The Forsaken Hero

The echoes of the magical starting signal drifted down, raining upon the cheering audience like fireworks. Prince Eric made the first move, walking toward us until he stood in the center of the battlefield. His companions began casting spells continuously, forming complex arrays of defensive and support spells to enhance their individual fighting styles.

Eric’s lip curled in a sneer. ”Do you find yourself impressive, Slave Hero?” he spat, his words laced with venom. I know precisely who you are. A feeble, cowardly slut, clinging to the Sun Hero’s coat since the day they dragged you out of your cage.”

His words cut deep, laying bare my insecurities. But I stilled my lashing tail and took a deep breath before meeting his gaze, firm and unwavering. Even if his words were true, my pain was my own.

The prince’s face contorted further, his twisted satisfaction desperate for a greater reaction. ”Do you truly believe you can protect them? I might have fallen before the other hero, but to think a mere filthblood like you stands against me is an insult to the Dragon House’s pride. Why does the Sun Hero even keep you around? Are you particularly skilled at warming his bed?”

A murmur rippled through the audience, and I flushed red, glancing at Soltair. His eyes blazed with flecks of sunlight, a sure sign he was furious. Trithe frowned, but used the opportunity to snuggle closer to him, murmuring something in his ear.

A loud snort cut through the tension, and all eyes focused on Fyren. He leaned nonchalantly on his sword, an epitome of calm amidst the storm, and uttered, ”Is this the best the esteemed Dragon House can offer? I didn’t think this university cultivated such pitiful degeneracy, but I can’t fathom what else would qualify you as their number one ranked house.”

”The dog finally speaks,” Sorre said, frowning. ”Perhaps I should educate you.”

Fyren grinned and spread his arms wide, daring her with his defiant stance. Sorre’s eyes flared with wrath as she unsheathed her longsword. Four blazing magic circles danced around her blade as she launched herself into the air, leaving a trail of flames in her wake.

My gaze shifted to Fyren, following her trajectory and expecting to see her materialize beside him. But the adventurer remained motionless for almost a second before seizing his sword. Glancing back, I found her only just arriving. Her figure only blurred at the last moment, when she swung at him.

Their swords clashed in a cloud of sparks. Fyren’s sword deliberately shifted upward, deflecting her magical technique into the air. She attacked from all angles, employing a barrage of spells but Fyren parried each one with graceful ease, barely shifting his stance even when she maneuvered behind him.

Her assault concluded after eight strikes, and she backed away, panting heavily. I glanced at Elise, but found her fixated on Fyren, her mouth slightly agape.

”Impossible!” She whispered. ”That was the Eightfold Strike! Not even Jarrod can block that!”

It was undeniably grandiose, but regarding that as a sure-kill move was surely an exaggeration. If this was the best the Dragon Generals had to offer, then this fight was more of a waste of time than I thought. My expectations were low, to begin with, but one of their signature moves had failed to make Fyren so much as summon his mana.

”Not bad,” Sorre admitted, a begrudging acknowledgment in her voice. ”I may have underestimated you.”

Fyren chuckled, shaking his head in resignation. ”If you’re still upholding that facade, you truly can’t discern the chasm between us. Allow me to enlighten you.”

Her eyes narrowed with anger, but Fyren didn’t grant her time to respond. He stepped forward... and vanished. My eyes darted behind Sorre, where Fyren reappeared, sword poised. She stiffened, shocked, and swung blindly, barely deflecting his blow in time.

The clash of steel reverberated in my ears as Sorre was flung backward, tumbling through the air until she crashed into the ground. She rolled several times before finding her footing. Numerous shallow cuts oozed blood, and she swayed unsteadily.

”What sort of spell was that?”

”How did he move so swiftly?”

”Is this some form of cheating?”

Gasps and questions echoed through the arena, fear etched on the faces of the students. Kaya cried out and rushed to Sorre’s side, casting a third-circle life spell to steady her.

”Are you alright?” The Stormlord asked, voice laced with worry.

Sorre nodded, her grip on her sword tightening. ”Let’s take him together. I refuse to lose to a simple adventurer.”

”But the others...” Kaya hesitated, glancing in our direction.

”I’ll handle them. The girls are harmless without their hound,” Eric declared, stepping forward.

His staff blazed with power, and I narrowed my eyes. That was no simple weapon. Its presence was concealed by some magical effect, but the Eyes of Fate penetrated the illusion and revealed the truth. A sixth-level magic item.

Eric laughed as my tail twitched, mistaking my surprise for fear. ”The Dragon’s Flame, the mightiest artifact of our house. It’s been a century since it last saw the light. I’m eager to witness its effects.”

”Y-You wouldn’t! Can the barrier even survive that?” Elise stammered, the blood draining from her face.

”Let’s find out,” Eric snarled. He raised the staff and began casting a sixth-circle spell.

Magic circles materialized about him, stirring the air into a veritable tempest of mana. The storm swept about him, lifting him several feet off the ground and amplifying his aura. His chant rolled tirelessly through the air, bringing the spell to a climax.

I rubbed my horn, gazing intently at the magic. Eric wasn’t capable of casting anything greater than fifth-circle, but his soul didn’t appear to be drained of mana. Instead, it seemed the staff supplied the resources for the spell, and Eric directed them with the chant. Was it possible to store spells in magic items? I glanced at my staff, Soltair’s words running through my mind. Perhaps the additional strength and abilities provided by Divine Artifacts worked along a similar principle.

”Xiviyah!”

Elise’s desperate voice dragged me from my thoughts. I looked up, blinking in surprise as a massive fireball descended upon us. Its sheer size and mana density matched Trithe’s most powerful magical techniques, potent enough to devastate the entire arena. What kind of desperate, suicidal play was this? I knew from bitter experience that friendly fire was a harsh reality of this world.

Elise had thrown up a protective spell of her own, but I knew it was far from enough. As I predicted, the fourth-circle shield lasted no more than a heartbeat, evaporating like vapor before the consuming fires.

”It’s alright,” I whispered, and she turned to me, eyes wide.

With barely a breath before impact, I seized my mana and wove a sixth-circle spell. Chanting with so little time should have been impossible, but I rarely relied on such a clumsy casting method anyway. As the Nexus brought our souls together, Fyren’s chaotic fury grated against me, almost tearing my concentration from my next spell.

But there was no time for hesitation. Gritting my teeth, I pushed through the discomfort and soul cast Link Ability, lacing Adaptive Resistance throughout the Nexus. There was just enough time to see Eric’s confident smirk before the fires descended, enveloping the entire battlefield. I groaned, clapping my hands to my head as the deafening roar of the flames ravaged my ears. Fierce winds generated by the force of the blast tore at my hair and clothes, but the red and yellow tongues of fire licked harmless against my resistances.

The Eyes of Fate allowed me to penetrate the magical flames and observe the true power of the spell. The protective barrier, which protected the audience and guaranteed our resurrection, had been filled entirely with an unending sea of ash and flame. Nothing but the boulders had survived the inferno, leaving the battlefield scorched black. The City Lord sat on the edge of his seat, hands clenched tightly and worry etched on his brow, staring at the subtle cracks spiderwebbing through the barrier. I shook my head, finding his concern naive. This barrier was similar to the one at the Divine Throne, which had survived Soltair’s seventh-circle Solar Flare.

As the fires gradually subsided, a scream ripped through the air.

”Elise!” I cried, scanning the flames for her. My stomach twisted into knots when I found her collapsed on the ground, struggling to lift her head. She had been right beside me! Had the Nexus failed?

I rushed to her side, dropping to my knees. She writhed in agony, her hand reaching out toward me. I clasped her hand, frantic, searching for any signs of burns or injuries. Unable to find even a blister, I unleashed my aura, dispersing the lingering flames and clearing a bubble of clean air around us.

After a few moments, her thrashing ceased, her heaving chest slowly steadying. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her grip on my hand unrelenting.

”What’s happening?” I demanded, a thousand terrifying scenarios racing through my mind. Had her soul faltered beneath the Nexus’ strain? Had my ability failed to shield her adequately? She didn’t appear burned, but what else could explain her suffering?

Her eyelids quivered, slowly opening. She coughed, her sound more of a sob, and struggled to her knees. I gasped as she threw her arms around me, feeling a jolt of pain as she brushed against the Sunpurge.

”It’s gone,” she whispered, her tears staining my shoulder. ”It’s gone!”