Chapter 4: Heaven-Wrecker
In cities of Mages, some disputes were inevitable. Because of that, a life-and-death stage was built outside the city, where people could settle their personal differences without causing major disturbances.
As long as both parties agreed and signed the arena contract, once inside, even if they killed their opponent, they would receive no punishment; that was an agreement among all the mages in the city.
On most days, this place was packed with excited crowds, and today was no different.
However, after a few fights ended, two young men stepped onto the stage and caused an uproar.
"Priam? The other day, he was almost beaten to death. Isn’t it strange that he’s here today?"
"Hahaha... I bet he doesn’t want to live anymore and wants someone to beat him to death right here!"
"You trash, why did you come back? If you want to kill yourself, find an empty place. Nobody wants to see trash like you, so stop wasting our time!"
In an instant, the audience of hundreds of people was cursing loudly; nobody hid the disgust they felt toward Priam. In this world, the greatest sin was being weak. Even sinister and malicious Mages were admired by many, simply because they were strong.
Priam slowly stepped onto the magic stage.
Othon stepped in as well, stopped in the center, and looked at him indifferently. Meanwhile, Flaris, sitting in the stands, clenched her fists, filled with anguish and nervousness.
*Dong*
The sound of a bell echoed out, signaling the beginning of the duel. The moment that bell rang, life and death were separated by a thin line.
With the ringing of the bell, the crowd, previously chaotic, fell silent.
At that moment, Othon started laughing joyfully. Priam was definitely a complete idiot, so he wanted to take this opportunity to humiliate him in a glorious way!
Othon snorted...
Suddenly, a blood-red aura smoothly flowed across his skin.
Priam watched that and swallowed dryly. That color was the indication of a Fighter Mage Jade Core. After creating the Jade Core corresponding to their class, people slowly became capable of accumulating Ether inside their bodies, either through meditation and breathing or through resources.
Fighter Mages specialized in offensive Magic Arts. They used weapons and techniques focused on speed and overwhelming offensive power. They didn’t possess much defensive power, but they could unleash extremely fast and explosive attacks, killing before they were attacked.
Othon slowly unsheathed his saber, producing a sharp metallic sound.
He stared at Priam, who merely watched him expressionlessly. Then... Othon moved like a blur.
The audience held their breath as they saw him glide like a bird.
He started circling around Priam. His saber danced, slicing through the air with sharp energy and greenish tones, putting on a spectacle worthy of applause.
’He didn’t attack immediately, he just... danced around the arena surrounding his opponent? Was this supposed to be a fight?’ Priam thought in astonishment.
"That’s the Spiritual Tempest! That’s the Ancestral Art of the Eyes of the Wind race! Othon is so young, yet he can already use it at this level! What terrifying talent!" someone from the stands exclaimed.
Praise rained down, inflating Othon’s vanity. Right now, he felt like the star of the show.
Flaris, in the stands, wore a furious expression. That was because she felt this was deeply unfair. An Ancestral Art and a Magic Art were like the claws and fangs of a tiger.
The Ancestral Art was the core technique of a race. It was something the creator of the race had left behind so their descendants could draw out the maximum power of their bloodline. Meanwhile, Magic Arts were complementary techniques that a Mage learned.
The problem was that neither Flaris nor Priam possessed either of those things because of the clan’s rules. They could only become Mages and study at most until the age of fifteen, then they would be taken to the main clan to participate in a coming-of-age ceremony. Only then would they receive the race’s Ancestral Art, and only then could they study others.
Priam was already much, much weaker... and now, with his opponent displaying such a high level in his Ancestral Art, it was definitely impossible for him to win.
However, when she focused on Priam, she was surprised to notice something different in his eyes.
Priam thought in surprise. ’Why... how?’
Just like everyone else in the arena, the moment Othon started moving, he looked like an impossible-to-see blur. But after mere seconds, when Priam focused with everything he had...
...it was as if the world had entered slow motion.
He could clearly see his opponent moving and felt that he could hit him easily if he wanted to.
Only after a few seconds did his gaze change as he remembered something.
Transcendental-level Anima.
’It has to be that!’
Priam became excited. The information he had received about Anima said that it heavily influenced combat power. But because his was partially sealed, he imagined he wouldn’t notice much difference.
But now... even though he had never trained in combat and was a complete amateur, he felt as if he possessed limitless capability.
"Take this!"
With a furious roar, Othon finally charged forward.
His saber traced a deadly arc, bringing with it emerald-colored winds that howled like beasts, creating a visual spectacle worthy of a genius of his bloodline.
But for Priam, the feeling was the opposite.
’So slow... I just need to hit him with... Oh!’ Priam thought, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.
Without hesitation, he waved his hand.
The spatial ring on his finger shone, and the audience held their breath, expecting him to pull out a divine relic or a legendary weapon. Unfortunately...
"What?!" someone shouted.
Flaris, in the stands, widened her eyes in confusion.
At that moment, Priam pulled out... a branch?
’Yes, a branch!’
It was a piece of wood the size of a sword blade, black and with a texture that looked like old rubber. It had a few equally black leaves, and the moment everyone looked at it, they felt a strange uneasiness.
Priam held the branch as if it were a sword.
Othon’s attack was finally approaching, but he didn’t retreat even a single centimeter.
"Hahaha! This trash went insane from fear!" the crowd in the stands mocked.
However, the ridicule died in everyone’s throats. Othon’s blade abruptly stopped centimeters away from Priam’s face.
"Good heavens!"
All the men in the stands swallowed dryly and felt cold sweat run down their spines.
The reason? Priam’s foot had found Othon’s "center of gravity" with surgical precision — right between his legs. It was as if Othon had thrown his descendants directly into the abyss by crashing into Priam’s foot.
Othon’s face, previously radiant, turned the color of a ripe eggplant. He tried to let out a scream, but only the sound of escaping air came out from his lips. It was in that moment of agonizing paralysis that Priam acted.
*PLAP!*
It wasn’t the sound of metal against flesh, but the wet and humiliating smack of elastic wood hitting a soft face.
Othon felt his neck shake and the world spin; it was as if he had been struck by a sledgehammer disguised as a toy. He flew away, then rolled across the ground. But instinct forced him to quickly stand back up, trying to swallow the pain even while still confused.
The audience was in deathly silence.
A black, wavy mark like a soot whip stretched across Othon’s aristocratic face.
"Wow!"
Priam exclaimed while waving the branch. He could feel the vibration and power of his incomparable weapon.
But... it was very soft and elastic.
’What a waste... it can’t kill anyone, but it leaves behind a curse mark... that’s going to take a long time to leave his soul.’
Priam smiled. Of course, if he became much stronger and used this branch precisely, he could probably kill someone. But against people of the same level or stronger, this "weapon" would hardly be useful for causing serious damage.
Even so, he felt this weapon was interesting and had many unconventional uses.
"DIE!" Othon roared, his face purple with fury and veins bulging on his forehead. He exploded with energy in a blind frenzy.
Othon’s strike sliced through the air, but Priam simply took a sideways step, almost lazily.
"!"
The audience widened their eyes.
Priam simply dodged as if he were a master warrior in hand-to-hand combat. He made it look so easy that it shocked everyone.
Othon stumbled from his own momentum and, before he could reorient himself, saw that black flexible thing coming toward him again.
*THWACK-BOING!*
The branch whipped across Othon’s face, bounced back, and struck him again on the shoulder before Priam had even finished the movement. The sound was ridiculous, but the impact sent Othon flying five meters away.
"What the hell... it looks like he’s beating him up with a magical slipper..." one spectator muttered in astonishment.
Othon tried to stand up, swaying like a drunk man. His vision was blurry, but he still saw Priam calmly walking toward him.
The branch moved as if it were one with the heavens and earth!
*SLAP! SLAP!*
"NO!" the poor guy roared, full of pain and humiliation.
*PLAP! THWACK!*
The sound was rhythmic, like a very unfriendly round of applause. Wherever the branch struck, Othon’s expensive silk clothes tore into strips, and the black marks piled up.
Priam moved the branch in an anomalous way; the wood seemed to bend through the air to bypass the enemy’s defense, only to snap against his skin with a mocking sound.
It wasn’t just that he could see everything in slow motion. Because of the Transcendental Anima, Priam’s reasoning and movements were far too abnormal. He could easily see the movements and dodge, as well as counterattack, however he wanted. Even a complete amateur like him could win this fight.
"Ugh... ug..."
Othon fell to his knees. Cold sweat and white foam mixed across his face, now "decorated" with black stripes.
He was physically exhausted, but the real pain was the fact that he was being whipped into submission... by a branch!
Priam stopped in front of him and raised the branch high while announcing to the entire stadium with a smirk:
"I present to you... the Heaven-Wrecker, World-Ender Branch!"
That day, the audience learned that there was nothing more dangerous — and humiliating — than a man with a cursed branch and not a shred of mercy.
