Raython, standing around thirty metres away from Alnea, was still inscribing a Glyph on his Glyph Disc, when he felt the change in the world around him. A subtle change, but a change, nonetheless. Mysteries of the Origin Sea… Fearing a sudden attack from the kid’s Arcana, he changed his position, while trying to complete his Glyph as soon as possible. Yet he still could not get rid of the strange pressure acting on his body.
Rather, the more that he moved, the greater the pressure became. Soon, the pressure increased to a point where he had to cover his body completely in the green, blue and white light of Aspects, just to be able to move his hands. Such a strange attack… Fortunately, unlike Enel, Raython was experienced enough to know that he could not panic.
Not that Alnea had expected much from his Arcana anyway. Yuri’s Dominance in itself was just an Intermediate Grade Arcana of the Intermediate Stage, while the white robed man was at Peak Stage. The best that Yuri’s Dominance could do was consume some of the man’s strength, as he adjusted himself to strange pressure and resumed carving his Glyph. But that was enough to tell Alnea what he needed to know.
Manipulating his Aspects so deftly, without showing any signs of using his Martial Styles… Raython had to be quite accomplished in the path of Warriors as well. So, a Scholar, and a Warrior. Quite a difficult combination, Alnea noted. Especially since he was lacking in both time, and Spirit Power. The last attack he had used in his previous fight… Even Yuri’s Dominance was quite demanding when it came to Spirit Power.
After all he had been through. Alnea was left with barely a little over two thirds of his Spirit Power. About ten thousand units, or a thousand False units. In comparison, just the threshold of reaching the Peak Stage was around fifty thousand units, or five thousand False units. But that was just the threshold. Even going by conservative estimates, Raython, as one of the leaders of the Lotus clan in the Lost City, was bound to have far greater Spirit Power reserves. Probably around seven to eight times as much Spirit Power as he had at the moment.
Seven to eight thousand False Units… With so much Spirit Power, Raython could just keep casting Glyphs from a distance, and drown him in an endless barrage of attacks. Literally. After all, casting Intermediate Stage Glyphs would barely put a dent in the Spirit Power reserves of the white robed man. Even in the case of Advanced Stage Glyphs, he could still use them for around ten to fifteen times. As for Peak Stage Glyphs…
Using them would just be a wastage of Spirit Power. Not only did the Peak Stage Glyphs had a great demand of Spirit Power, but they also had an even greater casting time. It was not for no reasons that Scholars were often placed towards the back of their teams. With their teammates protecting them, they could concentrate on casting their Glyphs. In solo battles though, only fools would use Glyphs with such long casting time.
Besides, although Alnea did not know what kind of Glyph Raython was carving, he could recognise the pressure of Mysteries descending around the white robed man. It was the pressure of Intermediate Stage Mysteries. And Intermediate Stage Glyphs did not have too long of a casting time. So, not only did he not have enough Spirit Power to waste on casting another Arcana, but he did not have enough time to cast his other Arcanas either.
In the end, Alnea had no choice but to give up his earlier plan, and rush towards the white robed man himself, hoping to make it to the man in time. Unfortunately, the Arcana he had released earlier turned around to bite back at him, slowing his speed down by two to three times. Even becoming a golden ‘Stream of Lightning’ did not help either. Especially since Raython was moving back as well, trying to maintain the distance between them.
By the time that Alnea closed the distance between Raython and himself by half, the white robed man had already finished engraving his Glyph. In the next moment, with the infusion of enough Spirit Power, a red light burst forth from the disc, and gathered above Raython’s head, coalescing into large ball of fire, roughly twice the size of their heads.
“Fireball.”
Alnea quickly supressed the lighting within himself, while transforming himself into a ‘Gust’ of the ‘Eastern Winds’. Swift and agile, but with roots, and a destination. Even when the Arena itself had a wind of its own, it was not enough to influence him. On the contrary, he cut through all the winds obstructing his steps, and rolled towards his side, avoiding the mass of fire flying through the place where his chest had been just moments ago.
“Explode.”
…Exploding Fireball. Alnea cursed at his enemy’s insidiousness, as he allowed the quintuple gravity to pull himself to the ground, just as the mass of fire exploded above him, raining its carnage all around him. The heat and fire aside, just the shockwave from the explosion was enough to give him concussions. Especially since the explosion had happened barely a metre away from him. And yet, the main damage from the Exploding Fireball was supposed to come not from the explosion, but the sticky fire that rained down on his chest.
…The attack, it was not just an Exploding Fireball, but a ‘Greed’s Exploding Fireball’. A Glyph Array formed by connecting four different Glyphs. In hindsight, he should have expected as much. As an heir of a clan specialising in the path Scholars, how could Raython spend so much time just to cast an Intermediate Stage Array? How could the man take the initiative to back away on his own? Only a Glyph Array could explain everything. Only a Glyph Array could be worthy of an attack that had almost injured him. Almost.
The Glyphs on his robe, glowing in a golden light, managed to stop both the flames, and the shockwaves, leaving him unscathed despite him being right at the centre of the explosion.
“…That is quite a nice robe you got there, kid.”
“Why? Are you jealous?” Alnea said, as he pushed himself back onto his feet, while the white robed man continued carving Glyphs.
“Someone favoured by the Gods would never be jealous of the maggots crawling below their feet.”
“How does it feel then, crawling like a maggot below my feet?”
Alnea ducked down to avoid a Fire Arrow aiming right for his head. This time though, it was just a regular Fire Arrow. The time between the two attacks was too short to carve another Glyph Array. At least for a False Wanderer like Raython. But it looked like the white robed man had not intended to hurt him with the Fire Arrow in the first place. In the time that Alnea dodged the Fire Arrow, Raython had put his Glyphs Disc and Carving Knife away, summoning a short sword in his hands.
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“That’s it?” Alnea said, sneering at the white robed man. “Giving up already? Is this the power of Glyphs that your clan always used to tempt me with?”
“…Put your robe away, and then I will show you the true power of the Lotus clan’s Glyphs.”
“Another excuse,” Alnea said, clicking his tongue in disgust. “Bring me an Intermediate Stage False Wanderer, and I will fight him without my robe.”
Instead of answering Alnea, Raython rushed towards him, with lights of his Aspects twisting around him, rotating at an ever-increasing speed, forming a strange tornado of green, blue, and white lights. A tornado, that was somehow counteracting the pull of Yuri’s Dominance enough for the white robed man to move at his normal speed.
An Auxiliary Martial Style, Alnea noted, as he assumed the form of the ‘Gusts of Eastern Winds’ once again. Or maybe one specialising in speed. Either way, except for making the man waste some of his Spirit Power, and creating some inconveniences for him, Yuri’s Dominance had not achieved much. What else could he expect though? Taking down a Peak Stage Wanderer with just an Intermediate Stage Arcana?
Giving up his idea of casting another Arcana to aid himself, Alnea brought up his sword to meet the short sword coming for his head, fighting against tornado with the ‘Red Floods of the East’. A clash, which sent both the Wanderers reeling back by a few steps, and also gave Alnea a rough estimate of his enemy’s strength. Stuffing his sword with nearly ten Aspects was not in vain.
Adjusting the strength of his Aspects, Alnea rushed forward to clash with Raython once again. Sword against sword, flood against the tornado… Every move that Raython made was countered with just a little more strength, forcing him back step by step. Forcing back a Wanderers two stages above him in a direct clash… Such an incredible performance, of course, came with an equally incredible price. His already low reserve of Spirit Power was bottoming out at an even greater pace.
On the other end, though Raython was also losing his Spirit Power at an incredible rate, his Spirit Power reserves were still greater than five thousand False Units. If the fight went on, it was clear as to who the winner would be. So, after subduing the humiliation he was feeling from being pushed around by a Wanderer two whole stages below him, Raython continued playing along with Alnea, clashing again, and again. And again.
Catching Raython’s downswing with a horizontal block, and returning it with rising waves of the floods. Bringing down the flood on the winds, only for his vertical slash to be side tapped, and redirected away from white robed man. Sparks of silverish blue, golden, green, white, and black lights kept breaking off from their bodies, flying around in the Arena, as Alnea kept clashing with Raython.
“…You are going to lose, kid.”
“I would not be so sure,” Alnea said, as he continued swinging his sword.
“Are you going to rely on your robe?” Raython said, blocking Alnea’s attack, before counterattacking with his own. “I admit that I cannot hurt you. But when you lose all your Spirit Power, kicking you off the stage would be too easy.”
“Maybe,” Alnea said. “If you can hold on till that time, that is.”
“Do not worry. I will make sure to hold on till you faint from exhaustion of your Spirit.”
“…Seven. Including the one I am using right now, that’s the number of Sword type Martial Styles I have used in the Arena since I have arrived in the city. You should already know that information, right?”
“So? What are you trying to say?”
“In each fight, I always use a combination of Martial Styles. A chain, if you may.”
“Are you trying to show off?” Raython said with a scoff, increasing the intensity of his attacks. “Even a fool like you should know that using one Martial Style that suits you is better than randomly using some scattered Martial Styles.”
“…Tell me, Whitebud. Why is it that I am using only one Martial Style against you?”
“Who knows? Maybe because you hit your head when you fell earlier?”
“Or maybe, I was just waiting for the right moment.”
“What can you do—
“It was a good fight, Whitebud,” Alnea said, channelling all the Aspects within his body into his sword, as he slashed it towards Raython’s face. Complacent, and used to the attacks, Raython countered the slash with a block. That was until he saw the sword shine like Enn, blinding his eyes.
Having seen Alnea use a similar tactic before, Raython was naturally prepared for the glare. Closing his eyes, he quickly shifted his focus to other senses. His sense of smell, touch, and hearing. And through them, he finally understood what Alnea was talking about.
Silverish blue, blue, white, golden, yellow, red, green, and black—Twenty eight Aspects, all carrying Oren to their greatest capacity, burst directly into Raython’s face, creating an explosion that shook the entire stage. No, not just shook. The explosion had directly blasted a pit in the stage. Even Alnea, with the protection of his robe, felt his ears ringing. And if he had not closed his eyes just before the explosion, he was afraid that he might even have lost his eyes.
Still, for a few moments, he could see nothing but a blinding white light. And though his robe had saved from the rest of the explosion, it had not helped him against the shockwave that had sent him flying nearly thirty to forty metres, all the way to the end of the stage. Thankfully, he was still on the stage, Alnea thought, as he spread the senses of his Spirit towards the epicentre of the explosion. Towards four metre wide pit in the stage, and the body lying at its edge.
Tattered, and shredded, the once pristine white robe—or at least what was left of it— had been dyed red with blood. As had been the body itself. There was not an inch on the body was either not burnt, or bleeding. Even the pit itself, sizzling, with its centre still red hot, had blood flowing in its groove. There was just so much blood…
And yet, the sight of blood and burns on the body was nothing compared to the wound on the man’s head. If it could even be called as a head anymore. Half of the man’s head, including his right eyes and jaw, was gone, leaving just a mangle flesh and blood, with the juices of his brain leaking down his mangled cheeks. If the other wounds were not obvious enough, that was enough to tell everyone that Raython Whitebud was dead.
“…Your Blood Card.”
A man was dead. All because he could not imagine the sight of losing to the Lotus clan. It did not matter if he used suicidal attacks. He just wished to win. He had his robe to save him anyway, right? So what if his enemies died? The man was from the Lotus clan anyway. It was good that he was dead. All his enemies deserved to die. He had done nothing wrong. Even if he cheated a little…
“…Wanderers have been killing each other since the Age of Gods. There is nothing strange about it.”
Even if he… If he…
“You have already killed him. There is nothing you can do about it. Instead of crying, carve this feeling in your Heart. Remember it with your being. So that when the time comes for you to kill again, you would not make a fool of yourself.”
He had killed the man with own hands. For his selfish needs, he had killed a man…
“…This is so annoying. Hey, you three. You are his teammates, right? Come take him away. I need to prepare the stage for the next fight.”