As the thrill pumped through his veins at full force, Rowan decided on his target.
Out of the four dozen goblins rushing towards them, the first three dozen were garbed in basic hides, their weapons an assortment of rusted daggers and sharpened bones.
They were the most clustered, and for a moment, Rowan thought about sending the spell their way. It would result in the greatest number of deaths, but that wasn't the goal.
The goal was to win. And to survive.
Bronze-ranked monsters weren't going to be a problem for the Grove. They could kill them in droves. It was the real threats he needed to take out.
Fights in the Wilds were mostly decided by who had the strongest person on the field. A team of Iron-ranked adventurers could decimate a horde of Bronze-ranked monsters. The leap in strength one got from advancing granting them a significant boost in power.
So his gaze turned to the dozen or so in the back.
Unlike the ones in the front, these goblins were less animalistic. Less feral.
They stood on both feet with crude but deadly looking weapons in their hands. Swords and spears made of finely polished bone, with thinly wound sinew adorning their handles.
Rowan raised his arm towards the group, releasing his spell.
The orb of flame erupted from his hand, searing through the air with frightening speed, taking a tenth of his mana along with it.
It was a magnificent working of magic. The shell contained a massive amount of mana in an orb small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.
The goblins snarled in panic. Frantically throwing themselves out of the way, trying to dodge. It sailed over the first group, leaving them confused, and for the moment, defenseless.
Annie surged forward, her spear a blur as she beheaded the closest one. The rest of the Grove wasn't far behind, Nemir and Omi joining the fight alongside her.
With a [Roar], the swordsman carved through another three goblins. Strangled screams and the smell of guts wafting through the air. Omi took out another two with practiced ease, his daggers barely visible in the low light.
The [Fireball] finally reached its target, a grouping of Iron-ranked goblins. Rowan was surprised with how far they managed to disperse, but it wasn't going to do them much good.
"Eyes!" Rowan shouted, looking away as his spell impacted the ground.
The team took a coordinated step back, shielding their eyes from the massive explosion that rocked the cavern.
A blast of fire large enough to engulf a house wiped out a good chunk of them in the initial blast, the rest being scorched by the heat.
Rowan tried to steady his shaking hands, the sheer scope of his working mesmerizing.
When he looked back, he could see the team glancing at him with startled expressions. For a moment, Omi almost looked frightened, but then that familiar grin split his face.
"Morrigan take me," Nemir muttered, a determined gleam in his eye. "I'm glad it wasn't just a boast," he laughed, already moving again. His sword carving through another grouping of goblins.
The monsters snarled in rage and indignation. Someone had attacked their pack, and they weren't going to take that lying down.
They ran on all fours, their clawed appendages digging into the hard earth with ease. One leaped at Omi, his daggers managing to deflect the first two strikes, but the third one aimed at his leg almost managed to land.
Annie's spear took it through the throat, keeping the pressure off the rogue long enough for him to dodge his way to the edge of the battle, away from the group. The dim light of the cavern a perfect backdrop for his talents.
Kai swooped down to rake his claws across a goblin's throat, Sil's arrow piercing it a moment later.
"Sorry!" she shouted, already aiming at another one.
His familiar trilled, flying back up.
"Yeah, yeah, you can count it!" she shouted back, turning her bow sideways and firing three arrows simultaneously, each one finding its mark.
Rowan noticed he couldn't find Omi and he got ready, knowing he'd need to move soon. The rogue had slipped out of sight. That meant his skills were active. He would work his way in, dividing their opponents' attention long enough for the main group to rush at their back.
It was a simple tactic, and it wouldn't have worked against smarter opponents. But these goblins were little more than animals.
When he reappeared, shredding through their numbers with furious intensity, the whole group turned as one. Their instincts sensing a greater threat.
The Iron-ranks wouldn't have done that, but that was why Rowan had taken them out at the start.
Nemir, Annie, and Silvia activated their own skills.
The two dozen or so goblins left were quickly dealt with. A flurry of powerful swings, quick thrusts, and precise shots decimating their numbers.
Rowan didn't move, looking away from the carnage and further into the camp. He wanted nothing more than to start throwing spell after spell at their foes, but he had another task. His muscles were coiled tightly in anticipation, ready, and more than willing to move.
There was a shaman here, he was sure of that, and he needed to take it out sooner rather than later.
He'd been taught never to underestimate an enemy, and right now that meant assuming that the opposing mage was capable of casting something on the level of a [Fireball].
Rowan's eyes locked on the largest tent in the makeshift village, his body snapping into motion.
The fight hadn't been going on for long, but if he assumed his opponent was capable, he'd started casting the moment he realized there was a threat. And if he could truly cast a Chant-level spell, then right now was the most dangerous part of the fight.
The magic circuit for [Burning Whip] flared to life, coursing through his channels and erupting out his back. Rowan didn't stop there, and another one soon joined it, with a third already on its way.
He wasn't able to hold three manifestations for long, but he didn't need to. His Dexterity was twenty-five, and that wasn't just for show.
Rowan reached the tent and cracked all three whips at the same time, shredding through the leather and leaving smoldering chunks in his wake.
If the shaman was inside, Rowan had just ended the threat before it appeared.
He grunted as the third whip dissipated, the strand of mana slipping out of his control. But his eyes were glued to the burning tent, watching for any signs of life.
Come on… Come on… Show yourself.
Rowan actually found himself hoping that something had survived. This was supposed to be his first duel against an actual caster, and it would be a shame if it ended like this. He'd fought plenty of monsters with access to some kind of magic, but that was different. He wanted to try his Intent against an actual practitioner of the magical arts. Spell against spell.
He knew it was a selfish thought.
But even still, Rowan found himself aching for a fight.
To achieve his goals, he needed to grow strong. To master himself and perfect his craft.
He pulled up his status, his eyes locked on the unearned title.
Name:
Rowan Undomniel-Athlain
Title:
[Duke of Eiseylth]
Trait:
[Immortal Soul]
Core:
Red [74%] [5 Levels]
Body:
Bronze I [1 Level]
Level:
6
Strength:
14
Dexterity:
25
Vitality:
20
Intelligence:
30
Willpower:
22
Focus:
17
Most days, it hung heavy over his shoulders.
It was an obligation. A duty he needed to perform.
And he intended on seeing it through.
But he wouldn't be able to do it while cowering. He needed this fight. It was dangerous, and reckless. But discarding safety was the price of walking down his path.
So he stood there, every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation. Two tendrils of flame coiled around him, ready to defend against anything thrown his way.
To have any chance of finding out the truth, he would need to fight stronger opponents than a mere goblin, no matter how smart.
Two tier-four affinities weren't enough, he thought grimly. I'm going to need something more. I don't get to be good. Anything less than being the best is a failure.
It was the height of arrogance to even think that. There were mages capable of feats Rowan couldn't even begin to fathom. And he'd seen more than a few up close.
But he had something that no one else did. Two things in fact.
One was the Vault. A repository for the accumulated wealth of his family. It had everything he would ever need—or want—to grow in strength.
The other was his trait. And out of the two, it was more important by far. Rowan still didn't know exactly what it could do. Channeling mana usually came with a spiritual strain, something he didn't experience, so that was certainly a part of it.
But it had to be more than that.
The Soul was a grand concept, and for the System to call his Immortal had massive implications. Ones Rowan hadn't had the chance to properly look into, or the will to really think through.
Figuring out the answer to that question was a priority, but as things stood, Rowan had no way of accomplishing that.
Soul-magic was far beyond his capabilities. But he was putting in the effort to change that.
Movement from the left caught his eye.
Rowan cracked his whip towards it, impacting an earthen wall. One that hadn't been there a moment before.
His grin widened, the thrill reaching a crescendo.
A low grunt was all the answer he got, but it was more than enough.
The shaman was there. And he was ready for him.
Rowan swung his other whip towards the [Earthen Wall], trying to pierce through it, knowing he needed to stay on the offensive.
He caught a glimpse of knotted staff and dust-stained robes, the ragged looking goblin visible for barely a second.
Just long enough to scan him.
Level:
23
Body:
Bronze III [3 Levels]
Core:
Orange [20 Levels]
Rowan felt a flicker of hesitation flare to life. His steps faltered, even while the two tendrils battered against his opponent's spell.
Halfway through Orange, he winced. Not ideal.
The ten extra levels certainly looked threatening, but Rowan didn't let that discourage him. This was good. In fact, it was great.
The added stats meant his foe most likely had a larger mana pool, and regenerated it quicker. Which while beneficial, wasn't the deciding factor when it came to mage duels.
Skills and mastery were what decided who won. Something Rowan had in abundance.
As long as he hasn't got a tier-two affinity, I'm golden.
Higher tier mages were more dangerous simply because they had more time to hone their craft. To learn new spells and get acquainted with using them during a real battle. Rowan was fine when it came to the former, it was the latter that needed work.
His [Burning Whip] started burrowing into the wall. Contesting against the shamans imbued Intent. It was proving harder than he'd hoped, the inherent defensive properties of Earth managing to fight against the destructive ones of Fire.
As the first one punched through, an angry snarl reached his ears.
Rowan's eyes widened when he saw the wall bulged out. He immediately crouched down, protectively coiling a whip around his body.
A [Rock Shot] exploded towards him, the shaman exchanging his defense for a surprise attack. It put Rowan on the back foot, but it opened the shaman up to a counter-attack. Something he was more than willing to exploit.
His second [Burning Whip] dropped. Exchanged for a rapidly forming [Firebolt].
The circuit came to him with an instinctual familiarity. Blooming to life as he filled it with an Intent, giving it the push it needed to fully manifest.
Piercing Flame.
Rowan uncurled the whip just enough to gain line of sight. The shaman's lip curled up into an ugly sneer, its sharp fangs gleaming in the dim light of the cavern.
When mages fought, a single spell was enough to decide a winner. Every second mattered. Every exchange a dance where a misstep resulted in death.
And both of them knew it.
The failed [Rock Shot] didn't dissuade his opponent. His staff was already pointed at Rowan, a vortex of Wind swirling at the tip.
Seeing that, the last of his hesitation subsided.
If it had been Water, Rowan might have been in trouble. But Wind? Wind he could deal with.
They both released their spells.
The duel had officially started, and Rowan planned on mopping the floor with his opponent.