The hut was cramped, barely enough space for Arthur’s sweeping greatsword and my twin blades. My breath came in shallow gasps as I lunged forward, swinging my saber and sword in rapid succession, each strike met by the clash of Arthur’s blade. The heat from our weapons sparking against each other filled the air, turning the tight space into a furnace.

I can’t let up. I kept pressing forward, knowing Arthur was low on stamina just like me. The blows we exchanged were powerful but desperate. Arthur grunted, blocking each attack with heavy slashes of his greatsword. But I had the advantage here—the confined space of the hut gave me room to maneuver, to weave around Arthur’s slower strikes.

But Arthur wasn’t stupid. He saw through my strategy.

“You think you can dance around me forever, brat?” he snarled, a twisted grin on his bloodied face. With a roar, he swung his greatsword in a wide arc, not at me but at the wooden walls of the hut.

What—?!

The hut shuddered as Arthur’s blade tore through the walls, collapsing the entire structure. Dust and wooden debris exploded around us. Before I could react, his large hand clamped around my face, squeezing painfully.

“Got you,” he hissed.

With a grunt, he hurled me through the broken remains of the hut, sending me crashing outside. I barely had time to catch my breath before his boot came flying at my chest.

I parried the kick with my sword and rolled back, putting distance between us.

As I staggered to my feet, the sight before me made my heart skip a beat. We were no longer in the safety of the hut’s confines. Instead, we stood on the edge of a vast, sprawling desert under a starlit sky. The sands were illuminated by the moonlight, casting an eerie glow across the landscape. The air was dry, and a hot wind whipped around

In the distance, the ground gave way to a massive canyon that seemed to split the world in two—a colossal chasm stretching as far as the eye could see. The jagged cliffs were illuminated by moonlight, revealing a network of rocky pathways and deep shadows. This could only be the Great Canyon of Kharas, one of the most dangerous places in the whole continent.

Far in the distance, piercing the night sky like a spear of fire, was the Sunfire Pyramid. Its golden spire shimmered even under the moon’s pale light.

Arthur noticed my distraction. “Lost your focus already?” he sneered.

I took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in my ribs, and glared back at him. “This ends here.”

We charged at each other without another word. The sand shifted beneath my feet, and I kept low, aiming to throw Arthur off balance. Our blades clashed with a fury that seemed to shake the desert itself. Sparks flew as metal met metal, the sound of our clashing swords echoing through the canyon.

Arthur’s strikes were as relentless as ever, his greatsword cutting through the air with enough force to cleave stone. But his movements were slower now, his stamina waning. I ducked under a horizontal slash and countered with a swift upward strike with my saber, nicking his shoulder.

He growled, retaliating with a powerful overhead swing. I sidestepped, letting the greatsword smash into the sand, and thrust my sword toward his exposed side. But Arthur spun around, using the momentum to swing his blade horizontally. I barely managed to block it with my saber, the impact sending me slipping backward.

I needed a way to finish this, and fast. If I keep this up, I’ll run out of energy before he does. My mind raced, trying to remember what my father had taught me about using magic to create openings. I was never great at it, but I didn’t have a choice now.

Channeling what little mana I had left, I muttered an incantation under my breath. Please work. A burst of wind magic exploded from my feet, sending up a cloud of sand around us. Arthur coughed, momentarily blinded by the dust storm.

This was my chance. I dashed forward, keeping low to the ground. My blades glinted in the moonlight as I aimed for Arthur’s exposed torso. But as I leaped toward him, I felt a sudden shift beneath my feet—a tremor that wasn’t caused by my magic.

“What the—?!” I gasped.

The ground beneath us split open, revealing a massive, gaping maw lined with rows of jagged teeth. The sand trembled violently as a monstrous creature emerged—its mouth wide enough to swallow both of us whole.

“A Sage Sand Worm?!” I shouted in disbelief. These creatures were infamous in the western deserts, known to devour anything that disturbed their territory.

The Sage Sand Worm was far more than just a colossal worm that burrowed through the sands. It was a terrifying force of nature, an apex predator of the western deserts that few lived to speak of.

As the beast erupted from beneath the dunes, it revealed its monstrous, segmented body that was covered in a thick, chitinous armor. Each segment was plated with jagged, rock-like scales that glimmered faintly with a bluish tint, reflecting the moonlight like shards of glass. These scales weren't just for protection—they also absorbed the ambient heat of the desert, allowing the worm to move with startling speed despite its immense size.

The worm's gaping maw was a sight that could become nightmare. Its circular mouth was lined with multiple rows of jagged, obsidian-like teeth that rotated like a grisly saw. Each tooth dripped with a viscous, pale green fluid that hissed upon contact with the sand, a clear sign of the creature's corrosive digestive enzymes. The breath it exhaled was like a blast furnace, a scorching wind that carried the stench of decay and sulfur, capable of suffocating anyone too close.

But the Sage Sand Worm had a trait that set it apart from other desert beasts. Running along its segmented body were pulsing veins of luminescent blue energy. These veins, known as Mana Strands, allowed the worm to detect vibrations and magic in its surroundings with uncanny precision. It wasn’t just a mindless beast driven by hunger; it was a creature sensitive to the flow of mana itself, making it incredibly dangerous to mages. This sensitivity also allowed it to release bursts of concentrated mana through the vents along its sides, propelling itself at frightening speeds through the sands or even launching surprise attacks from below.

The creature's eyes—if they could even be called that—were small, beady black orbs that glimmered like polished ambers, scattered across its head in clusters. These weren’t for traditional sight but rather allowed it to sense heat signatures and magical auras, tracking prey even in complete darkness.

It was clear that in the domain of the Great Canyon of Kharas, the Sage Sand Worm was the undisputed king.

I can’t believe that my dad and his team killed a beast like this. If my team ever fight this, we would just be its dessert.

Arthur’s eyes widened as the beast’s maw closed in on us. In the chaos, he tried to shove me toward the creature, but I twisted in mid-air, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws. The worm’s bite missed me by inches, its breath hot and foul.

I was falling now, plummeting from a great height as the sandworm sank back into the earth. Desperately, I reached for my mana reserves. Come on, come on… I channeled what little wind magic I had left to cushion my fall, landing hard but alive.

Panting, I glanced around, my eyes widening in horror. The desert was alive with movement—countless sandworms were emerging from the dunes, their massive forms burrowing up from below.

“No… no, no, no!” I muttered. We stirred up the whole nest.

Arthur was already sprinting toward what remained of the hut. I had no time to hesitate. I dashed after him, grabbing one of the discarded teleportation scrolls he had dropped earlier. I didn’t even have time to check where it would take me—I just pressed my hand against the activation circle.

A flash of light enveloped me, and I was gone.

----------------------------------------

The air crackled with an eerie stillness as I stumbled into a vast, dimly lit hall. The walls were covered in darkness, enlightened only by flickering candlelight, casting distorted shadows that danced weirdly around me. Rows upon rows of massive blackboards filled the space, each one covered in scrawled, chaotic handwriting. The letters and symbols etched upon them seemed almost alive, pulsating with an unsettling energy. I walked closer, squinting at the writing—it was a jumbled mess of formulas, theories, and diagrams, all relating to magic circles. Some of the notes were hastily scribbled, as if written in a frenzy, while others were more meticulously drawn, indicating hours of obsessive work.

A cold shiver ran down my spine. There was something deeply sinister about this place. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment, intergrated with a faint metallic smell—like blood, freshly spilled. As I walked deeper into the hall, the blackboards seemed to close in on me, their chaotic writings whispering secrets that only madness could decipher.

"What is this place...?" I muttered to myself, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling clawing at my gut. This hall, whatever it was, felt like the heart of something twisted—a center of dark experiments and malevolent intentions.

For what felt like an eternity, I walked, my boots echoing on the cold stone floor. But then, a flick of light caught my attention. What was that? Was it Arthur’s men?. As I though someone else had came here with me, I heard a man’s rough and fast breath

My heart leapt into my throat. I turned sharply to my right, expecting Arthur to have caught up. Instead, what I saw sent a chill down my spine.

Arthur was there, standing among the shadows, but he was in a dire state. His right arm was completely gone, the jagged stump oozing torrents of blood that soaked his once-pristine armor. His face was pale, sweat-drenched, and contorted in pain. Yet, even in his weakened state, there was a gleam of madness in his eyes.

"Arthur..." I whispered, gripping my swords tighter as I slowly approached him. "It's over. You've lost."

Arthur’s laughter was a hoarse rasp, a broken sound that echoed hauntingly off the walls. "Lost...? Is that what you think, boy?" His voice was strained, but there was an unsettling confidence beneath it. "I’m just... buying time."

"Buying time for what?" I demanded, stepping closer. But before I could react, Arthur stumbled back, collapsing against one of the blackboards. His breaths were shallow, yet he kept that manic grin.

"Do you know... why I did all this?" Arthur wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was never about the gold or power. No... it was about proving myself... proving that even a man like me could rise above fate... could manipulate magic like the greats."

I narrowed my eyes, unsure whether to believe him or to end it all with a swift strike. But his words held a hint of sincerity, hidden beneath layers of madness.

"You're mad," I growled. "All those people, the villages you burned, the lives you destroyed... for some twisted experiment?"

Arthur's eyes darkened, his grin fading into something colder. "Twisted?" he repeated, his voice turning sharp. "You think I was born like this? That I wanted to be a killer?"

I didn't answer. I already knew where this was going. The same excuse every murderer used—their tragic past, their pitiful suffering, as if it could ever justify the horrors they inflicted.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Arthur scoffed at my silence, letting his head rest against the board. "I was born to a nothing family. My father? A drunk. My mother? Some whore who left me before I could even remember her face. I grew up in the gutters, scraping for food like a rat, getting beaten in the streets just for existing."

He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "The first time I killed, I was ten. A merchant caught me stealing bread and decided to make an example out of me. Had his guards string me up, beat me half to death. I was supposed to die that day." His eyes gleamed with something cruel, something terrifyingly nostalgic. "But I got loose. And I picked up a knife. And I made them die instead."

I could see it—he wasn't lying. He was reliving it, savoring it.

"After that?" He grinned wider, his teeth bloodstained. "Killing got easier. I learned how to survive. If you wanted to eat, you took from someone weaker. If you wanted to live, you made sure the other bastard died first."

I could see it—he wasn't lying. He was reliving it, savoring it.

"But it didn’t stop there," he continued, his voice lowering to a whisper. "That night, I went home. My father was drunk as always, stinking of cheap ale, mumbling curses at the world. He didn’t even notice me standing there with blood on my hands. He never noticed anything. So I slit his throat where he sat, and he didn’t even get the chance to scream."

A sick grin spread across Arthur’s face. "I thought it would feel different. But it didn’t. It felt right. It felt… freeing. I was done living in the dirt, done being stepped on. So I tracked down my mother too. Found her years later, living with some noble bastard, pretending she was someone else. I cut her down like the rest. No more ties, no more past—just me and the path I carved with my own hands."

His fingers twitched as he spoke, as if craving the weight of a weapon. "I joined a gang of cutthroats. Then a mercenary group. Then a warband. I fought my way across the continent, killing for food, for gold, for amusement. Some people even cheered for me. They would gather to watch, placing bets on my fights. And every time I won, I’d kill the loser and walk away with my prize, with my pride."

Arthur’s breathing hitched, but his eyes burned with the same manic light. "And then I heard of a place. A land where only the strong could stand, where swordsmen of legend gathered—the Land of the Holy Sword. I thought, ‘That’s where I’ll prove myself. That’s where I’ll finally stand at the top.’"

Arthur’s expression twisted with barely contained fury. "And guess who I found, kid. Michael Caddel. He was there. I remember it clearly.”

“What…?” It was a big surprise for me. Arthur met dad before?

He gritted his teeth, eyes burning with old humiliation. "And it wasn’t just him. There was another." His brow furrowed as if reaching into the depths of his memories. "A woman. Stronger and faster than anyone I had ever seen before. I can’t even remember her damn name—Sarah, or Hana, or something like that.”

Arthur’s hand balled into a fist. "I challenged him first. Michael Caddel. The so-called genius of the Holy Sword." His lips curled in a sneer, but there was something hollow behind it. "I thought I had fought real monsters before. That I had seen true power. But he… he didn’t even try."

Arthur exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if the memory itself disgusted him. "I came at him with everything I had, all my strength, all my skill. I poured years of bloodshed into that fight. And do you know what happened?" He met my gaze, his expression twisted with old humiliation.

"I was on the ground before I could even blink. My sword arm—shattered. My pride—was crushed beneath his boot. He looked down at me like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even worth finishing off."

His voice wavered for a second, but then the bitterness returned. "That was the day I realized the truth. I was a nameless killer who thought he could walk among legends. And I hated it."

Arthur sucked in a breath, then gave a bitter chuckle. "But I wasn’t done yet. No, I told myself Michael was just a freak, that if I fought someone else, I could prove I belonged there. That’s when I set my sights on her." His grin returned, but this time, it wasn’t just bitter—it was shaken.

"If Michael was a nightmare, then she was the true monster."

Arthur’s fingers twitched, as if his body still remembered the pain. "I challenged her the next day. Thought maybe I could redeem myself. Thought she’d be easier." His laughter was dry, empty. "She didn’t even draw her second sword."

His jaw clenched. "She mocked me. Told me I wasn’t worth the effort. I snapped. I attacked with everything I had, every trick I had learned, every ounce of bloodlust I could summon."

Arthur’s breathing became heavier. "And she broke me. Not in five moves. Not even three. In a single heartbeat, she took me apart."

He exhaled shakily. "She moved like a phantom. I didn’t even see her blade until it was already cutting through me. I thought Michael humiliated me, but she made me realize what true despair was. She toyed with me. Cut me down inch by inch just to show me how slow I was. How weak I was."

Arthur’s gaze turned distant, lost in his own failure. "That was the moment I knew. The Land of the Holy Sword wasn’t a place for people like me. I wasn’t just beneath them—I didn’t even exist in their world."

Then, his lips twisted into a malicious grin. "And now? Now I have taken everything from you. You, the son of the man who humiliated me. I took your life from you. Your family, your home, your place in this world—I ripped it away, just as they did to me."

Arthur’s eyes gleamed with madness. "And yet here you are, standing before me, carrying his blood. Just like him."

Arthur’s breathing hitched, but his eyes burned with the same manic light. "And then I realized something. No matter how strong I got, I would always be just a man. Just another killer with a sword. But magic… magic is different. Magic belongs to kings, to scholars, to those born with privilege."

He spat blood onto the ground. "I was going to change that. I was going to take it for myself, bend it, shape it into something no mage or noble could ever match. My research, my experiments—they weren’t just for power. They were my key to breaking the world’s chains."

Arthur's breathing hitched, but his eyes burned with the same manic light. "And then I realized something. No matter how strong I got, I would always be just a man. Just another killer with a sword. But magic… magic is different. Magic belongs to kings, to scholars, to those born with privilege."

He spat blood onto the ground, his lips curling in disgust. "Magic is everything in this damned world. It’s the foundation of existence. It shapes the land, controls the skies, bends life and death at a whim! And yet, it’s just some theory—a game of understanding. That’s all magic is! You don’t need to train your body, you don’t need to sharpen your instincts—you just have to know! You just have to grasp its rules completely, and suddenly, you can do anything!"

Arthur’s voice rose, his fury boiling over. "You get it, don’t you?! You’ve seen the freaks out there! The ones who wave their hands and bring back the dead like it’s nothing! The ones who create firestorms and split mountains while I—!" He pounded a bloody fist against the floor. "While I have to bleed for every step forward! Do you have any idea what it’s like to push your body beyond its limits, to fight for every scrap of strength, only to realize that some privileged bastard can think hard enough and surpass you in an instant?! Magic has no limits! No weight, no consequence! It belongs to those who can understand it, while the rest of us are left to rot in the dirt!"

Arthur's breath was ragged now, his body trembling, but his hatred burned hotter than ever. "I tried," he snarled. "I tried to understand it. I spent years digging into it, breaking it down, searching for some path that I could follow. But it’s too much! There’s no ceiling, no structure, no true order—just infinite possibilities wrapped in riddles and contradictions! I wanted to force it to make sense. I wanted to break it, to mold it into something anyone could use! Something even I could grasp!"

Arthur’s expression twisted into a look of disgust as he glared at me. “You and your little friends… Do you think you know magic? That you understand even a fraction of it?” He let out a hollow, humorless laugh, blood dripping from his lips.

“The spells they teach in your fancy schools, the tricks your so-called ‘mages’ boast about—fireballs, barriers, enhancements—they’re nothing but the surface. The foundation. A child’s first scribbles before they can even begin to write.” His fingers twitched, and for a moment, I thought he might try to use some sort of spell himself. But instead, he just grinned.

“I’ve read true magic, boy,” he continued. “The kind of knowledge that was never meant for weak minds. Spells that make even those high and mighty court wizards look like clowns at a festival. You think raising a wall of stone or summoning a storm is impressive? Ha! That’s like celebrating the ability to breathe.”

His expression twisted into something ugly, something bitter. "But it was never meant for me. I don’t have the talent. I don’t have the mind for it. I can’t memorize the endless rules, the thousands of variations, the limitless potential. I hate it. I despise it. Because in the end, it’s just another chain—another wall keeping people like me from taking what should be ours!"

He looked up at me, blood staining his teeth as he grinned. "That’s why I turned to my experiments. If I couldn’t understand magic, I would force it into my grasp. I would carve it into my bones, fuse it into my very soul, break the system and build something new. My research, my experiments—they weren’t just for power. They were my key to breaking the world’s chains."

Arthur’s eyes flared with sudden rage. "You don’t understand!" he shouted, blood spraying from his lips. "These... experiments, these plans... they were my chance to rewrite everything! But of course, a fool like you wouldn’t see the brilliance in it!"

"Brilliance?" I spat, feeling anger rise within me. "All I see is a coward trying to justify his atrocities. After I kill you, I'll expose every single one of these experiments to the world."

Arthur's expression faltered, his grin fading for a moment. But then, a flicker of something dark crossed his eyes. "Expose, you say? Ha...!" He began to chuckle, low and soft, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.

Before I could react, Arthur swiped his remaining left hand along a thin, almost invisible monofilament wire that was strung along the floor. The friction from his fingers caused a spark, and in an instant, a line of fire appeared, racing along the wire like a serpent.

"No!" I screamed, realizing what he was doing. I turned to run, but the door behind me was sealed shut, the ancient wood refusing to budge. I slammed my shoulder against it, desperation clawing at me as the flames quickly began to consume the hall.

Arthur's laughter filled the room, a crazed noise that mixed with the crackling of the fire. "You think you can end me? This is my final masterpiece!" he yelled through fits of laughter. "If I die, I’ll take you with me!"

The heat intensified, smoke filling the air and choking my lungs. I fell to my knees, gasping for breath, the flames drawing closer. My vision blurred, and I felt the weight of exhaustion pulling me down. This... this couldn’t be the end, could it?

Just when I was on the brink of collapse, there was a deafening crash behind me. The door splintered apart, and through the haze, I saw figures rushing in—Kaldor, Mira, Kael, and Sylas.

"Duke!" Kaldor’s booming voice cut through the chaos as he charged through the smoke, his massive shield smashing aside the debris.

I tried to stand, but my legs refused to cooperate. All I could do was watch through a blurred haze as they fought their way to me. Arthur was still laughing maniacally, even as the flames licked at his boots.

"I did it... I... showed them all..." Arthur muttered, his voice growing weaker as the fire closed in. "You can’t stop what’s coming... you’ll never—"

His words were cut short by the inferno, and I felt a pair of strong arms lifting me up. I could barely make out Kaldor’s face, sweat streaming down his brow, but there was relief in his eyes.

Everything became a blur, the world spinning as they dragged me out of the burning hall. Arthur’s laughter and the roaring fire were the last things I heard before the darkness took me.