Burrak was in a remarkably good mood. The battle he had just fought was, a glorious one. True, his opponent had been weaker than he had hoped, but there had been moments—brief flashes of resistance—that had caused him a bit of trouble. And that was something he could respect, even if it was ultimately insignificant.

He surveyed the area around him, what had once been a lush forest now reduced to nothing more than ashes and charred earth. The devastation was absolute, the landscape a barren wasteland where life once thrived. A blank area, devoid of any trace of the battle that had taken place. Burrak nodded in satisfaction. He should leave soon. It wouldn’t be long before the local noble house sent someone to investigate the disturbance.

And what will they find? Burrak mused. A bunch of foolish bandits who had made the mistake of using too much oil in their flame barrels, leading to an uncontrollable inferno. That would be the conclusion the investigators would reach. That was all they would find, because Burrak was nothing if not thorough.

With practiced ease, Burrak began the process of ensuring no trace of his presence remained. He moved methodically, eliminating any evidence that might hint at his involvement. It was a process he had perfected over the years, one that ensured no soul would witness him or remember his existence in this place.

But then, something caught his eye—a shadow, faint and fleeting, but enough to give him pause. He turned, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the apparition. A ghost? No, it couldn’t be. He was certain he had killed that person. There was no doubt in his mind. And yet, there it was, standing before him like a specter from the past.

The figure stepped forward, emerging from the haze of smoke and ash, a smile curling on its lips. Burrak recognized him immediately. The one who had fallen into the cave, impaled and crushed beneath the rocks. Impossible.

And then, the figure spoke, its voice carrying that foul tongue of Mesra. "Time for round two."

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I couldn’t help but laugh as I walked through the charred remains of the forest, the ashes crunching under my boots with every step. The air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and scorched earth

The man who had just tried to roast me alive, stood there, staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he had. After all, I was supposed to be dead, wasn’t I?

"((Hwæt wurde ġehende þīnra lǣma?))" he asked, his voice laced with a twisted curiosity.

'Hm? Oh, he’s asking me about what happened to my limbs.'

"They’re just fine," I replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. "You should be more worried about yourself now."

'How am I even understanding what he’s saying?' The thought flickered in my mind, but I brushed it aside. 'Doesn’t matter. Not now.'

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath us. "((Þonne bēo hit swā. Ic āscēo þē eft tō þīnum byrgene.))"

'Again with the grave talk? This guy really needs to diversify his threats.'

He grabbed his sword, the flames licking at the blade, making it glow with a deadly heat. But before he could make his move, I was already in front of him. Faster than I’d ever moved before.

I could see the shock in his eyes just before my fist slammed into his chest. The impact was solid, satisfying, and I felt his ribcage give way under the force.

He staggered back, his face contorted in pain and surprise, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. 'Round two? Let’s make it the last one, shall we?'

The man's recovery was instant. He didn't waste a moment, his body once again engulfed in flames as he transformed back into that terrifying, burning form. He charged at me, his fiery aura expanding, the heat so intense it seemed to warp the very air around us. I braced myself, expecting the familiar sear of fire against my skin, but when the flames hit, nothing happened.

The fire washed over me like a warm breeze on a summer day—no pain, no burning, just... nothing. The man’s eyes widened in shock, I could practically taste his confusion.

I threw my head back and laughed, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the charred remains of the forest.

Stolen novel; please report.

"((Hwæt is þis? Hū ne scēat seo fýr?))" the man hissed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

my mind didn't bother translating his words this time. The way he looked at me told me everything I needed to know—he was scared. And he should be.

I swung my fist, deliberately missing him by inches, just to watch him flinch. The flames around him flickered and wavered as he stumbled back, momentarily thrown off balance. The ground beneath us, already unstable from the earlier battle, cracked and groaned under the pressure of our fight.

"Is that all you’ve got?"

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he pulled out his long, glowing sword, the metal practically vibrating with heat and power. With a snarl, he charged at me again, the blade cutting through the air with lethal precision.

I moved to meet him, my body acting on instinct as our weapons clashed, his sword flashed through the air, each swing aimed to kill, but I was faster—just enough to keep him off balance, just enough to stay one step ahead.

He slashed at my torso, and I ducked, feeling the blade’s heat graze the top of my head. I retaliated with a punch aimed at his midsection, but he twisted out of the way, the flames around him flaring up in response.

For every strike he made, I countered, each move more calculated than the last. The advantage was mine, but just barely. His experience and sheer force kept him in the fight, his sword a blur of molten steel that cut through the air with terrifying speed.

At one point, he managed to get in close, his sword slicing across my chest. The pain was sharp, intense, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

In return, I slammed my fist into his side, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles. He grunted, stumbling back, but didn’t let up. His flames flared brighter, hotter, as if fueled by his determination to take me down.

We circled each other, the air around us crackling with heat and tension. He lunged forward, his sword coming down in a vicious arc aimed at my head. I sidestepped at the last second, the blade narrowly missing me as it cleaved into the ground, sending up a spray of molten rock.

I countered with a powerful kick to his ribs, and this time, he wasn’t quick enough to dodge. The impact sent him skidding across the ground, his flames sputtering as he struggled to regain his footing.

"((Þū miht fæste feohtan, ac ic gemyndige þe, þæt þū forweorðst.))" he spat, his voice a mix of anger and grudging respect.

"Maybe," I shot back, stepping forward with confidence. "But you’re not going to be the one to finish me off."

His response was immediate and violent. He lunged at me, his sword slashing through the air with a renewed fury. I met his assault head-on, dodging, blocking, and countering in a deadly dance of fire and steel.

He managed to land a solid hit on my shoulder, the blade cutting deep, but I barely registered the pain. Instead, I grabbed his arm before he could pull away, twisting it with a force that made him cry out. The sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as I drove my fist into his face, sending him reeling.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a roar, he unleashed a torrent of flames, trying to engulf me in a final, desperate attack. The heat was intense, but I pushed through it, my body somehow resisting the inferno that should have consumed me.

I surged forward, closing the distance between us, and delivered a crushing blow to his chest. He gasped, the flames around him dimming as he staggered back. I didn’t let up, following through with a relentless barrage of punches, each one hitting with the force of a battering ram.

His body buckled under the assault, his flames flickering weakly as he tried to summon the strength to fight back. But it was too late. The advantage had shifted fully in my favor, and he knew it.

In a final, desperate move, he swung wildly at me with his remaining strength, but I caught his arm mid-swing, holding it in a vice-like grip. I could see the fear in his eyes now, the realization that he had lost.

With one last, powerful punch, I drove my fist into his chest, feeling the bones crack and the flames snuff out as he crumpled to the ground.

The fight was over. He lay there, gasping for breath, the once-mighty flames reduced to nothing more than smoldering embers. I stood over him, my breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps, but a dark satisfaction settling in my chest.

"Looks like you’re the one heading to the grave," I muttered.

The man’s flames flared up again, brighter and more intense than before, as if he was drawing power from some unseen source. I watched with a mix of exasperation and dark amusement as he threw his sword aside and dropped to his knees—no, wait, is he kneeling?

"((Ō, þū mære gæst ūppan, forgief mē þīn strengðe ongean, ic, Burrak, sēo for 20—nē, 40% mīnes līfces.))"

His flames grew even stronger, if that was even possible, and as I watched, fiery wings sprouted from his back, making him look like some twisted version of a fallen angel. The heat was so intense now that the air shimmered around him, distorting his figure into something monstrous.

I couldn’t help but shake my head in disbelief. 'How many phases does this guy have?'

He was clearly gearing up for some kind of final, desperate attack, and I wasn’t about to wait around to see what it was. I spotted his discarded sword lying on the ground and grabbed it, feeling its weight in my hand. The metal was hot to the touch, but it didn’t burn me. Nothing seemed to anymore.

'Time for round... I’ve lost count.'

He didn’t waste any time. With those flaming wings, he lunged at me, faster than ever. I barely managed to block his first strike, the force of it rattling through my bones. This wasn’t like before—he was stronger now, more focused, and far more dangerous.

It was exhausting, mentally and physically, but there was no room for hesitation. One slip, and I’d be a pile of ashes on this cursed battlefield.

The sword in my hand felt alive, humming with power as I met his attacks head-on. I could feel the heat of his flames licking at my skin, but they didn’t burn—they didn’t even make me sweat. *

Our blades met in a deadlock, sparks flying as we pushed against each other, neither willing to give an inch. His eyes burned with a mad determination

"((Hwæt forweorð þīn flāmbærend?))" he growled, his voice dripping with frustration as he pushed harder.

I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I let go of the sword with one hand and slammed my fist into his gut, forcing him to stagger back. He roared, more in anger than pain, and retaliated with a burst of flames that should have incinerated me on the spot.

But as always, the fire didn’t do a damn thing.

'Yep, definitely getting old.'

I took advantage of his momentary surprise to swing the sword in a wide arc, aiming for his midsection. He barely dodged in time, the blade slicing through the air just inches from his body. The fight was evenly matched, neither of us gaining the upper hand for long, but I could feel something shifting—some change in the way the sword moved in my hand.

And then it happened.

With one strong swing, I felt a surge of energy course through me, something I hadn’t felt before. It was like a jolt of electricity, sharp and powerful, and for a split second, everything seemed to slow down. The air around the blade rippled, and before I knew it, a sharp wave of air shot forward, cutting through the man as if he were made of paper.

He froze, his eyes wide in disbelief, and then he looked down at his body—at the clean, diagonal cut that had sliced him neatly in half. I didn’t need to see the blood to know it was over. The two halves of his body slowly slid apart, the flames flickering and dying out as they hit the ground.

I stared at the sword in my hand, barely able to believe what had just happened. 'I covered the sword with aura... finally.'

The man—no, Burrak, I suppose—collapsed to the ground, his body twitching as the last vestiges of life left him. He looked up at me, his face twisted in pain and confusion. "((Hū... dēð seo fýr ne ġescead þē?))" he gasped, blood bubbling up from his mouth.

I didn’t have an answer for him. I barely understood it myself. But he seemed to figure it out before I could even try to respond. His eyes widened, then a weak, bloody laugh escaped his lips.

"((Þā gæstas... hīe habbað þē gecoren, nā? Æfter eall... ic offrode...))"

The words died on his lips as he finally succumbed to his injuries, the flames that had once engulfed him fading away to nothing.

With a sigh, I let the sword drop to the ground, the sound of metal hitting dirt the only noise in the stillness. I didn’t know what was next, but for now, at least, the fight was over.