Chapter 19
Adom vs. Damus: Round 1
In the heart of the amphitheater, amidst the ancient stones that had witnessed countless duels, Adom stood facing Damus. The air was electric, charged with anticipation as the crowd's murmurs swelled like the tide. Adom, his vibrant blue eyes scanning his opponent, couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. It wasn't a sound of derision, nor was it laced with superiority. Rather, it was a chuckle born of incredulity, a reflection of how surreal this moment felt to him.
As he gazed at Damus, whose aura bristled with impatience, Adom noted the 'level 6' hovering like an unspoken challenge between them. This wasn't about power – Adom had faced far greater, even in this life – but about confronting a ghost from his past, a remnant of his old life that now stood before him, young and brash.
Damus, mistaking the chuckle for mockery, bristled with irritation. "Laughing at me, shrimp?" he sneered, the veins in his neck standing out like cords. "I'll wipe that smirk off your face."
Adom's smile faded, replaced by a reflective calm. A 65 years old having a beef with a 13 years old, what is wrong with me... He realized how petty their feud seemed from the perspective of his old soul housed in a young body. In his past life, anger towards Damus had festered like an open wound. But now, facing a boy not yet fully shaped by life's trials, that anger seemed misplaced, almost foolish.
Yet, the ember of unresolved bitterness towards the Damus of his past life lingered. It was a complex tangle of emotions; a part of him yearned for closure, while another part chastised himself for harboring such feelings towards what was essentially a child in his eyes now.
The amphitheater, with its worn stones and the hushed whispers of the audience, served as the perfect backdrop for this inner turmoil. The sun cast long shadows, adding a dramatic hue to the scene, as if the very heavens were leaning in to witness the unfolding drama.
Adom's stance was relaxed, yet there was an undeniable tension in the air. It was as if the amphitheater itself held its breath, awaiting the clash. Damus, on the other hand, was like a coiled spring, his every muscle tensed for action, his eyes narrow slits of focused fury.
As Adom stood in the center of the amphitheater, the realization dawned on him that this duel would not erase the shadows of his past grievances with Damus. What victory could he possibly claim here that held any real value to him? Besides, the idea of shining too bright a spotlight on himself made him uneasy. He'd already drawn enough eyes with his earlier actions; any more and he risked unveiling secrets best kept hidden.
His contemplation was abruptly halted as Damus began circling him like a predator sizing up its prey, his voice laced with a taunting edge, "Defend yourself." The air around Damus stirred, a clear indication of his intent to cast a spell. Adom watched, his expression unreadable, as Damus enveloped himself in a swirling cocoon of wind, his stance ready and eager.
Adom weighed his options. Engaging Damus in hand-to-hand combat was not in his favor. Despite the physical enhancements and skills granted by the system, Adom had come into the martial arts world much later than Damus. Their shared history in Kati, where they grew up as neighbors, served as a stark reminder of this fact. Damus had always been the more physically adept of the two, his life steeped in the rigorous discipline of martial training from a tender age.
A decision took shape in Adom's mind. He would let Damus have this victory. It was a concession that cost him little, yet preserved the facade of normalcy he so desperately needed to maintain. But as the thought settled, a flicker of defiance sparked within him. Perhaps it was pride, or perhaps it was a sliver of the old grudge that absolutely refused to die completely. Adom acknowledged this feeling of pettiness with a wry acceptance. If he was to concede this duel, he wouldn't do so without first giving Damus a run for his money. A small victory, maybe, but one that would allow him to retain a shred of dignity in his own eyes.
Adom's smile was a calculated move, a subtle provocation that he knew would unsettle this younger version of Damus. "Come at me then," he said casually, waving his hand with a nonchalant air. The reaction was immediate. Damus paused, his eyes narrowing as he processed the taunt, then a low chuckle escaped him. "You know, I've always thought you were smarter than that. Taunting me? And you think I would fall for this?" he scoffed, disbelief coloring his tone.
Adom feigned a look of innocent confusion, his voice dripping with faux sincerity, "What are you talking about? I'm not taunting, just very confident. I feel like I could take you on any time now. Just like when we were younger, remember? Our fight by the river, I think you cried that day." The words were a dart aimed straight at Damus' pride, and the effect was palpable. The amphitheater, buzzing with the whispers of fellow students, became a cauldron of tension.
Mohagan, with his keen eyes, watched the exchange with curiosity, while Sam seemed to embody anxiety, his discomfort visible in the sweat that drenched his clothes. Adom couldn't help but find a hint of amusement in Sam's predictable reaction, thinking to himself, He'll never change.
But the moment for reflection was fleeting. With a roar that seemed to slice through the air itself, Damus launched forward, his speed a blur to the onlookers. "Look at me when we're fighting, Adom!" he bellowed, his voice full of anger and determination.
Adom darted across the courtyard, his movements a blur of precision and grace, each step calculated to avoid the barrage of spells that Damus hurled at him. Despite the intensity of the assault, Adom's face remained composed, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he activated his [Quick Reflexes], a subtle glow enveloping his form as he nimbly sidestepped an especially vicious fireball.
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The onlookers watched in awe, their breaths held tight as the duel unfolded. Damus, with his flair for the dramatic, unleashed spell after spell, each more elaborate and flashy than the last. fire arced from his fingertips, ice shards whistled through the air, and gusts of wind howled across the courtyard, each spell a testament to his raw power and talent.
But Adom met each attack not with brute force but with cunning simplicity. A flick of his wrist summoned a shimmering barrier just in time to deflect a surge of fire, its surface rippling like water before dissolving into the air. A subtle shift in his stance redirected a flurry of ice shards harmlessly away, each movement deliberate, minimal yet effective.
As the duel wore on, Adom's mind worked tirelessly, analyzing Damus's technique and choice of spells. He's talented, no doubt, Adom mused internally, recalling the Damus of his own timeline. But raw talent without strategy is like a sword without a hilt—dangerous, yet ultimately flawed. He noted the similarities and differences, the raw potential Damus possessed, and how it had not yet been shaped into the discipline of the sword saint he was destined to become.
With each exchange, Adom feigned exertion, his breaths coming a tad heavier, his movements fractionally slower, offering Damus glimpses of victory. Yet, to the keen observer like Mohagan, it was clear that Adom was in control, his every move a step ahead, his every spell cast with a purpose beyond mere defense.
Then, seizing an opening as Damus paused to gather Essentia for another grand spell, Adom acted. With a subtle gesture, he summoned a gust of wind, not to attack but to alter the trajectory of a nearby loose stone. The stone, guided by unseen forces, skittered across the ground and tapped against Damus's heel at just the right moment, breaking his concentration and causing his spell to fizzle out in a harmless shower of sparks.
The crowd gasped, and Damus stumbled, his eyes wide with surprise. Adom stood his ground, his stance relaxed yet ready, his eyes locked with Damus's, a silent challenge hanging in the air.
The disbelief painted across Damus's face was almost comical, and for a fleeting moment, Adom forgot the act he was supposed to maintain. Oh, right, he thought, suddenly remembering to pant heavily, simulating exertion from the ongoing duel.
As Damus continued to stare in stunned silence, Adom sarcastically told him, "Hey, don't look at me like that, you know people love a good underdog story". Adom's gaze then shifted to Sam, his usually reserved friend, who was now screaming Adom's name with a fervor that belied his typically calm demeanor. The crowd, taking cue from Sam, erupted into a chorus of support for Adom, their chants vibrating through the air with a palpable energy. Amidst this overwhelming support, Adom couldn't help but reflect on Sam's transformation from the silent and timid boy he knew to the vocal supporter rallying the crowd. Look at him go, who would have thought? He mused internally.
With the crowd's cheers drowning out their conversation, Damus regained his composure, his eyes narrowing as he addressed Adom. "You're not the underdog here, not anymore, what have you done?" he declared, the weight of his realization hanging between them.
Adom, unfazed by the shift in Damus's perception, cut him off before he could delve further into questions about Adom's sudden change. "Look, I'm not going to spill my life story to you. We're not pals, especially not after everything that's happened. So cut the chatter and get on with it. We've already dragged this out longer than necessary."
Their exchange, lost amidst the roaring support of the crowd, marked a pivotal moment in their confrontation.
Adom's gaze sharpened as Damus surged forward, a primal scream slicing through the air. The young man's movements were a blur, propelled by a potent fusion of fire and wind magic that lent him an almost ethereal swiftness. Adom couldn't help but marvel at the sheer mastery Damus displayed for his age, wielding powerful dual spells with such precision that it seemed as if the elements themselves bent to his will.
Truly impressive, Adom mused internally, his eyes tracking every motion with the keen interest of a seasoned scholar observing a rare phenomenon. The way Damus harnessed the Essentia, channeling it through his body without the need for a physical blade, was reminiscent of a dance—both destructive and beautiful. His swordless swordsmanship was not just combat; it was art, each movement a stroke painted with the vibrant colors of magic.
As the distance between them vanished, Damus' attacks became a tempest, each strike interwoven with elemental fury. Flames licked the air, leaving trails of heat that distorted the space around them, while gusts of wind howled, amplifying the force behind each blow. Adom deftly maneuvered through the onslaught, his own control of Essentia acting as both shield and spear.
In the heat of battle, Adom found himself analyzing Damus' technique. The synchronization between his physical movements and magical enhancements is extraordinary, he noted. The young sorcerer's ability to maintain such control while casting multiple spells simultaneously was a testament to his deep understanding of the Essentia's flow. It was clear that Damus had not only mastered the individual elements but had also learned to merge them seamlessly, creating a symphony of destruction that was challenging to predict and counter.
Despite the ferocity of the assault, Adom saw an underlying elegance in Damus' style. Each spell was cast with minimal wastage of Essentia, a sign of both efficiency and deep reservoirs of power. His spatial awareness is almost flawless, Adom acknowledged, dodging a particularly vicious swirl of fire and wind that threatened to engulf him. Damus' ability to manipulate the battlefield with his magic, turning the very environment into a weapon, was a strategy Adom had always respected and admired. Even in his past, Damus, despite their history, was a force to be reckoned with, a true prodigy. He now fully understood why the boy would later on become a true monster.
Adom then noticed the subtle shift in Damus' Essentia flow, a clear sign his reserves were nearing depletion. This was it, the moment to end the confrontation on his terms.
But as Adom readied himself for a decisive move, Damus unleashed a powerful spell, his face twisted in rage. Adom, expecting a fiery onslaught, conjured a barrier, a shimmering wall of Essentia that vibrated with the force of the impending attack.
Adom's mind raced, his plan clear. He would feign defeat, bend the knee in the traditional gesture of yielding, and let Damus believe in his victory. But the rage that consumed Damus clouded his judgment, propelling him forward, a scream tearing from his throat as he prepared to deliver a final, forbidden blow.
The crowd held its breath, the tension palpable in the air. But just as disaster seemed inevitable, a commanding presence intervened. Mohagan, who had been watching with a hawk's eye, stepped in with the swiftness of a shadow. "Enough," his voice boomed, carrying the weight of undeniable authority. "Your adversary has yielded, Mr. Rolland. You have won."
With a gesture as effortless as flicking away a speck of dust, Mohagan extinguished Damus' spell, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. The power the ranker wielded was evident, his control over Essentia so profound that the complex spell unraveled like a delicate thread in his grasp.
Adom, seizing the moment, allowed his body to sag, feigning a faint as convincingly as any seasoned actor. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of reactions, but Adom heard none of it. For him, the duel was over, his mind already tired of today's class.