The friction burned Nick’s palms, and lightning coursed through the wood, sending violent spasms up his forearms.
He’d known, of course, that Arthur was no slouch, even though he was holding back for the sake of the spar, but his lightning still sought the path of least resistance, eager to stop his heart.
Fortunately, his physique held firm against the surging current, giving him time to draw on his mana and shape his will around his water affinity. Moisture coalesced across his skin, but he allowed only the purest water to form, free of the salts and minerals that could carry an electrical charge. The liquid formed a thin insulator over his hands.
Arcs of lightning sputtered against it, failing to find purchase and grounding harmlessly into the packed dirt.
Arthur’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, and the relentless rhythm of his assault faltered for the first time.
Nick exploited the gap. He twisted his wrists, wrenching the sword aside, and stepped inside his guard. He inhaled sharply, drawing in oxygen and raw ether, then summoned the elements.
Wind and fire answered his call. A roaring vortex of [Zealous Flames] erupted around him, swirling upward as a cyclone of howling gales wrapped around them both, merging into a single, terrible spell. The kinetic dome shuddered, straining to contain the sudden heat, and the air turned blistering, baking the dirt of the sparring ring into cracked clay in seconds.
Arthur found himself standing in the eye of a literal firestorm, with Nick’s open palm inches from the old adventurer’s chest. The heat warped the air between them, singeing the edges of his leather armor.
Arthur looked at the palm, then up at the roaring flames, and let out a loud, barking laugh, lifting his hands.
“I yield,” he declared, wiping sweat from his brow.
Nick exhaled slowly. At his command, the vortex of fire dissolved into harmless sparks that scattered on the morning breeze. He dismissed the barrier, letting the cool air rush back into the courtyard.
His arms ached from the electrical shocks, and the toll of catching a Prestige strike could be felt in his joints. It was far from a clean victory—Arthur had decades of experience on him and had fought without true steel—but forcing the old master to yield by surprise was still a testament to how far he’d come.
A smattering of applause broke the silence.
On the stone balcony overlooking the yard, Eugene and Elena stood, watching. Below them, a dozen manor guards and servants clustered near the weapon racks, staring in awe at the scorched ring and the young lord standing at its center.
Devon and Sonya stood near the wooden fence, whispering and sending him curious looks.
They know I held back. That little trick with the fires was impressive enough, but nothing compared to what I used on the Wyvern.
The fact was, his abilities were far more flexible than Arthur’s. Even holding back, he could bring to bear quite a lot, while the old man was much more straightforward in his approach. The inability to truly draw on his mana meant he could be countered by spells he normally wouldn’t be threatened by.
He went to retrieve his dark coat from the fence and slipped it over his shoulders. "A good bout," he said, giving a respectful nod.
“Indeed,” Arthur replied, with a glint in his eyes that showed he was just as aware this was merely an appetizer compared to what a real fight between them would be.
———
Nick spent the next twenty-four hours recovering. The Great Work in Oakenhollow, the encounter with Circe across the dimensional void, and the spar with Arthur had drained him in ways simple mana regeneration could not repair.
He was impossibly powerful compared with what he’d once been, but not a god. Not yet, at least.
He soaked in a hot bath, scrubbing dirt and sweat from his skin, then spent the afternoon sitting quietly in his quarters, reading a leather-bound history of the Free Cities with Talbot in his lap, content to learn more about one of the few remaining neighbors near Berea.
In the evening, he joined his family in the dining hall, where the atmosphere was warm and grounded. Eugene discussed grain stores with the new quartermaster, a mustachioed man who’d come from Alluria on Xander’s recommendation, while Elena reviewed trade agreements from their merchant allies.
Devon told an exaggerated version of the tavern brawl that had led to his arrest in Alluria, making Sonya laugh into her cup. Rose sat near Arthur, quietly eating roasted venison, her expression thoughtful and subdued.
The evening's normalcy was a balm. It anchored Nick, reminding him exactly what he was meant to protect, whether that was demons, ambitious nobles, dwarves, or the Crown itself.
At dawn the following day, Nick gathered Devon, Sonya, and Rose in the manor courtyard. There was a hint of frost in the air, a sign that winter had finally arrived in full, even this far south, but compared to the icy gales of the North, it was quite pleasant.
“I remember making a promise to you before I left,” Nick announced. He pointed toward the western wall, toward the dark, looming expanse of the wild. “I promised to take you back into the depths of the Green Ocean, and in the short time we have before other matters take our attention, I intend to make good on it.”
Devon grinned, sporting a new set of layered armor that gleamed in Nick’s sight with several enchantments. Sonya had even more glass vials strapped to her bandolier and wore a similarly empowered garment. Rose alone still wore the same clothes, but her weapon was now a longsword, to compensate for her sudden lack of mobility and give her more reach.
Normally, he would have counseled against changing weapons before such a dangerous trip, but she seemed very adept with it from the few swings he’d seen her take, and if Arthur allowed her to bear it, he had little ground to stand on.
They walked out of the gates, waving to a small logging camp on the edge of the tree line as they passed, and continued deeper.
Soon, the canopy blocked the morning sun, plunging the forest floor into perpetual twilight and cutting them off from the other adventurers who’d braved the Green Ocean that morning. The air grew stagnant, and unseen things chittered and snapped in the high branches.
Once they were far enough that nobody was likely to spot them, Nick flew them above the trees and into the forest proper at a speed walking simply couldn’t match, though he took deliberate care to chart a path that kept them many miles from the bubbling brook where the Ascended elemental resided. They were looking for a challenge, not a slaughter.
His senses had expanded greatly since his rank-up, and were now strong enough that, if he focused, he could sense up to four miles away.
As soon as he’d spotted a suitable target, he brought them back down.
"We are hunting a Moss Oni," he explained, alighting on the rotting trunk of a fallen pine. "Father and I killed one during the dungeon delve. The one we are tracking today is more powerful, and I can tell it has reached Prestige, though it’s not quite as bad as you might think. Goblinoids in general have a low cunning, and Moss Oni are no exception. Given how erratic its mana is, it cannot have ranked up too long ago, so its control will be shot.”
Devon swallowed hard. “Prestige? Can we really face something like that?”
“Think of it as a brute you can wail on without regard," Nick clarified, even as his esoteric senses swept the undergrowth to ensure no surprises would find them. He was already pushing it by forcing them to fight something like this. “I’ll act as your safety net and catch the truly lethal blows. You three will bring it down. Devon, you just need more experience fighting powerful enemies. Sonya, you need more time and opportunities to find your style. Rose, you need to understand your new limits. This will give you all three, and I’ll be there to prevent any tragedy.”
An hour deeper into the woods, the noise abruptly vanished. The birds stopped calling. The insects fell silent.
Nick held up a hand. The ground beneath their feet vibrated with rhythmic thuds.
Finally, the undergrowth parted, and the Moss Oni stepped into the clearing.
It was a towering beast, standing at twelve feet tall. Its flesh resembled corded gray wood, draped with hanging sheets of moss and lichens. Its eyes burned with yellow malice, and its jaw protruded, revealing tusks the size of blades. In its right hand, it dragged an uprooted oak sapling, using the thick trunk as a crude club.
Along with it came an oppressive aura that forced all three mortals to tense until Nick dispelled it with his own, allowing them to relax.
"Go," Nick ordered, stepping back and crossing his arms.
Devon was the first to move, his steel singing as he lunged forward.
The Oni roared, swinging the oak trunk in a horizontal blow meant to crush the young swordsman into paste, but he dropped low, using the wet soil to slide beneath it.
Grandmaster Xander’s forms shone in his movements, and Nick watched him settle into a smooth stance even as he flowed beneath the blow. The oak trunk swept over his head, snapping branches in its wake, and Devon pivoted, driving his blade upward and carving a weeping gash across the Oni’s thigh.
Black sap spilled into the mud, and the beast bellowed in anger, kicking blindly but not truly hurt. Devon tried to dodge, but his feet slipped on a suddenly slick patch of moss, and the Oni’s heel clipped his shoulder, sending him tumbling backward.
Rose moved in from the flank. She gripped her longsword with both hands, her eyes locked on the creature's exposed knee. Nick could see she had anticipated the opening perfectly, but as she pushed off the ground, her mana lagged. The burst of supernatural speed she expected never fully materialized.
The Oni spun, raising its free hand to swat her from the air.
Rose realized her error mid-stride. Rather than forcing the strike, she adapted. She abandoned her momentum, dropping her weight and sliding across the slick mud on her knees. The Oni’s massive fist sailed past her face, close enough that she felt the wind of the blow. She slashed upward, her blade biting deeply into the creature's calf.
It was a gritty, ugly maneuver, lacking her usual grace, but it drew blood.
The Oni growled, enraged by the stinging cuts, even though they weren’t enough to significantly hamper its movements. It raised the trunk high above its head with both hands, its muscles bulging, preparing to smash Rose into the ground.
Surprisingly, it was Sonya who interfered. She held a simple, reinforced iron-shod staff, a weapon that closely resembled a long-handled broom, and the light that shone from it reminded Nick of her [Sweep] skill she’d used to help them back in Alluria.
The Oni brought the trunk down with bone-shattering force, and Sonya was ready to meet it.
For a moment, Nick seriously considered interfering, but the certainty in her movements made him allow her a chance, even as the ether churned around him, watching as she struck with the iron-shod staff.
To a mundane observer, the collision made no sense. The girl possessed only a fraction of the monster's strength. Yet her class granted her the authority to clear a mess and sweep debris from a designated path, imposing that authority on reality.
The raw force of the Oni's strike was unnaturally redirected. The oak trunk glanced off Sonya’s staff, ripped from the beast's grip, and slammed into the ground ten feet away, burying itself deep in the soil.
The Oni staggered forward, off balance from the sudden loss of its weapon. Sonya smoothly shifted her grip on her staff and reached into her bandolier with her free hand. She drew a vial of bright green liquid and hurled it at the monster’s face.
The glass shattered against the Oni's tusk. A cloud of caustic vapor erupted outward, potent enough to melt a Troll's face.
Unfortunately, the Oni was made of sterner stuff and barely grunted in annoyance before wiping its face and glaring at the trio with beady eyes.