Rowan laughed in glee as he deflected another [Rock Shot]. The shaman was doing everything in its power to keep him away, trusting in the defensive properties of its affinity against Rowan's offensive ones.
A [Burning Whip] perpetually hung around his shoulder, twisting and slashing through the air. Holding it active had become almost instinctual. The mark of a truly mastered spell.
After this, I'm going back to the Plateau, Rowan decided firmly. If I could do the same with [Fireball], this wouldn't have even been a fight.
He could feel he was close. It would take him a single outing to the region. A few hours of holding a vent. There, he would be able to cast it repeatedly. Something he couldn't do in Litwick for a multitude of reasons.
The shaman snarled something as it launched a [Wind Blast] at him. Rowan's whip cracked through the air, deflecting it away.
In response, a [Firebolt] formed in his hand. Taking another chunk of his mana with it.
He sent it flying towards his opponent just as the shaman formed another [Earthen Wall], taking the spell with ease.
A spell's Intent grew weaker the further away it was from the caster. So by the time Rowan's bolt reached the shaman, it had degraded enough for his opponent to deal with it. The same way he'd done with the [Wind Blast].
If he wanted to win this, he either needed to get close and overpower it, or sneak in an attack through its defenses.
He threw himself to the side as the ground beneath him started vibrating.
A thin spear of tightly compacted earth whistled right by his ear, followed by a frustrated grunt from the shaman.
Guess he had the same idea, Rowan thought, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.
That was closer to death than he'd come in a long time. Monsters rarely did tactics. They threw themselves at anything they perceived to be a threat with wild abandon. But once again, Rowan was reminded that he was fighting a caster.
One more try. And if it doesn't manage to hit, I'm going in.
Another [Firebolt] formed in his hand. Only this time, his whip curled around his arm, the tip wrapping around the spell.
He wouldn't do much just throwing spells around with no regard. That would have been a waste of mana. Something Rowan really couldn't afford, seeing as he was already below half.
Let's hope this works, he thought, extending the tendril overhead and cracking it in the shaman's direction.
The extra length gave his Intent less time to deteriorate, and the unexpected direction of his attack was exactly the type of surprise Rowan needed.
Earth and Water affinity mages had the added benefit of their elements persisting after being cast. But on the flip side, it made them harder to move. Especially shield spells like the one his opponent was conjuring.
His spell flew over the [Earthen Wall], descending on the goblin, its eyes wide in panic.
But even in its panic, the shaman proved himself a skilled caster.
It fractured the wall with a wave of its hand and sent the rocks flying into the air. The following explosion formed a small dust cloud, earth and rock showering the goblin.
Rowan grinned.
He might not have managed to hit the shaman, but he'd done the second-best thing.
Its shield was down, and Rowan didn't plan on giving his opponent time to cast it again.
He blurred into motion, a second tendril of flame already erupting from his back. That trick wouldn't work twice, leaving only one path open to him.
Rowan needed to get close.
Gritting his teeth, he rushed across the cavern, his feet digging into the soft dirt with each frantic step. There was a reason he focused a significant portion of his stats towards Dexterity. He couldn't win every fight with overwhelming firepower. Winning required not getting hit, and being fast was the way to make that happen.
As the dust settled, the shaman noticed his rapid approach and took an instinctual step back. Its lips pulled up into an ugly sneer, drool dripping from its serrated teeth.
It cast an empowered [Gust] into the ground, throwing itself back, out of range of Rowan's whips.
He growled in frustration, pulling his focus tighter, manifesting a third whip.
This time, it came easier. The strain that followed an overexertion of his Focus was nowhere to be found. Three was still his limit, meaning there would be no other spells while he maintained them, but that was fine.
With the thrill pushing him forward, he felt better than ever.
This was what he lived for. Where his heart truly sang.
On the edge, riding the thin line between advancement and death.
The goblin landed on its feet.
Pointing its gnarled staff at Rowan, it sent out a pair of [Wind Blast]'s.
He easily deflected them, his three active spells more than up to the challenge.
But something was wrong. That move made no sense. Why would the shaman just waste its mana, knowing it wouldn't even slow Rowan down?
Unless it was a feint.
He noticed the eerie grin on its scarred face just as something massive impacted him in the chest.
In his haste, Rowan had stepped over exactly where the shaman had been standing since the start of the fight. And it seemed like he'd left a present.
A pillar of rock as thick as a tree launched him back, his spells dissipating as he lost focus. Rowan hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs, struggling to breathe.
His thoughts felt hazy, but a sharp hum emanating from the depths of his soul restitched his focus back together.
The enchantments woven into his coat took the brunt of the damage. Preventing cracked ribs or any other substantial injury. It still wasn't pleasant, but Rowan could probably walk it off.
Well, if he managed to survive what came next.
Fear tried to grip him. It would take him a second to get a [Fire Shield] up. And if the shaman was already casting, it would be much too late.
Rowan tried to push himself upward, hissing in pain from the pain in his arm.
His vision cleared and he locked eyes with his opponent, seeing a rapidly swirling mass of earth condensing into a spear. It looked at him with a murderous, almost eager expression—one that made Rowan's blood boil.
He was staring death in the face, growling in defiance as he pulled mana from his rapidly depleting Core.
This wasn't where he was going to die. In an insignificant region against an insignificant opponent.
Even if it looked inevitable.
Rowan was barely halfway through the cast when the shaman's spell finished. A polished spear floated above its head, the tip pointed ominously towards him.
Faster! he thought frantically, forcing his mana to move. Faster!
An enraged squawk suddenly echoed through the cavern, and Rowan's eyes widened.
Just as the shaman was about to release its spell, a black blur dove from above. Kai's claws raked across its face a moment later, drawing a pained snarl from its throat.
It wasn't enough to fully stop the spell, but Kai's intervention was enough to mess with its aim.
Rowan grasped at the opportunity with both hands. Despite it not being fully finished, he cast his shield. It wouldn't have been strong enough to defend against a direct hit, yet against a glancing blow, it was more than up to the task.
Instead of a sharp red, a soft orange flame covered his side.
The shaman's spear impacted his hastily erected defense and raked across it, gouging a furrow into it and dissipating his Intent in the process. But thankfully, his shield was enough to deflect it away.
The spear slammed into the wall behind him, digging deep into the stone and shaking the cavern.
Rowan forced himself to move. Pushing his sore body upright, trying to steady his stance.
Another mistake like that one, and this fight would be over.
His reserves were down to a quarter, meaning he only had one shot at landing a killing blow. Kai's reckless attack had bought him only seconds. Seconds Rowan intended to use.
Things weren't looking good. He was further away from the shaman than when he'd started, and he only had a few spells left in the tank.
Yet that only seemed to intensify the pounding in his ears. His focus sharpened, like a hazy window being wiped clean.
Steadying his breathing, he cast [Burning Whip] for a third time.
There was only one thing that mattered to him right now, everything else fading away like mist. It wasn't finding out the truth about his family, or getting stronger.
What mattered was getting close and choking the life out of this fucking goblin.
With a low growl, Rowan jumped into action.
.
.
.
Nemir grunted as the hobgoblins' club crashed against his sword. It was his job to hold its attention, and he planned on doing just that. He wasn't sure from what monster the bone came from, but judging by the size and weight, it hadn't been Iron.
Its Aura only compounded that problem.
[Bastion Guard] was one of his three proficient-level skills. Along with [Greatsword Mastery] and [Crescent Strike]. But even that was barely enough to deflect the monster's attacks.
It had been a while since he'd fought something physically stronger than him.
Name:
Nemir Al'Kalat
Title:
4th Heir (Count)
Body:
Iron V [15 Levels]
Core:
N/A
Level:
15
Strength:
60
Dexterity:
30
Vitality:
32
Intelligence:
2
Willpower:
2
Focus:
15
His stats were closer to someone at Silver II or III, but even though the hobgoblin was only at the first stage of the rank, Nemir found himself getting pushed back.
The red haze that covered its weapon wasn't something he could deal with alone.
An Aura of Might made everything it did more, its attacks simply stronger than his own.
He focused intensely on observing the monster. If he wanted to hone his own, there was nothing better than fighting against it.
He hadn't wasted the last six months spent at Iron V. Each day, he was getting closer.
Litwick had been an excellent choice for his proving. Especially if there was a monster surge. These were exactly the kinds of enemies he needed to fight in order to advance.
He focused on the burn in his muscles, the way they moved in unison. This was his way of inflicting his Will onto the world, and if he wanted to advance to Silver, it was what he needed to master.
Annie and Omi flanked the massive monster, inflicting quick, probing strikes on its tough hide. The attacks didn't manage to harm it, but what they did manage to do was distract it for long enough for Silvia to get a shot in.
Her arrow blurred through the air. Embedding itself into the hobgoblin's shoulder.
It snarled in rage, swinging its weapon in a sweeping strike, its roar echoing through the cavern. Annie threw herself back with startling speed, and Nemir was about to follow, but he stopped himself at the last second. Omi had been right next to the monster when Silvia's arrow struck, and if Nemir moved out of the way, the attack would land on him.
Gritting his teeth, he turned his body to the side and flattened his blade. Kneeling low in order to deflect the club upwards.
Something stirred in his veins, barely a note, replacing his hesitation with eagerness.
Danger is the price for progress made.
A determined yell left his throat as the red haze made contact with his blade.
It tried to overwhelm him. To push him down. To force him to give way.
But how could this creature be Mightier than him?
He'd been training for this his whole life. From the moment he was barely big enough to hold a sword, it had been a Path he wanted to follow.
Gods willing, he would never become Count, but he was still a member of his House. His duty was to become a warrior worthy of that name. And a creature that had spit dripping down its chin wouldn't bar him from that.
The club impacted his blade like a ballista.
It forced the flat side of his weapon to crash against his shoulder, just like he'd hoped. Something broke and a sharp pain pierced through his focus, but he didn't care. Nemir knew it would be here waiting for him, and he'd accepted it.
Using the extra leverage, he pushed himself upwards, grunting in effort as the club sailed over his head. His move managed to disturb the hobgoblin's footing, just like he'd hoped.
Its eyes widened at the unexpected result, and for the first time since the fight had started, their opponent was on the back foot.
It had expected easy prey, trusting in its Aura to be enough to overwhelm them. And while that would have been true for any one of them, they weren't fighting alone.
Nemir's leg gave out and he fell to one knee. He hissed in pain, his shoulder most likely broken.
Annie didn't waste the opportunity his injury brought them, lunging at the defenseless monster. Her spear burrowed into its side, piercing muscle and cracking bone.
The hobgoblin howled in agony, twisting its body and trying to get away.
She obliged him, thrusting her spear even further, pushing its body towards a pair of waiting daggers. The first stab landed in its lower back, tearing through muscle as Omi dug for its spine while the other severed a tendon by its knee, forcing the bulky monster to the ground.
Its howl grew louder, but an arrow punching through its eye and into its brain quickly silenced the beast.
The monster's body twitched, the grip on its club tightening for a moment before going lax. Omi cutting through its spine sped the process along, and it fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Annie pulled her spear out with a sickly crunch, stabbing it into the back of the monster's neck for good measure.
She turned around, a wide grin on her face. "Great fucking job."
Nemir winced as his blade clattered to the ground, gripping his wounded shoulder. The pain certainly wasn't pleasant, but he'd dealt with worse.
It was in moments like this that he was glad for [Pain Tolerance]. No matter how awful it was to train.
"I'm counting that as my kill," Omi said, his breathing heavy as he sheathed his daggers.
"As if," Silvia snorted. "If your aim was better, you might have actually hit your target. You gave it lower back pain, I scrambled its brains."
Nemir allowed himself a small smile, breathing out in relief. The exhilaration that came from winning against a fierce opponent was a heady feeling. One he didn't think he'd ever get sick of.
That last exchange was worth the broken bones. It felt like he was on the cusp of something. Like a thunderstorm waiting to break.
Before, when trying to contest an Aura, Nemir felt like pushing against the wind. But for a moment, when their weapons had connected, there had been resistance.
It was progress. A tangible step forward.
I'm almost there, he thought. One more fight like this. That's all I need.
But that was for later. Right now, what he needed was a healing potion.
Silvia was already walking towards him, pulling out a familiar red vial.
Name:
Healing Potion
Grade:
Uncommon
"Why is it every time we fight, it's just you boys getting hurt?"
"Because Annie has a spear, and you spend your time flinging sticks from range," Omi grumbled, dabbing at the shallow cut on his arm. "Kind of hard to get injured if you never get close to the massive, bone-swinging monsters."
"Still my kill." She shrugged, handing Nemir the potion.
Nemir nodded gratefully, chugging it down in one big gulp. The earthy taste was a familiar comfort, the viscous fluid flowing down his throat. It settled in his stomach, and as his body absorbed it, a sharp relief settled over him.
The pain ebbed away as the potion did its work, knitting his tendons back together and repairing his shattered bones.
It would be a week before he could drink one again, but finding rare or higher grade potions wasn't possible in Litwick.
Despite its lack of resources, the city had proven an excellent location for his proving. Especially if there was a monster surge coming.
This pack was proof that a tribe was settling in the area. Nemir had seen the red fang sigil on the tent, meaning there would be more than enough enemies to hone himself against in the upcoming weeks, and months.
He tried not to think about the broader implications. There had been monster surges before, and there would be more in the future. It wasn't his job to deal with that.
His father was an Ebony-ranked warrior, with his brothers and sisters not far behind. As much as he would like to be by their side, to be home—protecting Ba'alat from the threats it faced. They didn't need him there.
The thought didn't evoke the same sense of frustration as it did when he left. Here, he could battle against opponents at the right level of strength. And hobgoblins were the perfect whetstone to sharpen himself against.
At home, leaving the city walls without an appropriate escort would have been a death sentence. Gold-rank threats and higher were the norm. And against a single opponent like that, Nemir wouldn't have had the chance to hone his skills. Dying gruesomely would have prevented it.
Still, he hoped the surge wouldn't be too bad. Even if all the signs were pointing to the opposite.
Trouble at the Walls always led to hardships for the entire kingdom. As stronger monsters moved past them and settled new territory, they pushed out everything else and created a chain reaction.
Trouble, right, he shook his head. That's one way of putting it.
It was almost unfathomable to think that House Athlain fell. They had been the stewards of the North for generations. Guarding against the strongest threats this kingdom faced.
When he was little, he'd heard stories about the Archamages of Dawn and Dusk. They were legendary figures, renowned for the might of their spells and the weight of their deeds.
For them to fall to an Archdemon, summoned into the heart of their power, that spoke ill of the times to come.
The power vacuum left in the wake of that tragedy had unbalanced the realm. There was a race to see which House could gain the most. Land, riches, acclaim. But Nemir couldn't focus on that. As he was, there was nothing he could do but get stronger. Another Iron-ranked Warrior wouldn't do much for his family. They had those in droves.
But here, that wasn't the case.
It was only a matter of time before Litwick experienced a serious threat. And with the way things were looking, it might already be here. A goblin pack wasn't that hard to take out, but an entire tribe was a different beast entirely.
There wouldn't just be hobgoblins to deal with.
Nemir followed Annie's gaze to the other side of the cavern, the thrill of their triumph slowly being tainted with nervousness.
Jamis was a skilled mage. Frighteningly so.
There was a grace in his movements that Nemir had rarely seen. And he'd spent more than his fair share of time around casters.
He hadn't been exaggerating when calling him an apprentice War-mage. Because that was the only thing he could compare it to. And from what little Nemir knew about him, it might just be true.
But even that didn't seem to be enough.
For all his skills and tenacity, he was fighting an opponent a whole rank higher. The shaman had seventeen levels and a whole other affinity at his disposal.
Nemir groaned as he pushed himself up, picking up his sword and propping it against his good shoulder.
Eldric's grace guide him, he intoned, sending a small prayer to the God of Fate.
He admired Jamis's unwavering confidence, but right now, his choice to fight seemed more like foolishness.
"Come on, come on," he heard Annie mutter, her gaze intense as she took an instinctual step forward.
Omi's hand shot out, gripping her arm. "Don't you dare," he said firmly. "A single stray hit and you're dead. We wait, and if it doesn't work out, we run."
The rogue's unusual seriousness got through to her.
She gritted her teeth, forcing a slow nod.
As much as Nemir didn't like it, it was the truth. Leaving a teammate to battle for his life while they stood by left a bitter taste in his mouth, but fighting a caster was suicide.
It had been Jamis's decision to enter the cave knowing there was a shaman inside.
Being an Adventurer was a dangerous profession. Every time they ventured into the Wilds, they knew they might not be coming back.
It was a risk they all took in pursuit of power.
Jamis yelled as Earth traveled up his leg, pinning him in place. And even from the other side of the cavern, Nemir thought he heard the cracking of bone.
"Sil, do something!" Annie shouted, glancing at the archer with a panicked expression.
She frantically pulled out the arrow that had killed the hobgoblin, quickly straightening the fletchings. She nocked it, letting it fly in one fluid motion.
Nemir's heart pounded like a drum. Knowing the smart thing to do was retreat closer to the entrance but unable to move. He followed the arrows' flight, praying it found its mark.
But without even a glance, the shaman deflected it out of the air with an errant stone. Silvia dodged to the side, the projectile flying over her head.
Nemir's hopes shattered when the Earth started crawling further up Jamis's leg, his screams growing louder.
The shaman took a gleeful step closer, keeping just out of range of the burning tendril slashing out towards it.
But then, for barely a moment, Nemir saw a flash of pure determination in the mages' eyes. He'd honed himself against the hobgoblin. And now, the only thing they could hope for was for Jamis to do the same.