I stood there in the ring as I faced my opponent. She’s an old haggard woman dressed in white robes. Her gray hairs are uncombed but within that mop is a silver ornament socketed with a diamond. Her back is slightly hunched removing a couple inches from her already shriveled form.

I tighten my rope belt as I bring my staff to the ready. Faded as she might be, she’s still a Saintess and if I hope to maintain my honor then I must not strike her. To win with those conditions will require I treat this with the utmost seriousness.

“Amadeus of Riverwood.” The announcer points to me and I’m met with a rather lukewarm response. I am an unknown, my dress is not posh, and I’m uneducated. For these reasons I’m held in disregard by those frequenting this arena. “Aimer Ainzel the Saintess of water. Begin!”

With that I focus my spirit within my feet and push off. I fly in her direction as a thin film of water forms in front of her. I stab my staff into the ground and swing in a circle as a ball of water flies past my face. I kick off my staff and approach her as I coat my hand in mana.

Sleep. My hand moves forward only to become coated in a layer of ice. The frost has no chilliness to it but the coating is able to jerk my hand to the side under the Saintess’ control. I infuse the ice with my spirit to banish her control over it and extend my aura half an inch out from myself. This’ll prevent her from using the same trick again. I strike forward but my gut is impacted by a blast of pressurized water as I’m sent backwards. I slam hand into the floor as I skid to a halt and leave an imprint on the dirt floor.

More come and I feel points light up in my mind as I drop down, belly against the ground, before pushing myself up and focusing my spirit in my left foot as I kick a bullet of water and send myself off towards the lady again.

She’s managed to gather enough water to form a full-blown shield around herself by now. It’s too risky to the just ram through it with my body; I need to save mana for the next round. I turn and send a kick at the shield to change my momentum and mess up her timing. I flip onto my hands as I evade several orbs of water sent my way from behind while tendrils from her shield try to entangle me. I twist and turn as I get to the base of the tendrils and sever them kicks and hand-chops.

By having them connected like this she can save mana and move them with greater dexterity. Greater distances cost more mana especially when her target isn’t connected to a body of water she’s already touching. That’s generally how it works with most Saintesses of this nature.

Punching a hand through her bubble and reforming the spell to knock her unconscious would take too much time while under such an onslaught. What is needed now is to waste her mana. I back off and grab my staff from off the ground. I spin it and cut through them down swiftly. From all around me I feel bullets of liquid, tendrils of water and pikes? I parry a spike of ice to the side. I can’t just disrupt her control with ice and expect it to lose coherency.

It seems she’s taking me more seriously. This is good; if an old lady ended up having to go easy on me then where would I hide my shame? I stifle a smile and keep my face expressionless. To show joy in such a situation would be far too humiliating. What if someone were to think I like bullying the elderly? My reputation might never recover.

I parry the pikes as one shatters. Clever, she caused its insides to evaporate as I struck it to blind me with the shell’s debris. It’s worked too. A chunk of ice has lodged itself firmly in my eye. I use my mana to numb the pain as the sound of the crowd fades from my ears. There is nothing more important than focus. My mana sharpens my mind to a razor’s edge as I feel the area light up around me as I’m alerted to all the attacks incoming.

If she’s able to remove her mana signature from her attacks, then I lose. Better to gamble full-on on this rather than depend on my vision. I haven’t gotten enough training to fight without an eye yet. Parry, sever, disperse, the ground lights up so I jump and strike it with my staff. By the sound it looks like she’s created a layer of ice. Very good. My staff stabs into the ground as I spin myself, while I decrease friction with one of the only applications of the second magic I know, around it with my hands defending against her attacks. Blood drips down from my palms as I realize the ice has chilled. She’s using real ice now as opposed to conjuration.

I lean back and use my legs to spin the staff as it parries the strikes that had been aimed at my elevated height. She’s readjusted her aim and I take some hits, with my braced spirit, as I right my posture to start defending again. I wonder; how much mana she can draw from the water? Surely not enough to keep up with this expenditure. This isn’t the ocean and she’s too old to convert it quickly enough to outlast me in these conditions.

I feel the whole floor begin lighting up. I stomp on the ground hard. The heel of my foot has mana focused into it, more than I’d like, as it digs into the ground to secure my balance. My feet are growing numb, but I can compensate. My steps are now sufficiently steady.

The tendril begin to pick up in speed. It looks like she’s grown tired of our stalemate and has decided to go crazy now that she has enough water gathered. Mana floods my senses as hundreds of tendrils reach towards me in an attempt restrict my movements. I spin my staff and mow through them as I back further and further away from her and try to avoid getting encapsulated.

It doesn’t work and I drop my staff to curl into a ball. With my form more compact I create a shell around myself as I resist her torrent. She grinds and grinds against my shield as I try to outlast her. The water hardens into ice and I push outwards as I shoot my spirit into my elbow to create cracks in one point with whatever small movements I can manage. I change my focus with each strike as I cycle through my head, my feet, my knees, and so on until I’d cracked it enough to shatter the thing whole with a push.

My aura had been dense enough that my body had been able to keep itself warm. As a result, blood was still flowing from my hand and I’m able to flick a drop of it at her. The blood is sent flying due to the spirit imbued into the flick. As it impacts her, I use it to sense her mana reserves. I lessen my aura to conserve mana.

My sensing is interrupted. She has mana but not much. I jump up and run at her as tiny spikes start popping up the ground and my big toe is impaled by one. I begin jumping towards her on one foot as I use my sensing to predict where they’ll pop up; a task made infinitely more difficult by the fact her mana had entirely shrouded the ground previously.

Mana imbued into my hand and my spell prepared I reach towards her.

“I give up.” A small voice croaks out from ahead of me.

It sounds as if she’d not spoken a word in a hundred years so hoarse was her voice. I halt my movements and pull the needle out from my toe as blood leaks from the wound. Sometimes I wish I had learned the art of flesh instead of specializing in the fifth magic. Focus might be the tool needed to achieve true mastery, but healing would make the journey far easier.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

I head to collect my staff as murmuring fills the crowd. My honor, while bruised, has not been destroyed. Still, I must strive to never again be wounded by one so frail; even if she might be a Saintess.

“Amadeus of Riverwood wins.” The voice fills the arena once more. “Move back to the resting area as we prepare for the next round.”

I head back inside where the other contestants wait. There’d been thirty who’d made it through the qualifier. None of these people were men of little skill. Even the females were formidable. Each magus who’d made it here was someone capable of competing and often beating even the knights themselves. A healer comes to my side and I ready my senses.

“If you are planning anything then I will take your life.” My grandfather had always said to lay down proper boundaries. “Proceed justly and you shall have my thanks.”

He does not respond other then making a face of distaste. This is the arrogance of those living in the capital. So weak and brittle yet he dares to show contempt towards me. Their laws must be robust indeed if people such as these can survive. For the weak to prosper and continue so fearlessly surely shows the power of the emperor’s justice.

I close my eyes and meditate. My entire mind is put to converting lifeforce to mana. I’ll lose a few pounds generating it so quickly, but that’s a price well worth paying to be at my full capacity. It’s a shame I’m missing the next matches, but I’d rather fail due to ignorance than weakness.

As time passes, I’m called again. I enter the arena and I feel the ground is warm. It singes my feet and I’m forced to layer my spirit onto my sole. A magus who uses heat? Maybe an elementalist? Perhaps, the Saintess of fire is participating. It’s a shame I don’t know what she looks like. I’ll have to see if any of my fellow contestants are willing to tell me about the previous matches.

I look at my opponent. He’s covered in a full suit of armor. It covers his whole body and it seems to be made of iron. He’s large enough that, if he were to brace himself right, I wouldn’t be able to knock him onto his back. Considering he’s participating in this tournament; it would be safe to assume that I cannot cause him to fall easily.

Knights always have been the bane of magi. Even if I am not one, I still depend on mana to enhance my toughness and with a full set of iron armor I’m relegated me near the realm of ordinary men. The knight likely weighs more than he looks considering the extensive amount of flesh-weaving that goes into each generation. I likely can’t parry his blade without my staff being cleaved in twain.

The gaps in his helmet are too small for my staff to fit; even if I could get past his shield. There are no other significant gaps in his armor. Can I strike his armor without breaking my staff? My only option is to bait him into making a mistake and hoping for an opening. If I give him a good poke when he’s not expecting it then he may fall.

I look at the ground to see if any of it is still muddied from my round. There’s a corner that looks promising. Yes, that’ll probably work.

“Lance Arderon.” The voice introduces my opponent. “Amadeus from Riverwood. Begin!”

I point my staff at my opponent as I take a step back. He approaches with steady steps that give me little chance to trip him up. He’s trained against this kind of thing. Troublesome. I feel my face twist into a frown.

His pace picks up as he seems to gain a sudden surge of confidence. I don’t believe I can make it to the mud without messing up my posture. Considering he’s participating in this tournament then, surely, he’s fast enough to punish such a mistake.

If I turn my back and run, then I’d open myself up a blade being thrown into my back. Not like he even needs it to overpower me. His shield would work fine if it’s just bashing me to death.

He lunges forward and I drop to the ground on my back as I drop my pole and give it a kick at his visor. I slam into the ground and imbue my back with spirit to push myself back up as I send myself through his guard, hand lunging into his open… He’d turned his head and my staff hadn’t gotten the angle it needed to open his visor. I bring my hand back and brace myself as I’m bashed with his shield. He continues pushing me as his sword is rammed through my gut. I’m soon smashed against the wall as he runs at absurd speeds for someone, who’s in all likelihood, unenhanced.

He twists the blade and I feel him push down. The blade had screwed with my mana flow, but it would be an insult to my grandfather’s teachings if just that much was enough to stop me. I move my mana away from the blood near where I’d been punctured. I focus my spirit into my bones and muscles as I resist being crushed to a pulp. I kick futilely once or twice but the pain from my toes calms me.

He pulls his blade out and raises his sword to stab down on my face. Now, I angle my jaw so that I might catch it with my mouth. Half my right cheek is torn asunder and a quarter of my left one as I bite down on the tip of his blade. Focus. My teeth crack but I’m able to maintain my aura within my jaw muscles. My gums hold my teeth in place.

I get my legs up and press them against his stomach. I preemptively numb the feeling in my legs as I push. You see whatever is touching iron has its mana disrupted but I can still strengthen the leg muscles further up. It just means the bones in my feet will shatter.

And shatter they do. The skin peels as muscle is torn but it works. He loses his balance and stumbles. I use this opportunity to wiggle my left arm free as I send it at his helmet. I knock it open with the same movement I use to pierce his eye. I do not have the right angle to go deep but the surface of his eye I’ve pierced.

He lets out a garbled sound as the grip on his sword slackens. I hit him with my knee and send him off at the cost of breaking it. I jerk my jaw to the side and pull the blade from his hand. I grab his sword and give a sloppy stab at his face with it as he’s still regaining his composure. He turns his head to the side and my blade fails. I crawl towards him as my vision fades. Oh…

That’s what that was. The skin that had been pressed is now gone. It looks like it’s gotten rather attached. I laugh as I gaze at my epidermis coating the iron of his shield. Well, it’s falling off now. I try to get up but fall. Focus.

I get up again and this time I’m able to balance on my broken foot. He pulls his visor down as he finally regains his calm. I don’t have time. I’ve lost far too much blood. I hobble towards him.

I start hopping in place and as I land, for the fourth time, I imbue large portion of mana into my leg. I shoot off like an arrow at him. This blade thankfully has a leather grip, so I don’t lose my hand in striking his shield as he brings it up. I bounce back as we clash. I land on my foot, I’d already adjusted, as I-

Get bashed in the face with his shield. That’s right. He’s not slow like an average knight. Even without magic augmenting his movements he’s plenty fast. I grab the shield and hold myself to it as I try bashing his head with the blade’s pommel. I let go as he turns towards the wall again.

Roll. His foot smashes down where my head had just been. I try to push myself up, but I get a kick to my exposed ribs for the trouble. The only thing keeping me alive at this point is mana. He kicks again but I predicted it this time. With my reinforced strength I smash his ankle with the blade’s pommel, and he falls. I roll out of the way to avoid being crushed under his girth.

I get up. I begin hopping around in a circle around him. His shield is guarding his visor. He knows what I want to do, and he knows I’ll die if this goes on much longer. I try stabbing between the joints, but it seems there’s some more armor under there that makes the endeavor largely pointless. Still I’m able to stop him from getting back up.

If I go down on him and trying wrestling, then he’ll tear me apart. Do I just give up? He makes a gagging noise. I move. With a strike his visor is open, and my sword is then knocked to the side by his shield. I move with renewed vigor as I strike again and again at his eyes. I’m knocked away each time but eventually I’ll make it.

“Amadeus wins!” The voice calls off the match prematurely. “Cease or be disqualified and face the full penalty of the law!”

I drop the blade as I hobble back. Healers come and attend to my opponent as I slump down onto the ground. I hear cheering off in the distance. Grandpa said if I fall asleep after losing a lot of blood I’ll die. I focus and use mana to keep my mind aware. Please, heal me. I try to talk but I can’t muster the strength to utter the words.