Paragon of Destruction

When Arran looked, he saw that one of the black-robed Shadowblood novices had jumped into the arena, sword already drawn.

It was a brown-haired young man, tall and with an athletic build. He had an eager look on his face, bordering on manic, his eyes shining with lust for battle.

"You're trying to build a name fighting only weaklings? Pathetic! Try fighting me, instead! Or are you afraid?"

It was clear that the Shadowblood novice was trying to goad Arran into attacking him, but Arran wouldn't fall for it just yet — if he was going to have a real fight, he wanted something to show for his troubles.

"What's in it for me?" Arran responded, keeping his voice calm despite the situation. "If I defeat you, what do I get?"

"You think you have a chance of defeating me?" The Shadowflame novice sneered at the suggestion. "Fine. If you win, you can have my sword."

"Stop!" By now, Darkfire had rushed over, and he turned to Arran. "I don't know if you can take him. If he uses magic…" A troubled expression came over his face.

The Shadowblood novice smiled wickedly. "Afraid of facing a real opponent?" he asked, a mocking tone in his voice. "But don't worry — I won't use magic, and I won't kill you. It's just a friendly little contest."

"I accept the challenge," Arran said in a loud voice, drawing some cheers from the crowd. Turning to Darkfire, he asked, "Hand me my sword, please."

Darkfire hesitated. "Are you sure you can handle him?"

Arran gave him a confident nod. After the enemies he had faced in the Empire, a single novice shouldn't give him too much trouble.

"Be careful," Darkfire said, handing Arran the sword. In a low voice, he added, "And give him a thrashing he'll remember."

Arran gave his sword a few quick swings, then faced the Shadowblood novice.

"Now let's see if your sword can match your words," Arran said softly, giving the young man a mocking smile.

His opponent wasted no time in attacking, immediately rushing forward with his sword drawn, launching a flurry of strikes the moment he reached Arran.

Arran was pushed back several steps by the furious attack, and despite himself, he still felt some surprise at his opponent's power. Even if the Shadowblood novice was neither as strong nor as skilled as Darkfire, resisting him took Arran more effort than he had expected.

Moreover, Arran could tell that despite his earlier words, his opponent had no intention of letting him step out of the arena alive. Each attack that came his way was meant to kill rather than injure, and he understood that the Shadowblood novice intended to finish him off quickly.

Yet even if it took him some effort, Arran was still easily capable of fending off attacks like these, and after some moments his opponent's face darkened as he finally understood that Arran would not be easily defeated.

As the attacks came to a halt, Arran seized the offensive, launching a series powerful strikes of his own. He did not hold back in the slightest, putting all his power in his attacks in an attempt to catch his opponent off-guard.

The tactic worked, and the young man stumbled backward, each of Arran's powerful blows staggering him, forcing him to defend desperately without the chance to counter Arran's blows.

Arran pressed the attack, striking rapidly at his opponent, and a panicked look appeared in the young man's eyes. Whatever it was he had expected from Arran, this clearly wasn't it.

It took only a moment before Arran saw an opening appear, and he seized it without hesitation, his sword darting past his opponent's defenses.

"Wait!" the Shadowblood novice blurted out, Arran's sword only inches away from him.

"You've lost," Arran said. "Concede."

The novice stepped back, head bowed, and it seemed as if he was about to do as he was told.

Yet just as Arran was about to accept his opponent's surrender, the young man suddenly let go of his sword. Thrusting both hands forward, he produced a brightly glowing fireball that soared toward Arran.

Arran only barely managed to dodge in time, but the fireball still grazed his shoulder, and immediately he could feel that he was injured — shocked, he realized that if he had dodged only a moment later, it would have burned straight through him.

He had been confident of his victory only a moment ago, but now he understood that the Shadowblood novice was far stronger than a novice should be. Yet he didn't have time to ponder the matter, because immediately another fireball came his way.

Again Arran dodged, this time managing to avoid the attack. Yet even as he got to his feet, he saw another fireball forming, and he knew that he was already too late to dodge it.

At once, he threw up the strongest Force Shield he could manage, and although the fireball wasn't stopped, it was deflected enough to miss Arran.

Without stopping to think, Arran launched a fireball of his own at the Shadowblood novice, using every bit of Fire Essence he had available. Although it wasn't anywhere near as strong as his opponent's attacks, it was enough to provide a moment's distraction.

Arran did not give his opponent time to recover. Instead, he followed up the fireball with a powerful Windblade, and then a Battering Force. In an instant, Arran had used all his most powerful attacks, draining much of his Essence in just a few seconds.

The young man clearly had not expected to face such a sudden barrage of magic attacks, and he staggered backward, dazed and bleeding from a shallow wound across his chest.

Arran rushed forward, and before the novice could regain his senses, a powerful blow of Arran's weapon disarmed him, sending his sword flying out of his hand. Arran used his momentum to ram his elbow in the young man's face as hard as he could, and finally, the Shadowblood novice collapsed.

Yet although his opponent was down, Arran did not cease attacking. Rather, he took the opportunity to launch a final attack.

"Stop!" a panicked voice sounded from the area where the other Shadowblood novices were standing.

Arran didn't listen. Instead, he brought down his heel with all the force he could muster, stomping down violently onto the downed novice's knee.

It struck the young man's kneecap with an audible crash, the sound of bone being shattered sounding through the arena. Arran could tell that the stomp had crushed not just the kneecap, but also the bones surrounding it.

Instantly, a loud scream came forth from the novice who had tried to kill Arran just moments earlier — a high-pitched squeal that sounded almost inhuman, like the sound of a pig being slaughtered.

Without paying attention to the screaming novice, Arran immediately turned toward the others. As expected, they were already rushing toward him, and he readied himself to defend against them if needed.

"You!" one of them said with a snarl, a black-haired young man with a face that was twisted in fury. "You'll pay for this!"

"He tried to kill me," Arran said calmly. "He's lucky I only crippled him."

The Shadowblood novice looked at Arran with hate-filled eyes, yet it took him some moments to respond.

"That's on you," he said finally. "You turned a friendly duel into a deathmatch. Our friend was only defending himself from your attempts to kill him."

"Don't be an idiot," Darkfire said. "Hundreds of people saw what happened."

Focused on the Shadowblood novices, Arran had not seen Darkfire approach, but now, he was glad for the man's company. Against the Shadowblood novices, he needed all the help he could get.

"Who do you think the Society will believe?" the black-haired man responded. "Us, or some outsiders?"

"I trust they will believe me," a voice sounded. Soft and gentle, the voice was nevertheless filled with calm confidence.

When Arran looked, he saw the voice belonged to a short woman in her middle years, with black hair that showed some traces of white. Although she was wearing a simple gray robe, she somehow exuded an air of authority.