The Grandmaster of the Sword wore full plate armor forged from steel so black that the metal seemed to drink the glare of the magical spotlights, absorbing the light and casting no reflections. More surprisingly, it was not enchanted at all, beyond being spellforged to be resilient beyond anything Nick had seen before. No extra mobility runes popular among Knights, no secret sigil meant as a last-minute resort.
He also carried no shield. In his right gauntlet, he held a longsword, the blade resting casually against his shoulder. The steel was dull gray, marked with the nicks and scratches of a thousand battles, but the feel of it was that of hard-won resilience, and Nick knew he wouldn’t be able to shatter it with spells. It had drunk too much of its wielder’s essence over the decades, and while it was not a Spiritual Sword, the weight of the existence of a man like Xander had changed it.
No, as long as he lived, the sword would not break.
Well, not as if it were part of my plan, just an idle thought. I’ve seen him cut perfectly well even without a blade in hand, after all.
The roar of the three thousand spectators in the galleries began to die, and silence rolled through the cavern as their anticipation grew.
No one expected him to win, but even watching the Grandmaster go through a few forms was worth the gold the Tower Master had demanded for the chance to spectate.
Nick watched the old man walk toward the center of the arena, noting that though he’d not yet revealed his aura, the air around him felt unspeakably sharp. Each step carved a space in the ambient ether, for he was a man so attuned to violence that reality itself shied away from him.
Nick swallowed hard, his throat dry. He let his hands fall to his sides and released his iron grip on his mana as he summoned the Shard of Human Ambition from his ring.
The spar with Arthur had been a simple matter, merely meant to see what he was capable of under constraint. This, however, was to be a true test of his skill, and he wasn’t foolish enough to deny himself any advantage.
Power bled into the air. The sand vibrated, its coarse grains lifting to hover an inch above the ground around him. The air temperature spiked, shimmering with unshaped potential as the ether answered his call and churned happily, ready to be shaped at a moment’s notice.
Xander stopped a hundred paces away. He raised the visor of his helm, revealing his weathered face. His pale eyes held neither malice nor excitement as he looked at Nick, like a carpenter evaluating a block of wood, calculating the angle for the first cut.
"You asked for this, boy," his voice rang out across the sand, rough and dry, clearly audible in the silence.
"I did," Nick replied, even as his mana churned in anticipation. He knew many thought him foolish for his daring, but he’d not forgotten his words to Raphael. To go beyond the World, he needed to know where its boundaries lay.
High above, the Master of Ceremonies raised a hand. A sphere of crimson light flared in his palm, casting a blood-red glow over the duelists.
Nick extended his senses. He pushed his intent downward, weaving the concept of Friction into the earth, setting the first of many traps.
The Master of Ceremonies clenched his fist, and the light shattered into a shower of sparks. The duel began.
Xander vanished.
Nick had almost expected the old man to allow him the first blow, to weather his attacks as he’d done many times before, but that was when he’d been a mere mortal mage.
He was Prestige now, and even if Xander was greater still, he was showing respect by taking him seriously.
Nick slammed his staff down, locking in the conceptual trap. The laws of the arena floor shifted, demanding that any movement through the designated space meet insurmountable resistance.
Xander reappeared just feet away from him, already slashing down.
Yet the blade struck only empty air. A shriek echoed through the arena, the sound of tearing metal amplified a thousandfold.
Nick felt the violent feedback in his mind and knew that Grandmaster had severed the very concept of friction in the mere moments after his spell had come to life. The magical construct unraveled, breaking apart before his movement was even complete.
Xander closed the final ten paces. His sword came down in a diagonal cleave aimed at Nick's collarbone.
He flew back, fading into the ether even as he knew it would offer little protection from this opponent.
No, it was because there he had even better control over the esoteric energies he needed to summon, and he was able to trigger the hidden [Gleipnir] fractals just in time.
Swirling ribbons of kinetic-spiritual energy materialized in the space between them, wrapped around the descending blade, and stretched, absorbing its momentum. The steel shrieked against the magic, pushing the spell to its limit.
Unwilling to risk it any further, Nick sent out a pulse, commanding the ribbons to redirect the force outward.
The absorbed energy erupted, and the concussive blast carved a crater into the arena floor, showering the containment wards with pulverized stone.
The sheer force of his own blow pushed Xander back several steps, his boots carving trenches in the dirt.
Nick landed on his feet, sliding backward until he regained his balance. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he was grinning.
The first blow was his.
Xander stood at the edge of the newly formed crater. He rolled his shoulders, blade held casually at his side. An approving smile spread across his face.
Yet Nick knew that any margin for error was gone. Now that the old man had seen his spell, he wouldn’t fall for it again.
From the look in his eyes, Nick thought it better to be cautious.
[Shroud of the Thunderbird] came to life at his command, and everything turned a shadowless white. Plasma erupted from his soul, coating his skin and clothes in a crackling sheath of divine electricity. The static buzz was so intense that his bones ached, but he endured, for such was the price of capturing a shard of the divine bird.
His perception of time stuttered and slowed. The falling grains of sand hung suspended in the air. The lingering smoke from the explosion crawled across the crater.
This was its greatest benefit. Beyond the mighty protections it granted, [Shroud of the Thunderbird] enhanced his body and senses far beyond what they had been, and considering how much he’d pushed the latter, it was saying something.
Xander took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he realized the spell wasn’t what it seemed.
[Tempest’s Eidolon] helped him channel the immense lightning coursing through his body, melding it with wind and water into a true storm, and he knew he had to be a fearsome sight, blindingly radiant and as dangerous as an incoming stormfront.
All that power was channeled into the Shard without a stutter, condensing the plasma of his Shroud into a searing lance of energy, which he hurled at the Grandmaster.
Xander pivoted on his heel and raised the sword in a lazy, one-handed parry.
Golden energy was slapped away, streaming harmlessly past Xander’s shoulders and blasting into the obsidian walls behind him, sending a mighty thrum through the wards.
"Good," Xander rasped above the plasma's crackle. “Again."
Even as more lances rained on him, he advanced, moving with a relentless rhythm, each step calculated to keep him in position to press forward. His sword swung and swatted away spells more powerful than any mortal mage could comprehend, and through it all, Xander never overextended. He never wasted a chance, forcing Nick to keep moving around, lest he get pinned down as reality itself screamed whenever the old man swung.
To avoid a particularly dangerous cut, he arced backward, bouncing off the containment wards. The runic glass groaned under the impact of his Shroud, but he had no time to notice the crowd’s reaction.
He unleashed a barrage of bolts, weaving elemental and kinetic force into the projectiles to add weight.
That alone could have pulverized a castle, yet Xander walked through the storm. He deflected most blasts with the flat of his blade and severed any that came too close. He was a relentless machine, dismantling magic without so much as a sign of fatigue.
Nick pushed the Shroud harder. The heat began to singe his soul as the spell demanded a staggering amount of mana, draining him at a rate he had never experienced, even during the battle in Toneburg.
As soon as he reappeared on the other end of the arena, channeling all that terrible power into the Shard and turning it into a lighthouse, Xander was on him, apparently tired of being on the defensive.
Only a desperate gust of wind twisted Nick in time, and he let an electromagnetic current pull him right. The tip of the dark sword still grazed his shoulder.
It was a glancing touch, barely a whisper of steel against fabric, but it had still pierced his shield, and Nick felt cold. The cut was shallow, just a thin red line blooming across his shoulder, yet the conceptual severance echoed through his nervous system. His right arm went numb, his mana temporarily scrambled by the strike.
Beyond him, a line appeared in the sand, and the wards a hundred feet behind him shuddered as they contained the aftermath of the stab.
Redirecting some of the power he’d gathered, he further enhanced his flight, reaching speeds that would have been unsafe even for his reinforced body.
Xander still followed. He swung the sword in a horizontal sweep, forcing Nick to drop to one knee as it whistled a hairsbreadth above his head.
The displaced air whipped his hair across his eyes, and he slammed his left hand into the sand, channeling most of the Shroud’s power directly into the earth.
A pillar of golden plasma erupted beneath Xander’s feet.
For the first time, the Grandmaster was forced to abandon his stance, leaping backward to avoid the geyser of divine energy. Plasma melted the sand into a jagged glass spire.
Nick scrambled backward, putting fifty feet between them. He forced mana through his right arm, gritting his teeth against the searing pain as the connection to a part of his soul stitched back together.
That was not something I considered. Since my soul is now my body, if anything can harm it, I will suffer catastrophic damage.
He would need to take care of that later, but for now it was just another data point.
The spectators in the gallery were a blurred mass of color. The wards muffled their cheers and gasps, reducing the noise to a low rumble.
Nick locked his gaze on Xander, who looked exactly as he had before the fight started and didn’t even have the good grace to be winded.
This was the reality at the peak. Magic was a tool, a way to bend the rules of the World, of Reality itself. But Xander had honed his physical form to such a fine point that the rules no longer applied to him. He was the exception to every law Nick had ever studied.
"You are thinking too much," the old man called out. “This isn’t a puzzle you can solve. There is no trick to be found. Face me with all you have.”
Nick stood up slowly. The cut on his shoulder throbbed, but his soul had healed the damage.
He had tried traps. He had tried evasive maneuvers. He had tried precise, targeted strikes. Xander had dismantled them all. The Grandmaster wanted a demonstration of raw, unadulterated power. He wanted to see the True depth of the young Prestige mage.
Nick nodded.
He stopped rationing his mana and let his soul shine.
A.N. I promise I didn't plan for this to coincide with my vacation 😅