The people in the arena were watching the fight, gasping, booing, cheering, completely immersed in the thrilling experience. Well, they didn’t perceive the battle the same way as experienced knights and adventurers from both houses, who were close to yelling and pulling the hair off their heads, were witnessing it. To them this was a “disgusting” pseudo-fight!

So many openings! So many useless moves! Too many wide strikes from Alabaster! Too much time wasted on Rowan's side as he kept on agitating the crowd! This battle should be over a dozen times already! And then, the knight that was at disadvantage WILLINGLY went into the pillar-wall?!

And they called this man a dragon slayer. Patrick, vice-leader of Black Foxes took a glance at Nicolai, who also seemed pale, with a face pulled in expression of disbelief. Briefly, their eyes met, as they exchanged understanding gazes filled with pity and sorrows.

Regardless of the underlying reasons for the fight, this was just painful and pitiful to watch.

After two the guild leaders exchanged non verbal condolences to one another, their eyes moved back to the stage, where Asterouse was in a seemingly hopeless situation.

‘Ridiculous!’

Rowan thought, as he sidestepped deeper into the labyrinth of pillars, narrowly dodging quick blade thrusts..

‘Is he getting faster?! How is that possible!?’

Such thoughts occupied his mind as he was being pushed deeper and deeper into the stone forest, this time forced to give his ground - not willingly luring the man deeper into it, on his terms. He was slowly, very slowly, losing control over the battle.

As if that wasn’t bad enough - the evil artifact reached a new stage, empowering the curse that coursed through the arena. His coat and leather armor under it were enhanced as well, weaved with a powerful magic-resistance spell.

His blades? - Treasures of the highest order.

His body? - Buffed beyond measure.

The arena? - Setup for the sole purpose to give him the edge.

And armor? - Made for the sole purpose of slowing down the effects of curse!

Even the potions he drank set his metabolism into overdrive…

… and yet, this knight… THIS MAGGOT! Dared to PUSH him back, into a place where he suffered greatest disadvantages?! Yes - Rowan stopped having any doubts regarding this matter.

Alabaster pushed him here on purpose. But for what reason? He didn’t yet know, but seeing him now delivering more precise, stronger and faster attacks - despite the artifact in the second stage, made him realize something.

His opponent was confident in his victory. He didn’t even start to fight at full force from the start. Was he testing the waters? Did the knight want to make Rowan ‘move’ more, bragging, thus get exhausted faster? Or maybe he wanted him to brag, agitate the crowd, so his victory could be that much more crushing?!

Regardless of the truth, Rowan’s blood started to boil.

“...Don’t… FUCK WITH ME!” Orienting himself.

He yelled, raising his blades, slamming them together, activating one of the stored spells within them.

Zephyr’s spell was a rather straightforward one - it could either cover the user in an aura of wind, boosting his agility and speed, or send a ‘blade of wind’, a projectile that can fly up to twenty or so meters, delivering a “phantom-strike”, stopping on the first object it met, damaging it. Great for repositioning, gathering distance, and delivering sudden attacks.

But, it was Reaper that Rowan decided to rely on in this battle. Also called ‘The Knight slayer’ - it had often proven both of its names correct in ages past.

It’s strikes delivered stacks of a progressively debilitating ‘curse’. The blade didn’t need to deliver a ‘direct hit’ - it could even just slide across the armor, not even requiring a single scratch on the surface. All that mattered was contact - the spell would still stick and burrow its claws into the armor.

One struck it would be able to completely by-pass armor protection to deliver evergrowing festering necrotic damage to the opponent’s insides.

Asterouse could keep dodging him, still mostly ineffective strikes. His only counter being with the back of his blade on occasion. Rowan grinned madly either way, despite the fact that his quick, shallow cuts didn't even leave marks on the surface of Alabaster gear. He knew that sooner or later, this bastard would fall due to internal organs failure anyway. It was just a matter of time.

[You are being marked with: [Reaper’s Mark]] [You will suffer 1 [Death] damage overy 30 seconds - stackable] [Warning!] [User’s race marked as: [Undead]]

[[Reaper’s Mark] will have no effect] [You are being marked with: [Reaper’s Mark]] [You will suffer 1 [Death] damage overy 30 seconds - stackable] [Warning!] [User’s race marked as: [Undead]]

[[Reaper’s Mark] will have no effect] [You are being marked with: [Reaper’s Mark]] [You will suffer 1 [Death] damage overy 30 seconds - stackable] [Warning!] [User’s race marked as: [Undead]]

[[Reaper’s Mark] will have no effect]

Quickly dismissing the nearly endless stream of notifications, I re-focused on the battle at hand. So that’s what the other blade was doing. On the one hand - I was feeling rather honored that someone decided to use a cursed sword just to get rid of me. I warranted such a marvelous treasure’s use?

On the other - how unlucky can you get, Rowan?

Fortune really favors me today! Glancing to the side quickly at the announcer as I continued my moves I wondered how much of this was really fortune or just some lucky roll of a die meant to amuse him and others. Still, the battle was real, and a blade was a blade, and shouldn’t be left unblocked.

[Heart will reach new level in 6m32s]

I raised my shield, letting the black short-sword slide across its surface, one more time triggering another wave of notifications at the periphery of my vision. Right after that, I went straight into offence, raising the sword over my head and bringing it down. Of course, it missed again, as Rowan moved to the side, off the blade’s trajectory, using a pillar to his advantage, hiding behind it, then responding with several quick thrusts with the same sword.

“I don’t know… what tricks… You are using!..” he growled through his teeth “... But.. I will have… your head… Above my fireplace!” His ravings became graver and more detached. Each breath seemed to take just a slight bit more out of him.

Ah, the disadvantages of having lungs. Breathing was important to properly manage your stamina, and talking made him ‘disturb’ his air flow. Unlike in stories, such as in great works like Iron Maiden Breaker, these deep dialogues during duels usually didn’t have a place. If they did, it would either become one party completely having zero respect for their opponent, or, they were crying teenagers wanting to verbally show off more rather than fight. Why even possibly create a chance to betray your next move with a sudden change in phrase or shift in tone?

Was he really trying to drag me into conversation? Well, as a rogue that he was, using dirty tricks was his bread and butter… Still, for him? Another wrong decision. Because, unlike him, I can play this game with no repercussions. Having had my fair share of experience in dealing with talkative beings who didn’t know when to stop.

“Tricks? Isn’t your House the one that did everything they could to set up a battle to your sole advantage? Look at you, at this! Arena. Magical weapons. Armor. Gods know what else… Feeling insecure? Scared? Should have asked your house-mates for more help… In the end we all know that Foxes are but a bunch of cowards, incapable of having a single honest fight. You are unable to stand proudly and meet the consequences of your actions. That's why you will never be better than the Lions. Because you never step out from the hole you dig trying to trap others Better you fall in yourself, it’s where you belong.”

His expressions changed like a kaleidoscope those traveling peddlers would showcase to the children in my youth. For instance, he seemed satisfied that I ‘took the bait”, then again just as quickly, my words then struck and stung his pride.

“You motherf…” he rushed onward in reckless abandon.

I sighed. Too late. Too slow. Too rushed.

I struck his sword down, off its intended trajectory, hitting his raised arm with my shield. A grimace of pain flashed across his face. Normally, his bone would be fractured and broken from such a blow. Much to my surprise though, it seemed only to earn him a small bruise. Akin to being struck with a flimsy wooden practice sword rather than one of metal.

That… was not normal. I was two heads taller than him, my physical strength was, at this very moment, at the peak of human’s performance.I was wearing heavy armor too! This should be equivalent to being hit by a cart rolling down the hill! I was expecting some defences but how was he able to…

My attack made him drop his sword - the blue one, and damaged the gauntlet he was wearing, revealing his skin for the first time in the battle. My magic vision very quickly picked up the reason for his abnormal durability.

Magic - a spell - coursed through his very veins.

Permanent body enchanting?! This was… dangerous… And, in many cases illegal. Body alteration was still a new ‘not fully researched’ branch of magic [anecdote from that magic trainer telling him this once]. Enchanting weapons was one thing - but the body grows. Heals. Changes! On top of that, magic can be interfered with if one has enough knowledge. This was markedly different than a standard buff or blessing mages and priests could provide, in those cases it was just surface level, elevating what was already there but not directly interfering with the body itself.

This spell was still ‘young’, I could tell it had settled down yet, nor sunk into his flesh fully… If some other mage would try to mess with the spell structure as it was now… the aftermath. Horrifying would be a nice way of putting it.

… I was a mage, at least partly as a curiosity. With some focus, I could reach out to it…

But, I couldn’t do it. Not over a fight being done for something so trivial.

I would never risk crippling him for life just to gain an advantage in battle…

“YOU INSIGNIFICANT BUG!” He roared again, now looking suddenly more crazed.

That attack had angered him more than I anticipated… Ah. I see. More of his body has been exposed to the effects of the “heart”. Death magic must have stung him, slowly draining his vitality.

He jumped a few steps back, deciding to take a distance advantage that I couldn’t quickly neutralise due to all the literal obstacles in the way, as he reached out into his pocket, pulling out a vial of glowing green liquid.

Stimulants during duels? A faux pas in duel etiquette surely.

Some in the crowd ‘booed’.

“No no no no no! Rowan! Don’t! Only emergencies I said!...” someone, a woman judging by the voice, yelled from the Fox-sections “...A second dose will overstimulat…” she was quickly silenced by two neighboring foxes.

Not fast enough. Everyone managed to learn a rather important detail. That he came into the duel already spiked.

It wasn’t illegal per say - in the end, as an adventurer, he was perfectly allowed to ‘prepare’ as much as he wanted before battle. Technically, even now there was nothing wrong with him taking a shot…

…. except for him losing the crowd's love, and making my seemingly unassisted struggle even more admirable in their eyes.

The tables had turned. You wanted to utterly humiliate me, Rowan? You just made me their hero.

“SHUT UP YOU WHORE! I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING!” He yelled back before firmly gripping the vial in one hand.

Uncorking the vial in a single move he drank it all. Emptying the vial in a few quick gulps, throwing the empty glass behind him, shattering it. Leaving only a drop of the ominous verdant liquid behind as it fell to the stone floor and hissed slightly.

Then, his body seemed to ‘spasm’ a few times, he fought with what looked to be a desire to gag and puke, as his veins, a pulsing purple now, became visible under his skin and eyes grew noticeably more sunken and darker.

Combat stimulants, the same kind that we had used in the dragon lairs during the several days long march. The one that was meant to be taken once every two-five days. The one that the Lion’s knights were still recovering from as of now, weeks after taking it. The same one that he had just taken not even 30 minutes ago.

This idiot?! How much was he willing to sacrifice for something that boiled down to a small hit to one's pride?!

Once he stopped choking on his own saliva, his eyes focused on me again, then, he ran forward. Or should I say bolted? Warped?

He seemed to vanish from his place, turning into a blur I had only seen Agnes do during the more heated lair fights, moving between the pillars at the pace of lightning.

[Your armor mitigated damage]

[Armor endurance 93.1% -> 86.4%]

I didn’t even see when he struck me, bah, even the notification came faster than the feeling of being hit. I tried to retaliate, changing my footing and swinging back at the target, only to notice that he was already getting ready to attack from my other side.

[Your armor mitigated damage] [Armor endurance 86.4% -> 81.8%] “I WILL SKEWER YOU LIKE THE WORTHLESS CUR YOU ARE!”

He yelled, losing his cool, betrayed to me where the attack would come from, or, maybe purposefully baiting me to “look” in that direction, for, what I saw, was his blade coming for me at an absurd speed.

And, he aimed at the only place that could, at this moment, prove to be lethal for me - he aimed at my helmet’s visor-gap.

If his short-sword would go past the hole, and hit the back of my skull… I could actually die.

Again.

For the first time in weeks, I actually felt fear.

My body reacted on its own. I dropped my blade, raising my dominant hand towards his exposed hand, just as his blade was about to dig into my skull.

Then, only one word appeared in my head. My only salvation.

[Dispel]