Spectators stared in shock at the madman who had dared to challenge two masters at once. Murmurs quickly spread through the crowd.
"He's insane."
"How arrogant can he be?"
"Who does he think he is?"
The whispers grew into a noisy chorus. Unlike the audience, the masters themselves grew wary of the unexpected intruder in their ring. While the onlookers dismissed him as a fool, the two warriors felt the undeniable aura of danger radiating from the challenger.
"You stand in our monastery," one of the masters said, his gaze fixed on the stranger. Challenging them so boldly meant that ignoring the provocation would harm their reputation, yet attacking him together could seem dishonorable.
"Enough talk. You've challenged us to a fight, but understand this—you may die. I'll give you one chance to apologize and walk away," declared the Fist of Shadow, his voice cold and firm.
Kylen merely shifted into a combat stance, wordlessly signaling his intent to fight. Inside, he questioned the sudden fire driving him. He had never sought conflict, always relying on logic and composure in tense situations. But now, he had issued a challenge and would not retreat.
"You'll pay for your insolence!" the Fist of Shadow roared, launching himself into a sprint. His daggers glinted as he closed the distance in an instant, aiming for Kylen's throat.
With effortless precision, Kylen stepped back, dodging the first slash. A second blade followed immediately, but Kylen caught the master's wrist mid-swing. With a swift, forceful punch, he struck the Fist of Shadow square in the cheek, sending his head snapping to the side. The sheer force hurled the master several meters away.
The Fist of Shadow propped himself up on his elbows, coughing violently. A spatter of blood escaped his lips, along with several teeth. His furious glare turned to Kylen. What had begun as an attempt to intimidate the upstart had turned into a bitter regret for underestimating him.
Wiping the blood from his mouth, the master rose to his feet, shadows beginning to swirl around his body, shifting like serpents in a dark dance.
Seeing his opponent finally abandon the pretense of restraint, Kylen prepared his own response. A chill emanated from his body, rapidly dropping the surrounding temperature. The small stream running beside the training grounds began to freeze, intricate patterns forming on its surface. True Ice crept across Kylen's frame, encasing him in a crystalline armor that shimmered coldly in the dim light.
Around him, shadowy duplicates of the Fist of Shadow appeared, each immediately hurling a volley of daggers. But before they could strike, Kylen swapped places with a frost-bound copy of himself. The icy decoy shattered under the impact, scattering shards across the field.
Using the ice beneath him, Kylen slid effortlessly across the frozen ground, closing the distance to the master known as the Fist of Shadow. He engaged him in a vicious melee, each blow landing with brutal force. Kylen's strength far surpassed his opponent's, and his icy armor made him nearly untouchable. Daggers grazed harmlessly against his frost-clad body, leaving only superficial tears in his clothing.
Kylen didn't bother dodging or blocking the attacks—he wanted to test his armor's resilience, and it held strong. In contrast, his own strikes sapped the spirit from the Fist of Shadow, whose body began to waver under the relentless assault. Barely able to stand, the master swayed as Kylen loomed over him, an unstoppable force of ice and fury.
Realizing he was at a clear disadvantage, the Fist of Shadow retreated, leaving behind a clone that executed a spinning attack with its daggers. Drawing a deep breath, he entered a battle trance, melding seamlessly with the shadows. With renewed vigor, he launched a fresh assault. Shadows flickered unpredictably, materializing in one spot only to vanish and strike from another. The attacks came from every conceivable angle, forcing Kylen to react swiftly to each copy, though his armor rendered most strikes ineffective.
In Kylen's hands, his icy blade moved like a feather, its sharp edges weaving an intricate, glowing blue dance with every swing.
But Kylen was not merely on the defensive—he was waiting. Though the Fist of Shadow tried to attack from seemingly random locations, he had a pattern: he preferred striking from blind spots. Recognizing this, Kylen began to predict his movements. Then, in a decisive moment, the Fist of Shadow's feet froze solid, ice creeping up to his torso.
Kylen's frosty blade aimed unrelentingly for the master's neck. For the first time in his life, the Fist of Shadow felt genuine fear—an overwhelming sense of helplessness in the face of an opponent far stronger than himself. But just as the blade neared his throat, a shimmering barrier appeared, halting its deadly path.
Kylen hadn't intended to kill; he only wanted to terrify his opponent into submission. He had planned to stop his blade just before it drew blood. Yet to the crowd, it appeared as if Kylen sought to deliver a fatal blow.
Taking advantage of the reprieve, the Fist of Shadow shattered the ice binding him and vanished into the shadows, retreating to a safe distance.
"You came into our home, raised your weapon, and sought to take the life of one of this monastery's masters," said the Eye of Dusk, stepping forward with his sword at the ready. "I sought to avoid harming you, but seeing your intentions, I cannot stand idly by."
"Wait, masters! I believe we can resolve this conflict peacefully," came a voice from the edge of the training grounds. Azalina, a young disciple, stepped cautiously forward.
"Stay where you are, student," the Eye of Dusk commanded, his voice stern.
"Master, please..." Azalina's tone softened into a plea, realizing that her small act of mischief had spiraled into something far more dangerous than she intended.
"Azalina," he said sharply, his piercing gaze silencing her protests. Reluctantly, she stepped back, her heart pounding as she prayed for the fight to end without catastrophe.
Kylen had not anticipated one of the masters staying out of the battle. He had fully expected them to fight together. Their teamwork posed a significant threat; with one focusing on offense and trusting the other to shield him, their combined strength was formidable. The defensive master was as impenetrable as a fortress, rendering direct attacks almost meaningless.
The two masters moved in unison, their assault perfectly coordinated. Like a synchronized machine, one would briefly distract Kylen, creating an opening for the other to strike. The deadly rhythm of their teamwork began to push Kylen back toward the edge of the arena.
Every attack Kylen launched was deflected by the barrier, while shadowy blades struck at him relentlessly.
Kylen remained locked in close combat with the Eye of Dusk, dodging his blade with precision. Though the weapon could cut through True Ice, it did so only with great difficulty. Witnessing the full extent of their power, Kylen decided he would not allow himself to lose. His resolve burned brighter, and his eyes glowed with an intense blue light.
He stood upright, his hands clasped behind his back, calm yet imposing. The sword aimed directly at his face began to freeze mid-swing. The Eye of Dusk stared into Kylen's glowing eyes, his expression shifting to confusion as his body refused to obey his commands.
Looking down, he saw the frost creeping over him. Ice consumed his form, spreading from his feet to his sword, and finally to his face, locking him into a frozen prison. As the last wisps of frost solidified, Kylen stepped around the ice statue with measured calm, turning his attention to the Fist of Shadow, who cautiously retreated, his movements unsteady.
In a final, desperate act, the master launched himself at Kylen. His energy reserves were nearly depleted, leaving him unable to summon more shadow clones. This was his last stand. The conclusion came swiftly—Kylen's strike landed with unerring precision, and the Fist of Shadow collapsed to the ground, utterly spent.
"Sub-Zero. Victory," Kylen declared, his voice cold and unyielding.
The spectators stood in stunned silence, too afraid to speak. He had defeated the strongest masters of the monastery and appeared virtually unscathed.
"Please, release the master," Azalina's voice broke the silence as she hurried to the frozen Eye of Dusk. Her tone was steady, but her concern was evident. "What are you waiting for? Take the Fist of Shadow to the healing chambers!" she commanded the hesitant disciples, who seemed paralyzed by fear.
Kylen nodded curtly and approached the ice statue. Just before melting the frost, his icy gaze met Azalina's, piercing her like a blade.
"Interfere with my mind again," he said in a voice like a winter gale, "and you will lose your life."
Kylen had sensed something—subtle, almost imperceptible—a foreign influence tugging at his emotions. He had traced it back to her. Somehow, Azalina had exerted control over his behavior, compelling him to act against his usual nature. It was why he had issued the challenge in the first place.
Azalina swallowed hard, the weight of his threat sinking in.
"You were magnificent, teacher," came a soft voice. Syndra, who had arrived moments after the battle ended, approached with quiet admiration.
The warrior from Freljord turned his attention back to the frozen Eye of Dusk. With a single motion, he dispelled the ice encasing the master. As the frost melted away, the Eye of Dusk staggered, his entire body trembling and pale blue from the cold. Azalina moved quickly to support him.
"I must apologize for this battle. Something overtook me, and I challenged you without reason," Kylen said, bowing slightly, his tone composed but sincere.
"I accept your apology. You've shown us that we still have much to learn and room to grow," replied the Eye of Dusk, whose discerning gaze briefly shifted to Azalina. He seemed to grasp the true cause of the conflict, though he was far from pleased with his student's meddling.
"I wish I could undo our initial meeting, but what's done is done," Kylen said, his voice tinged with regret.
"True," the master replied, his demeanor softening. "Then let us begin again. I am the Eye of Dusk, a master of this monastery. My name is Ridus." He extended a hand.
"As I mentioned, I am Sub-Zero," Kylen replied, shaking Ridus's hand firmly. "I've traveled far to reach this place. Does this mean you won't cast me out of the monastery?"
"No," Ridus said with a faint smile. "This is a sanctuary for all who seek purpose in this world. Though Icarus—our Fist of Shadow—might not feel the same. He takes his losses quite personally."
"Thank you," Kylen said, his sincerity clear.
Ridus hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I'd like to get to know you better and hear your story. How about we discuss things over a cup of tea?"
The Eye of Dusk, now fully recovered, began to walk away but stopped mid-step. Turning back, he added sternly, "Azalina, you'll spend the next month cleaning the temple. Consider it your punishment."
"Yes, Master," she replied begrudgingly, her shoulders slumping.
Kylen was led back to the temple, where a table was quickly set with a simple tea service. Wooden cups were filled with fragrant herbal tea, its aroma calming and its taste soothing. In this serene atmosphere, Kylen and Ridus delved into conversation, discussing Kylen's reasons for coming to the monastery. Though the masters listened intently, they ultimately concluded they could not aid him—his strength far surpassed anything they could teach. Their techniques, while formidable, were insufficient to guide someone of his caliber.
Deciding to rest before resuming his journey, Kylen stayed at the monastery. The disciples suggested he visit the hot springs, known for their restorative properties. The mineral-rich waters not only soothed the body but also rejuvenated the soul, imbued as they were with natural energy that calmed one's spiritual essence.
Kylen now lay submerged in one of the pools, letting the hot water envelop his battle-worn body. His skin bore the marks of countless fights, his chest etched with the jagged pattern of a lightning strike. As steam rose around him, he contemplated his path forward. Trusting Lissandra seemed inevitable—she might be his only hope to find an artifact capable of slaying gods. At the same time, he resolved to continue honing his personal strength.
His thoughts drifted to his student. He couldn't bring her along on his dangerous journey; she would surely perish in the battles to come. Yet abandoning her was unthinkable—he had taken responsibility for her and would honor that bond.
"I can only hope, witch, that you'll keep your promise and find my son," Kylen murmured, his gaze fixed on the stars above, their light reflected in the tranquil waters of the spring.
Shaking off his grim thoughts, he worked to quiet his mind and relax his body, knowing that moments of peace like this were crucial for his recovery.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness. Opening his eyes, Kylen saw Azalina standing at the edge of the pool. She was dressed in nothing but a towel, clutching it tightly to her front with one hand.
The girl was undeniably attractive: her flowing pink locks cascaded down her shoulders, and her mesmerizing eyes locked onto him with a captivating gaze. Her flawless skin held a soft, rosy hue. Though her chest was modestly covered, the alluring edges of her figure were noticeable, and her hips accentuated her shapely silhouette.
She entered the water on the opposite side, shivering slightly as the temperature hit her. For Kylen, the water felt pleasantly warm, but for others, it was icy cold. Yet she pressed forward, submerging herself in the pool, goosebumps instantly appearing across her skin.
"Why are you here?" Kylen asked, his voice calm but direct.
"These are communal baths. I have every right to be here," Azalina replied matter-of-factly.
"I can see you trembling," Kylen noted, his sharp eyes taking in her reaction.
"The water is… a bit cool," she admitted, her teeth chattering slightly.
"And yet, why force yourself? What's your goal in trying to seduce me?" he asked, his tone flat but knowing. He could sense the intent behind her presence.
"I'm just here for a bath," she replied with feigned nonchalance.
"Suit yourself," Kylen said, allowing the matter to drop. He began subtly lowering the temperature of the water.
Azalina immediately felt the encroaching chill, but her resolve didn't waver. She had decided to tempt the warrior before her. His immense strength had allowed him to best the monastery's masters effortlessly, and his enigmatic presence only added to his allure. As a man, he was intriguing, a mysterious wanderer cloaked in secrets.
Her vibrant lips began to turn blue, and her rosy complexion grew pale as the cold seeped into her. Kylen noticed every detail, fully aware of her stubborn determination to endure the cold rather than admit defeat and leave. Rising from the water without a word, he chose to depart, giving her space to make her own decision.
The moment Kylen disappeared into the changing room, Azalina finally exited the pool, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. Even her spiritual energy, which usually regulated her body's state, couldn't stave off the chill. Frustrated but determined to devise a plan to get even with him later, she hurried off to warm herself.
Kylen, now dressed, made his way to the rooms they had been assigned. He and his student had been given adjacent quarters. Entering Sindra's room, he found her sitting cross-legged, deep in meditation, exploring the boundaries of her spiritual energy. This place, rich in magical density, amplified her progress.
"Sindra, I need to speak with you," Kylen said, breaking her concentration.
"What would you like to discuss, Master?" she asked, her tone respectful.
"Your future. I've told you before—you cannot follow me. You must remain here in Ionia," Kylen said firmly.
"So, you're abandoning me like my parents did?" Sindra's voice wavered with hurt.
"No. I want to finish training you and guide you on your path. But there's a very real chance you'll die if you come with me. I don't know what I'll face, and even I might not survive," Kylen replied, his voice steady but heavy with concern.
"It doesn't matter. I don't want you to leave, Master. I'm willing to take that risk," Sindra said, stepping closer. To her, Kylen was more than a mentor—he was the father figure she had always longed for.
"You're still young, with your whole life ahead of you. This place can teach you much. I promise, I won't leave you forever. I just need to finish what I've started, and I will return for you," Kylen said, his voice softer now. Yet deep inside, he doubted that retrieving the artifact in the north would be as straightforward as Lissandra implied. There were reasons why the region was a barren wasteland, a place of death.
"You're no better than my parents," Sindra said bitterly, retreating to her bed and burying her face in the pillow. Kylen caught a glimpse of tears welling in her eyes before she turned away from him.
"Perhaps you're right. I was a bad father to my son, a poor husband to my wife, and a failed warrior for my clan," Kylen admitted quietly. Without another word, he left her room.
The weight of his decision pressed heavily on him, but he couldn't bear to lose anyone else. Returning to his own quarters, he lay down on the mat provided and closed his eyes. Before drifting off, he created a layer of ice across the floor, ensuring no one could approach them unnoticed.
*********************************************************
The Healing Chamber of the Kingu Monastery was a place of quiet restoration. Within its walls, Shadow Fist lay on a recovery bed, his body fully healed from the fractures and internal injuries inflicted during his battle with Kylen. The sheer power behind Kylen's strikes had been nothing short of astounding.
"You didn't drive him away; you invited him in as if he were an honored guest? Have you lost your mind? He nearly killed us!" Ikarus snapped, his anger sharp and raw. The sting of defeat had deeply wounded his pride.
"He demonstrated his strength, and let's not forget—it wasn't him who started the conflict. Azalina played a key role in escalating the situation," Ridus replied, attempting to pacify his colleague and minimize the fallout, fully aware of Ikarus's volatile temper.
"Regardless, he humiliated us in front of our students and undermined our reputation. He doesn't belong here. Either he leaves, or he meets his end," Ikarus declared, his voice venomous.
"Calm your anger," Ridus urged. "He's merely shown us that there's still room for growth—that we have yet to truly master our craft." Ridus, ever the pragmatist, chose to see the duel as an opportunity for reflection rather than dwelling on its dangers.
"He caught us off guard," Ikarus retorted. "We were already drained from the sparring match between ourselves. Had I been at my peak, he wouldn't have left that arena alive."
Ridus observed Ikarus carefully, noting the shift in his colleague's demeanor. The anger was giving way to denial—a common stage of wounded pride.
"Let's discuss this tomorrow," Ridus suggested gently. "You should rest and take this time to reflect. Identify weaknesses—not only in yourself but in him as well—and think of ways to enhance your skills."
"You're right," Ikarus admitted grudgingly. "I'll rest, but next time, he'll be the one begging for mercy."
Satisfied, Ridus rose and left Ikarus in the hands of the healers. Yet, even as Ikarus spoke of ambushes and depleted energy, Ridus knew the truth. Both of them understood, deep down, that even at their best, they would have stood little chance against Kylen. He was more than a warrior—he was the embodiment of battle itself.