Accidental Reaver

Air bent at odd angles around the deserted street.

Upon further scrutiny, the buildings, homes, and stores lining the street remained wooden, less animated than they'd be in reality. A copy.

An overlaid illusion to this part of Sylen, a trap Luke willingly walked right into. Yet the young man felt not an ounce of regret. The recurrent elation surfaced. Instead, the three auras failed to fully conceal themselves, powerful enough to gain his attention.

The wisps of dark failed to hide much from Luke when he empowered his vision with frost essence. When mist of his own expanded in a domain, it brushed up against three solid bodies. All trying to hide in pockets within the air. Fruitlessly, the three still acted as if they were not there. Luke remained patient; mist continued to fester in the surrounding illusion.

There a reason they're not coming out? Luke grew puzzled at the confounding situation. Do they think I'm unable to pinpoint where they are? That's barely understandable.

In the melding air he could see, Luke thought the three figures were unveiling their weapons, daggers for two, and a bow for the third. Taking into account that no one else should be able to witness things, Luke waved his free hand. An essence fissure ripped behind the three targets, pressing down two from the air against the floor.

As expected of tier 2's, the pressure—despite being enhanced with frost—couldn't hold them down for long. Already, they were dispersing it. The third, spared from Essence Fissure due to his position making it impossible, stepped through the air, his dagger aiming for the back of Luke's neck.

The Reaver's perception through the mist and overall sense enhancement meant he could react well within parameters. He parried with Xera in a one handed grip, opened his hand, and shot a point blank Essence Lance in the Assassin's face. A cone of cold tried to freeze the assailant, Luke's target was those still under Essence Fissure, however.

He jumped up, applied Triple Step to one calf, and kicked against the momentarily frozen Assassin in velvet robes, and red cloth mask. Flipping over in the air, he stabbed Xera down onto what appeared to be a tora in blue and yellow, still struggling against Essence Fissure's pressure and frost. The blade slipped in quickly, parting flesh, although the bones offered staunch resistance. Like a sensor, Luke's eyes constantly darted about, tracking the locations and actions of the three around him.

A human in red leather was the last, only held down by remnant pressure now. As he finally broke free, he spoke, "The Sacrament will not allow a ninth to form. For Yuriel's glory, be exorcised, heathen."

White substance started to stream off the human's body, his aura building. Luke ripped Xera out the tora beneath him, the grievous strike did plenty of damage—far away from enough to kill the cat-man outright, however. Right as he began to feel unease at the rising power not only coming from the human but also the mysterious velvet robed being, a displeased voice pierced into the illusion as cracks around reality began to form.

"Have the god's cultists forgotten which blade resides in this city? Be this the first reminder, stay beneath the coming waves, holy blight bringers."

Immediately, the three attacker's eyes widened. Each, released an explosion in white, their very skin beginning to rip apart. Luke aimed to behead the tora beneath him in an effort to regain control.

A certain Swordsman would get there first.

The illusion shattered as Luke's Essence Fissure closed up. The two relatively free Sacrament members tried to dash away, blitzing at a speed Luke had to concentrate to keep up with.

Too little, too late.

A blazing igniting sword flash, crackling with lightning, split the two in half, before burning them to cinders. Luke felt a faint struggling beneath him, the tora began to disintegrate in real time, becoming burnt cinders as lightning charred the body. His head already separated from his body, a cut so clean, blood had yet to spill—the only indication to cause of death.

The illusion undone, Luke could hear hysteria all around him. Three dead bodies appeared in the street among the beginnings of the morning rush, a Defier with blood dripping down his sword and the forming blizzard around him, freezing those unequipped to handle it.

Immediately, the Reaver ceased the mists and frost, sparing the worst from happening. Cutting through the rush of noise came a set of steps. The people around Musai separated from his path, his swords swayed to the side, his presence commanding, and unnoticed at the same time.

It wasn't until he stood in front of Luke, gaze steady as always, that the people realized he was there. Previously, subconscious reaction had them all bend to his will, without their knowing. The aged Swordsman wore a blue robe this time, his usual armor nowhere to be seen. The twin swords remained by his side. Musai flicked a hand out with his wrist. Raging flames consumed the rest of the three bodies. Now, they were well and truly ash, scattering to the wind.

"Be watchful for the god's desperate, young branch. Many would see you smothered before you become a tree unable to be cut down. The three dogs of the twin titled allowed Sacrament members into their fold. A purge may be coming."

Turning away, Musai stepped once, reappearing at the edge of Luke's vision, going in the direction of the Defier's guild. An aura whisper reached his hearing.

Careful not to reveal your hand so easily, during the thickest waves, my blade may be too preoccupied to help you. Strike as you question; do not question and then strike. Followers to the Throned deserve no mercy.

Another step later, Luke failed to see Musai's presence. Casually observing the three cinder piles, Luke could see his bubbling hubris mellow. Recently, he'd become almost cocky from repeated success. While grateful for Musai's swift action, the casual display shook him.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Those truly at the top remained unfathomable to him. The Reaver kept up with the tier two movements, but Musai's? Luke failed to pinpoint when the Swordsman killed the tora beneath his very feet. The rising white aura from the three also worried him. It was a power he failed to understand, yet felt threatening. Of course, if Musai didn't show up, he believed in himself to handle it. That didn't mean it'd be a cakewalk.

Seeing a guard patrol coming his way, Luke formed ice onto Xera, shedding the coated blood that coagulated around her. Sheathing the artifact, he headed for the portal building. The challengers could already be waiting on him.

Patrols made a handful of attempts to talk to him, asking about the disturbance. Luke himself understood the barest details around the event. One mentioned a 'Sacrament,' a term he'd never heard before. Each wore one of the uniforms of the three major criminal organizations. The Velvet Hand, Golden Lions, and Red Gorrids.

While sorting through the thoughts running through his mind, Xera blabbed on for him. To her, excitement peaked, when the guards remained persistent—understandably so—Luke turned to face the nearest one still bothering him.

"Three second tiers attempted to assassinate me. They failed. Let's leave it at that."

"Defier Luke, we need to make a report on the incident, if you could-"

"You're asking for time I no longer have. I'll be in the arena."

Paying the fare to a Mage Guard, Luke entered the portal building and used the relevant vortex to enter the arena pocket realm.

Upon entering the blue-white colosseum, the usual hustle and bustle around the arena became absent.

The green aurora light above shone down on Luke, the pocket realm in a gloaming state, no barrier overtook the inner arena, which relieved Luke. He could get going right away, huddled around in various positions, looked to be roughly a dozen people.

Each carried the aura of middle to upper-ranked tier 2 aura around them. At his entry, many of them examined the Reaver, while others stayed in their relaxed state. Glancing up quickly, the spectator stands appeared empty to Luke. Perhaps the VIP blue floating constructs held viewers, but he'd have no way to confirm that.

Since he barely advertised the coming matches, it could be expected that this arena realm resembled a graveyard in terms of others mucking about. Outside of the few spirits and what appeared to be grounds workers, the people boring a visual hole into Luke were those who accepted his terms.

Scanning each, Luke saw a mix and match of various classes. Warriors, Mages, Druids, Guardians, Archers. No companion classes, though. A smattering of others appeared to have caught wind of Luke's declaration yesterday. He wondered why they stayed out of the spectator section up above.

A pale elf with eye bags and white wispy hair approached Luke, dragging along a stone-faced, burly golden skinned elf. Before she could speak, he injected first.

"Sorene? Didn't expect to see you ever again."

The necromancer elf smashed Calderic's face against the stone beneath them, speaking in her typical monotone, she said, "Cleaning up after this sorry Warlord again. Forcing a bow out of him is the best apology you'll get from him." Luke saw the woman shiver underneath her black robe, "Will this settle the conflict between us, Ninth Defier?"

"I wasn't planning on doing anything else against you, or your party members. Assuming they'd stop trying to stir the pot."

Shaking her head side to side, Sorene's white hair ran over her nose and eyes, "Death clings to you, Ninth. Necromancers can see what others cannot, one more false move, nary a bad rumor, and my last remaining friends would fall to your greed."

She dragged the burly elf, Calderic, up from the floor, dragging him along as she went to exit through the grey-white swirling vortex behind Luke, she whispered in his ear as she passed, "An all consuming darkness resides within you, Ninth. Lean into it and leash it simultaneously—all of you Defiers have lost a piece of yourselves."

Half aware of Sorene's points, Luke came to the Interface platform, and checked the uploaded contract for people accepting to duel him in the inner arena. It remained the same as last time. He adjusted it to exclude Armor Tokens as acceptable remuneration; that item unnecessary now. The raw gold cost shot up, but he preferred runic crafting materials and Beast Crystals. The preparations over with, Luke abruptly faced the crowd placing subtle pressure on him.

"Raise your hands if you're here to challenge me. If you are," Luke summoned a blue floating contract over his hand, "Look this over. There's some minor changes compared to yesterday."

A bestial voice came from a blue furred tora woman in chain mail armor, "Changing terms is frowned upon, Defier. Swindling your way out at the last second, are you?"

"I frown upon those trying to waste my time in return for nothing I want. I'm perfectly fine with going back to my branch and consider it time well spent." Flicking out the floating blue contract, Luke jumped down to the inner arena, "Figure out an order between yourselves."

Distributing force between his legs, a dust cloud puffed up upon Luke's landing. Detecting his position, the Interface sent the typical procedure his way.

[Duelist detected in the inner arena without assigned slot. Open challenges according to your contract? Y/N?]

Granting permission, a white tether soon linked Luke to his circular starting position. This time, it happened to be on the opposite side. He briskly walked over. Casually taking out Xera, Luke noticed the inner walls became a pure white color. The inner grounds changed to a stone tile theme, and the winds around him died out.

[Eleven duelists have queued to challenge you, each unyielding their position. Selecting their line number by virtue of ticket draw…]

[Duelist Nathaniel has been selected]

With his enhanced vision, Luke made out a thin, blond young man with a bow going into the entryway tunnel down to the inner arena. He came out of the ground floor exit to the arena. Nathaniel stopped inches away from the circle, awaiting his presence. Sucking in air, the archer yelled out to Luke.

"I admire you, Luke—the first Earth-born Defier in the Duchy. This challenge of mine is to see what one of Earth's rising stars is capable of. Seeing is believing," the man nocked his bow in preparation, stepping onto the assigned circle, "what better way to see than this? Looking forward to a good bout, let's put on a good show for the natives, what do you say?"

Luke's expression softened, Someone else from Earth? Making it to the second tier, already, he's got to have some talent. Has a better spirit compared to the others so far, too. I'll only take the minimum.

It could be a mere coincidence, but Luke never interacted with a hunter from Earth above tier 1 so far. Granted, the most 'experienced' people from Earth lived in Ludus for three years up to this point. Out growing and performing natives with decades of experience would require a mix of talent and luck, the power of time a steep obstacle to overcome otherwise. The Reaver would be supremely surprised if any of his number managed to rise above tier 3 yet.

Raising his voice enough to ensure Nathaniel could hear him, Luke said, "Expect full throttle from me, Nathaniel. Can't go easy on you just because we've got the same homeland."

The timer started, and Nathaniel leaned back in laughter, "I wouldn't have it any other way—no complaining about my two year head start, though. You must be a last wave; otherwise, I'd have heard of you ages ago."

A snowflake image appeared beneath Luke's feet, as a cold expression naturally overtook him. Dancing an Essence Bond upon Xera, Luke settled his stance, preemptively flowing frost essence to his eyes. An Archer-type would require the perception to keep up with vicious arrow strikes.

"I came last, Nathaniel. But I'll end up first—if there's such a thing among us."