Kite projected another strike with his staff against his airborne opponent, the disciple just managing to swerve out of the way as she dove for Kite with claws outstretched. The powerful diving attack collided with his barrier, a small shockwave emanating from the pair as the force was dispersed through the ground and further ruining the beautiful plots of raked sand. Not that much of the garden was in better shape, a lot of it still covered in smoldering trails from Kite’s last opponent, now being the sixth unconscious form in the growing row of prone figures lying a bit removed from the action.
Clash number five had been against a young man who Kite knew to possess the wheel, fire and zeal essences, forming the empower confluence. The first two were especially obvious as the disciple’s combat style had been centered around a great wheel of flames forming around him, with the disciple sitting like the unmoving spoke of a wheel as it carried him on a blazing rampage across the garden. While he had used his mobility to great effect, rolling around alongside a flying familiar in the shape of a small bird of flame; both doing their best to fire as many wide streams of flame as possible towards their outcast foe. Kite had been able to eventually wear this opponent down as well with a series of projected strikes and by being able to eventually just stop him in his tracks with a force cage. But it had also been the duel leaving Kite the most damaged, his barriers less suited to block the wide-spread swathes of flames his foe had employed.
And with how things were currently going, his seventh bout was looking to promise even more pain. While Kite’s barrier was able to stop some of the momentum, the disciple’s claws flared with disruptive force to push through. To counter this, Whistling Visitor, the spear that was the least used weapon of his current arsenal, appeared in Kite’s hand as he braced the butt end against the ground while the crystalline point aimed straight for the descending woman’s torso. The woman in question was also one familiar to him.
Disciple Shrike, having been the one accosting Kite at the gate when he returned from Bastion, had her triumphant cry turned into one of pain and frustration as she was forced to twist to the side, forced to strike Kite at a less optimal angle so as to not be squarely impaled by the weapon. Her claws still drew blood across his side even through his armor, while the spear would have torn up her side had it not already been aglow with the blue shimmer of Cleave the Spirit.
So far, Shrike being capable of flight had proven to be quite problematic, with the saving grace that she was mostly a melee combatant through powerful diving attacks and claw strikes. What had begun as her trying to weave around in the air and bombard Kite with air blades had instead turned into more and more daring diving attacks as the former had proven ineffective against Kite’s barriers. The latter, however, was a bit more troublesome, as the airborne disciple became very fast during these attacks while also possessing a readily available power which allowed her to make turns and breaks otherwise impossible. Kite had first hoped to bait her into crashing into a wall of force, but his first two attempts had unfortunately failed.
Buoyed by her success, the gradually increasing attacks had eventually led to the current moment, both combatants having inflicted a notable blow on each other. And during that brief moment, before another beat of her wings would have her shooting of to the side again and out of his reach, Kite attempted to trap his foe once more.
“Wall.”
Once more, the walls of Leyline Warding formed around them, and this time disciple Shrike lacked the momentum to escape. But unlike Kite’s opponent in the first duel, Shrike was no slouch in closer quarters. Even as Kite went on the offensive, staff swinging even in the tight confines, her wings were raised to intercept the attack even as she lashed out with a vicious series of swiping attacks. This was not the wild attacks of a beast, but clearly a martial art practiced to leverage her natural weapons well. Fortunately for Kite, his mana-draining attacks did their job even if they only impacted the wings, but he still found himself caught up in a furious melee where he was the one being grappled.
Or at least, there were attempts. Implacable motion had always inured Kite to many such tricks, opponents of the same rank often finding it very challenging to find purchase on him. Still, Shrike’s claws rent Kite’s armor and flesh while he chipped away at her spiritual reserves as they fought a fierce battle in the confines of his own making.
Seeing an opportunity, Kite accepted a nasty gash across his face, instead calling upon the barrier of Heaven-and-Void Warding a moment later. With a cry and the force of the empowered leap of Unyielding, Kite threw himself forward with his barrier raised just as Shrike passed near one of the force cage’s corners. The winged disciple suddenly found herself pinned between the barrier and barrier wall, able to leverage neither claws nor wings against Kite.
To her credit, she only scrambled fruitlessly for a short while before turning her attention to escaping instead. Her claws once more aglow with disruptive force, Shrike started repeatedly striking out at the only things she could reach; the barrier walls.
“I’m afraid I- cannot let that- happen,” Kite said between grunts caused by the strain of keeping the woman pinned, starting to employ his essence gift to bolster the barrier wall by continuously channeling more mana into it.
“C-curse you and your foul path!” Shrikes call was one of frustration, and Kite could see her channel even more mana for a hitherto undemonstrated special attack. From the amount of magic building up, it was to be a powerful one, and from her frustrated hesitation, Kite also guessed that she did not have overly much mana left.
All of Shrike’s feathers lit up with a green light before said light started flickering and moving over her body to concentrate at the tips of her fingers. Each pointed claw emitting a fierce glow, Shrike shrieked as she thrust outwards with both hands. And seeing what was about to happen, Kite gave a mental command, his powers answering.
That was why Shrike found herself suddenly off balance; both the barriers at her back as well as the one pinning her in place had instantly dissolved before her charged claws even had the time to reach them. Instead, one of Kite’s hands met one of hers. It was a light touch of interception, a mere finger impacting what was no doubt to be a spectacular magical discharge. A discharge that, in the end, never got the chance to show its might, its power shattered to the sound of an ephemeral mirror breaking as Pattern-Shattering counter took effect.
The countering dispel had been such a significant part of Kite’s path even since his very first clash against the, back then, named young master Providence. Much like his spectacular descending pillar of light, the attempted attack of disciple Shrike was the very optimal target for Kite’s power; a powerful, expensive special attack needing some time to wind up. And with Pattern-Shattering counter also draining an additional amount of mana, the expenditure proved to be too much for disciple Shrike. All her momentum spent, both physical and spiritual, she wobbled once more before slumping to the ground almost gently before unconsciousness overtook her.
As Kite dragged yet another of the fallen disciple off to join her comrades, his seventh foe vanquished, Sage once more glowed with its gathered power as the healing from his familiar washed over Kite. He turned once more to his gathered foes, repeating his lone word of victory.
“Next.”
In the faces and auras of his would-be assailants, there was no longer only anger and spite. An observer would not make the mistake of thinking them absent; quite a few curses and hateful glances were cast Kite’s way during the proceedings. But they were now being eroded by another feeling; uncertainty.
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“Senior brother, this-” Mist began in a harsh whisper even as he witnessed the eighth bout of what was supposed to have been a demonstration of the outcast’s folly. Because Mist saw it too, as disciple Gold faced off against the one responsible for all that had gone wrong in Mist’s life in recent months. Gold was one of their most durable members, a bulwark of endurance and strength. They had purposefully saved him to step up later in the sequence of disciples, to have a sudden bulwark who could weather the last of the outcast’s flagging strength. The trash even reaching that far had felt completely unreasonable to Mist when this sequence of clashes had begun, but now even he could sense the doubt creeping up his spine.
“-this is not how things were supposed to go. We were supposed to be prepared- and- when did he become this skilled?”
While Soar remained silent where he stood, his gaze calculating, Mist knew that he had seen it as well; that the outcast fighting their fellow sect warrior at this very moment was quite the different beast than the one which they had fought in the warehouse after the war.
The young iron-ranker had been skilled even back then, but it was obvious to anyone now present with eyes that the bastard had worked hard and been taught by someone a league above during the time since Mist had last laid eyes on him. The way he moved; shifting between careful defensive retaliation and brutal relentless assaults when openings presented themselves while fluidly weaving in powers and overall making devastatingly good calls of when to employ his cowardly dispelling powers.
Even now, he was dismantling disciple Gold by breaching the man’s iron-and-bone-clad defenses to land those strikes outlined in faint blue light which eventually had all of Mist’s comrades just drop unconscious. All present had been prepared not to count on their conjured equipment, but even bringing their reserve armaments had so far seemed to matter little against the outcast, who often seemed rather unstrained after each duel; what damage and wear that had stuck was soon alleviated by that elusive familiar of his.
Mist had never seen such a creature before their last encounter; just an ethereal collection of shifting symbols. Back then, it had been responsible for slaying initiate Sparrow, and Mist still inwardly recoiled at seeing the woman he hoped to woo fall dead with a hole through her chest.
“It is unbecoming to show such weakness in front of adversity, Mist. Find your pride and let its smoldering burn carry you through.”
Soar’s sudden words rocked Mist out of his thoughts, as the disciple continued. “Yes, the outcast came prepared. More so than we thought. But he still has far to go; an insurmountable cliff of which he has yet to become aware,” Soar said, a slight smile showing on his lips. “And I think that we’d best make sure that his climb will be even more futile.”
Raising a pair of fingers to his mouth, Mist could see a slight shimmer in the air as the disciple manipulated the wind to carry his words to the fighting disciple Gold.
“Junior brother, I regret these words, but I do not believe that you can win this bout. The outcast came too prepared, no doubt bolstered by the sect’s enemies beforehand. But there is something you can do to make sure that the rest of us can prevail.
Take out that familiar, no matter the cost. It is the source of his renewal, and without it he will wither before the rest of us.”
To his credit, Gold did not turn to look as the words registered to him, but both Soar and Mist could glean a bit of hesitation in his movements as a response.
“Do not fret, junior brother. We will not let him win this. No matter what we have to do to ensure victory,” Soar finished before letting the spell fade.
As he felt disciple Gold’s aura surge and his armored assault change pace, Mist had to give it to his brother in cause; he was dedicated to a fault even if his otherwise stern, neutral exterior showed little to the world.
Senior brother Soar’s words had been a comfort, and Mist saw the value in the plan even as he warred with the shame of the outcast even having made it this far, as well as the doubt that his progress had managed to make crawl in under Mist’s skin. Doubt that he, no matter what Mist tried, could not shake.
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“This one seems to be in tune with his path, and one quite hard to shift at that,” Kite thought as he continued to chip away at his implacable foe. The stern man had introduced himself as Worth Transcending Gold; his demeanor not outwardly aligning with what one might assume from such a name. Possessing the armor, bone, resolute and transfiguration essences, the disciple fought clad in non-conjured metal armor with exterior skeletal pieces fastened to it as an additional layer of protection.
From what Kite had been able to see so far, his opponent's essence powers strengthened both these layers which in turn strengthened each other, shifting and forming something far more durable than the sum of their parts. The armor also became the man’s main weapon as the bone layer shifted and grew spikes and other implements of damage as needed. Kite suspected that he could probably conjure some of the bone parts as well, but had apparently come prepared to not rely on such powers against Kite.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
As such, their battle had so far been one of attrition. It seemed to be the strength of both of their paths, but it was also obvious that Kite had been the one winning out for the last three minutes. With the gauntlet’s mark well in place and the twin vortices of Spirit Singularity solely focused on the disciple, Kite felt that he could persevere for quite some time as he worked to dispel the different strengthening effects of the bone and metal fusion that was his opponent, and taking opportune strikes with Void-Sunders-Firmament to carve away pieces of protection in order to land some more mana-draining strikes.
Having separated briefly, the pair was just about to re-engage when Kite noticed it; a faint flicker of air-affinity magic reaching his opponent. It was not a boon or otherwise empowering effect, but it still led to a shift in the dynamic of the battle. What had earlier been a patient and defensive foe suddenly rushed at Kite way more aggressively, and Kite could see mana being channeled into the man’s armor. Readying himself to intercept whatever was coming, Kite suddenly heard a faint, wispy voice as the words manifested close to his ear.
“They are colluding to take out Sage-”
He barely had time to register the words of his hidden companion before the man’s armor detonated in a burst of destructive energies and ripping fragments.
“Ward!”
The barrier of Heaven-and-Void Warding appeared before Kite just in time to absorb the brunt of the damage before breaking through, pain washing over him as the resonating and disruptive force damage took its toll. And while Kite could also note Sage twitching violently from the remnants of disruptive force washing over the ethereal familiar, he realized that the attempt was not yet done.
Disciple Gold had continued forwards and past Kite with greater speed than before, accepting a hasty blow from his opponent’s staff as he dove past Kite and thrust his hand out towards Sage, who still hovered just behind Kite’s back as usual.
“Retribution of the Shattered!”
All of the glowing armor fragments which had flown past Kite suddenly flared with power as they dissolved into motes of light, which in turn instantly reversed their trajectory to converge upon Sage. The process was blindingly fast, but Kite still managed to conjure another of his smaller barriers to protect his familiar, desperately channeling mana into it to keep it intact through the barrage. An effort that proved to be for naught in the end.
With a crack, the symbol-covered shield protecting Sage cracked, the remains of the attack tearing through the familiar’s form. The dark lines were torn like paper, forcing the being to lose a lot of its coherence even as Kite had already started the process of absorbing Sage back into himself. He could only partially sigh in relief that he still felt the familiar’s aura, but it was very unsteady. Just before the last of Sage’s form vanished, a mental command made it spend its final stored charge for another wave of healing to try and make up for the damage that the potent detonation had inflicted.
Kite couldn’t help but grit his teeth in chagrin, as that burst of healing would probably be his last for this engagement. From what he could feel of Sage’s injuries, the familiar would not be able to suffer another attack of almost any kind, effectively taking it out of the fight unless Kite was desperate enough to truly risk its current vessel. While this wouldn’t permanently harm the being, it was still something he found himself hesitant to do unless absolutely necessary.
Leaving such ponderings to his future self, Kite returned to the present where he finally managed to complete his turn and once more face off with disciple Gold; the man now unarmored and watching Kite resolutely even as he once more fell into a combat stance.
Doing the same, Kite couldn’t help but ask this particular disciple a question. “Why? Why would you join in a plot such as this?” Even as his body felt rather ragged, Kite was still a bit proud that his voice remained firm. And he had felt that he needed to ask this due to one observation; this particular disciple did not feel unsteady. His aura was solid and controlled, as was his temper and movements as they had fought. There was none of the slight feeling of wrongness which Kite had felt from the other disciples, or the former disciple Rise back before the Jade-Sky gate.
The man regarded him silently, before answering.
“Duty.”
As no other explanation was forthcoming, Kite only nodded in response before attacking once more. While disciple Gold had been the most skilled of his opponents so far, the detonation of his armor had brought too great a disadvantage for him to recover from. While he did now conjure new sets of bone armor to cover his body, Kite’s dispelling attacks meant that they did little to even slow down the process as disciple Gold’s mana was cleaved from his body, leaving him kneeling and then slumping to the ground like the others.
During the process of moving the fallen disciple to rest between his comrades, Kite took the opportunity to turn the mana-draining attention of Spirit Singularity back towards the fallen as he made sure to drain what mana they had been able to regain.
“Even with bronze-ranked physique, the strain and aches sure are accumulating,” he thought as he laid disciple Gold down next to his companions, more careful than he had been with those who came before. Then he once more straightened and turned to the five people except him that was left standing.
“The next time you have anything to say to your fellow, you might as well speak out loud and save us all the trouble,” Kite called out, foregoing his usual one-word retort as he looked straight at disciple Soar. And showing that he had noticed the slight transgression. While it was not strictly against the rules of a clash of paths to provide advice, it was still quite frowned upon as the clash was intended to test only the individual’s own power and judgment.
“I have no idea of what falsehoods you have cooked up, outcast,” Soar retorted, only a slight hesitation given as a reaction at being called out. “But I suppose I must admit that you have proven the cockroach we knew you to be all along; lacking the sense to face the inevitable. Because your next opponent will be inner disciple Fang.”
At his words, one of those remaining stepped forth. It was a human man with dark skin and short-cropped hair, his confident grin outlined by his goatee-style beard. Like his fellow bronze-rankers, he had the powerful athleticism that came with his rank, but the swagger was on an entirely different level than any who had come before. It was obvious that this inner disciple Fang counted himself as the best saved for last, even though four remained behind him.
“It will be my pleasure to show you what a true master in the making looks like,” the man called as he took his place in front of Kite, who in turn gave little in way of reply.
“Senior brother Fang here is one of the best duelists of our sect; unparalleled in all these lands with his chosen weapon!” Soar called as the pair assumed their ready stances. “Go into this bout outcast, and know that you are outmatched. A lowly one such as you will never have even witnessed something close to the pinnacle of skill you are about to see. And suffer.”
At Soar’s words, sensing that the fight would begin any moment, Fang reached into a dimensional satchel and retrieved his weapon of choice; the implement which had earned him such accolades and praise. A staff.
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“While it hurts my pride as a local, I will have to admit that teacher and Rachel might have had some points as to the quality of local training regimens,” Kite thought as he looked at inner disciple Fang barely being able to keep his feet, the end of his staff swaying almost drunkenly as the man was holding on to consciousness by a thread.
Had Kite faced this disciple when more freshly ascended to bronze-rank; before his time spent in Bastion, Kite might actually have found himself agreeing with Soar’s words. The inner disciple had not been included in the list from the former grand elder, but Kite had swiftly deduced that Fang also had the master confluence related to the staff. And while the man had possessed many moves both forceful and flashy, Kite had spent half a year under the personal tutelage of Phiona Geller. And compared to the highly skilled, expertly trained scion from that particular family of international fame, disciple Fang turned out to be but a frog in the well, too enamored with the echoes of his own croaking to wish for anything more.
As such, the bout which could have been Kite’s most challenging one yet turned out to be one of the easiest, with Kite deploying all of the tricks available to him which his teacher had found the most annoying during their spars. Back in Bastion, these tricks had still only led to his defeat coming later, with Phiona adapting and retaliating. But here, and against this particular inner disciple, those annoyances had quickly proven decisive.
“You- tra- trash-,” Fang slurred. “You’ll never defeat-”
His words were cut off as Kite had made a slight thrust with his own staff that appeared in his hands, the rather light blow still projected to carry the distance. Chakra implosion drained what little remained of inner disciple Fang’s mana, ending the bout with Kite feeling almost in better shape afterwards than when it had begun.
As Kite moved forwards to remove the fallen man from the torn up part of the garden, noting the shapes of observers from inside the houses around them trying to remain covert but mostly failing. But just as he bent down, a sudden change had him instead lashing out with a palm in front of him, Pattern-shattering counter sundering the projectile. Kite looked up to meet the eyes of the furious Soar, the other bronze-ranker visibly shaking. He had noted the disciple’s increasing unsteadiness during the finale of the last bout, but Kite must admit that he had not expected such an outburst.
“Shall I take it that you are to be my next opponent, disciple?” Kite asked. “Attacking before even introducing ourselves is-”
“Quiet!” Soar shouted, the remains of his self-control thoroughly overwhelmed. “Enough! We have- this farce has been left to go on for long enough. You came here and took advantage of our honor, only to continue your under-handed tactics and derision. I should have seen it sooner; your very existence spits upon everything we stand for. Brothers and sisters, we shall withdraw the courtesy of honor to this worm. His actions only continue to clearly show that he is not, and never has, been worthy of it!”
At that moment, Kite almost felt that he was back in front of the Jade-Sky gate, witnessing Rise reaching almost delusional levels of fury and frustration as he had spit vitriol and accusations far removed from any sane conversation. It was almost as if there was a disconnect, or discord, between the disciple’s view of how the world should be and the truth before him. And what it created was neither pretty nor dignified.
“I would counsel you to think, disciple,” Kite retorted. The situation had just turned a whole lot more dangerous, but he also felt a hint of potential in what was about to happen. As long as his path proved up to the task. “So far we have clearly fought under the queen’s decree; the ultimate honor found in mutual tempering and resolution of conflict. Would you really sully the names of yourselves and your sect by throwing that into the wind with such hollow claims?”
“Silence, trash!” This time, it was the former disciple Mist who joined the shouting-match, apparently deciding to step in as support for the irate Soar. “Your arguing will only make your demise the more bitter for you and all the sweeter for us. Senior brother is right; we should have just ended you like the murderous dog you are from the very beginning instead of entertaining this farce!”
Auras had begun closing in on Kite’s while they spoke, but he kept his composure as he focused on Mist. “And you, young master Resplendent, would do well to remember that this is the third time you come after me; the first in hollow pride but a semblance of honor, the second in deceit worthy of scorn. Are you sure that you would want to truly test your path against mine again? Because unlike the last time, yours might truly break.”
Mist seemed slightly shaken by Kite’s words delivered in a deadpan voice, but it was not enough to crack the shield that was his pride. “You think you can threaten me here, worm? In my family’s compound and the seat of my power?”
“I say that only those still standing after a fight have any need of considering such details. If you truly mean to throw honor to the wind, know that I will defend myself to the very utmost of my abilities. And while I have so far refrained from more lethal means, that will not be a luxury I can extend-”
“Oh, you forget one thing, scum,” Soar called, interrupting Kite. From the grin widening on the disciple’s face, Kite knew what was to come. So he took a deep breath to steady himself, mind slipping towards his combat meditation. And started charging his bracers, just as Soar finished.
“The victors are the authors of history!”
The final syllable leaving his mouth became the signal of an even more dramatic shift in what had, to Kite, already been an evening with drama a plenty. The auras of the remaining four; Soar, Mist, and a pair of elven women, all started truly bearing down on Kite even as attacks and spells started flying. Soar’s body was enveloped in a whirlwind containing wisps of clouds while one of the elves started conjuring several whirling axes to fly towards Kite in different arcs. The other woman’s skin lit up with magical runes and Mist had already started firing his pale bolts of magic.
Even as all this happened, Kite had already decided on his own course of action. The elven woman flinging all the axes suddenly found herself enveloped in a restraining globe of water as Glint emerged from her bottle, swiftly enlarging as watery barriers started revolving around her. Kite had been a bit unsure how the presence of a bonded familiar would have been viewed in the eyes of potential witnesses, both current and future, and had thus decided to keep his precious carp in reserve for situations just as this one.
This meant that Kite had another source of distraction while he raised barriers to deflect another series of incoming wind blades from Soar even as he activated the speed-enhancing effects of his boots and made a running leap towards his target, landing close to Mist a lot faster than any of his foes had expected.
“Wall.”
Much like the conclusion of their last bout, a cage of force walls suddenly surrounded the pair, Kite even layering what he could to give him the time to finish what he was about to do. To their credit, the former disciple’s companions reacted swiftly, attacks starting to impact the barriers but a moment after they appeared. But from the feeling he got, Kite should have enough time.
“Mercy requires both means, time and intent,” Kite began, even as he grabbed the young elf while accepting a pale bolt scorching the side of his face and dispelling the subsequent attempt to transform into mist to escape Kite’s grasp. “And with you, I have neither.”
Both palms against the struggling Mist’s face, Kite drove the back of the former disciple’s head into the barrier behind him. And released the charge of his bracers; both pieces of metal humming with pent up power at the very apex of what the implement could handle.
For those outside, twin bells tolled. And then, in the next instant, the barriers were painted red.