Chapter 25 : The pain of weakness 3

Arthur stepped back, his instincts screaming at him to avoid conflict. Yet no matter how far he retreated, the space itself seemed to conspire against him. A spear materialized in his hand, cold and unfamiliar, as if the very world demanded his participation. His distance from Reshi remained unchanged, the inevitability of their confrontation pressing down like an iron weight. 

Reshi, however, advanced without hesitation. His movements were dark, deliberate, and brimming with lethal intent. 

"I don't want to fight you!" Arthur shouted, desperation lacing his voice. 

A low, chilling chuckle escaped from Reshi—a sound all the more unnerving because it came from Arthur's own voice, his own form. 

"Let's see," Reshi said, his tone heavy with mockery, "how badly you want to survive." 

In a blur, Reshi vanished, reappearing right in front of Arthur. Time seemed to freeze, fear clutching Arthur's chest in a vice. Instinctively, he raised his spear to block, the cold steel trembling in his grip. 

Reshi's spear shot forward, impossibly fast. The force behind the thrust wasn't just powerful—it was otherworldly, a devastating blend of precision and brutality. Arthur barely managed to deflect the blow, his spear shuddering under the impact as the sheer force sent him stumbling backward. 

"Already struggling," Reshi sneered, his dark eyes gleaming. "How disappointing, Arthur." 

Despite the sting of his words, Arthur found himself smiling—an expression born of defiance. "This bastard," he muttered, "is really pissing me off." 

Arthur shifted his stance, gripping the spear tighter. "If this is my soul space, then I can't kill anyone, right? Which means..." His voice hardened, his grin widening. "Nothing's stopping me from fighting back." 

With a sudden burst of energy, Arthur lunged forward, feinting a thrust and transitioning into a sharp upward slash. 

Reshi sidestepped with infuriating ease. "Pathetic," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. 

Before Arthur could recover, Reshi adjusted his stance and executed the same blindingly fast thrust. This time, Arthur had no chance to react. The spear pierced through him, pain blooming in his midsection as he collapsed to the ground, gasping. 

Reshi loomed over him, his face twisted in anger. Somehow, that sight made Arthur smile again, even as blood spilled from his lips. 

"Are you not afraid of dying?" Reshi asked, his voice low, almost curious. 

Arthur coughed, stifling a bitter laugh. "Afraid of dying?" he echoed. "In every damned world, I've risked my life. When I was you, we fought every day. Any one of those bastards could've killed us. But they didn't. And now, it's the same. Every day, death waits for me—a stray arrow, an unlucky mistake, even an accident from an ally. 

"But I haven't died. I survived." His voice grew stronger, fueled by the fire of his conviction. "And I'll survive this too." 

Reshi's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Why?" 

Arthur's gaze locked onto Reshi's, his reply heavy with spite. "Because I can. And if I can survive, I will. I'm not going to die just because this world wants me to. I'll survive out of sheer spite if I have to, but I will live. If only because no one fucking want's me to!" 

Reshi knelt beside him, his dark eyes narrowing. "Even if that means killing others?" 

Arthur paused, the weight of the question settling over him. He realized, without thinking, that he had already resolved this conflict within himself sometime during their short fight. The answer was clear. 

"If I have to," he said softly, "only if I have to." 

Reshi stood, nodding slowly. "That'll do—for now." 

Arthur closed his eyes, the pain fading as his surroundings dissolved into nothingness. 

When he opened them again, he was back in the cavernous hall. Syar sat opposite him, watching intently, his expression unreadable. 

Arthur staggered to his feet, a grin spreading across his face. "I did it," he said, his voice brimming with satisfaction. 

Syar exhaled sharply, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. "I'd expect nothing less," he said with a faint smirk. After a pause, he continued, "Do you know of the weapon? And of your spear style?" 

Arthur frowned, the memory of Reshi's weapon clear in his mind—a hybrid of spear and sword, unlike anything he'd seen before. It was the same weapon Syar wielded. 

"Yeah," Arthur said slowly, "it's like the weapon you're holding." 

Syar's smirk froze, his eyes narrowing. Then he burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the walls. "Of course it is." 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means, my dear disciple," Syar said, his grin almost manic, "fate wanted us together." 

Arthur blinked. "Fate? Have you lost it?" 

"Come!" Syar bellowed, his voice brimming with vigor. "Show me the spear style you learned from your soul!" 

Arthur hesitated. Reshi hadn't taught him anything—at least, not directly. But then he remembered the way Reshi had moved, the deliberate precision of his stances and strikes. As if he had wanted Arthur to learn. 

"Can I borrow your weapon, master?" 

Syar shook his head firmly. "It's mine." He disappeared into the shadows, returning with a crudely carved wooden stick, shaped to mimic the hybrid weapon. 

Arthur caught it awkwardly. 

"Go on," Syar urged, his eyes gleaming with expectation. "Show me." 

Arthur closed his eyes, summoning the memory of Reshi's movements. Each strike, each shift in stance replayed in his mind with perfect clarity. The thrust, the mana flow—it all felt imprinted on his very soul. 

He began slowly, his form shaky at first. But as he repeated the motions, his body adjusted, each movement becoming sharper, more natural. 

Then, with a sharp breath, Arthur thrust forward with all his might, channeling every ounce of mana he could muster. 

The air in front of him rippled, a visible shockwave radiating from the strike. 

Syar's grin widened. "Yes," he said softly, almost to himself. "This will do nicely." 

Opening his eyes, he saw a system notification pop up in front of him. 

[ Falling Sun Style learned] 

Arthur's eyes widened. He'd done it. 

"Status." 

[ NAME: ARTHUR GRAVEWALKER 

AGE: 14 YEARS OLD 

RACE: HUMAN 

CLASS: 

SPEARMAN: LVL2 (Basic) (Imperial ***) (11%) 

 LVL1 (Basic) (Falling Sun style) (1.0%) 

 SKILLS : 

MANA BOOST (lvl1) 

AURA : LOCKED 

BLESSINGS: 

Hades Will - 

Sun's Concept - 

AFFINITIES : BLOOD, FIRE, EARTH 

STATS - 

RANK F+ 

STRENGTH: F+ 

AGILITY: F+ 

STAMINA: E- 

INTELLIGENCE: F+ 

MANA CAPACITY: F 

CHARM : F- ] 

Falling sun style he mouthed. Then he grinned. "Falling sun style." 

The system screen in front of him shifted. 

[ Falling Sun style (****) (LVL 1 – 1.0%) 

First move – Shooting star : Proficiency (5.0%) 

Second move ??? 

????? ] 

'A four star style? That was a step under a legendary style, something usually only found in the vaults of greater houses. And yet, he had something just a step under.' 

Syar snorted, seeing Arthur's expression. "How is it brat? Do you trust me now?" 

Arthur dismissed the screen, focusing on Sy- no, his master. 

Then he grinned. 

"Of course, master." 

Noah lunged forward, his boots kicking up dust as he closed the distance between himself and Commander Scarlet. There was no fort. No duty, nor mission. Only the fight, him and her. 

"You think you've grown strong?" Scarlet taunted, her voice carrying effortlessly over the screaming wind. Her eyes burned with a predatory glint. "Show me. Prove it!" 

Noah gritted his teeth, feeling the sharp sting of her words, but he refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he focused on the rhythm of his breathing. His newfound ability, Wind Blast—was a tempest waiting to be unleashed. The key was timing. 

Scarlet darted forward, her sword a whirlwind of slashes and thrusts. Noah barely managed to deflect the first strike with his own sword, the impact vibrating through his arms. She didn't give him a chance to recover, switching into a low strike aiming for his legs. 

He twisted, narrowly avoiding the slice, and countered with a sweeping strike of his own. She parried effortlessly, her movements fluid and precise. 

"Too slow!" she hissed, her foot snapping out in a brutal kick. It connected with his chest, sending him skidding backward. 

Noah stumbled but didn't fall. His lungs burned, and his chest ached, but he planted his feet firmly. Scarlet was relentless, already closing the gap again. He had no time to think, only react. 

He slammed the butt of his spear into the ground and thrust his free hand forward. The air around him seemed to shift, a sudden gust swirling with unnatural force. "Wind Blast!" he roared. 

A torrent of wind exploded from his palm, a concentrated force that barreled toward Scarlet. 

The blast struck her like a battering ram, and though she managed to hold her ground, her footing faltered for a moment. The force pushed her back several paces, her crimson hair whipping violently in the gale. 

"Not bad," she admitted, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "But you don't need to scream the name of your skill to activate it." 

Noah didn't reply. His mind raced, calculating his next move. Wind Blast was powerful, but it drained him quickly. He couldn't afford to rely on it too much. Instead, he focused on his footwork, circling her cautiously, his spear held at the ready. 

Scarlet lunged, her sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. Noah ducked under the first strike and spun away from the second, using the momentum to deliver a sweeping kick to her side. She blocked it easily, throwing him back off balance, causing him to collide to the floor heavily. 

Commander Scarlet stood over him, her dark eyes approving. "For your first day you've done well. Very well. Let's give you some drills to do, and then you can rest up." 

Noah groaned in reply, head spinning from colliding to the floor so heavily. 'This isn't going to be fun' he sighed inwardly in resignation.