The battle of the river and the dam
Benjamin had always known his limits.
He wasn't the strongest Sage-in-training. He wasn't like Adu Awl, whose Law of Death allowed him to unravel his opponents with a touch. Nor was he like Yu, who could compress mass into a strike so devastating it broke bones on impact.
Benjamin was different.
He wasn't weak, but he had to work harder. His Knowledge Absorption gave him a head start, allowing him to recall facts and techniques, but knowing something wasn't the same as understanding it.
Like everyone else, he had to train and truly understand the knowledge he acquired.
And so he had spent weeks, months, studying not just Sagecraft and combat, but strategy—because he knew that in Khial, power alone wasn't enough.
---
History had proven it. Time and time again, Law users had fallen to weaker opponents.
He had read about The Collapse of Gharim, where an entire battalion of Sage warriors—each capable of bending reality—was buried alive by a commander who simply redirected a river to flood their stronghold. No Law of Fire, no Law of Energy, could save them when they were drowning in their own arrogance.
Then there was The Battle of Vekir's Pass, where a single Law of Silence user had assassinated an entire council of high-ranking generals—not through brute force, but because his power nullified sound itself. A power that on paper seemed weak, but in execution, it turned him into the perfect ghost.
But power could also shift the tide of battle.
Benjamin remembered studying The Siege of Asroth, where a single Sage of Gravity had stopped an entire army by tilting the battlefield itself, forcing thousands of soldiers and Law users to tumble into a ravine.
Some Laws were seemingly unstoppable. Some were traps waiting to be set. Some, if wielded well, could be the most dangerous force in existence. None of them could grant invincibility.
Benjamin wasn't a fool. He knew he didn't have the raw power to dominate.
But what he had, he could use.
And here, in this pit of darkness, his mind would be his weapon.
---
The torches burned high above, flickering furiously in the damp, cavernous air. The stairway leading out of this underground prison was lined with jagged stone walls, its edges crumbling in places from years of neglect.
And standing right in their path was the Black Flame officer.
Benjamin and Dab halted, their breath still heavy from the climb. Law users could sense others around them if up close, they could sense the faint ripples of Laws around them, ripples that could become waves when the Laws were fully tapped on.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in layered dark armor stitched with Black Flame insignias. Unlike the others, he carried no bow. No sword.
Only a pair of gauntlets, glinting in the firelight.
Benjamin's mind raced.
The elevator chaos behind them had bought them time, but now?
Now, they were trapped.
Dab growled low. "He's a Law user."
The officer tilted his head slightly and his voice was like a low rumbling "Smart girl."
Benjamin's grip on his crossbow tightened.
This wasn't just another thug.
This was someone dangerous.
--
The Hornet's Nest Awakens
The cavern had descended into madness.
The screeches of the Dawads echoed against the rock walls, their grotesque bodies slithering and churning in a frenzy, biting, slicing, tearing into anything in their path.
Guards were screaming, some trying to retreat, others desperately hacking at the centipede-like creatures, only to be overwhelmed. Limbs snapped, armor was shredded, the sickening crunch of bone filled the air.
A few of the more disciplined fighters formed defensive formations, using spears and torches to drive the Dawads back.
Amongst this chaos, amidst the flickering torchlight, stood the true danger.
The Black Flame Officer.
---
He stood alone, unfazed, as if the swarm of creatures didn't exist to him.
Calm. In control.
His blue eyes gleamed with intelligence, scanning Benjamin and Dab with the sharpness of a predator assessing its prey.
His face bore the mark of the Black Flame, the tattoo stretching from the right side of his jaw, across his neck, and disappearing beneath his left sleeve.
His blond and bearded chin twitched with amusement, his moustache curling slightly as he smirked.
Dressed in black fatigues, his clothes were stained with dust, sweat, and old blood, fitting a man who lived among the depths.
The most striking feature, though, were his gauntlets—short, thorny, and covered in jagged scales, as if forged from the hide of a beast that didn't belong to this world.
Benjamin had read countless bestiaries, but he couldn't connect any creature in Khial to the material of those weapons.
Dragons didn't exist in this world, after all.
And yet, looking at those scaled gauntlets, Benjamin felt something primal and ancient about them.
Boyan rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers, the gauntlets shifting like a second skin.
Then, finally, he spoke.
---
"Well," he mused, his voice smooth, almost entertained, "you two certainly made a mess of things, didn't you?"
His eyes drifted toward the burning chaos behind them, where his men were struggling to hold the line against the frenzied Dawads.
He sighed dramatically, shaking his head.
"You know," he continued, rubbing his jaw, "I was having a perfectly normal night. Doing my job. Overseeing the mine. Keeping things... orderly."
His smirk widened, teeth flashing.
"And then you had to come and ruin everything."
Benjamin stayed silent, gripping his crossbow tightly.
Dab, on the other hand, growled low, her tail flicking. "You talk too much."
Boyan chuckled. "You'll be fun to kill."
Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned his head, barking out an order to his men.
---
"Forget them! Keep the Dawads away from the stairwell!" Boyan commanded. "If they breach the upper levels, we'll have to burn this entire mine down!"
His soldiers snapped into action, abandoning their chase for Benjamin and Dab, redirecting their focus to the real threat—the horde of Dawads.
It was a calculated decision, and Benjamin didn't miss it.
Boyan was no ordinary brute.
He wasn't just some thug with a bit of talent.
He was a leader—one who understood priorities and command.
Benjamin clenched his teeth. That made him even more dangerous.
Boyan cracked his knuckles, the gauntlets making a soft grinding sound like stone scraping against steel.
Then he turned back to Benjamin.
"Now," he murmured, his blue eyes narrowing like a hunter sighting prey, "where were we?"
---
Dab shifted beside him, her voice low and urgent.
"Ben," she muttered, "this isn't your fight."
He swallowed, his throat dry. "I don't think we have a choice."
"You're not built for frontal combat," she hissed, tail flicking. "Atty's not here, and you—"
She stopped.
Because Benjamin took a step forward.
She frowned. "You better have a plan."
He didn't.
Not really.
But he understood something important.
Strength wasn't the deciding factor here.
Boyan was so far beyond them in raw power that it didn't even matter.
That meant brute force was useless.
But strategy?
That was a different story.
He forced a confident smirk, trying to mask his racing thoughts. "Of course I have a plan."
Dab didn't believe him.
Boyan, however, smiled wider.
"Do you, now?" he mused, amused. "Well, then. Let's see how far that gets you."
The air around them grew tense.
Time seemed to slow.
Then—
Boyan moved.
And the fight began.
--
The moment Boyan stepped forward, Benjamin moved.
He fired his crossbow—two bolts in quick succession—aiming for the legs, then chest. Fast, calculated, relentless.
Boyan didn't even flinch.
He twisted his body with minimal effort, the bolts slicing through the air harmlessly past him.
Benjamin fired again. A feint. The bolt aimed for his foot—a place harder to dodge.
Boyan simply shifted his weight, letting it skid across the stone floor.
No wasted movement.
Benjamin gritted his teeth. He's testing me.
If that was the case—fine. He'd test him back.
He tossed the crossbow to Dab, barely breaking stride.
She caught it mid-air, her eyes widening in surprise.
"You use it," Benjamin said, voice sharp. "It's better in your hands."
She nodded once, her golden eyes gleaming.
He followed up by throwing her the energy ring.
Her grin was wolfish. "Don't mind if I do."
Dab stepped back, taking position on the outskirts, watching for an opening.
Which meant—this fight was Benjamin's alone.
---
Benjamin rushed forward, covering the distance in seconds.
Boyan smiled.
It wasn't an arrogant sneer. Nor was it the expression of someone underestimating their opponent.
It was genuine amusement.
Like a craftsman seeing an intriguing new design.
Benjamin struck first.
A lightning-fast combination—low sweep, rising elbow, rotating palm strike.
Each motion flowed into the next seamlessly, like a river surging forward, adapting to the terrain.
But Boyan was a dam.
He didn't react in panic, didn't even shift his stance.
He simply absorbed everything, his gauntleted forearms shifting slightly to deflect the attacks with perfect control.
The impact rattled Benjamin's bones, but Boyan didn't budge.
Damn.
Benjamin pivoted, spinning mid-air for a mid-kick to the ribs.
Boyan caught his ankle—with one hand—and shoved him back.
Benjamin slid across the stone floor, his boots grinding against loose rock, catching himself just in time.
Boyan tilted his head. "Not bad."
Benjamin's breathing steadied, his golden-silver eyes flashing.
---
He tapped into the only real power he had—his connection with Atty.
It wasn't full Transference.
Atty was too far.
But months of training had sharpened something inside him.
His senses expanded, not beyond human limits, but beyond what an untrained fighter could perceive.
It wasn't a power in the conventional Sage sense.
It was mastery.
His intuition sharpened. His movements became seamless. His body knew what his mind was only just realizing.
And so, when Boyan moved, Benjamin was already reacting.
---
Boyan rushed him this time, covering the gap between them in an instant.
Benjamin barely had time to raise his arms before the first strike landed—
A palm thrust to the ribs, followed by a turning elbow to the shoulder, finishing with a low backfist strike to the temple.
Benjamin evaded the full force, but even a glancing blow sent him staggering.
He rolled backward, pushing off his hands, flipping mid-air, and landing on his feet.
His ribs ached from the impact.
Boyan lowered his stance slightly, his weight shifting like a boulder settling into the earth.
No wasted movements. No unnecessary flourishes.
Every step, every motion was efficient, powerful, disciplined.
Benjamin felt like he was fighting a fortress.
And yet—
He smiled. The fruits of his training were visible. He was stronger than when he entered the academy.
---
The chaos around them seemed to fade.
The soldiers, the Dawads, the torches, the distant screams—
All of it became background noise.
The Black Flame fighters who managed to briefly contain the creatures suddenly stopped, turning their heads toward the fight.
It was impossible not to watch.
Two superhuman fighters, clashing in the midst of chaos, exchanging blows at a speed none of the regular fighters could hope to match.
Even some Dawads, crazed as they were, felt their animalistic instincts flaring sensing something greater, and they hesitated near the edges of the battlefield.
A warrior's duel was unfolding.
One beyond the reach of normal men.
And for just a moment, all of them—Black Flame, slaves, even the mindless creatures—were mere spectators.
The officer's men started cheering.
"Get him, Warden Boyan!" Shouted a bulky and bald fighter holding a short sword and a shield.
"Show the little brat what real power looks like!" Said one of the thralls, a pitiful middle aged man.
Dab snarled, gripping the crossbow tightly, but Benjamin didn't react.
He didn't need to.
He was locked in.
---
Boyan moved again, and this time, Benjamin didn't retreat.
He met the attack head-on.
A barrage of strikes, countering Boyan's force with technical precision—
Parry. Step back. Counter.
Palm strike. Dodge. Redirect.
Boyan's fists moved like hammers, crushing through air where Benjamin had just been standing.
Benjamin's movements were fluid, weaving between the storm of attacks, avoiding just enough to minimize damage while keeping his offensive pressure.
Boyan grinned wider.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You're… trained. But not normal."
Benjamin didn't answer.
His body moved on instinct, his mind analyzing every opening, every subtle shift in weight, every opportunity that could be exploited.
But Boyan…
Boyan had no openings.
He was too experienced, his foundation too unshakable.
Benjamin was the river, flowing fast, unpredictable, relentless—
But Boyan was the dam.
Unmoved. Unshaken.
A clash of force versus flow.
And Benjamin knew.
If something didn't change, he would lose.
---
Dab shouted from the side. "What the hell are you waiting for?! Push him!"
Benjamin breathed heavily, stepping back, his muscles aching.
Boyan rolled his shoulders, his grin never fading.
"Alright," he said, exhaling sharply. "Enough warm-up."
His stance shifted.
His fingers curled tighter around his gauntlets.
And Benjamin felt it.
The atmosphere shifted—a weight pressing down, not quite visible, but undeniable.
This Boyan guy had just been playing, Benjamin thought, grinding his teeth.
Now?
Now, he was serious.
And Benjamin had seconds to come up with something, or he was about to die.