Half a year later…

Storm Warden Headquarters — Upper City

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A light knocking of a door.

"Come in."

Stepping inside was a clean-shaven man with a buzz cut, glasses, and a youthful complexion.

He was clad in standard Storm Warden armor outfitted with an unwavering, deadpan gaze.

The Storm Warden insignia adorned his shoulder, a whirlwind of navy blue lines backgrounding a metal shield.

"You called for me, sir?" the man asked.

At the office desk sat Maros, drenched in paperwork.

The rest of his office was kept neat, with a large, curtain-covered window.

"It's time again, Mattias. Go fetch him another prisoner, I'll be there to observe shortly."

"Of course, sir."

Mattias made his way out of the office, though Maros called out to him.

"Give him a tougher challenge today."

***

A pair of leather boots touching stone echoed through the narrow cobbled corridors, underlined by another pair of quieter bare feet.

With one hand, Mattias gripped the back of a shaggy older man's tunic, his other hand on his sheathed sword's pommel.

As the long walk commenced, murmurs and voices began to build towards his sides.

Those murmurs slowly built into shouts and laughter.

"Would you look at that, boys? They gave old Joseph the deal!"

Hoarse cackles, whistles, and cheers erupted from the dark cells.

Prisoners on both sides of the corridor began to bang on the metal bars ritualistically as they cheered.

"Kick his ass, Joseph!"

"I'll see you outside the city, my friend."

"Hey, Warden! Let me at 'em!"

The chorus of laughter and envy continued throughout the escort like a victory parade.

However, it died out as they distanced themselves, entering a new chamber.

An empty, flat rectangular room with weapon racks on the side.

It was the Storm Warden's sparring room, empty except for one.

Mattias and Joseph stepped inside to see a young man, with brown curls of medium length, outfitted with a simple grey shirt, crisscrossing strings tying the chest together.

Jett was no longer a dirty vagrant but a normal, vigorous young adult since having filled out his sickly frame.

He stood alone in the center, fiddling with his sleeves in anticipation.

This wasn't his first time through this, but only fools scoffed at the threat of death.

Mattias unlocked the prisoner's shackles before backing up.

"Joseph Duran, for serving twenty-two years of your sentence of mass murder, along with your position as a disgraced nobleman, you have been sentenced to life-long imprisonment. However, under the…" Mattias paused and coughed. "unsanctioned mercy bestowed upon you by Captain Maros Carmine of the Storm Wardens, you have been offered a deal."

Mattias threw a shortsword onto the ground in front of the tentative Joseph.

"Should you defeat this young man standing in, we will guarantee your freedom, though you will be exiled from the Reformed Kingdom of Strata Valley. Do you accept?"

The rugged man stood still in a stupor of thought, seemingly amidst a whirlwind of intense emotions.

Joseph swallowed, "Do I have a choice?"

Mattias remained deadpan, his silence delivering an answer in his voice's stead.

Joseph bent over to pick up the shortsword, feeling the weight in his hands and slashing through the air with a whistle.

"I accept."

"Then you may begin. Give everything you have."

Mattias stepped off to the side as the two combatants began to square up.

Jett held his guard low, his dagger in a reverse grip held in front of him.

Though his entire being remained alert, he felt distracted.

He couldn't stop thinking about how every prisoner he faced was filthy, malnourished, and tainted with madness.

It wasn't an issue of being a neat freak or a model citizen, just that they reminded him of himself.

His old self.

It evoked anger and spite.

He hated who he was, and what he went through.

The present Jett was better than that.

But he didn't care that his enemies were murderers, criminals, or filthy.

Their deaths would lead to strength, and with strength, his past would become ever distant.

Yes, Joseph's death would lead to Jett's strength. But Jett's death would lead to his freedom.

Joseph lunged forward with a loose downward slash, hoping to make his armorless enemy bleed early.

With so much space between the two, it took little effort for Jett to back away from the slash.

In retaliation, Jett went low to the ground, Soul building in his burning muscles.

In the blink of an eye, he dashed forward and arrived past his enemy.

The exchange was instantaneous, resulting in an abnormally loud screech of metal.

'He's also at the Acolyte stage?' Jett clicked his teeth in annoyance.

Joseph had used Soul to reinforce his arm along with his shortsword.

Though Jett caught him off guard, it ultimately did no damage.

In these 'Deal' fights, Jett usually had the advantage over his enemies, as he was able to use Soul to push past his physical limitations.

He started off fighting against those of the Dormant stage, then as he gained control over his Soul, the enemies ramped up from Released to now at his level of Acolyte.

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Now Jett was on an even playing field.

More aptly, he was fighting an uphill battle.

His opponent had years of experience with the blade against Jett's half a year.

Jett readied his blade once more, now more wary of his enemy.

They had since switched their initial positions.

Both combatants' eyes burned with an unbridled tenacity, honed through years of intimacy with the deepest of despairs.

Now, Joseph was hungrier, performing an overextending thrust toward his enemy's center mass.

Rather than backstepping, Jett stepped diagonally, catching and pushing the blade's edge of the shortsword.

Steel on steel screeched as Jett reached arm's length, releasing his deflective block and slicing through the stomach of Joseph's tunic.

Joseph backstepped and slashed simultaneously in response.

While weak, it still forced Jett to back up once more.

'Too shallow.'

Jett drew first blood, yet it was insignificant.

Joseph had tucked his stomach to prevent himself from being gutted.

Further, Jett felt he was running out of options.

Keeping the momentum of the battle—enhanced with Soul—Jett rushed his recovering opponent, switching to a forward grip.

However, his enemy anticipated this, sending a perfectly timed slash with significant force, forcing Jett to cease his attack and defend instead.

'Shit'

His dagger was sent flying; Jett had severely underestimated the slash's strength.

He now stood in sword distance, weaponless. Joseph immediately chained his follow-up attack with a fatal slash.

Jett dropped to the ground.

WHOOSH…

The sword passed harmlessly in the air.

Jett had avoided the attack but was now extremely vulnerable.

He planted his palms on the floor, setting his entire body ablaze with the heat of his Soul, power coursing through his every fiber.

A faint white glow pierced Jett's ivory skin.

'Everything!'

With a surge of speed and power, Jett burst upward towards Joseph, sending everything he had into his enemy through a shoulder tackle.

Jett could hear the crunching of bone and the full exhale of his enemy as he connected.

Joseph's entire body was launched across the sparring room with ridiculous speed, squashing against the wall like a bug.

His body limply fell forward.

The near-defeated convict's breaths came out as deathly wheezes.

'He's… not… dead.'

On the brink of being unconscious, Jett hobbled over to Joseph.

The enemy's entire torso was broken and shattered, twitching as it tried to move.

Jett stomped on Joseph's swordhand, who cried out in pain, screaming through gritted teeth.

Yet he didn't release the sword.

"Argh… Ah…" each stomp became more vicious and imbued with anger.

It wasn't until every bone in Joseph's hand shattered that his grip finally gave out.

Jett bent over and took hold of the shortsword in both hands, standing over his utterly defeated enemy.

"Hah… hah…"

Two laughing exhales were all Joseph could muster.

Jett brought the sword down into his enemy's heart, the odd sensation of pierced flesh sent a shiver down his spine, soon warmed by the feeling of relief and respite.

The boy fell to his knees as Soul reentered his being both hands clutching the sword that impaled the bleeding corpse.

His depletion of Soul forced Jett into sleep's embrace, his eyes slowly closing.

…

Mattias's deadpan face had since been flooded with shock and awe.

He could only think about the pure carnage, the utter primality that was birthed from an otherwise sophisticated duel.

Pheeew~

From the doorway came an impressed whistle.

The tall and sturdy Maros entered the chamber with a mischievous and prideful grin.

"Look at that monster, Mattias. Can you believe the King laughed in my face when I told him about little Jett?"

Mattias gulped, ignoring his superior's comment. "Sir, are you sure we can keep this up? You should know how furious the other heads will get when they find out you're using prisoners to bolster your own."

"Yeah, well, Mattias, I really don't care."

"Sir…"

"Vale Rangers, Strata's Swords, Spire's Hand, even the Vaulters, they all have free reign to hunt and kill outside of Strata. They get to bolster their own, Storm Wardens get to babysit the Kingdom and do real shit while everyone else gets a headstart."

He picked up the limp Jett and flung him over his shoulder.

"The Storm Wardens cannot be the only one out of the Five to be hamstrung. Not if I'm going to claim the throne."

Ever the straight-man, Mattias didn't seem to fully agree, but held his tongue and lowered his head out of respect.

"But sir, I don't understand how he'll play a role in the bout, he's barely an Acolyte. He can't possibly become at least a high Stalwart in another six months.

"Ah," Maros murmured. "War is imminent. The schedule will change. He will be of use when the time comes."

"I see…"

Maros glanced over at the pooling body of Joseph. "You'll need to clean that up yourself, Sergeant. I don't want the rest of the Wardens to know my business. Take the rest of the day off after, should you wish."

"Yes, sir."