Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 134

Chapter 134: Trial by Combat

The water mug floated three inches off the nightstand, wobbling like a drunk trying to walk a straight line. I narrowed my focus, willing it higher, but the moment my concentration wavered, it crashed back down, spilling across the worn wood.

"Still can't manage a simple pour," I muttered, wiping the mess with my sleeve. Two days of practice with Soul Fire, and all I had to show for it was wet furniture and a growing appreciation for how much I didn't understand.

The power thrummed beneath my skin, different from Qi or mana. Where those energies bent the rules, Soul Fire seemed to politely ask reality if it wouldn't mind stepping aside for a moment. 

The building analogy from the Heavenly Demon's memories made sense. Physical laws at the foundation, energy manipulation above, and Soul Fire as the staircase between floors. At the highest place was the ability to channel Willpower to mess with [Laws], but we weren’t there yet. Knowing the theory and walking those stairs were two very different things.

I tried again, this time with a copper coin. It rose smoothly, spinning in place as I imposed my will upon it. Better. The smaller the object, the easier it was to assert dominance over its existence. 

A useful trick, but hardly the world-shaking power I'd need for what was coming.

Two days. Two days of preliminary matches that barely qualified as warm-ups. My opponents had been competent enough—a fire mage who thought bigger explosions meant better strategy, twin swordsmen whose synchronization fell apart the moment I disrupted their rhythm, a beast tamer whose creatures seemed more interested in fleeing than fighting. Each victory had been decisive but unremarkable, exactly as planned.

Tomorrow's finals would be different. The qualifying round for the Gold Dragon realm wouldn't be filled with hopefuls and has-beens. Real warriors would stand in that arena, carrying their own ambitions and secrets. I had to be ready.

A knock interrupted my musings. I let the coin drop, catching it smoothly as I rose from the bed. The inn wasn't the kind of place that offered room service.

"Who is it?"

"Message for the Hand of Dark Heavens," came a gravelly voice. "Master Xylo requests your presence for dinner. He’s waiting at the Golden Serpent."

I opened the door to find a lizardfolk messenger, scales the color of dried blood. His eyes darted nervously, never quite meeting mine. Smart creature. He didn’t seem the suspicious type.

"Tell Master Xylo I'll be there within the hour."

The messenger bobbed his head and scurried away. Hmm, what’s this about? I had to slow down and ponder it for a moment. Dinner with a demon lieutenant. Either Xylo wanted to recruit me again, or he'd figured out something about my identity. Given his reaction to my dual cores, I suspected the former. Still, information was information, regardless of the source.

I dressed carefully, nothing too fine that would mark me as wealthy, nothing too poor that would insult my host. The balance of appearances, another dance I'd grown tired of performing. But honestly, there probably was no reason to dress in this savage desert.

I gathered my things, ensuring the Demon Blade of Kurayami was in my Soul Storage, and my coin purse contained enough to cover whatever game Xylo might be playing. The Golden Serpent was three steps above anywhere I'd been eating, which meant this was either a genuine gesture of hospitality or an elaborate setup.

Considering my luck, it could always be the worst.

****

The Golden Serpent lived up to its name. Everything from the gilded fixtures to the silk tapestries screamed expensive taste and deeper pockets. It was impressive how such a place existed in the deep desert, where the air quality itself tasted of privilege. 

The top floor, where the reservation was made, featured a private dining room that overlooked the sprawl of the settlement. A far cry from the practical inn where I'd been staying.

"Ah, brother!" Xylo rose as I entered the private dining room, his ancient features creasing in what passed for a smile. "So glad you could join us."

Us. Three others sat at the table, and my Sovereign's Gaze activated instinctively, reading the layers of power in the room.

[Grimjaw, the Draegloth, Level 109] looked like someone had tried to stuff a mountain into human form and given up halfway. Tusks jutted from his lower jaw, and his arms were thicker than most trees. The axe leaning against his chair probably weighed more than I did.

[Valeria Nocturne, The Whisper That Burns, Level 112] lounged in her chair like a cat pretending it wasn't hunting. Purple hair cascaded over one eye, the visible one tracking my movement with predatory interest. She wore a dress that was probably worth more than the inn I'd been staying at, cut in a way that suggested confidence rather than desperation.

[Silas Greywrit, The Clerk of Decay, Level 114] was almost aggressively ordinary. He had medium height, medium build, forgettable features. The kind of man you'd pass a thousand times without noticing. Which made him the most dangerous one here.

"The Savage Seven," I said, taking the offered seat. "Or four of them, at least. I'm honored."

"Awh, the unremarkable black horse of the tournament knows who we are," Valeria purred, leaning forward just enough to be distracting. "How delightful. That’s not our only achievement right now, though. We’re also winners of the tournament. We’ve already won a Scale Token. Tell me, handsome stranger, what else do you know?"

"I know the wine here is excellent," I replied, lifting the glass that had materialized before me. "And that beautiful women asking questions rarely want simple answers."

Her laugh was like silk over steel. "I like the way you speak. Usually, the men I meet above the 7th Ascension are prude muscleheads. What is your name? And don’t you lie please, your ‘Hand of the Dark Heavens’ is the most pretentious alias I've heard in years."

“Sunder,” I replied. That was the name I decided on. From Iskandaar, to Alexander, to Xander/Sunder. The people who knew me would laugh at my sense of naming.

Valeria opened her mouth, lips curling before she’d drop her next series of flirty words, but someone interrupted her. "Enough, Val," Grimjaw yawned. "You'll make our guest think we're not respectable folk. Let the man eat before you devour him."

My Demonic Sphere had spread across the entire building. From what I understood, there was no hidden danger behind this invitation. I didn’t drop my guard, but still felt a little relieved. 

The meal that followed was delicious, but also a masterclass in civilized interrogation. They probed without seeming to, skillful at it, each of their questions wrapped in casual conversation. Where had I trained? Who were my teachers? What brought me to this particular corner of nowhere?

I gave them shadows of truth. A traveling swordsman seeking a challenge. A student of multiple schools who claimed no single master. The usual lies that worked because they were mostly honest.

"This is excellent," I said, and meant it. "Though I doubt you invited me here just to show off your expense account."

"Perceptive," Silas murmured, speaking for the second time since I'd arrived. My eyes flicked to observe his expression. His voice was like his appearance, utterly forgettable until you realized you couldn't stop listening. "But no, there’s not much behind it other than wanting to get to know you better. We wanted to meet the man who's been cutting through the tournament like it was made of paper. As it stands, we’ll be fighting against each other during Aethelgard’s regional tournament."

Xylo leaned forward, his ancient eyes gleaming. "You see, friend, the world is changing. Old powers are stirring, new alliances are being forged. Those who position themselves correctly stand to benefit greatly. I quite like you, so I wanted you to meet my friends."

"Xylo here is one of the primary organizers," Valeria explained, refilling my wine glass. "We've been watching your matches with great interest. You’re very efficient, hiding your powers and only using enough to win."

"I try not to waste time."

"Clearly." Grimjaw studied me over his glass. "Though tomorrow's match might require a bit more effort. It’s the finals after all. Even my match wasn’t an easy victory."

That got my attention. "Oh?"

“Xylo, tell us about it. Who’s he up against tomorrow?” Valeria asked, her tone sweet like a child trying to convince her father to give her treats.

Xylo cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. I wasn’t really curious, but turned to him with interest. "Well, strictly speaking, I shouldn't discuss the matchups..." Xylo started as the main course arrived, some sort of spiced lizard that was actually quite good. Isn’t that cannibalism? “Ugh. Once again, I’m not supposed to reveal this, but you’d be against Borin Stonefist. Do you know who that is?"

The table went quiet. Even Valeria's playful smile dimmed.

"The Unbroken. Half-giant, full nightmare." Silas said with a shake of his head. "He has fought fifty-three additional matches outside the tournament, refusing to turn down any duel request. Zero losses. They say steel breaks before his skin does. The man's skin is basically stone. Earth Affinity so strong he can turn his entire body into living granite."

"Fascinating," I said, cutting another piece of meat. "Anything else I should know about him? Does he have any interesting hobbies? Flower arrangement, perhaps? Poetry?"

Grimjaw choked on his wine. Valeria's eye sparkled with renewed interest.

"You're not concerned?" Xylo asked, studying me with those ancient eyes.

"Should I be? Stonefist? More like a stepping stone." I shrugged. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being arrogant for the sake of it. But that’s how I see it. Either I'm strong enough, or I'm not. Worry won't change the outcome."

"Stepping stone to what?" Valeria traced the rim of her glass with one finger. "What does a mysterious swordsman want with the Gold Dragons? I apologize for probing, but it’s rare to see such a strong demon unaffiliated with the Demon King’s forces. You have a different reason for playing this tournament than the rest of us."

"Maybe I like the color," I suggested. "Goes well with my eyes."

"Your eyes are golden," she pointed out.

"Exactly."

“I… initially called you here to propose a match-up change,” Xylo said, shaking his head. I suddenly had a realization. So he wanted me to accept it in exchange for joining his group? “But from your reaction, that topic doesn’t even interest you. What a pity.”

The conversation shifted then, moving to safer topics. Or so I thought until Valeria mentioned something truly surprising. The legendary Arcane Tournament.

It was an event that only happened once a century. Its status was undeniable across the entirety of planet Vear'thia.

"Biggest gathering in decades," the seductress said, tearing into what might have been an entire roasted bird. "Every realm is sending their best. Heard this time around, the snobby humans might allow our Demon King to make an appearance. So it’s a big deal for us."

The other three shot her a glare, and she blinked, realizing her mistake. That must be confidential information. Huh, my charm never fails me. I suddenly felt great.

"The Arcane Tournament?" I kept my voice carefully neutral. I already knew about it. In the game, it happened years from now. Timeline changes, or could it be something else?

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of it," Xylo said with surprise. "Every warrior worth their blade knows about the Tournament of Realms. Then again, you did say you were in seclusion training."

Silas elaborated in his forgettable way that made every word stick. "It is hosted by the Arcane Kings themselves. Anyone under fifty years and below the Ninth Ascension can compete. The Gold Dragon King wants to present a variety of participants this time, rather than just his Gold Dragons like every other time. That’s why these preliminary tournaments are being held. The prizes..." He trailed off, but his meaning was clear. Power. Recognition. Treasures beyond imagination.

"Our little desert tournament leads there?" I asked.

"Yes. Everything connects," Xylo said. "There are millions of people within the 5th to 8th Ascension range, under 50 years of age. Naturally, the Gold Dragon King wants to recruit the best. So the many tournaments are the filters for that. The Sunstone Gauntlet feeds into the Gold Dragon trials. Those feed into the regional championships. And those..." He spread his hands. "Well, let's just say the Arcane Kings have their eyes on more than we might think."

Interesting. Very interesting. The game's lore had shown the Tournament, but not this intricate web of qualifiers. How many other details had I missed or misunderstood?

"Speaking of connections," Valeria leaned closer, her perfume a mixture of jasmine and danger. "You never did say who trained you. You say multiple masters, sure, but those dual cores didn't develop themselves. Who’s behind that?"

"Self-taught," I lied smoothly. "Amazing what you can learn by merging different masters’ knowledge, some old books, and too many near-death experiences."

"Bullshit," Grimjaw said cheerfully. "But good bullshit. I like him."

"We all like him," Valeria agreed, her hand briefly touching mine. "The question is whether he'll survive long enough for it to matter. You should accept our goodwill, handsome, and change your opponent."

A seductress for sure. Anyone else, and they’d have given in.

"Your faith in me is touching," I said sarcastically.

"Faith has nothing to do with it." Xylo's expression grew serious. "Borin Stonefist has giant blood, and unlike most giants, he isn't just strong. Since he’s half human, he is also smart, experienced, and utterly ruthless. I've seen him break men who thought they were untouchable."

"Then it should be an educational experience," I said, finishing my wine. "One way or another."

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of excellent food and probing conversation. I learned more about the demon faction's presence here. It was nothing classified, but enough to paint a picture. They were recruiting, building networks, and preparing for something bigger than border skirmishes. 

I believe they were strengthening their faction in a much more efficient way by recruiting the winners of this tournament.

To be doing that under the Gold Dragons’ nose was really courageous. But to be fair, the Gold Dragons probably didn’t care. The only reason they were even allowed to exist here was because the Gold Dragons didn’t see them as a threat.

The Gold Dragons, arrogant as they were, saw every other race as inferior to themselves. They didn’t have the usual prejudice among races, because they looked down on every other race. Even fellow Dragons.

As we prepared to leave, Valeria caught my arm. "A word of advice, Sunder. Borin likes to play with his food. Don't let him draw it out. End it quickly, or not at all."

"Concerned for my well-being already? We should book a room."

“Oh, I wish,” she giggled, but saw through my joke regardless. Then her visible eye hardened. "But no, not concerned. I have a bet riding on you. Try not to disappoint me."

I gave her my best roguish smile. "I live to serve."

The walk back to my inn was quiet, Vyrn materializing on my shoulder as soon as I was alone. The spectral owl's presence was comforting, a reminder that I wasn't entirely alone in this game of masks and power.

Tomorrow would bring blood and spectacle. Borin the Unbroken versus the Hand of Dark Heavens. Stone against will. Strength against art.

I flexed my fingers, feeling Soul Fire pulse beneath the skin. Tomorrow, I'd paint the arena white with power and show them all what it meant to impose one's will upon the world.

The coin spun up from my palm without conscious thought, dancing through the air in perfect spirals. Progress. Small, but undeniable.

By the time I reached my room, I was already planning the fight. Not the moves—those would come in the moment. But the impression I wanted to leave. Strong enough to win, not so strong as to draw the wrong kind of attention. A delicate balance, like everything else in my life.

I fell asleep to the sound of desert wind and distant laughter, dreaming of white petals and broken stone.

****

Dawn came with the calls of duneboco chickens, all subtlety burned away by the desert sun. The Sunstone Gauntlet's arena was carved from the same petrified trees that gave Dune's Rest its name. The ancient wood here was harder than stone.

I stood on sand that had drunk enough blood to turn rust-colored, my simple sword a line of silver in the morning light. I had no intention of using the Demon Blade of Kurayami here. 

The crowd was already working into a frenzy around the arena. Merchants betting their last gold, mercenaries studying technique, lizardfolk basking in the promise of violence.

“Now!” the announcer’s voice filled the entire city. “Comes forth Borin Stonefist!”

His footsteps were like ten elephants walking in rhythm. I waited as he walked through the shadow of the tunnel and into the sun. By the time he stood across from me, Borin Stonefist made the arena look small.

He wasn't just large, he was architectural. Twelve feet of condensed mass that moved with surprising grace. His skin had the grey, mottled texture of granite, traced with scars that looked like cracks in stone. The double-headed axe in his hands could have served as a ship's anchor.

[Borin Stonefist, the Giantblood, Level 138]

"So," his voice was gravel in a cement mixer, his jaws clenched, "you're the puny swordsman everyone's whispering about."

"Guilty. You're the man who's never lost a match."

"Fifty-three and counting." He rolled his shoulders, joints popping like breaking rocks. "You'll make fifty-four."

"Confidence. I like that in an opponent. Makes victory taste sweeter."

He laughed, a sound like boulders tumbling down a mountain. "You talk pretty, boy. Let's see if you bleed pretty too."

The referee, a nervous lizardfolk who clearly wanted to be anywhere else, raised his flag. "Fighters ready?"

I nodded. Borin just grinned.

"Begin!"

The earth erupted.

Borin's axe slammed into the ground, and the arena floor responded like a living thing. Stone spikes burst from the sand in a spreading wave, every one of them meant to cripple or impale. A cage of earth, designed to limit movement and force me into his killing ground.

I moved.

My movements weren’t normal, and the crowd’s loud reaction proved that. Grandmaster footwork wasn't about speed but about efficiency. Every step carried me exactly where I needed to be, threading between spikes like water through a sieve. The crowd's roar dimmed to white noise as I found the rhythm, the dance between death and grace.

Borin didn’t watch idly, of course. The moment I closed the distance, his axe swept through the air in an arc that could have felled trees. I deflected rather than blocked, using angles to turn crushing force into glancing blows.

My sword found his ribs, a perfect thrust that should have punctured lung.

CLANG.

Steel met stone and lost. Sparks fountained from the impact, and I felt the vibration travel up my arm like hitting a mountain.

"Tickles," Borin said, bringing his axe around in a backhand that nearly took my head off.

I rolled under it, came up swinging, landed three quick strikes on his knee, hip, and elbow. All of them rang like bells, leaving nothing but scratches on his stone skin.

The crowd loved it. Here was their champion, invulnerable and implacable. And here was the upstart, all flash and technique, learning the hard way that some walls couldn't be climbed.

Another exchange. Another failure. I didn’t mind, I kept at my pace. But my blade was taking damage with each impact, small chips and stress fractures that would eventually lead to catastrophic failure. Borin knew it too. He was fighting conservatively, letting me exhaust myself against his defense.

"Getting tired?" he asked, casually backhanding a stone spike that forced me to dive aside. "You move well, I'll give you that. But movement don't win fights!"

I wasn’t using my full power, of course. I didn’t need that kind of attention. But I had to admit, he was a tough opponent. Giantblood, was it? In a battle of attrition, I wouldn’t lose. But it’d certainly drag for a long time. Time to change the game.

I backed against the arena wall. In the stands, I caught a glimpse of purple hair. It was amusing to see Valeria the seductress biting her nails in the worry of losing her bet.

Borin advanced slowly, savoring the moment. "Keep your attention here. Nowhere to run, demon boy."

"Who's running?"

I guess I’ve struggled for long enough. I closed my eyes and reached for Qi, and also something deeper than it, more fundamental than it. Soul Fire responded, eager and willing. It didn't burn. It simply was, a force that existed outside the normal rules.

When I opened my eyes, my sword hummed with invisible purpose.

[Twenty-Four Plum Blossoms Sword Technique.]

The technique that Princess Ha-Yun loved to watch me perform. Since I didn’t want to use True Demon arts here, that was a strong enough technique to fall back on. Borin's eyes narrowed, recognizing the shift in pressure if not the technique itself.

My sword moved.

Not fast, that wasn't the point. My movements were intentional, precise, painting invisible patterns in the air. And from each stroke, reality bloomed.

White petals erupted from nothing, each one a fragment of imposed will. Not pink like cherry blossoms or red like blood. I intentionally chose to paint them pure white, like bone or fresh snow or the space between stars. Soul Fire could do that. They filled the arena in a silent storm, beautiful and terrible in equal dimensions.

The crowd's roar died to confused murmurs. This wasn't the brutal combat they'd paid to see. This was art, and art made them nervous.

Borin raised his axe, uncertain. "What trickery is this?"

"No trick," I said, my voice carrying despite the whisper. "This is divinity poured into a sword art. Appreciate it."

The petals swarmed.

His first instinct was to bat them away, axe swinging in wide arcs that scattered dozens with each pass. But there were hundreds, thousands, all of them one guided by purpose. And when they touched his stone skin, they didn't bounce off.

They ignored it.

Soul Fire didn't care about physical laws. It strengthened the petals enough to dismiss the Law of ‘physicality’ of Borin’s body. Each petal melted through his defense as if it were paper rather than stone, finding the true flesh beneath, leaving tiny cuts that wept red against grey.

Borin's confident grin vanished. He roared in pain, spinning his axe in desperate circles, but fighting my technique was like fighting a blizzard with a fan. For every petal he destroyed, three more found their mark.

"Impossible," he snarled, blood now running in thin streams down his arms and chest. "My skin—"

"Is still skin," I finished, walking through my own storm untouched. "You just convinced it to be harder. I'm convincing it otherwise."

The beauty of Soul Fire wasn't in its power, it was in its simplicity. I wasn't breaking his defense. I was explaining to reality that maybe it wasn’t as strong as people believed.

The storm condensed, thousands of petals spiraling into a single point of pristine light at my sword's tip. Borin saw me coming but couldn't stop me. His axe rose to block, and I flowed around it like water, appearing at his throat with my blade a hair's breadth from flesh.

Everything stopped.

The petals vanished as if they'd never been. The arena fell silent except for Borin's labored breathing. He stood frozen, covered in a network of small, precise cuts. They were non-fatal, all deliberate. A map of mercy written in blood.

"Yield," I suggested quietly.

His eyes met mine, and I saw something I hadn't expected, given that I heard he liked to play with his opponents. There was respect in his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his axe.

"That wasn't swordsmanship," he said, voice rough with something that might have been awe. "That was… Impressive. I yield."

"Thank you. It’s an old family technique," I finished, stepping back and sheathing my blade. "Nothing more."

The referee, who'd been cowering behind a stone spike, cautiously emerged. "Winner... The Hand of Dark Heavens!"

The crowd exploded. Not the unified roar of before, but a chaos of voices. There was excitement, confusion, fear, and wonder. Money changed hands as bets were settled. In the stands, Valeria raised a glass in mock salute, her smile sharp as any blade.

Minutes later, I walked to the officials' platform, ignoring the angry stares from people who lost their entire fortune in bets. The head judge, a scarred human who looked like he'd seen everything twice, handed me a scale the size of my palm.

[Scale Token - Gold Dragon Clan Access Pass]

It was a golden scale heavier than it looked, warm to the touch, with an iridescence that shifted between gold and crimson. Power thrummed through it, patient and waiting.

"Congratulations," the judge said among many other non-important things. "The portal opens at noon. Don't be late."

I nodded, pocketing the token. As I turned to leave, Borin called out.

"Hey! Sword boy!"

I paused and looked back. His expression was rough, but he looked excited despite the blood, despite the loss. "Next time we meet, I'll be ready for your tricks."

Giants sure are competitive. "Next time," I agreed, "I'll show you different ones."

His laughter followed me from the arena. We might meet again. I did plan to visit the lands of giants someday. In the shadows of the exit tunnel, Vyrn materialized on my shoulder, preening his ethereal feathers.

‘Show off,’ he didn’t speak, but he accused with his eyes.

The Gold Dragons awaited. Solara awaited. Answers and allies and enemies I couldn't yet imagine. All of them beyond a portal that would open in mere hours.

The preliminaries were over. I wasn’t interested in the real game, but might as well enjoy it.

**

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The Veiled Man Note: Lots of new characters, some might appear again, some might not. Promises of future plots, of future places to visit. Despite all that, our eyes remain on Aethelgard, the Gold Dragons' realm. It is time!