Supreme Swordfiend

Their cold war continued over the next four rounds.

Both swordsman and mage spoke around each other as the honoured decided on who was to go to whom.

The format of the rounds stayed static, the other honoured all electing to see the battle royales continue.

Finlay claimed a mage, a grizzled man who won his battle royale with blades of wind, his enemies cut down to size with the man tactically repositioning after each attack, never lingering for more than a moment.

The necromancer claimed a bulky warrior, remarking he would serve as suitable material, prompting Leon to re-evaluate the girl’s threat level- anyone casually referring to their fellow man as material had a few screws loose.

John claimed two- a fellow rogue and a middling mage.

None impressed Leon, their classes either Starter or Common rarity- nothing worth getting worked up over, the swordsman replaying his exchange with the mage as he absentmindedly watched the bloodbaths below.

Leon realised after the fact that he’d blundered his opening move.

Octavia had exhibited remarkable restraint, merely pulling her hand back instead of slapping him, smug satisfaction clear to see on her face.

As though the last puzzle piece she’d been searching for had fallen into place.

Disinclined to push now that he was in a weaker position, Leon turtled up, speaking when spoken to, otherwise remaining silent.

When the familiar question of the round’s format came to him, Leon chose a different option.

“Survival of the fittest. Sounds like a battle royale with a different name stranger. Anything you can tell me now I’ve chosen it?”

Ever polite, the alien bowed low as it spoke.

“A most accurate judgement honoured one, nearly correct. Bar a small and crucial difference. You will determine which among them is the fittest, entering the arena yourself, your stats untouched. Should you fall in battle, a lowly one shall be elevated to take your place. They will receive no warning that you walk amongst them- good hunting, honoured one.”

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, Leon laughed. A fight, exactly the thing he needed- time to blow off some stress.

Leon vanished before the other’s eyes, appearing alongside one hundred others in the pit below, his lavish armour and gleaming blade immediately setting him apart from the ragged masses.

As one honoured readied himself for battle, another watched on.

Octavia Caesar witnessed the young monster drawing his crimson claymore, his excitement palpable even from so far.

The others chattered, awaiting the round’s start. The barbarian and rogue speculating on whether the supposed strongest would hold up under scrutiny.

Foolish.

That man had claimed the name Swordfiend through fire and war, forged a title from the bones of his enemies and made a planet fear his might.

This? This was nothing to him.

He’d crush those weaklings.

The only thing in question was how badly he’d break them.

The dregs mobbed him once the barriers came down, recognising a threat when they saw one, ten charging him in unison, each eager to claim his gear for their own.

Five men died in the time it took her to blink, the swordsman scything through them like a hot knife through butter.

Fireballs, earthen spears, blades of wind and jets of water all failed to even scratch his armour, the man’s laughter growing louder as he sheathed his blade, bellowing a taunt to the arena.

“None of you are worthy to face my blade.”

His voice carried far, the commoners and honoured both bearing witness as the man balled his fists, fire in his eyes.

Taking the opening, a rogue sank her dagger into his neck, the iron tip barely penetrating his skin, the swordsman pivoting and punching through her chest, crushing her heart with his fist, tossing the lifeless corpse into the sands and seeking another victim.

Calling it a fight was too kind.

Some ran, some hid, but most fought back.

All died screaming as the swordsman caught their blades in his hands, turned back arrows by catching them mid-flight and shrugged off spells like they were nothing.

He outclassed them utterly, their shoddy weapons unable to even damage him.

Leon’s rampage stopped when he spotted a young woman who’d hidden beneath a corpse. Abruptly raising his hand, he pointed at her.

“You’re not half-bad.”

Pronouncing his judgement, the swordsman moved on, finding another two he approved of while killing the rest.

Drawing his crimson sword once more, the strongest honoured one cut through the last unworthy survivor, the three he’d deemed acceptable kneeling in the sand behind him.

The barbarian spoke, a slight quaver in his voice.

“What on God’s green Earth is that man?”

Enlightening her lessers, a task Octavia seldom enjoyed. It had a certain appeal in this situation, knowing that others felt as much awe toward Leon’s display as she did.

“A monster. He wasn’t even taking this seriously. He kept that heinous aura of his constrained the entire time and broke bones with his bare hands. Imagine trying to fight him while his aura prickles against your skin, that crimson sword hurtling towards you, cutting you open while he laughs in your face.”

The rogue spoke up at that.

“Always a chance to win. No one is invincible”

Octavia gestured to the grounds. Leon’s selection made clear.

Two headless corpses kneeling, one crying survivor and a Swordfiend smiling in glee.

“By all means, hunter. Go ahead. Challenge him. Make his day.”

They wisely clammed up as the thoroughly blooded man reappeared in their midst, the bubble isolating their voices collapsing at the same time.

Shaking himself like a dog, the swordsman wicked blood over the tent, smiling at each of them as he reclaimed his throne.

“That was fun! Exactly what I needed, man, were they weak though- couldn’t even scratch me! Anyway, Violetta was the best of the bunch. Battle Medic, Uncommon Class, Level Two, aggregate level of twelve. Any takers?”

The necromancer spoke first, surprising everyone.

“Why’d you make them choose? At the end?”

Eyeing her as though she was a fool, the man answered, tone making it clear he was unsure of the thrust behind the question, since to him the reason was obvious.

“I needed to test their mindset. You can’t train mindset. At least, not quickly or easily and someone with the wrong mindset will only drag you down. So I asked them- life or death? The other two begged for their lives. Violetta begged for their deaths. She figured out the only way to survive was by asking for the deaths of the others. Smart, no?”

A series of uneasy nods followed, the swordsman vigorously nodding along, calling out to the survivor as he did so.

“Violetta! Say hi to everyone!”

The poor woman continued weeping in the sand, the consigning of two others to death taking its toll on her psyche.

Shrugging, Leon moved on.

“She’ll get over it. I won’t lie- she does interest me. A healer would be useful for me, but I’m content to pass, see if I can’t get a Rare one instead.”

The barbarian interjected.

“I’d take her. Not having to eat after every bloody wound’s reason enough for me.”

Predictably, the rogue followed.

“Pass. Getting hurt isn’t my style.”

Joy, the swordsman, had competition for ‘worst one-liner so far’.

Eyeing the healer herself, Octavia saw no reason to take the woman. Her own healing spells eclipsed any a human from this Tutorial could wield.

A shame so few were usable, her low mana pool locking her into spells she’d already mastered and refined.

Competency of the woman aside, Octavia had another reason to make as few claims as possible.

“Pass- a mage of my calibre has no need for a healer.”

The necromancer similarly passed, still barely paying attention to the proceedings, the healer claimed by the barbarian.

The honoured settled in for another respite between rounds, the swordsman leaning over to speak to Octavia, keeping his voice low.

“You’ve seen mine. Now show me yours.”

Octavia felt her cheeks flush against her will as he drew near.

He had dangerous eyes, always a glimmer of something hiding in his pupils, drawing her in anytime she saw them.

“Oh please, I have no desire to expose myself to any of these fools, least of all you.”

“Wasn’t asking, princess. I can’t touch you here, but if you know as much about me as you’ve implied, then you also know threatening me has consequences. Let’s try this again. Go down there and show me. The power of a Legendary Class.”

His once light-hearted tone grew steadily more threatening as he continued.

“Or you can choose not to. Bad idea, I advise against doing that.”

Sighing, Octavia leaned away. She’d been hopeful after confirming his identity, the initial excitement ebbing away as they spoke. This exchange sealed the deal. The Swordfiend she’d known didn’t bother with threats- only ultimatums, followed by violence.

Octavia snuffed out the last embers of hope the Swordfiend’s appearance here had rekindled.

If even the Swordfiend had forgotten, then Octavia was truly alone.

She'd humour this little request. Once he'd seen her power he would hopefully be more to speak with.

“Fine. I, Octavia Caesar, will show you the pinnacle of arcane mastery. Watch closely, swordsman.”

The grin returned, as though it had never left.

“Fish me up a good mage while you’re at it, princess.”

All too soon, the Cromidian requested Octavia declare the type of battle the round would take.

“Survival of the fittest.”

The mage vanished, appearing in the arena below, the man who’d compelled her to take the stage peering over the battlefield.

Leon hadn’t particularly enjoyed the fighting- it had served his aims though and helped him test his might. With stats dwarfing even the strongest of dregs, he’d beaten them into the sand with ease.

Aside from a twinge in his right shoulder, a bruise forming where an earth pillar had struck, Leon had made it out of the arena with nary a scratch.

The others now knew how scary he could be when he resorted to violence. Leon hoped his overtures of cooperation would be enough, but his display of power would cement his place as first among equals.

The idea to send Octavia down there had come to him as he’d sat down.

What better way to take back the momentum in their conflict?

He’d tipped his hand, broken the illusion that all was well, and offered terms.

Obey or face consequences.

An inelegant solution, using threats, but one he felt forced to employ.

Anything else gave the woman a chance to extract more information from him.

With this, the balance of power shifted in Leon’s favour.

Now he watched on, as she conjured increasingly elaborate constructs of flame.

Octavia did not savour battle. He could tell from the way she fought, the brutally efficient spell casting she employed.

She’d begun with basic fireballs, each one killing the human they hit, their number and speed gradually escalating as the melee combatants ran from her, an aura of white flame surrounding her to ward off any projectile attacks from the ranged fighters.

A bullet of water splashed ineffectually against the barrier, evaporating as it made contact. The attack spurred the flame mage into further action.

Tendrils of flame ran down her arms, coalescing into whips of fire, swung with malicious intent, their length covering the entire width of the arena, leaving no hiding spots for any cowardly rogues.

Each movement cut the towers down to size, the fire immolating men where they stood, until only one remained, shielded from the magical onslaught by a barrier, the System intervening to protect the winner.

Octavia reappeared within the tent, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and re-taking her seat before speaking.

“I, Octavia Caesar, Paragon of Fire, Blessed of the Arcane Arts and Master Mage, have deigned to spare a mage of some talent- swordsman, if you would?”

Leon ignored the woman’s listing of her titles, convinced she’d made them up on the spot and examined the winner, the inferno extinguished by the white-robed alien in the interim, the arena restored to its default state.

The reset revealed a scared and pale young man, soot clinging to his frame.

“Level Seven Haemokinetic- Rare Class

Aggregate Level- Seventeen.”