Paragon of Destruction

As the gray-haired Knight moved to the center of the circle of onlookers, Arran watched him closely.

From the man’s movements alone, it was clear that he was powerful — alarmingly so. After studying Muna’s foundation, Arran could recognize the signs of insights, and he saw them even in the Knight’s steps.

The gray-haired man’s entire body was like a weapon, expertly wielded. Not the slightest excess of movement could be seen in his actions, as if he fully controlled every single muscle in his body.

Arran could not help but sigh at the casual display of power. For all the progress he’d made over the past months, such a level of perfection was still far out of his reach.

That wasn’t a problem that could be solved by training, either. Rather, it would require learning the Darians’ secrets and studying their most treasured methods.

But Arran had his own advantages, as well.

Broad though the Knight’s insights might be, they lacked the depth of Arran’s true insight into binding and severing. And while the Knight had a Living Shadow dagger, his primary weapon was a starmetal sword.

Still, Arran doubted that would be enough to defeat this opponent. But then, he didn’t need to win. What he needed was to demonstrate his strength.

"All of you," the Knight said, his eyes on the onlookers, "please step back. We need space to fight."

Though he spoke in a friendly tone, the Lady’s guests hurried in obliging him, fearful of causing the Knight any offense. And as the circle of people around them expanded, the Knight turned to Arran.

"I trust you don’t need time to recover from your battle against my son." Though the man’s voice betrayed no emotion, there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

If Arran didn’t know any better, he almost would have thought the Knight was glad for the beating his son had received at Arran’s hands.

But then, perhaps he was. Few flaws were as dangerous for a fighter as overconfidence, and the memory of the humiliating loss might one day save the young Ranger’s life.

"I’m ready," Arran replied, his attention turning to the fight ahead. Right now, his only concern was to avoid a humiliating loss of his own.

The Knight nodded. "Then let’s begin."

Without any further words, the man moved forward, sword raised in front of his body as he approached Arran. And although he moved with confidence, he showed caution as well — the vigilance of an experienced fighter who wouldn’t underestimate any opponent.

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Arran readied himself for the attack that would come, his muscles tensing in anticipation of the first clash.

When only a few paces between them remained, the Knight suddenly dashed forward in a fluid rush of motion, his sword lashing out at Arran with the speed of a hungry viper.

It was a masterful attack. The Knight’s strikes were fast enough that they blended together in a blur of movement, and for each real blow that he struck, there were half a dozen subtle feints.

Arran struggled to withstand the assault. For several moments, it was all he could do to parry and block his opponent’s attacks, without even the slightest chance to retaliate.

Yet although he struggled beneath the onslaught, with the Knight forcing him to retreat several paces, he did not break.

Somehow, his defense held. And under the pressure, he felt his understanding increase.

As he parried and deflected the Knight’s cuts and thrusts, he grew more familiar with the insights he’d spent the last half-year studying.

For the first time, he could put all he’d learned into practice. Moreover, in the Knight’s swordplay he recognized more advanced versions of his own insights, and the confrontation saw him improve rapidly.

Seconds turned into minutes as Arran fought the Knight, and as the two clashed, his mind was focused entirely on the battle.

If the pressure of battle was like a forge, then the Knight’s strikes were like a blacksmith’s hammer, shaping the insights Arran had studied for months. And as the insights took shape, his defense grew more confident.

Slowly, Arran’s retreat came to a halt, the Knight’s attacks no longer enough to push him back.

For some time, he merely weathered the blows, learning from his opponent as the attacks continued undiminished. It was an invaluable lesson, and if his mind hadn’t been fully focused on the battle, he would have rejoiced at the progress he was making.

But as it was, all he could do was fight. And as his confidence steadily grew, he began to return the Knight’s attacks.

At first, his strikes were few and far between, with his opponent easily blocking those rare few attacks he made. Yet steadily, the battle grew more even.

Although Arran’s opponent still held the upper hand, it was no longer the one-sided onslaught it had been at the start. Both sides now exerted themselves when they clashed, their weapons whistling through the air as they attacked each other.

And as they fought, the onlookers watched in silence, their eyes wide with awe at the fight they were witnessing. Seeing a Knight do battle was a rare thing, and seeing one challenged in earnest rarer still.

Meanwhile, Arran fought with the hunger of a beggar who saw treasure on the horizon, greedily taking in all the knowledge he could as his weapon clashed with his opponent’s sword.

Months of study had provided him with a foundation, but so far, his knowledge had remained abstract. Yet now, with an opponent strong enough to drive him to his limit, that knowledge was finally solidifying into skill.

He did not know how long the battle lasted. More than an hour, certainly, perhaps even several hours. But enraptured by his newfound skills, time passed Arran by unnoticed.

Then, at last, Lady Raina’s voice sounded.

"That will be enough. Finish it."

Before Arran could react, the Knight’s movements suddenly hastened. A dozen rapid strikes, and suddenly there was an opening in Arran’s defense.

And through that opening, a fist came hurtling toward his face.

The Knight’s blow struck Arran squarely in the nose, hitting with such force that it sent him sprawling to the ground, his ears ringing from the impact.

For several seconds, he remained lying on his back, staring at the stars above as he felt blood pour from his freshly broken nose.

When he got up again, a wry smile crossed his face.

He’d known the Knight had been holding back, but he hadn’t realized the difference between them was quite as large as this. Not after his foundation solidified, at least.

As he stood up, Arran saw that the gray-haired Knight had already turned to Lady Raina. The blow to his head had caused him to miss the first few words of what they said, but he blinked in surprise when he heard what followed.

"He’s strong," the Knight said. "Barely a step away from matching a Knight. If the other is equally strong, I’d struggle to match them."

Lady Raina nodded thoughtfully. "If they’re a match for you, one of Kadun’s Knights wouldn’t stand a chance." She turned to Kaleesh, and continued, "It appears you were telling the truth, after all. So you’re not just a braggart, hiding behind Rannoc’s skirts."

A relieved smile on his face, the captain replied, "Though we’ve had dealings with Rannoc, we are not his subjects. We are traveling to the Desolation by our own choice, not on his orders."

The Lady frowned. "We’ll need to discuss your relationship with Rannoc," she said. "But that can wait until we finish the banquet." She glanced at her husband, then added, "This diversion lasted rather longer than I expected it to."

She turned around without any further words and began to head back to the hall, where a feast still stood waiting for them — a cold feast that would be cold, by now.

The other guests moved to follow her, and Arran did the same. Yet he’d barely set a single step when a piece of cloth was pressed against his face. And an instant later, he felt a sharp sting of pain as a stranger’s hand set his broken nose.

When he looked to his side, he saw Lady Raina’s daughter standing next to him, a look of disapproval on her face.

"Keep that there until the bleeding stops," she ordered. "You’re bleeding all over my brother’s shirt."

Arran frowned in confusion, but he did as she said, pressing the piece of cloth against his bloodied nose. "Your brother’s shirt?" he asked, his voice muffled behind the cloth.

"And one of the few that make him look halfway decent, too," she said with a nod. She glanced at the blood-covered shirt, then sighed. "But I suppose it’s already ruined. Come with me, and we’ll get you changed."

Although her words only added to Arran’s confusion, he followed her meekly through the keep’s hallways. When the bleeding from his nose had stopped, he said, "I thought the servant thing was only an act."

"It was," she replied. "But I could hardly let you sit with the others, looking all bloodied. My father really hit you good."

"That he did," Arran replied. A thoughtful look crossed his face, and he said, "I should thank him."

The girl gave him a puzzled look. "For breaking your nose?"

Arran shook his head. "For the fight. It was... instructive."

By now, he understood all too well that the Knight had held back in their battle, purposely allowing Arran to learn as they fought. It was an invaluable gift, worth the broken nose he’d received many times over.

"I’ve never seen anyone last that long against him," the girl said. "Except mother, of course. So what’s your name?"

"Arran," Arran said. "And yours?"

"Dalia," the girl replied. "Now come along. Let’s find you a clean shirt."

A few minutes later, Arran had washed the blood from his face, and he was wearing a fresh new shirt — a black one, this time. And as they headed back to the dining hall, he turned to Dalia.

"I hope I haven’t made an enemy of your brother."

"Kalin?" She laughed, then shook her head. "Once he gets past the frustration of losing, he’ll be begging you to spar with him." She let out a small sigh, then said in a voice that carried a hint of exasperation, "What he lacks in sense, he makes up for in effort."

Arran chuckled. "I’ve always found that effort is at least as valuable as sense — perhaps even more so."

Dalia gave him a disapproving look. "I hope you’re not as much of a fool as he is."

This question, Arran wisely left unanswered.

They returned to the dining hall some minutes later, finding the other guests already sitting at their tables. And this time, Arran found that his place was at the very front of the hall — next to Kaleesh, who still looked slightly nervous.

"That went better than I’d hoped," the captain said in a low voice.

To this, Arran could only nod in agreement.