Hunters in the region, he also knew that he might have little opportunity to replenish his Shadow Essence reserves once he reached his destination.

His Sense was strong enough for him to avoid any threats, however. While he detected Hunters several times along the way — enough to make him think the camp he'd visited wasn't the only one — he found them well before they had any chance of spotting him.

Traveling normally, the battlefield would have been at least several days' travel away. But at Arran's hurried pace, it only took half a day before he could feel he was approaching his destination.

The hum of unbound Essence grew into a rumble as he came closer, and several times, he took brief pauses to let his Sense grow accustomed to it.

This close to the battlefield, it was clear that the area held every bit as much unbound Essence as he had encountered in the ruins of Uvar. More, perhaps. And although the feeling was a familiar one, it still took him effort to stop his Sense from being overwhelmed.

His sword, however, seemed to have no trouble at all with the pressure emanating from the battlefield. Perhaps it was because it was formed from Essence itself, or perhaps its consciousness was entirely different from a human's, but either way, its Sense was in no danger of being overwhelmed.

Instead, the feeling that came through the bond was one of interest — that, and hunger.

Arran continued onward, but at a slower pace than before. With Hunters in the area, he could not afford to let his Sense be overcome by the strengthening roar of Essence in the distance.

By midday, there was a tingle on his skin. By now, the Essence had grown thick enough that it was just barely starting to affect him, though not so much as to hinder him. Not yet, at least.

The vegetation was another matter, however. The area around the battlefield had been filled with dense trees and bushes, but the nearer he came, the sparser the trees and plants grew.

At this, Arran slowed his pace even further. Without cover, staying out of sight of any roaming Hunters would require a great deal of care.

He continued onward cautiously, spreading his Sense to detect any Hunters or other threats in the area. And while he found none, he remained alert.

By late afternoon, the landscape had turned from a wilderness into a wasteland.

A few plans and shrubs remained in the area, but other than that, the ground was filled with bare earth and stone as far as the eye could see. The destructive pressure of unbound Essence was simply too much for the vegetation here.

And yet, Arran knew he still hadn't entered the battlefield proper.

The thought caused him some pause. He'd known the area held powerful destructive energies, but it seemed he had underestimated it even so. The rumble of Essence had already grown into a thunder, but he could Sense that he wasn't even near its center yet. And there, it would be strongest.

He could scarcely imagine what kind of battle could have caused such a thing. The sheer force of the magic used would have been enough to split the earth and tear apart mountains, and the mages involved must have been as strong as any he'd encountered.

But they had still been defeated by Hunters.

Arran was certain that none of the Hunters he had seen had the strength to do that. Not a hundred, not a thousand — not even a hundred thousand. While the burly man in the camp might match Arran, there was no way he would last even a second against mages who could unleash such quantities of Essence.

And that, Arran knew, meant that there would be stronger Hunters out there — ones with the power to challenge Archmages, yet without using magic themselves.

The thought caused a shiver to run down his spine. If there were Hunters like that present on the battlefield right now, he had no chance of achieving his task. Just escaping with his life would require a miracle.

But he couldn't simply turn around and walk away. Not when he was this close. The destructive power that filled the region was proof of the power the Forms held, and he could not give that up without even trying.

Despite his misgivings, he continued onward through the barren wasteland, using both his own Sense and his sword's to keep an eye out for any sign of Hunters or other threats.

Evening was already falling when he found what he had feared — two Hunters, about a mile ahead of him.

However, even as he prepared to move around them, he realized something was off. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but it seemed like the two were fighting each other.

Arran frowned, then cautiously began to sneak toward them. He needed information more than anything, and if two Hunters were fighting each other, he wanted to know why.

Yet his frown deepened when he drew closer, as he realized that the two had none of the skill he'd seen from the large man in the Hunters' camp. While they couldn't be considered clumsy, exactly, they fought with the skill of adepts — and only barely, at that.

Recruits, then.

When he realized this, a small smile crossed Arran's lips, and he began to move faster. Even recruits should have information he could use, and if they were already fighting each other, a small accident shouldn't draw too much attention.

He walked toward them a calm pace, observing their fight as he approached.

Both the fighters were young men with shaved heads, but one was short and slender while the other was tall and muscular. And from the look of it, the former was receiving a sound thrashing from the latter.

The slender young man was knocked down before Arran reached the two, and as the youth went down, the larger recruit said in a sneering voice, "Just another worthless outsider. Now give me your belongings if you don't want a further beating."

Yet at that moment, the slender youth's eyes shot toward Arran, who was now only fifty paces away. Absorbed in their fight, neither of the two had seen him approach.

Noticing his defeated opponent's gaze, the tall recruit quickly turned around. And as he laid eyes on Arran, a mocking expression appeared on his face.

"Another outsider? I'm in luck today." He sneered, then continued, "What group are you in?"

Arran felt some amusement that the recruit had mistaken him for one of their own, but then, it made sense — his head was shaved like theirs, and they doubtless didn't expect to encounter any mages in the region.

He did not reply to the young man. Instead, he continued to walk forward, his expression calm as he approached the recruit.

"Don't want to talk?" The tall recruit looked at Arran with open contempt. "Then I'll have to beat some respect into you. Show you the difference between outsiders and the pure." He turned his drawn sword to Arran, a vicious look in his eyes.

Arran observed the young man with an amused expression. Then, silently, he drew his own blade.