ZING!
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Kalv's blade came down, an overhead swing—just as the hermit murmured something low and calm:
“Recall.”
The quarterstaff he had thrown a moment earlier shot back into his waiting palm with a solid thunk of wood meeting flesh.
The sword curved through the air, crashing into the staff with a ringing impact that sent vibrations racing up Kalv’s arms. The force made his boots slide an inch through the slick mud, heels digging in for purchase.
His opponent slid the blade aside with an elegant parry, stepping back into a counter—caught, barely, by Kalv’s braced block.
Their boots circled with crisp, practiced footwork, churning the slick mud into sprays.
Damn it! Is this seriously the same guy from a few minutes ago?!
They both traded blows for a few moments, metal ringing against wood in rapid succession—CRACK! RING! CLACK!—each collision sharp and precise.
Until the quarterstaff didn't block anymore.
It retreated.
The man skidded back with quick reflexes—coiled like a spring—and lunged.
The blade met the staff dead-on, the impact ringing high and sharp.
Kalv barely blocked it, his arm straining, muscles burning from the sudden force.
Yet, the opponent loosened his grip for a heartbeat. Bringing his hand back, he rotated his wrist—smashing the metal fitting forward with precise, punishing momentum.
Crap—
The quarterstaff punched through further, then—ice cracked.
CRACK—SHHLKT!
A sudden spray of ice exploded outward in jagged shards that scattered across the clearing.
Frost raced up the staff with startling speed, devouring the armour like hoarfrost racing across glass. His blade arm locked, frozen toward his chest, while huge ice chains anchored him to the ground with a deep crackle of its surface being completely frozen over.
Kalv now stood half frozen, breath fogging in sudden, ragged bursts as the cold bit deep into his joints.
The man opened his palm and the next minute the quarterstaff shot back into his grasp; with a spin of his staff, he closed the distance in a single gliding step, executing an over-head swing in one smooth motion, the wood whistling through the air with lethal intent.
Until a calm voice halted the strike:
“You should yield, young man…”
Both Kalv and the figure glanced back, weapons still locked in tense suspension.
There, Yulan stepped forward, shield raised and stance low, his presence steady and unyielding.
—— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——
Block.
Deflect.
Dodge.
Sword and shield hammered against wood and metal in a rapid exchange, each impact sending sparks and vibrations racing through Yulan's shield arm.
He absorbed every strike like a well-drilled warrior—blocking with precise angles, shifting weight smoothly, launching disciplined counters without letting a single attack slip through his guard.
The two clashed in tight arcs of motion, boots churning mud that splattered up their legs. Yulan blended offence and defence in a smooth rhythm—no wasted muscle, no brute force, only practiced efficiency that spoke of years on the battlefield.
“You should quit before you get hurt,” he warned, his shield catching another swing of the quarterstaff.
“Ha.” The stranger snorted. “I’m good.”
He launched his foot into the locked quarterstaff, pushing Yulan back a step with a forceful shove that made the guards' boots slide through the slick ground.
The forest hermit was annoyingly agile—fast, light, weaving around Yulan’s reach like a fluid current. His staff flowed like an extension of his spine, baiting subtle openings, nudging Yulan into a rhythm that wasn’t his own.
He’s studying me… Waiting for the smallest error.
Why does it feel like I’m fighting a fresh Swordsworn, yet also a peak Blademaster at the same time…?
A wide slash came, yet the man dodged low—Yulan’s heavier swing made his shield arm shift, just a fraction.
Just an inch.
But that was enough.
The quarterstaff stabbed upward into that gap—and a boot slammed into the other end.
CLANG!
Yulan’s guard was pried open like a door ripped off its hinge. The force made him tumble, forcing him back a few steps.
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A boot slammed the earth, and the frost answered.
KRSHH—BOOM!
Ice detonated point-blank into Yulan’s chest, blasting him backwards across the clearing in a spray of frost and steam, the force lifting him off his feet for a heartbeat before he crashed down hard.
Before the man could follow up—
Vines tore out of the ground with a wet ripping sound, coiling around his legs in thick, thorny loops that tightened instantly. Kael knelt with a triumphant grin, one hand pressed into the soil, fingers splayed as Vitalis surged through the earth.
“Ha! Now I gotcha!” Kael said with a grin.
Yet, his target merely glanced at him.
Then at the vines.
Then at the ground in-between.
A soft, unimpressed:
“Hm.”
Two fingers touched the vine.
Then—Ice.
It rushed down its length like living tendrils, racing downward in a glittering wave that froze the vines solid with sharp crack.
Kael saw his opponent beginning to shatter the frozen vines and prepared for another spell—until he froze—literally, frost raced up his arm, swallowing fingers, wrist, forearm—like a creature of frost climbing to devour him whole.
“What the—!”
“Grah!” Kalv roared, charging forward with heavy steps that churned the mud, his blade coming down in a reckless arc that whistled through the air.
It was deflected effortlessly, the quarterstaff snapping up in a precise block that rang like a bell.
Then punished.
WHUMP—CRRKK!
Ice burst across Kalv’s guard, splashing shards over armour and locking his arm mid-swing with a deep, grinding crunch. He staggered, barely upright, breath fogging in the sudden chill.
“No you don’t!”
“Cinder Shield.”
A flickering shell of fire erupted around Kalv as Yulan returned—absorbing most of the impact with a roar, though the residual force still punched through and made him slide back several inches.
Yulan advanced—no hesitation—closing the distance in two powerful steps, weight forward, shield leading.
No blade this time.
Only a palm.
“Scorching Ray.”
Flame gathered in a single concentrated point at his palm, heat building with a low, ominous hum that warped the air around it.
His opponent’s eyes widened, the surprise flashing across his face for the first time.
Yet his opponent raised his own hand in response,
“Frost Snap.”
Flame and ice met in a devastating reaction, one second they stood then—
VVVOOOOSH—SHHKRRRMM!
Steam exploded outward in a massive rolling cloud—heat and cold colliding in a violent burst that swallowed the entire clearing in thick, hissing white, the pressure wave slamming outward and flattening nearby grass in a wide circle.
—— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——
The steam parted in ragged sheets, curling upward like ghostly fingers as the heat and cold fought for dominance.
Yulan skidded backward across the newly-soaked earth, boots carving two deep gouges in the mud that filled instantly with water.
His shield dragged with him, metal shrieking as it tore a wet line before finally grinding to a halt, the impact jarring up his arm and making his teeth click.
Across the clearing—
A blur cut through the fading steam.
His opponent glided along the ground, hitting the floor with a flip or two, body twisting mid-air with fluid grace.
He stabbed the quarterstaff into the earth, the wood bending like a bow under his weight. With a groan of strained timber it sprang forward, launching him into a few light hops, skidding to a controlled halt—already returning to the fight.
The staff whipped back into his hand, completed with a casual spin, the wood humming through the air, then rested the staff across one shoulder as if the fight had been nothing more than a morning warm-up.
As the last of the haze melted away, three guards shifted into a loose semi-circle, weapons raised.
Their armour steamed where fire-heat clashed with leftover frost, the metal hissing softly as temperature equalised.
The stranger rolled a shoulder, unbothered, a sly grin tugging at his mouth, eyes gleaming with that same calm calculation.
“Three on one?” He chuckled, raising his hand towards them, “and here I thought people like you would at least pretend to have honor.”
Yulan lifted his shield, stance low and ready, the metal still warm from the earlier flames.
“There are no rules in justice—especially toward lawbreakers like you.”
The man snorted, the sound short and dismissive.
“Bah. Sounds like something an insecure man says right before losing.”
“We shall see about that.” Yulan replied.
A single frozen heartbeat passed.
Then, motion exploded.
Metal crashed and rang through the clearing as the three guards pressed forward in coordinated assault.
Metal smashed.
Mud and water burst outward in sprays that caught the light.
Magic flared—a violent cocktail of fire, ice, and twisting nature that lit the clearing in flashes of orange, blue, and green.
The clearing became a battlefield of contradictions: pockets of blistering heat beside islands of frost, ice shards glittering across churned mud like scattered diamonds.
The guards pressed their advantage, aiming to grind their opponent down with relentless pressure—Kalv’s heavy swings, Yulan’s disciplined shield work, Kael’s nature magic surging from the earth like living whips.
But the man held longer than any of them expected—longer than a mere “forest hermit” had any right to, his staff a blur of precise, economical motion that turned their strength against them.
Yulan shoved forward.
A shield-bash, nearly toppling his foe with a solid thud that made his boots slide back through the mud.
The man spun his staff, and with a toss, he executed a clean spinning high kick, shooting it toward Yulan.
He met it with a swat of his shield, the impact leaving his bones rattling along his arm.
Kael, breath heavy now, slammed his palms together, preparing another spell despite his fatigue, vines already bursting from the ground with wet ripping sounds.
Kael’s vines surged to ensnare him—
Yet, they never reached their target, halting as they ground against a wall of scorching flame.
A man-sized disc of roaring flame flared into existence, and behind its scorching edge burned a pair of gleaming eyes.
The man retaliated instantly.
With a flare of his fingers, another formed, then grew brighter. Hotter. Bigger—matching his height and spinning with vicious speed.
More vines rippled through the ground towards him.
Before they could entangle him, he spun—then released his connection.
The first disc tore across the ground like a molten blade. It continued carving a glowing trench that hissed and steamed through the wet earth.
He pivoted, launching the second in the opposite direction—both now orbiting him, a ring of stamping heat that forced the guards to dive aside, the air around them shimmering with raw intensity.
The air warped.
The pressure dropped.
Heat twisted into a cyclone.
VRUMMMM!
A miniature tornado of heat howled around him, its rotation tearing Kael’s vines to ash before they even touched him, the flames roaring upward in a swirling vortex that made the nearby trees sway.
“Who is this guy!?” Kael said, wiping sweat from his brow as the heat washed over them.
Kalv chuckled, the sound rough and strained. “Is he trying to roast us alive with this small inferno?”
Yulan blocked the incoming heat with one hand as he looked over at Kalv, shield raised high.
He narrowed his eyes, surveying the surrounding area with sharp focus.
Then he saw it.
There was no ice. Just steam, puddles and water.
“Kael!” Yulan barked. “The water!”
Before anyone could move, the fire discs pulsed—
And detonated outward.
They scythed across the clearing in opposite arcs, forcing the trio to dive aside with desperate rolls that sent mud flying.
The discs hissed out, collapsing into stray sparks that winked away in the air.
They glanced back.
The center of the now dissipated cyclone was now empty.
Only a quarterstaff lay standing upright in the mud, planted like a marker.
