Shackled Exalted

Emil

The weight of all the stares within the Training Grounds gave him pause. Each pair of eyes belonged to a formidable Exalted. The bloodthirsty pressure was palpable and it compelled him to accept Sven's spar. For a moment, Emil wondered what would happen if he vehemently refused. Judging by the glint in their eyes, they'll probably attack me instead and force me to defend myself. The untold message was clear—he was being asked to demonstrate his skills. He sent Delilah a sidelong glance who simply shrugged with a sheepish, apologetic smile.

"Well, I don't mind. But I'm scheduled to meet with the head of the house after. I can't exactly show up looking all ragged."

Sven belted out a rambunctious laugh. "No worries. We'll have a room prepared and training clothes for you to change into," he said while beckoning to a nearby servant who was on standby, "You can also take your time to warm up and get ready."

"How generous of you," Emil replied dryly.

"To raise the stakes and add a little incentive for you to do your best, I'm also offering a prize of your choosing if you defeat me in the spar. Think of it as a compensation for accepting this selfish request of mine."

"And you have the authority to do such a thing?"

Sven drummed his chest proudly. "Of course! I'm ranked thirty amongst House Belle's Exalted after all!"

***

Emil sighed as he folded his clothes neatly to the side. He had changed into the training outfit supplied by House Belle. The fabric was breathable and light, wrapping around his skin tightly while not restricting movement. He stretched his arms and legs and adjusted the Azurite pendant dangling from his neck.

Ranked thirty, was it?

House Belle was rumored to have over five hundred Exalted under their command. The number rivaled the forces led by the Lionhearts and the royal knights. These were the cream crop of talents in Ardair. And Sven was the current thirty best out of this elite group.

At least they're not insulting me with this selection, he thought, feeling a competitive fire flare under his skin. He was curious. How did he measure up to the best talents in the kingdom? His performance at the Clash of Dawn had shown that he was amongst the best of his generation, but what about those currently at the top? He realized his limitations during Aoife's rescue against Vigil. He experienced a glimpse of his growth when he attacked House Nacht to rescue Mia. But the opponents there weren't nearly enough to push him to his new limits.

He stepped out of the room, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

"Ready?"

Delilah was waiting for him, wearing an apologetic look. Emil stared at her, unsure how to feel about her leading him straight into a fight.

"Sorry, I—"

"It's fine." Emil waved her off. There was no point getting mad at someone who was probably just doing what they were being told. "I expected to end something like this."

"I see. Then best of luck," she said, lowering her head out of respect.

Emil stepped past and onto the edge of the sparring field. A crowd had gathered at the fringes and atop of the second floor. Exalted and servants within the Training Grounds had all stopped what they were doing to spectate the match. Scrutinizing eyes traced his body. Faint whispers rippled around him, asking questions about his chances. Sven was already waiting by the opposite side of the field with a confident smile.

"Have you thought about what you want for your prize?" he asked, "I can promise a lot of things. Money, woman, fame, access to luxuries that you can only imagine. Just tell me! What will it be?!"

Emil pondered for a second. Undoubtedly, this was another ploy to figure out what drove him. House Belle sure is persistent. It was a common tactic—understand a person's vices and desires and you can control them to do your bidding. Emil had plenty of things that he wanted, but he wasn't going to relinquish that information so easily.

"I'll let you know if I win," he answered.

"A man of mysteries! How intriguing," Sven said as he turned to the side of the field, "Old man! I think we're ready!"

A gray-haired butler stepped forth. The conversations in the vicinity suddenly quieted at his presence. Emil narrowed his eyes at the shift in the ambiance.

"The rules are simple—make your opponent yield, render them unconscious, or force them out of bounds. No lethal strikes. You may freely use your Gifts and other combat techniques," the butler laid down the rules, apparently serving as the overseer of the match.

The square that made up of the sparring field suddenly began to descend. The hum of mechanical gears blared in Emil's ears as he and Sven were lowered to a hidden bottom level. Translucent walls were erected around the square, acting as protection against projectiles thrown by Gifts.

This is just like a circular amphitheatre. Emil glanced up. The sparring field was the stage and the audience stood from above with an unobstructed view. The construct was fitting given Isarelle's culture of performances.

"Ready?"

Emil took a deep breath. His senses tensed as he prepared to channel mana. Sven had a wild look on his face; his mouth curved in a wide-toothed grin as if he couldn't wait to start the fight. Another battle freak.

"Fight!"

The butler declared with authority. Emil stayed in his initial position, lowered in a defensive stance. Mana bloomed within his Azurite pendant. The blue energy swirled turbulently, begging to be unleashed. Sven watched him from afar. His stance was casual, but his eyes radiated a ferocious gleam.

"Not going to move? Are you scared?" he taunted.

As if I'm going to rush in blind. Emil scoffed. As usual, he was behind on the information game. His opponent likely knew about Bulwark from the Clash of Dawn and Liesel's testimonies. On the other hand, he had no clue what Sven was capable of as an Exalted.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"I'm just yielding the first move," he responded with an arrogant sneer. It was an extremely disrespectful remark, given that he was just a student and Sven was a high-ranked associate of a noble house. To make light of his abilities was to insult House Belle.

"Is that so?"

Sven's gaze suddenly went cold. Emil felt the air thickened with danger. Sven cracked his neck and arms. Mana surged from his earrings, covering his entire body in an azure coat. In an instant, his demeanor had changed from a friendly competitor to someone with murderous intentions.

Okay, maybe I went too far with the provocations.

"I pray you don't regret those words!"

With his body as a channel, mana burst into the sandy field. Emil winced at the blinding blue lights. The ground beneath his feet suddenly began to shake. As the flood of light faded, he saw an array of jagged crystals spikes erupt from the field. Chunk by chunk, the spikes stormed towards him like the maw of a terrestrial beast.

"Bastion!"

The turbulent mana from his pendant finally was allowed to leave. The violent energy was unleashed in an instant. The earth trembled again, stirring up a swell of stone protrusions. Like two opposing waves amidst a stormy sea, Emil's bastion and Sven's crystal spikes met head-on.

Dissonance filled the air.

The shrill noise screeched with oppressive thunder—until Emil could hear nothing except for a high-pitched whine. Something inside his ears was damaged. He staggered, his balance suddenly off-centered as his legs wobbled with instability. It must be the crystals. Whatever potential energy was stored inside the spikes had been unleashed once it collided with his stone protrusions. The result was a deafening noise that nearly brought him to his knees.

Sven appeared unaffected. With a snap of his wrist, crystal fragments from the ensuing clash turned into razor-shape arrows. A kaleidoscope of colors crowded the airspace as the projectiles rained down.

Emil unleashed Bastion again. He could feel his throat straining as he intoned, but his voice was only as loud as a whimper to his ears. A stone wall rose before him. He pressed his hands against the back of the wall. With his hearing disturbed, he had to rely on other senses for information.

The wall's integrity faltered against his touch. He could feel the crystal fragments pepper its surface. Cracks began to emerge—the weight and force of each projectile was heavier than he expected. Emil was about to reinforce the wall when his instincts suddenly screamed.

A surge of bloodlust.

A looming presence.

Alarmed, he jumped back—just as his stone wall was suddenly bisected. Rock chunks flew past his head. Sven was on the other side. In his hands was a giant battle axe forged in crystals.

Shit! I couldn't hear his approach!

It settled in just how much he relied on his hearing for combat. Without it, Emil felt blind. His movements and his senses were dulled like he was treading through water. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a downward slash from Sven. His battle axe was huge. The reach was absurdly long. It must have weighed tons, and yet Sven swung it around like it was a piece of cloth.

Still, there's a reason why most people don't use a weapon of that size!

Emil baited another downward cleave. As the battle axe descended on his position, he strengthened his legs with Mana Arts. Pushing against his heels, he propelled himself forward to get past the axe's reach. An unwieldy weapon of that size had a fatal flaw due to its lack of motion in close-quarters. Emil formed gauntlets.

Sven unexpectedly stepped towards his assault. Mana suddenly bloomed from his left hand, unveiling a crystalline shield. Emil braced himself and clenched his jaws. It was too late to change direction.

Boom!

His head spun. His vision flickered for an instant. A rush of numbness flushed through his arms as he smashed into the shield. This was dangerous. He couldn't afford to be dazed at close range. Sven dug against his heels, also forced back a few feet from the collision. He stomped forward. The battle axe in his right hand suddenly shrunk into a broadsword as he unleashed a lateral swing.

Death suddenly beckoned.

Forced to act, Emil leaned back and flicked at the ground. The field beneath Sven's right foot cratered into a hole. The warrior stumbled at the sudden change in elevation. Still, sheer strength allowed him to complete his attack.

Squelch!

Emil felt his flesh tear. Heat blazed his chest as blood drenched his clothes. A scalding pain flared right above his sternum. The wound was shallow, but that was after Emil had successfully disrupted with Sven's attack. If he had failed—

Emil shot a glance at the butler who was serving as the overseer of the match. The old man watched him with cold, callous eyes. Unflinching. There was not a hint of surprise or emotion on his face at the illegal attack.

I see.

Evidently, the rule forbidding lethal strikes was unimportant. Suddenly, this was no longer just a spar. Emil wiped down the blood that had sprayed onto his hands. Sven was staring at him with an animalistic grin. His eyes gleamed like a predator as he observed his reaction with glee. It was apparent now that his earlier attempt to strike him down hadn't been an accident.

"My apologies. It seems like I was unaware of what House Belle considered a spar," he muttered, his voice still muffled in his ears.

Sven's mouth moved, but Emil couldn't make out the words. Judging by the sneer on his face, it must have been something offensive. Not that Emil particularly cared. As far as he was concerned, the time for civility was over.

"Fragment!"

He lobbed a chunk of rock at Sven while he was still in the midst of talking. The stone smashed into his crystalline shield before breaking into shrapnel. Emil continued. The incessant barrage forced Sven to yield space for the first time. Seizing the chance, Emil created a hole right as Sven tried to backtrack. The man lost his footing, and Emil capitalized immediately with more stone missiles.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The fragments struck in quick succession. A cloud of dust formed in the aftermath. Emil prepared his next attack as the sandy veil faded. Sven was kneeled on his knees—his body took on a jagged texture, covered in a rough layer of translucent minerals.

Crystalline armor.

Emil wasted no time and unleashed another barrage of missiles and stone protrusions. Sven launched onto his feet and barreled towards him. Missiles and protrusions smashed against his body, slowing his approach, but none of the attacks appeared to have dealt damage against the crystalline armor's protection.

Unfazed, Emil stomped the ground.

The earth beneath Sven suddenly sprung up. The lift sent him skyward as he was momentarily helpless against the upward momentum.

"Damocles!" Emil yelled.

The attack that he prepared earlier was a large slab of stone suspended mid-air. With his chant, the stone was finally allowed to fall. Empowered by gravity and mana, the slab slammed into Sven's body.

The sparring field rumbled with Sven and the slab's descent. Dust filled the field. With his ears still ringing, Emil kept one eye on the overseer. The old butler was expressionless, suggesting that the match hadn't been decided yet. With a wave of his hand, Emil dissipated the dust curtain.

Sven was lying on his back. The crystalline armor had been cracked. Its fragments were scattered in pieces on the floor. Just as Emil was about to take a step, mana suddenly bloomed from Sven's body. Emil felt his eyes seared by the blinding lights, which were magnified by the refracting crystals nearby.

Panic rose to his chest as he was suddenly robbed of his senses.

Seconds passed. It was dark. He couldn't see. His ears were still ringing. On the edge of desperation, he remembered he still had one more option up his sleeve.

"Trace."

Seismic Sense activated. Mana combed the ground. With his mana sensitivity, he could feel its trail as it crawled along the surface of the field. Absent of sensory input from his eyes and ears, the information he gleaned from Seismic Sense was hauntingly clear.

He could feel it.

Sven's approach. The rhythm of his footsteps. The pulsating mana that shrouded his body. He was preparing phenomenon.

Emil pressed both hands on the ground. The earth stirred as he imagined a pair of stone fists erupting from the field.

Sven's traces suddenly disappeared. It was only for a brief moment until Emil detected his presence further away. The shroud of mana around his body had weakened significantly. His attack must have landed.

Abruptly, his eyes regained vision. Stars shimmered at the edges of his sight. He winced from the sudden influx of light before forcing himself to focus on what happened.

Sven was on the ground, seemingly incapacitated.

The overseer had extended his hand, mouthing something, probably declaring the match to be over.

Not yet.

Emil snarled, still enraged. The wound above his sternum continued to throb.

The match isn't over until I say so.