Supreme Swordfiend

The naval battle turned out to be a disappointment, the normal layout replaced with a selection of longboats strewn around the arena, the participants forced to fight on narrow decks.

Almost immediately, a mage hit on the idea to set a neighbouring boat aflame. The survivors of the attack forced to leap from burning vessels, doing battle beneath the water, arrows tearing apart any who failed to dive deeply.

Leon passed the time by delivering analysis in between mouthfuls of popcorn, his claimed winners having clammed up after they’d realised he could speak with them.

“See, that right there is the problem with these mages- they love using fire. Nine times out of ten? It works out for them. It’s that one time, when they cock it all up for everyone, that stops me appreciating them.”

William called on that bit of backbone that had allowed him to answer in the arena, posing a question to Leon.

“What would you do then- if you were down there?”

Scratching his chin, Leon considered the problem.

“Target the mages first, then the ranged fighters. Then sweep the melee types. Keep moving constantly, with the fragility of the boats playing defence is a losing game. Don’t fall in the water, push your enemies in, then kill them as they climb out.”

Mikael spoke up, William’s question opening the floodgates.

“Bossman. Will says you’re a tough customer. No offence, but I gotta see to believe.”

Leon let a quiet laugh out at the man’s words. It gave him an idea, one he’d put to use in the final round, to truly show these people the level he was at.

“O ye of little faith. You’ll get your proof at the end of this minor event. I promise.”

Leaving them to ponder on his answer, Leon watched as the last few survivors began surfacing, hauling themselves onto the last battlefield, the climactic battle leaving only one survivor, a lone woman among the burning wreckage, spear and shield in hand.

Examining her revealed the reason she’d survived.

“Level Two Sanctified Bastion- Uncommon Class

Aggregate Level- Twelve.”

With no other honoured remaining, the System gave no chance to claim her, the woman appearing behind Leon as the stage reset.

Lazily throwing another handful of popcorn into his mouth, the swordsman issued his choice of format for the next round.

“Give me a tower climb this time. May as well complete the set.”

The decision proved itself to be a mistake, the tower climb managing to actively aggravate Leon.

A single giant tower took the place of the usual smattering of towers, one covered in handholds and outcroppings, the participants placed at the bottom and told to climb- the caveat being the ten at the back of the pack would be killed off every minute.

Combat bouldering. It made a farce of the process of the entire process, in Leon’s opinion.

An archer claimed first place, the man using a ledge as a firing platform, plinking arrows towards anyone who got near him, his projectiles of a more arcane nature than any Leon had seen an archer use prior, twisting arrows made of pure mana that tore through skin and steel with equal ease.

The victor vanished before Leon could inspect him, forcing the swordsman to turn in his seat, the older man already seated behind him.

“You, fresh blood- name and Class, now.”

The newest winner looked as though Leon had slapped him.

“Excuse me? Show some fucking tact, you asshole! I just killed someone, for God’s sake!”

Leon’s fresh resolve to utilise the carrot did not mean he was about to neglect the stick.

“Ninety-nine.”

That shut him up for a moment.

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You killed ninety-nine people just now. Bet that feels like a lot for you, huh? For context, I’ve killed... two thousand one hundred and eight. Now, most of them weren’t technically actual humans, and some were killed through inaction rather than outright murder, but I’m gonna count them anyway- you know I once ripped a guy’s eye out. It’s kinda weird how you remind me of him.

Name and Class. Don’t make me ask you a third time.”

That shut him up for a far longer period, his eyes flicking around, weighing up the mood and reaction of the other winners before he answered.

“Fred, Magik Archer.”

Breaking into a grin, Leon hammered his point home.

“Fred- great to meet you! Name’s Leon, Leon Knox. Now, Fred, I’m only gonna tell you this once- you give me lip like that again and you and I will have problems. You don’t want to have problems with me, do you, Fred?”

Slowly, the man shook his head.

“Good. Another battle royale then, a palate cleanser is in order!”

The next three rounds passed quickly, a man wielding a pair of katars, a plant mage and a summoner joining Leon’s retinue.

As the battles raged, Leon pretended not to hear William carefully introducing him when the fresh faces posed their questions, the Arcane Trickster making sure each new arrival knew the cardinal rule.

That when the man sitting at the front asked, you answered.

Promptly.

Leon rose from his seat as the summoner took hers, her vicious bound hellhound disappearing from the arena.

“Congratulations are in order. You were all deemed unviable by our machine overlord, judged as too weak to thrive on your own. Teleported here to fight for your lives. For many of you, these are the first human lives you’ve taken.

Let’s not dwell on that. You won! When it counted, you all pulled through. I respect that, really I do, even in the face of the one glaring flaw you all share.

You’re all weak.”

Leon let it sit, let eight little pots simmer away- until one boiled over.

The summoner, the freshest among them, stepped up to challenge him.

“What gives you the right to look down on us like that? I don’t see you stepping up to fight.”

She’d unknowingly teed him up perfectly. Now, time to drive it right down the fairway.

Cocking an eyebrow, Leon answered.

“Fair- what right do I have to judge you? Well, aside from the fact my instance is viable, I suppose the only other right I can claim is that I’m pretty strong. All of you could rush me and I’d cut you down without breaking a sweat.

Still, that doesn’t quite get my point across- tell you what. We’ll do as you suggest. I’ll go down there and I’ll fight. If any of you are unconvinced after that, we’ll discuss next steps- sound good? Show of hands kids, who agrees?”

William and Fred’s hands shot up immediately, the others slow to follow, yet follow they did. Even the summoner, caving to peer pressure, hers the last arm raised.

“Great. Now, sit back, relax and enjoy the show. Survival of the fittest, my friend. Let’s wrap this up in style!”

Entering the arena once again, Leon stretched within the light prison that bound him, drawing the Sunlight Greatsword. No showboating this time. He was here to make a statement.

When the barrier dropped, the Swordfiend tore through the masses like a hurricane, his blade of crimson cutting lives short.

Leon gave himself to the violence, depopulating the area he’d started in, cleaving through any and everyone he encountered. One mage thought to escape, Leon rushing up the tower after the coward, ramming his blade through the mage’s heart.

Before he could move on, another mage blasted the tower’s supports with a bolt of magical energy, sending it toppling to the ground, a grand crash of splintering wood rising above the battle’s din.

Assuming the swordsman dead, the tower’s tipper moved on. He turned to observe his handiwork, witnessing an enraged Leon beating his way out of the crumpled structure, his bloodline flaring up in agitation.

The mage died swiftly, a single stab through the chest.

Even while angered, Leon kept his cuts clean. These poor souls deserved no cruelty.

A monster unleashed, Leon’s speed increasing, his movements and sword form growing more bestial. The power disparity let him wield his sword like a savage, technique superseded by instinct.

Through the haze of battle, Leon spotted someone with talent- a man, wielding a jian, the eastern tassel hanging on his scabbard revealing the blade’s origin.

What must have normally been long flowing black hair, tightly bound in a knot, this fellow swordsman clad in a flowing white robe, stained with patches of red from the foes he’d cut down.

A handsome face, skin like pure jade, a cold gleam in his eyes as he cut down a rogue who’d leapt at him, knives drawn.

Pausing a short distance away, drawing his bloodline back within himself, Leon watched the man fight, the graceful swordsman cutting down five challengers before Leon passed judgement.

Passable skill, though his sword forms erred occasionally. His arms moving imprecisely, his legs not planted firmly enough.

Greater than a novice, less than an adept.

Leon had never fought a proper swordsman before.

Overcome with the urge to duel, Leon called out a challenge.

“You there! Come, let us cross blades!”

With a dismissive flick of the wrist, the man shook the remaining blood from his jian, fixing Leon with a look of interest.

“A fellow swordsman? An unexpected delight. I am Kong Xia, of the Grand Void Style. A shame, your path ends here.”

This was it!

The feeling of finding someone who understood- someone who knew that all swordsmen should announce their sword style and name before a duel!

Facing a man of such culture and refinement, Leon felt honour bound to reciprocate.

“Leon Knox, of the Giant Slayer Style. It is not my path that will be cut short!”

Their first clash, greatsword against jian, pushed Kong Xia back, Leon’s power eclipsing the other swordsman’s.

Sensing the power disparity, Kong Xia retreated further, calling upon the power of mana, coating his blade in inky darkness.

Affronted, Leon stopped short of closing the gap between them.

“You dishonour the path of the sword with this petty trick, Kong Xia.”

A light chuckle escaped the man’s throat.

“Apologies Leon Knox- I fear your strength has forced my hand. Allow me to show you what it means to court death.”

A wave of black mana followed the slash, the blade in hand nowhere near Leon, yet the dark energy tracked him. Kong Xia took the opening he’d made, closing the gap, his sword still covered in shadowy mana.

Snapping off an inspection while dodging both blades of steel and mana, Leon realised he’d underestimated the man.

“Level One Spellsword- Rare Class

Aggregate Level- Eleven”

While Leon had no trouble fending off the attacks, thanks to his superior reflexes, he felt a hint of threat from this swordsman.

Given time to grow, this man would be a terror, perhaps not one equal to him, but one more than capable of keeping some rabble in line.

Leon could use a man like this.

Disengaging with his full speed, Leon evaluated his foe. Revealing his maximum swiftness unnerved his opponent, the waver in his blade revealing his thoughts, the dark wave of mana collapsing in on itself in the background.

Kong Xia realised that Leon had been testing him, wanting to see how far he would go to gain victory in their duel.

The battles surrounding the two had died off while they’d duelled. A single mage remained, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Both swordsmen spotted the magic wielder, neither willing to engage while their own fight remained unsettled.

“Not bad Kong Xia, not bad at all. Your style is rough, your swordsmanship in need of refinement, but your fundamentals are solid.”

The mage chose that moment to strike, a spear of solid earth rocketing towards Leon.

The surprise attack failed, blocked by a shield formed of familiar darkness, the counter spell diverting the attack, a wave of the same black energy beheading the mage and ending both the round and the selection.

Sheathing his blade, Kong Xia cleansed his robes with a wave of his dark mana, the blood expelled onto the sand. Leon sheathed his own sword before questioning the man’s motives.

“You shielded me? For what reason?”

Calmly, Kong Xia replied.

“Our duel was not for the likes of him to interfere in. The caster had eyes, yet failed to see Mount Tai. He can only blame his own poor luck.”

Both men vanished at that moment and the selection concluded.

In the tent of the honoured, the Cromidian laughed, no other soul left within the desert to hear his words.

“All these years of service... yet wonders never cease. A chronomancer and a Swordfiend.”

Turning to face the spot Leon had departed from, the Cromidian continued.

“Good luck, little fiend. They have wilfully forgotten your ilk- grant them a permanent reminder. Brand such terror upon their souls that the name Swordfiend is whispered of in reverence by the Myriad Worlds forevermore, even after your own name is lost to the ravages of time.”