Chapter 40: Is that all the strength you have?
News of the duel for Silversky Town’s destiny spread like wildfire. The players, caught up in the excitement, even helped clear a large field outside the town to serve as a proper arena.
Both factions had assembled to watch. For safety, they stood upon the newly constructed town walls, observing the proceedings from two hundred yards away.
Down in the dueling ground, Riven and Alistair had already collided with ferocious intensity.
There were no flashy, ostentatious movements. Both men activated their Auras, pushed their enhancement skills to the maximum, and went straight for a life-or-death struggle.
Riven, tempered by his recent defeats, was noticeably more mature and steady. He didn’t waste a single word, his entire being focused on the fight. There was no trace of arrogance in his eyes, only a cold fusion of hatred and caution.
His transformation earned him a sliver of respect from Alistair. As expected of a Child of Destiny, he thought. Few of them are ever truly useless.
But while Riven was silent, Alistair had a role to play. What kind of self-respecting villain would pass up an opportunity to taunt the hero? He was gradually growing into his part.
Alistair’s greatsword crashed against Riven’s longsword. Seizing the opening, he followed through with a solid kick to Riven’s gut, then began his assault, his voice a gentle murmur, his tone a frivolous lilt, his words pure, passive-aggressive venom.
"My, why so quiet today, kiddo?"
"What’s with the grimace? Cat got your tongue?"
"No twerking for me today? I’m disappointed."
"Is that all the strength you have? Did you skip breakfast?"
Riven’s face was beet red, though it was impossible to tell if it was from rage or the kick. He offered no reply. Stabilizing himself instantly, he dropped to one knee, launched himself forward, and closed the distance in a flash.
His longsword slashed out from an unnatural angle while his left hand shot forward like a viper, a dagger held in its grip.
The blade was blackened. It was coated in poison.
"Poison on the blade? You devious little shit."
He calls me devious? After the stunts he’s pulled? Riven cursed internally, but his face remained a silent mask of concentration. Sword in one hand, poisoned dagger in a reverse grip in the other, he became a whirlwind of steel. He moved with blinding speed, the pressure of his assault immense.
The blades in his hands moved so fast they left afterimages.
The sharp clang of weapons colliding echoed relentlessly, each impact hammering on the hearts of the spectators on the wall. The explosive collision of blue and gold Auras sent howling gusts of energy radiating outwards, shredding the surrounding grass and trees.
Alistair spotted an opening. He spun, narrowly dodging the poisoned dagger. His greatsword was now trailing behind his back. Riven pressed his advantage, his longsword slashing down in an arc that seemed impossible to evade.
Alistair’s expression hardened. "GET UP!" he roared.
The heavy greatsword, which had been dragging behind him, carved a deep trench in the ground as Alistair’s immense strength brought it upward. The raw power of the swing sent earth and stone flying in a rising, earth-shattering cleave.
Riven’s pupils contracted. He instantly checked his momentum and threw himself backward. The Lord of Frostfell’s blows were crushingly heavy; a direct hit would leave him maimed, if not dead. He couldn’t understand how the man he had once overpowered had become so monstrously ferocious.
But this was no time for contemplation. The moment he dodged Alistair’s rising cleave, he launched his own attack: an enhanced Shattering Cross of Light.
The timing was perfect. Riven could already see the dawn of his victory.
As the cross of destructive light shot toward him, a piercing sense of crisis stabbed at Alistair’s mind. He knew that if the attack connected, he would surely die. And yet, he did not activate the Hero-grade armor he wore.
External objects were, in the end, just that.
Though he was a villain in this life, he still had his pride.
I have trained with the greatsword for more than a decade.
Alistair took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing to slits. He shifted his greatsword into a reverse grip behind his back. A heavy, oppressive presence began to coalesce around him, building until it reached its absolute peak.
Suddenly, his eyes shot open, locking onto the incoming Shattering Cross of Light. In that one instant, his spirit, his focus, and the entire strength of his body concentrated into the right hand that gripped his sword.
The greatsword began to move, driven by Alistair’s power. And moving with it was his sword intent—a force as vast and unstoppable as a tsunami.
It all happened in a flash. A torrent of golden Aura erupted with his sword’s movement. For a fleeting moment, Alistair saw a vision from his fourth year of life: the silhouette of a man who had split a mountain with a single strike.
"Master..." he whispered.
BOOM—
Alistair’s greatsword chopped down vertically before him. It shattered the Cross of Light, and with it, shattered Riven’s heart.
The dust and smoke cleared.
On the ground before Alistair, a deep fissure several dozen yards long scarred the earth. It stopped less than half a yard from Riven’s feet.
Riven himself was frozen, his arms still held in the pose of his final attack, his eyes vacant and hollow.
A moment later, a violent tremor ran through his entire body. The strength fled from his legs, and with a soft thud, he collapsed to his knees.
Only now, after the reaper’s scythe had grazed his neck, did he truly understand how much he feared death.
"I... I have lost."
Alistair slowly calmed the rampaging Aura still boiling within him. That single, devastating chop had nearly drained him dry. The effect, however, was undeniable. It had brought Riven to his knees, where he was currently suffering a crisis of faith.
He offered no further taunts. In his eyes, Riven’s performance today had finally shown a glimmer of what it meant to be a Child of Destiny.
Sheathing the greatsword on his back, Alistair walked slowly past the stunned, kneeling figure and returned to Silversky Town.
The crowd was still reeling from the shock. They looked at Alistair with a mixture of expressions. The beastkin’s gazes were furtive and filled mostly with fear. His own soldiers, by contrast, looked at him with feverish, worshipping eyes.
As for the players, they were ecstatic. They danced and cheered, howling with glee as if it were a festival, and not as if their chosen protagonist NPC had just been thoroughly trounced.
"That was so awesome! I have to learn that move!"
"Holy hell, I’d believe you if you told me the Lord of Frostfell just fired a railgun."
"That’s it, we’re defecting to Frostfell."
"What about the Saintess? Aren’t you following her anymore?"
"I like men now!"