Arthur Olvasen POV:

"Good! Everyone's here!" Jayden's loud voice suddenly boomed over the open field.

As all of the guests' heads turned to locate where the voice had come from, I looked straight up to see a wyvern…easily thrice the size of the ones that had arrived to escort us to the castle, hovering over the field.

This absolute beast was at least 8 metres long and its wingspan was well over 10 metres.

With its sharp talons tucked underneath it, the wyvern slowly made its descent, revealing Jayden, dressed in what looked like his nightrobes, standing up on the back of the beast.

We were currently standing in the middle of a giant stadium-like structure that buzzed with an energy which was almost palpable.

As my eyes swept over the crowd, it became clear that this was more than just a mock battle; it was a spectacle. Be it to serve the purpose of feeling good by defeating us – humans, or just the general curiosity of how we fight.

Since the upper echelons' hate was much subdued compared to common folk, being amidst so many people was not as jarring and nerve wracking as the other moments. However, being observed during every second was not a pleasant experience either.

One side of the arena was filled with all the guests of the banquet.

Their excitement rippled through the air like a tangible force. And while mostly they were silent, occasional cheers and shouts echoed off the stone walls.

The three lords of Central Dominion were seated in a giant cabin at the very top of the stands. Meanwhile, Aksel was in a separate booth-like structure. Jayden also unmounted his Wyvern and walked over to the same booth.

After a few seconds, the three lords left the cabin and stood beside the booth, hands clasped in front of them.

No matter how powerful they looked, they were really subservient to Jayden. And if Aksel really captured a deal with him, it might get even more troublesome than I had initially anticipated.

Bringing my attention back to the matter at hand, I observed how even amidst the fervour of the incoming mock duel, pockets of disdain were unmistakable.

Faces…twisted in contempt, unable to hide their disgust at seeing their "noble heirs" lower themselves to battle humans. To them, this was an affront to their very nature.

Michael and I had changed into our battle gear.

The outfits were simple yet functional: tight jackets and a series of straps wrapped around our legs and arms, designed for flexibility and…protection. Although from the looks of it, I don't think mere straps are going to hold out in the face of whatever is coming for us.

I can't really understand the motive behind it.

Does Jayden want to show his kids off? Or does he want to show his governors or whatnot that we are not really pushovers by pitching the heirs against each other? If that is the intention, it means that he is confident in his kids' abilities to help him emphasise his point.

I moved my arm, trying to get rid of the fatigue that was wrecking my whole body. I really need a massage.

The tight fabric clung to me like a second skin. But it wasn't really uncomfortable.

Astrid, though not participating, was wearing a similar jacket.

It wasn't that clingy to her since she was quite lean. So even though the jackets were meant to cling to one's body, she still had a bit of space between her flesh and fabric.

Except for her bottoms. For some reason it had really tightened back there.

Her side-pony had transitioned into a high-ponytail.

"Man, I could use another drink." Michael grumbled as he fiddled with the hexagonal necklace around his neck. He clearly wasn't sober. But after watching him fight in The Keep, I know this won't pose a problem.

"I agree." I replied as he gave me a stupefied look.

"What?"

"The world must be ending." He shook his head and then poked his little finger into his ear. "Or I've gone senile."

"I can agree with you, you know, sometimes." I gave a half-hearted response.

"Given our current situation, I'd love to drink myself to sleep as well."

Michael scoffed. "We are proper alcoholics, aren't we?"

"I guess."

I wasn't talking in a circle or anything. I was really tired.

Lack of sleep, repeated battles with Ed, Wujins…getting trapped in Jayden's Technique Deployment. The only little moment of rest was the 40 minutes of bath time.

After that it had been a mental battle of suppressing the urge to go rabid and kill every demon.

Not out of joy, of course. Not at all...

The buildup of fatigue – both mental and physical – had me reeling. And while I was excited to battle someone from Cromwell without getting trapped in an extra-dimensional box with a 100% mortality rate, it was not enough to get my spirits high enough.

I was already feeling defeated. It was a good thing I had not drunk any kind of alcohol. Goddess knows what kind of disaster that would've pulled.

On the other side, the two younger siblings – heirs of Cromwells – finally made an appearance which threw the crowd into a 30 seconds long, ecstatic frenzy.

The younger brother of the two was named Lucian Cromwell, and the girl was named Isolde Cromwell.

Their jackets, though simple in design, looked much more refined and elegant than ours.

As I saw Michael yawn with his mouth so wide open, I shook my head. Maybe it's us—ourselves who are not letting us look elegant, no matter the clothes.

The fabric of their fit subtly shimmered in the moonlight. Lucian's jacket was deep blue with silver accents along the seams, whereas Isolde's jacket was rich burgundy with gold designs.

Too flashy.

My eyes hurt from the sparkles already.

"Gather in the centre." Jayden barely bottled his excitement as it spread throughout the stadium via the voice amplifying artefact.

"Good luck." Astrid chimed before taking steps back and then walking towards the nearest seat she could find, isolated from the rest of the crowd.

"Don't get kidnapped by a pervert in a dark corner." Michael waved his hand.

"Oddly specific." I interjected.

"That's the trope." He shrugged his shoulders and started to walk with his back hunched in a weird posture.

As we walked to the centre, Lucian and Isolde's features became more prominent.

Lucian had the same cold, unwavering look on his face. It wasn't that of condescension, or hate. Just a cold detachment from everything around him.

And while his sister – Isolde's gaze burned like an inferno; it held every bit of contempt one would expect from someone from Eden towards humans.

Although the nature…or rather, the reason behind that contempt seemed to stem from something much more…personal.

Her hair, instead of being let loose, was tied in a high ponytail. Which was quite practical, given our current situation of combat.

In a mock battle with someone you hate unconditionally, having your sight impaired by your hair is the last thing you'd want.

"Let's start the highly anticipated mock battle between our young masters…the future of Central Dominion – Young Master Lucian Cromwell and Young Lady Isolde and their two human counterparts – Arthur Olvasen and Michael White!"

A voice, different this time, announced from somewhere.

"This is a mock battle, so the winner will be decided when someone has both of his knees touching the ground or in a more extreme outcome, completely incapacitated. Dulling of the weapon's edge is up to the participants' discretion."

He explained the terms and then paused. It seemed like Jayden was talking to them, since I could hear barely audible whispers from the other side of the artefact. After a while of whispering, the voice came out again.

"Usage of Arcane Arts is also undesirable by Lord Cromwell. While it is not outright prohibited, it has been declared as an unnecessary act. The decision is up for discussion between the participants."

Oh. Cool.

So, I was excited for nothing.

Well, I suppose I can talk it out if I want…but do I have the social skill to negotiate it with people who don't even want to be in close proximity to us?

Michael slammed his hand into his fist. "I ain't got no problem with that."

Lucian shrugged his shoulders, his eyes sharp and fixated on Michael. He was an inch taller than both of us. "I share the same thought as Michael." His voice, in contrast to his cold, cutting edge outward appearance was much more mellow and controlled. Refined.

"What is the point of this duel then?" On the contrary, his sister didn't seem too happy with her brother and father's decision. "This is an equivalent of making a mockery out of the mock duels."

"Mock – duels. Duh." Michael rolled his eyes.

"Calm down, Isolde. Father has left the discretion to the participants. You can just request to be allowed to use Arcane Arts." His eyes flicked towards me.

"That is, of course, if the one concerned also presents his consent towards it."

I looked at Isolde, and despite Lucian having said it, I asked her instead. "So, is it naturally decided that I have to face you, in particular, instead of having a choice myself?"

Isolde took a step forward, her face a mere inch away from me. She was as tall as Astrid as her gaze hardened like a rock. An immovable rock. "Yes."

"Your father is not wrong." I replied, taking half a step until the space between us was barely visible. Hovering my face right above hers, I spoke again.

"Using Arcane Arts against me might come to bite you back."

Her forehead creased ever so slightly as she moved closer, removing the miniscule distance we had between us.

A shiver ran down my spine as I suppressed the urge to rip her body to shreds.

"Watch your words, human." She hissed and then turned around, the white ponytail frolicking. "I will face this one."

She pointed at me, as if remembering my name was a chore. It's so simple as well. "Permission to use Arcane Arts."

"It wasn't banned from the get-go." I corrected as I felt her body bristle, but she continued to look at the booth where both Jayden and Aksel were.

A moment of silence went by like the passage of a hundred years. And then a familiar voice boomed.

"Don't over-do it." Jayden spoke as she turned around to face me, her features shining with a victorious look.

"Arthur." He ended the sentence in my name, causing the brattish look on her face to vanish and was replaced by the same frown as before.

"Temper, Isolde." Lucian interjected as he turned around. "You are fuming."

"I know." She seethed through her teeth before turning around as well.

Lucian looked at Michael and then at me. "An assortment of fine weapons would be presented at the far end of the place where you just came from."

His eyes flicked continuously from me to Michael and then back at me. "If you don't have a soul-bound "Essence Arm", you can choose one from there."

I was about to ask but Michael beat me to it. In a rather crude way, albeit.

"Hah?! Essence Arm? Sounds cringe!"

At least make it less obvious that we have no idea about something they are so casual about.

Without turning completely back, Lucian looked at us with a confused look. He extended his hand to the side as the space around his hand tore open in a fraction of a second and a long spear manifested into his palm.

The dark obsidian coloured spear was much taller than him and the crimson tip glinted eerily in the moonlight.

"Essence Arms. Weapons bound to your soul." He spoke indifferently and then looked at Michael in an amused way as the spear disappeared into nothingness. "I assume you do not have one, yes?"

"Eh, don't need one." Michael shrugged, but from the way his eyes were shining, I was sure he was curious about it.

"Alright then. Make your selection about your weapons. Let us not delay this bout anymore." He paused, looking around. "I am sure you are not enjoying being spectated like a pet beast."

"I don't need to make a weapon selection. I am fine as is." Michael smacked his fist into his palm once again. "Bring your spear out."

Lucian scoffed. "Weapons are but mere decorations. Objects of convenience." He took a step forward. "I will take you on in a bare-handed fight. Since you look so…confident."

"Now that's what I am talking about, alright." He jeered as the two jumped back, creating 15 yards of distance between them.

As I turned my head towards Isolde, she growled, lowering hand before chanting a name underneath her breath.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

⸦Wyrm Barb⸧

The space around her hand twisted before rupturing outwards, like stabbing a sheet of paper with a compass. Her hand entered the small tear and she pulled out a rope—a lasso to be particular—of a decent girth out.

However, it was only when she fully pulled it out that I saw why this weapon was worthy enough to be called 'soul-bound.'

Whatever would that mean.

The end of the lasso was a javelin carved out of an unknown metal that shimmered with a faint blue-green sheen. The shaft of the javelin was adorned with runes that glowed softly and pulsed with a life of their own.

The barbed sides of the javelin looked like wyrm's fangs, glistening with a silvery hue.

Strands of iridescent energy coiled around the shaft like snakes during mating season, intertwining with the knot of the lasso that trailed behind it.

And even when the rift closed and she rested her hand to the side, the lasso and javelin moved subtly. Alive and breathing.

I felt Isolde's fingers wrap tightly around Wyrm Barb as the weapon hummed softly in response to her touch, arcanum scorching the space around it. The remnants of the crack in space disappeared with a soft whisper.

There was an air of superiority around her, as if just summoning her weapon had guaranteed her win.

She was arrogant and I was assuming she had means to back it up.

I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. Breaking such people was the most fun out of everything one could do. To crush something one values the most.

Pride- for such people, is the most valuable possession.

"Brandish your weapon, human. So, you don't make excuses later on."

"That would be no problem." I spoke as I raised my hand and a sword flew from the place where they were sorted for us to pick into my hand as I flicked it to the side before pointing the tip at her.

"In return, I am expecting you to not end up as rust on this sword too quickly."

"Too much talk."

"That's rich, from you." I scoffed.

I had no idea how powerful she was. Even if we were talking in the 'Categories,' I had no idea.

I didn't even know my own exact evaluation. Gauging her should be the first priority.

"Isolde." Lucian called out from behind as she grumbled to herself before falling back. The single ornament attached to her side-horns jingled as she walked.

Taking in a deep breath as I watched her walk away, I jumped back as well.

This was an odd way to battle. Normally battles do not go like this.

Even if it is a mock battle, some very good fighters—who rely mostly on tricks via surprise attack—might just outright lose due to the method.

"Alright, derp. Let's not embarrass ourselves." Michael spoke underneath his breath as he lowered his stance. Lucian got into a stance as well, bringing his hands upwards.

It was…kind of nice to not hear him outright swear.

"No promises." I replied, rolling my shoulders before stretching sideways as it let out a series of satisfying pops.

"Heh. Your wife is watching. So, you better not."

"She's my wife now?" I raised a brow.

"Whatever man. Unrelated, but I am calling dibs on Isolde."

This guy can't be serious.

"Sure. Whatever." I shrugged, not really believing my ears.

Arcanum exploded like a column of light from both Michael and Lucian as the ground started to crack.

I turned forward as well, imbuing humble amounts of arcanum into my body and sword. My hair and clothes fluttered as the ground beneath me shuddered and wind started to swirl around me.

The announcer's powerful voice echoed through the stadium, signalling us to begin.

"LET THE MATCH COMMENCE!"

****

On the announcer's signal, all four of the combatants dashed forward. Lucian, who was bare-handed, for now, was to Isolde's left and a bit ahead of her.

Arthur and Michael split up as soon as the siblings charged.

Michael circled around the left side as he prepared to take on Lucian, while Isolde dashed around the right side to confront Arthur before he reached her.

Reaching the middle of the field before Arthur, she looked straight ahead, and calmly waited for Arthur to get into an appropriate range.

Her face twisted into a haughty sneer that seemed to say 'I don't need to get ready for you.'

As Arthur approached closer and closer, the arrogance in her expression grew more pronounced, each second making it clear she felt utterly confident and unthreatened.

The wyrmbarb pulsed and writhed like a cobra in her grip, humming and glowing.

Arthur cast one fleeting look at Michael as he and Lucian clashed, which was followed by a giant shockwave which whisked up an incredulous amount of dust and gravel upwards, whipping up a short-lived sandstorm.

'He'll be fine.'

Arthur thought to himself, even though the slight doubt in his heart said otherwise.

Even at a glance, Arthur was the wariest of Lucian. Anyone who doesn't wear a single emotion on his face, despite the situation presenting itself, at all times was a troublesome person in Arthur's book.

Not only that but he couldn't help but shake the feeling of sly craftiness that he felt from him.

And since Michael wasn't someone who thinks too much, this spar wasn't going to be decided on who has more physical strength or who has more stored Arcanum.

It was going to be hard for Michael. Even if he were to somehow remove the limitations on his Arcanum pool.

Arthur took a deep breath and blocked out everything else.

As far as he was concerned, this was not only a simple fight between him and Isolde. But it was also about satiating his every growing curiosity.

Curiosity of filling the bottomless chasm of his mind with information about more and more Arcane Arts. And how they work and influence his own. And finally break the curse on his mind.

Narrowing his eyes in utmost concentration, each powerful step he took created small craters in the ground as the wind buzzed around him.

Isolde let out a patronising chortle before she whipped her Wyrmbarb.

The rope javelin screeched through the air, slicing it as Arthur suddenly decelerated.

His foot twisted as he dodged to the left and the javelin missed its mark, slicing through the space where he had been standing, hissing angrily as it flew past.

Arthur felt heat against his skin, the arcanum radiating from the lasso attached to the javelin burning like molten lava.

It's not her own.

Arthur noticed, smacking his lips, as if he could taste the arcanum.

The arcanum slipping out of the soul-bound weapon felt foreign, albeit slightly, to Isolde's own arcanum signature. Or that is the conclusion which Arthur arrived on.

The reasoning behind it was quite straightforward. He assumed that it was because her arcanum's nature should not be so blisteringly hot. The arcanum a person emits; its nature depends on the arcane art a person awakens.

Just like how Astrid's arcanum—even without using the arcane art—was cool and soothing. Yet oppressive.

And Michael's felt chaotic. Ready to explode…to 'atomise' everything in its path at a moment's notice.

Isolde pulled at the lasso and immediately it was reeling back.

Without turning back, Arthur extended his hand and gripped the base where the lasso tied into a golden knot with the javelin. However, as soon as his fingers had coiled around the base, he let go of it.

Wyrmbarb whistled and the base was now back in Isolde's hand.

Arthur looked down, sword clasped in one and eyes fixed on the other. Three holes were punctured into his palm, and arcanum was already flowing towards it, aiding in hastening the process of clotting the blood loss.

'Barbs and spikes, hmm?' Arthur mused as Isolde pressed down on her lip, suppressing a sneer. 'No. Not barb. They are teeth…fangs. Wyrm? The name might make sense then.'

He shifted his grip on his sword, giving it a slight tug and swing, testing its balance. The blade, unlike Isolde's, did not give out any dramatic hum or swish in the air.

'How interesting.'

Pressing the ground beneath her, she shot forward.

Arthur stopped moving, gripping his sword even tighter. "You're coming towards me?"

Without answering, she flicked Wyrmbarb in her hand, the rope javelin coiling and uncoiling like a living serpent.

It lashed out again and Arthur brought his sword up, holding it with both hands as he pointed the tip at her and then stretched it back.

However, this time the javelin curved mid-flight.

At the same time, the lasso extended and glowed as Isolde threw a loop straight at Arthur.

'A two-sided attack…not bad.'

Arthur's feet twisted violently and then without moving out of a certain range, he weaved in and out of the multiple loops that followed the first one.

To an ordinary person, it seemed like he was just moving his lower body, however…

Up above, beside Jayden's booth, Thalor Vorlith—the Duke of Valemount—nervously bit at his nails.

'This can't be possible…how does he know of our skill?'

In the two specific moments during the fight between Arthur and Ed, where he had shown a footwork to which Arthur had lost his life, almost – twice, he had managed to copy it.

Although it was nothing close to what Ed had done by completely throwing Arthur's senses into a frenzy, he was still able to use it to an extent where he could dodge attacks like this one.

Suddenly Arthur's senses flared and he ducked, his sword flashing a moment after in an upward slash to his back as he parried the attack from the javelin.

The rope at the javelin's base twisted around his blade, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he untangled it and stepped back.

'He dodged it from his blind spot?'

The sneer on Isolde's face had all but vanished.

Not giving him a moment to breathe, she pulled at Wyrmbarb, and the javelin snapped back into her hand with a hiss. She spun it in a wide arc, the rope crackling with arcanum as she launched it again.

Arthur raised his sword to block, but Wyrmbarb curved around the blade, aiming for his side.

He twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the strike, and countered with a swift slash of his own by reducing the distance between them via a quick dash.

The rope coiled around Arthur's shoulders and held him in place as Isolde took a frantic jump back, running away from the sword's range.

With Arthur still tied by the lasso, the javelin slithered like a rattle-snake towards Arthur's chest.

"This is the end." Isolde declared with an apathetic look.

For the first time since arriving in Lawold, Arthur smiled, a little. Although it was more akin to a mocking scoff. "You can't be serious."

Arthur's body crackled and azure sparks of lightning danced around him, snapping and flickering against the lasso and then clobbering at the javelin, knocking it off course.

It illuminated the air with a fierce, radiant glow. The ground trembled under the sheer force of arcanum slipping out of his body, the lightning pulses drumming in open air. It was like the echo of thunders were constantly being bombarded into everyone's ears.

The surface of the rope started to give away, and despite the arcanum fighting against the lightning sparks, it continued to experience breakage.

The javelin was stuck to the magnetised rock beneath as lightning morphed into small claws, ripping away at it.

The first few strands snapped with a sharp, twanging sound, sending tiny sparks of blue light into the air and then the rope creaked and groaned under the pressure. Lightning augmented Arthur's sword as he swung it down.

It had met the lasso only for a fleeting second as a ripping sound filled the air and then, Wyrmbarb was gone.

Arthur could still feel the distortion in the air, the dimensions bending and twisting ever-so-slightly.

"You can summon it back at will as well?" Arthur cracked his neck to the side as he rubbed his shoulder. "How vapid."

Despite talking to himself, Isolde could hear what he was talking. Her jaw tensed as Wyrmbarb appeared back into her hand.

Arthur narrowed her gaze at her, his eyes travelling from the weapon to her body and then up towards her face. Beads of sweat were suddenly rolling down her temples, right beneath where her second pair of horns started and dripped along her sharp jawline.

'She can't do it many times. Cancelling a weapon when it's in an active state and resummoning it back in an instant might exert a burden on the user.'

Arthur thought to himself, giving Isolde a few moments of recovery. Lightning was still coiling around him, like a guardian angel, flickering in and out of life in random intervals.

'But this is becoming dreadfully tedious. Soul-bound weapons might be unique, yes, but they hardly deserve such fascination. It's almost pitiable to fawn over mere tools.'

Arthur thought to himself as a frown found its way to his face.

'I need to see. Learn…more...even more...'

A surge of Arcanum suddenly exploded out from Arthur and shook the entire stadium as his gaze hardened.

'…and then adapt to her Arcane Art. I need to see it. Merely deflecting and counterattacking won't make her use it.'

Cold sweat broke out on Isolde's neck and down her spine as she felt the oppressive Arcanum weigh down on her. As if gravity had suddenly increased multiple times over.

The buzzing of static due to lightning existing by his mere presence amplified even more, as Arthur's presence alone started to break the ground beneath him.

'A crucible of desperation. It's a shame but it's only when you push someone into a corner like a rat, it's there, when the ultimate survival instinct kicks in. A moment…or multiple moments of invincibility. But strip away that defiance…crush that spirit of resistance, and they become pliable.'

Arthur pointed his sword at Isolde once again. "Brace yourself."

'I've had enough. I am going to make her show me what I want...' he paused, as his psychotic thoughts reached a crescendo. '...even if it means deconstructing her.'

Isolde whipped Wyrmbarb. However, she had only moved her hand to the back when Arthur suddenly disappeared amidst a column of lightning before reappearing by her side.

The sword in his arm flipped over as he directed the hilt towards her.

Isolde's eyes widened as she saw him cover the distance faster than she could even react.

Before she had the luxury to even think about dodging the attack, the hilt crashed into her side, making her rise above the ground and then she was hurtling like a ragdoll across the arena.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled once again as Arthur arrived where she was about to make a touch down with the stadium's floor and then raised his leg up in an axe kick.

Suddenly Arthur's senses flared and he cancelled the kick, taking a step to the side.

At the same moment Lucian's fist made contact with the place where Arthur was standing a second ago. The force of the punch punctured the ground, forming a meteor sized crater.

Dust and debris flew everywhere, the shockwave of the blow causing the hats of people in the stands to blow away.

Arthur's head snapped towards where Michael was.

The following instant a punch connected with Lucian's jaw, causing his feet to lift a few centimetres above the ground. However, he twisted his body midair and kicked Michael, pushing him back.

Lucian landed by Isolde's side; his features composed as he stood in front of her. Peeking over his shoulder, he looked at his sister. "What's wrong?"

Isolde bit at her lip, frustration and embarrassment causing her face to go red. "…"

Seeing his usually talkative and cocky sister being silent like this struck him as very odd. He looked at Arthur and then back at Isolde. "You were going to use your Arcane Arts. What happened?"

"I– I was. But–" She struggled to talk back. Vexed, she stood up, dusting off her clothes as she did.

"It's a bad matchup, it is." Lucian looked back at Arthur and Michael who were standing side by side. "Both of them are close quarters combatants."

He talked in a calm manner but a sharp, biting edge slowly crept up in his tone, his caring demeanour suddenly taking a sharp turn.

"But that doesn't change the fact that your performance as a mid-range fighter is rather…pitiable. If creating the necessary distance to use Wyrmbarb and your Arcane Art is proving itself to be too much of a challenge…well, the implications are quite clear, aren't they, sister?"

Isolde stood where she was, a rather conflicted look on her face. "Sorry…"

Despite the changing demeanour and tones, Lucian's face remained impassive. Unchanging.

"Perhaps too much to ask." He looked at Michael. "Prepare your Arcane Art. I will try to hold them."

"I will."

"Don't expect too much though." Lucian cracked his fingers. "That guy, Arthur…he's nasty. Brace yourself."

Isolde barely had a moment to process before Lucian blitzed towards Michael.

Michael grinned as he lowered his stance. "Come at me. Let's play a little!"

He had next to no injuries. It was the same for Lucian, however, the impact of Michael's blows had left Lucian's bones in utter pain. Even now, as he maintained the icy cold façade, his bones were screaming in an excruciating pain.

And while he was surprised how a mere human could hold so much physical strength, he decided to not dwell on it for long.

Just as Michael took a step forward and loaded his punch like a shotgun, Lucian suddenly decelerated and lowered, getting behind him. At the same time, he twisted his foot, changed directions and jumped into the air.

Folding his leg, he directed his knee towards Arthur's exposed back, who was standing straight, watching Isolde charge whatever she was doing.

"Tsk." Michael clicked his tongue as the explosive momentum carried him forward.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder. "Slow."

A bolt of lightning crashed from the sky and pinned Lucian to the ground. The small sparks spread all across his body, causing it to convulse.

A sickly green aura exploded from him as he broke free of the monetary paralysis from Arthur's spell.

However, Arthur didn't attack Lucian.

He didn't need to.

Michael tackled Lucian as the two of them crashed into the nearby wall.

"What a brute." Arthur exclaimed, shaking his head.

Around him, the air crackled with a tangible touch of Arcanum.

Disfigured hands extended from underneath the ground with spindly fingers that seemed to reach for Arthur hungrily.

Beneath his feet, the ground yielded with a tremor, forming a small crater as he kicked it, breaking the bony arm before shooting towards Isolde.

Her incantations fell on deaf ears as he ignored the swirling tendrils of sickly green, focused solely on closing the distance between them.

Wyrmbarb whipped, forming loops to hold him and the javelin attempted to strike him again and again.

Arthur ducked, swayed and parried, dodging the progressively increasing skeletal arms that continued to sprout from the ground that followed his every movement, never breaking his stride as he reached Isolde.

He was just inches away from reach, yet, unlike before, she didn't even flinch.

Her lips moved, but instead of a smirk, this time she had a focused look on her face.

╭─━━━━━━━━━━─╮

Embrace, death's call.

Stir, souls of the night—the

forgotten.

Resurrect, O darkness.

Rise, from the dead.

╰─━━━━━━━━━━─╯

Underneath the bright blue moonlight and the multiple lighting artefacts, a creature suddenly spawned, breaking the ground right in front of Isolde and casted a long, eerie shadow over Arthur.

Arthur looked up, his eyes widening in mild surprise.

It crawled out from the ground – a visually revolting fusion of a bat, eagle and a wyrm.

Its skin—stretched taut over its skeletal frame—was a dull, sickly green mottled with patches of yellow, resembling festering wounds.

Here and there, the skin was broken…rotting flesh that oozed a putrid, dark ichor.

In some places, the decay was so advanced that bones were visible, jagged, bony edges poking through the tattered remains of muscle and sinew.

A ridge of raised spines ran all over its long back, glistening in the dark with an oily sheen.

Arthur couldn't exactly think of a resemblance for the monstrosity that was in front of him. It felt like a blend of multiple creatures found on Earth.

Even the ridges felt like a chimeric version of multiple birds…animals, as well. Some resembled the quills of a porcupine, while others are twisted and gnarled like the thorns of a blackened rose.

The spines were pulsing with a green aura—Isolde's arcanum, giving it an eerie, almost lifelike appearance. If it wasn't for the rotting flesh, it felt very alive. Despite the lack of eyes in its eye socket.

Its head was avian with a long, hooked beak that seemed to be stained with blood.

The feathers were matted and filthy, clinging to the beast's form in clumps. Some were missing entirely, revealing patches of exposed bone and sinew beneath.

Its vast and leathery wings stretched out from its sides, the membrane torn and tattered.

It moved, shaking the ground, its movements a disjointed mimicry of life as Arthur flipped back and created some distance between him and the newly emerged creature.

A thin trail of blood trickled down Isolde's nose and a victorious grin found its way on her face.

Wiping it with the sleeve of the hand that was holding Wyrmbarb, she raised her nose in a pompous manner.

However, instead of the reaction she was seeking, she stumbled on something entirely else.

Arthur's eyes were lit up and he had a slightly amused look on his face as he observed the Arcanum leak from Isolde to the creature.

"Now this is what I am talking about." He mumbled underneath his breath.

There would be painless respite. But…not for her.