Leonidas watched Bardulf’s match in cold silence.

The half-lycanus had greeted him with the same warm enthusiasm as ever when he’d returned from his match against Luciaro, though he’d confessed to worrying about Leonidas’ mental state. To that, Leonidas had offered only a polite thanks and a reassurance he was fine—which, of course, he was not.

Though it wasn’t for the reasons Bardulf had suspected.

His blue eyes traced the Shadowblade as he teleported once again into Synthra’s shadow, and attempted to pierce the mana shield protecting the Sorceress’ body—only to fail once more, and be forced back by a blistering mix of offensive sword strikes and surprisingly adroit martial arts that actually allowed her to challenge the Rogue Archetype in close quarters.

The reason for Leonidas’ mental state was, of course, his concern for the progressively more violent tendencies his [Cataclysm Core] was inspiring within him. It wasn’t that he was new to the idea of bloodlust, of course; he’d experienced that plenty during the War against Azrageth, and he’d learned to cope with the blanket of its influence. What bothered him was that there was a clear loss of control that occurred, and then rapidly spiraled, when he let his focus waver for even a second.

His [Cataclysm Core] wasn’t even fully formed, and yet Leonidas—despite half a decade of disciplined Cultivation and nightmarish warfare of the worst kind he had ever heard, seen, or read about—was as susceptible to its influence as a child was to well-made propaganda. It wasn’t an overt or loud thing, but instead a susurration of destructive intent that subtly urged him toward his most primal and brutal nature.

By the time he even realized what was happening, and that he had lost control; the Cataclysm Mana had already proliferated through him and subverted his disciplined sense of self-control. It had happened with the Goblins, been somewhat tamed during the Hive Tyrant encounter, and then happened again and even more swiftly against Luciaro. His Core was growing in density and power, and that meant its influence was also becoming both more potent and harder to detect.

That was a combination which disturbed him.

Sometimes, in the moments of most extreme influence, he felt as he had when he’d been at his darkest and most wrathful points on Elatra; after Miranda had died, or when one of his Party had been killed, or he’d found the children Azrageth’s hordes had sacrificed to their dark rituals. There was a part of him, a buried piece that he hated to acknowledge, which roared for destruction.

If Leonidas were truly honest with himself, his success against the Demon Lord and his Hellspawn had been his own ability to match, and even exceed their penchant for unreserved brutality. The things he had done to the Tainted, to Cultists, and to traitors in his own ranks defied every definition of ‘compassion’ or ‘mental stability’. In some cases, Leonidas had inspired more terror than the distant specter of Azrageth had ever managed—and done so with no more effort than stepping on an ant.

And it was that part of him, he knew, which his [Cataclysm Core] awakened.

It was a thing forged from Natural Disasters, and there was a reason it had manifested for him.

Leonidas reached up and ran his hands over his helmet with a soft exhale of tension. He probably just needed to see a psychologist, he tried to rationalize. There was no conceivable way he’d escaped five years of a literal hellwar without some measure of post-traumatic stress disorder, and he was probably just manifesting a ‘coping mechanism’ for his memories or something.

In the arena below, Synthra and Bardulf continued to exchange blows, and the Shadowblade was finally beginning to flag. Whether it was his mixed blood or simply innate talent, he’d managed to evade or counter-attack every major attempt at landing a hit on him that Synthra had thrown the blond’s way—but his luck was finally running out.

Bardulf was simply too tired to maintain his previous pace of dodging and counter-attacking, while Synthra seemed like she had an entire two other reserves of energy to pull from. The red sorceress was launching rapidfire and overwhelming attacks on the half-elf, and Leonidas narrowed his eyes in focus so as not to miss her tactics. For all her prowess, there was a pattern to Synthra’s sword-strikes—and while relying on it as an absolute was folly, the knowledge could help immensely.

When the end came, it was both swift and brutal.

Bardulf side-stepped where he should have back-stepped, and Synthra’s free right hand—she was apparently ambidextrous on top of everything else, and could wield her blade with either hand—slapped against his leather-clad right side.

Synthra smirked at him at the exact same time as Bardulf’s expression fell in realization, and a moment later the Shadowblade was blasted out of the arena by a detonation of fire magic. It was a non-fatal blow, Leonidas understood immediately, but it achieved her objective all the same: Bardulf smashed into the bottom of one of the nearby stands with a crunch, and at the same time, left the bounds of the arena.

It was an elimination by ring out, and very likely by knockout as well.

The immediate call for “{Mender!}” solidified the results, and Leonidas settled back in his seat in silence. All eyes turned to him when he did, but he paid them no heed. The only pair he had time for were the topaz ones fixed on him from under Synthra’s red bangs.

“{Synthra wins!}” Cerevil declared clearly a moment later. “{By ring out, victory is hers. She will be given a reprieve to recover her—}”

“{I have already recovered, Cerevil.}” Synthra cut across him with her gaze fixed on Leonidas. “{My Mana is full. I have no injuries. I am in one hundred percent condition and want—}” her flaming sword rose, and Leonidas’ lips curled upward at the corners when it pointed at him “{—my final match.}”

Cerevil glanced between Synthra and Leonidas, and there almost seemed to be concern in the proctor’s voice when he spoke. “{Are you certain that you are—}”

“{Let them fight, Cerevil.}”

All eyes turned at the sound of a new voice, and even Leonidas and Synthra looked over in surprise. From the north-eastern gap between the east and north stands, and from the direction of the guild house; both Sinalthria and Ceruviel stepped forward side-by-side. Both women received shocked and awed looks, and the former grinned in an all-too-draconic manner.

“{This is the Adventurers’ Guild,}” Sinalthria declared in a carrying and throaty voice. “{There is no room for those who shy from danger, or overestimate themselves and fall as a result. If my daughter says she’s ready to fight, Cerevil, then let her fight. The consequences of haste will be hers to bear.}”

Synthra’s back straightened fully at her mother’s words, and when she turned back to Leonidas, there was a look of predatory intensity in her topaz gaze. His own eyes turned toward Ceruviel, but his mentor studiously ignored him—outwardly, at least.

Mentally, though, she spoke.

+{Synthra is the strongest of this year’s Aspirants. The only reason she wasn’t already part of the guild is Sinalthria’s overprotective nature. You are still forbidden from using Swordforce, but consider this part of your pre-tempering. You cannot always rely on that one skill, no matter its power, and Synthra is not an enemy for which it was made regardless.}+

Leonidas’ body relaxed at Ceruviel’s words, and he stared back down at the Sorceress. He’d suspected as much himself, and thankfully he’d been using his time during the tournament wisely to prepare.

“{Very well, Guild Mistress,}” Cerevil said, though he was perhaps more flustered by the arrival of Ceruviel, whom he seemed to be spasming not to salute or kneel to. Instead he turned to the audience, and raised a hand in indication. “{The Championship Match between Achilles and Synthra will now commence!}”

All eyes turned to Leonidas, and he rose from his seat with a creak of warplate at the declaration. One breath in, one breath out, and supreme focus were his only thoughts for the moment. He would need every ounce of his [Cataclysm Core]’s power for what was to come, and yet he also needed a level head.

Brutality served him well against most opponents, but against Synthra, he would need the honed focus he’d held against the Hive Tyrant. If he failed, and let himself fall prey to his own bloodlust like he had against Luciaro, he’d be destroyed.

That knowledge of an inevitable defeat should he lose focus was a fantastic buoy for his Willpower.

His hand extended out while he descended, and his [Archon’s Psiblade] dropped into his grip in a flash of scarlet lightning, while his gaze settled on Synthra’s and remained fixed there the entire time he descended through the taut silence of the watching Aspirants. The entire crowd seemed frozen in observation, and be it a desire to see him soundly defeated or to chance a glance at Synthra herself tasting humility, Leonidas couldn’t have cared less.

All he knew was that the Red Sorceress could give him a true challenge.

It would be the first time in recent memory that someone did. On Elatra, only Azrageth had been able to stand against him one-on-one in the end, and at that stage Leonidas’ power had been enough to sunder mountains with a sword swing. On Earth, since he returned; his greatest challenges had been goblins and a gigantic bug.

Within the same round as he’d met them, he’d all but obliterated both.

Synthra represented something different, something he hadn’t encountered since his early days training with Miranda’s Knights: a true peer opponent, one strong enough to threaten him, but not so strong as to be insurmountable like Ceruviel or the Swarm Tyrants. Synthra was a conquerable goal, but one that would require every iota of his skill, knowledge, and combat prowess.Stolen novel; please report.

She would push him, challenge him, and force him to use every trick and tactic in the book to eke out a victory. It was a kind of exhilaration that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. So long, in fact, that he’d very nearly forgotten the feeling entirely. He’d been tossed around and been forced under the sway of a multitude of different circumstances and forces since his Return, and this was the first time he had the chance to do something for himself.

He wanted to fight her. He wanted to beat her. He wanted to put her on her back.

It was his entire focus in that moment, and he wanted her for his own reasons.

“{Aspirants ready!}” Cerevil called, and Leonidas idly flourished his sword in his grip to familiarize himself with its weight again, just in case his muscle memory needed the refresher. His racing heart made his Battle Meditation difficult, but he focused on it all the more carefully. At the same time, he let his [Cataclysm Core] begin to leak out, and focused hard on noticing and keeping a firm hold over the influence it began to exert immediately.

“{Aspirants salute!}”

Synthra lifted her sword in a duelist’s salute, and Leonidas did the same.

Both blades snapped out to the right thereafter, and their stances were all but mirrored.

“{Aspirants…}”

Leonidas revved his [Cataclysm Core] with measured Intent, and focused on his objective as his Battle Meditation settled shakily over him: Fight smart, win smart. Fight smart, win smart. Fight smart, win smart. Fight…

Synthra’s left hand joined her right on the hilt of her sword, and she settled onto the balls of her feet. Her eyes literally glowed while he prepared, and Leonidas felt both topaz orbs burning into his sapphire as her slitted pupils narrowed in focus. Everyone else might have seen a curvaceous beauty, but Leonidas saw her for what she truly was in that moment.

A predator, with the hunt before her.

His [Cataclysm Core] roared.

“{...fight!}”

Cerevil’s arm dropped.

Leonidas activated [Chivalric Charge] at the same moment as the soles of Synthra’s feet exploded into a twinned blaze of sand-glassing fire.

They met in the middle with an explosion of force, blade to blade, and the crowd roared.

Leonidas and Synthra spun away from the deadlock at the same instant, and came back in almost choreographed precision to meet in the middle once more. When they did, Leonidas realized immediately that he was at the disadvantage. His armor buoyed his body weight and stability, but there was a palpable superiority to Synthra’s physical power alone that defied his ability to overcome through force.

She was stronger, faster, and more immediately magically potent than him.

But Leonidas was more experienced.

When Synthra made to press the attack against him after seemingly realizing her advantage, Leonidas catalyzed an immediate small-scale usage of his [Psikinetic Shield] around her aggressive foot. It didn’t hold, but that wasn’t the point, given his minimal Psi expenditure.

It tripped her up just enough that her attack lost its disciplined precision.

And Leonidas pressed the advantage immediately as a result.

Synthra’s expression flickered with surprise when he surged forward and struck her with as much force and speed as his Attributes could muster, all while the [Cataclysm Core] in his body raged ever more greatly, like a tempest boiling with primordial fury in his solar plexus.

Synthra parried, and Leonidas used her sword as a springboard to back-step and come back at her again, all while steadily building the Cataclysm Mana in his body toward his palms. Once again Synthra met him blade for blade, and this time they exchanged a quick flurry of blows.

She was faster, she was stronger, she was more dexterous.

But Leonidas was a blademaster tempered in war.

The most imperative thing he noticed when they fought was that Synthra did not have the experience to vary her fighting style. Each blow was powerful, each move exact, and each step swift and overwhelming—but only by merit of her physical capability.

Synthra was telegraphing everything.

After the first few exchanges, Leonidas realized she was repetitive—and he pounced on that like the blood-baptized Knight he was. Her rote training gave her advanced sword techniques, but zero creativity, and the rigidity of her adherence to what she’d been taught gave him an opening. He couldn’t outfight her in power, but he could out-duel her in skill.

Synthra’s superior Attributes only served to grant her an advantage, but they failed to grant her victory, and Leonidas noticed the moment she went from cold confidence to a flicker of surprised frustration. His psiblade sang through the air in opposition to the whooshing crackle of her firesword, and the pair of them exchanged blow after blow.

A dodge here, a riposte there, a rapid series of parried slashes, and deflected cuts, all of which were followed each time by a climactic slam of sword against sword.

Synthra leaned into the deadlock like Leonidas did, and the beautiful redhead’s features were twisted in concentration.

“You can’t win, imposter.” she growled in English during one-such exchange.

“Imposter?” he asked while stepping sideways and out of the deadlock, causing her momentary overexertion to overbalance her when she started to answer.

“All you have is tricks!” she spat while recovering quickly and spinning back with a ferocious slash, which he parried with the aid of another [Psikinetic Shield] to trip her up and throw off her accuracy. “You’re just another haughty noble with more pride than purpose!”

“Geeze,” Leonidas said in a strained voice while sidestepping a vicious oberhau and slamming his pommel into the back of her passing shoulder blades—against her indomitable mana shield—when she overstepped. “I think you’re projecting, princess.”

The Cataclysm Mana in his veins screamed at him to be used, and he was focused on keeping it controlled until the moment he needed it. The strain it created was as physical as it was mental, and despite that, he didn’t try to suppress its spread. Instead he continued to let it build, and worked to channel the already-rising levels of bloodlust into a kind of furious focus, while pushing the limit of his Willpower.

“Don’t call me that!” she growled back while spinning and pressing another series of solid, but predictable sword slashes at him. She had speed, she had force, she had coordination—but she lacked battle-won versatility, and that meant Leonidas could not just keep up with her, but he could even press her with skill alone.

“You’re already flagging, imposter!” she crowed victoriously while attacking once more.

“Am I?” he asked while dodging a telegraphed stab and responding with a swift upper-cut to her torso, which again met her mana armor to no effect. “Am I really?”

“Accept defeat,” she said with a hint of frustration, and while stepping into his guard and shoulder-ramming him backward into a momentary retreat. “Surrender, and I won’t maim you too horribly for your trespass!”

“Oho?” Leonidas asked while side-stepping an elegant roundhouse and slamming his blade against her ribs. The mana in his body was screaming at him to be used, and he could barely manage to suppress it anymore. He needed to put her into the trap he’d been laying with his blows. He needed her to take it.

He needed her distracted.

“Do tell me more, princess.”

Synthra’s golden-orange eyes widened in outrage.

“Screw you!” she spat angrily, and surged toward him with her blade leading.

Leonidas expelled the most amount of Psi so far, and placed two shields precisely where needed to ruin her stance and make her stumble. In her anger, Synthra hit both of them, and cursed loudly at his ‘inane tricks’.

While she did, Leonidas braced himself and ramped the Cataclysm Mana in his body. When he did, he stepped forward and Leonidas took an aggressive stance with as much telegraphing as he could offer without making even her aware of what he was doing. She was inexperienced, but she was not stupid. Synthra would have recognized the trap for what it was, if he were too obvious.

Luckily, he had her mounting anger on his side, too.

The moment Synthra saw his stance and set herself up for a parry through instinct and basic training, Leonidas activated a skill he had never used up until that point; neither in the arena nor in the guild tournament.

Stamina bled from him, and [Coup de Force: Premier] blazed in his mind.

The Knight skill suffused his limbs with enhanced strength, speed, and precision and Leonidas full-body slashed her parrying blade with three times his normal power.

It wasn’t simply an additive effect, it was multiplicative.

Synthra’s eyes widened, but it was too late.

His [Archon’s Psiblade]’s hit Synthra’s weapon with the force and speed of three times Leonidas’ physical capability, sheared through her sword, and slashed across her mana armor.

The sorceress was blasted off her feet by the kinetic impact alone.

The crowd screamed their adulation, their disappointment, and their shock when the red sorceress was taken off her feet for the first time in the tournament—and sent careening back along the sand with a shout of surprise.

Leonidas, meanwhile, knew he couldn’t give her a chance to easily recover.

His Core revved harder in his solar plexus, and he gave chase while keeping one half of his mind focused on controlling his impulses. The mana in his system was reaching a dangerous level, and he needed to execute his plan.

Synthra was rising to her feet when Leonidas closed the distance, and the sorceress snarled something and thrust her left hand at him with purpose. Leonidas’ eyes widened under his helmet, and he barely managed to throw himself aside before a wave of superheated flame exploded from Synthra’s palm, and glassed an entire swathe of sand.

He rolled to his feet quickly after the dive, and made a snap decision: he continued his advance toward the sorceress with every ounce of Agility he could tap into.

His eyes snapped reflexively to look at the shimmering, surface-level sparkle of flash-blown glass and then turned back to Synthra. If her eyes had been intense before, now there was murder lurking behind her gaze. The sorceress scowled at him and reached up to brush her hair out of her face, blowing at a few strands angrily in an affectation that was jarringly feminine, and then raising her hand as if to fling another wave of fire at him.

Before she could, Leonidas slapped aside her hand with a conjured square of [Psikinetic Shield], and pivoted into a spinning slash at her waist. Synthra’s blade moved to block, but it was too late.

Leonidas’ psiblade impacted her mana armor, and when it did, he felt the impact as if he’d struck a steel wall. It radiated up his arms like an echo of regret, and he grit his teeth against the feeling.

The sorceress’ gaze snapped down to his sword, then back up to him, and she smirked in what he thought might have even been a measure of relief.

“That was a nice trick before,” she admitted quietly, “but you still failed.”

“No,” Leonidas answered while lurching forward and pressing his palm against her taut, mana-shielded stomach, “I succeeded.”

“What are you—”

Cataclysm Mana erupted from his palm in a wave, and met her mana shield a second later. Destructive force of transcendent power crashed into aspected natural mana, and the result was as cataclysmic as Leonidas had suspected it would be.

Synthra’s mana armor let out a whine at the point of contact.

Her topaz eyes widened in shock.

“Boom.” Leonidas said simply.

The mana detonated like a bomb, and the world turned white.