Chapter 163 (2/2)

An old man, with greying hair, stepped out of the crowd, holding a huge, extremely thick spear. His smile was small and sharp, and he walked calmly to meet them. “Well, well, well. It’s been… about 30 years, I think, since someone has dared challenge me. Good, good! And you come with more than one of you? Excellent, otherwise this would be no fun.”

The warden attacked, as Shal had expected, rushing towards Tekni. The woman raised her spear and attacked back, very quickly their spears blurring as they clashed time and time again. To Tekni’s surprise, although she prided herself on her power, she was forced back with every strike. Shal narrowed his eyes. Truly, this man was an Adept, and not a freshly advanced one.

Shal hated himself for this strategy, but there was nothing he could do. Breathing in and out, he focused on his spear, feeling the suppleness of the wood, the elasticity and strength within it. Slowly the spear began to move independently of his hands, almost as if it was alive. The Style he and his older brother used to dream about, all those years ago. The Spear with Poisonous Fangs Style.

‘This… is for you, Pronto.’ Shal thought to himself, then rushed forward, striking viciously. The spear moved unpredictably, and the warden grunted as he turned and tried to deal with the strange strikes from Shal. This split of attention gave Tekni some space, and she began unleashing powerful blows upon the warden as well.

The scarred man stayed behind, eyeing the nearby guards, ready to intervene if necessary. But the battle continued, without any changes. Shal’s unpredictable attacks pushed the warden back, but Tekni’s stamina was waning, and as she needed to keep taking longer breaks, or slightly less intense rotations in her attacks, the warden would have more chances to strike, both at her and Shal.

Shal gritted his teeth, smiling viciously. The other problem was the level distance. It wouldn’t surprise Shal to know that the Warden was level 70. His stamina seemed endless, and his base stats were high enough to resist their combined attacks, without using anything more than a basic defensive skill. To be a young Adept is impressive, but to be an old Adept is less so.

But an old Adept would rarely lose to a young one, no matter how large their potential is. For the backing of stats and high stamina did more to change the space of the fight than the power of an image.

“Is this all?” The warden seemed almost disappointed, and Shal snapped, and began unleashing strike after strike, his spear twisting and bending, curving around blocks and defensive moves. He used everything he could, earning himself several small wounds upon the warden, pushing him farther and farther back. But although this was a Style Shal had thought more and more about as time went on, and he had slowly refined it, it was missing a very critical ingredient.

He had not yet created the skill set that would serve as the backbone for the Style.

“Well, I think we’ve played around for long enough. Children, it’s time for your spanking.” The very feel to the air changed. This was the power of an Adept. The warden stood still, smiling, but behind him, the air seemed to ripple, and a man wrapped in chains appeared, roaring, the man hefted a heavy iron spear and thrust forward, even though the spear too was wrapped in chains, pulled in a dozen different directions. But such was that image’s strength that it could resist the force of those chains, and thrust forward with the spear.

The warden smiled, arms behind his back. For as an Artisan is judged by being able to allow spectators to see their image, an Adept is an individual who can strike with their image, unleashing an actual attack, without even moving.

Sharshar rushed forward, crossing his arms in a defensive posture, the heavy image of a stone outcropping appearing behind him as he blocked the warden’s attack. But that image shattered to pieces, and Sharshar was run through, completely unable to resist the power of the warden. After spitting out a mouthful of blood, he collapsed, coughing.

“Ha, I appear to have broken one of my toys. Ah, well, there are two more, so-” Then the warden paused. Clouds were swirling above the central tower, where the portal was. As he looked on, he could feel the temperature slowly falling.

“A distraction?” He asked, turning to Shal.

Shal simply smiled. The warden snorted. “It won’t matter if I kill you. Your strength is insufficient.”

“Perhaps…” Shal said slowly, feeling a very real sadness in his heart. But then he closed his eyes, and shifted something inside of himself, letting go of the Spear with the Poisonous Fangs Style. Slowly at first, but then more quickly, a figure appeared behind Shal, walking slowly forward. The image was blurry, but his skin was blue, and he wore a long cloak, covering his features. His spear was perhaps a little shorter than average, but straight and clean, a very unadorned weapon.

But what caught the eyes was the smile, even through the shadows of the cloak’s hood. That smile was all cruelty and the promise of violence. As Shal slowly opened his eyes, his third eye, the one on his forehead, slowly trembled, and twitched open.

“I wonder then… if you can handle the strength of my Father.” The cloaked man behind Shal laughed, spinning his spear. A beam of bright blue light crashed down from the clouds, hitting the top of the tower where the portal was located. A wave of cold spread outward, frost creeping slowly down the top of the tower. The warden’s expression turned grim.