Still somewhat shaken by what had just transpired, Orion nearly missed the blur rushing toward him.

  Ophelia lunged like a human missile whose sole intention was to send him tumbling to the ground, but he was quick enough to steady himself with a weak kinetic spell, and his improvements in the Body score did the rest, allowing him to survive unscathed.

  She slammed into his chest hard, but from the whine that followed, he knew she had taken the worst of the exchange.

  “That’s what you get for trying to kill me,” he chuckled, and she pulled back, pouting.

  “You will miss me so much when you’re gone, you don’t even realize it!” she replied, sticking her tongue out and marching off to where everyone else was gathered.

  Kissea finally released the exhausted guard, whose eyes were dull and unfocused from the lengthy lecture she’d given him, and moved directly to the side, where the other chaperones for the day were resting in the shade of a pavilion that had been set up, seemingly for the occasion, since it hadn’t been there last time.

  “Orion!” Jordan’s familiar voice called, and he looked over to see that his friend was already in the ring, seemingly having just finished a practice round with a young man a few years older than them.

  “I hope you haven’t tired yourself out yet, because I have a lot of things I want to try, and I don’t see that many test subjects, so you might have to pick up the slack,” Orion said, letting just a tiny bit of his mad scientist instincts show, and earning a cough of laughter.

  “I apologize, that might be my fault,” the young man said with a mild-mannered smile, which triggered alarms in Orion’s mind. Something about the guy told him he wasn’t as harmless as he seemed, so he didn’t hesitate to inspect him.

  Yacob Wester — Successor of the Fourth Order

  Class: [Dawnblade] [C-rank]

  Level: 91

  Mind: 150

  Attunement: 301

  Body: 398

  Traits: Radiant Swordsmanship [C-rank]; Blade of Purgatory [C-rank]; Rallying Presence [C-rank]; Inner Mana Manipulation [C-rank]

  As expected, he was nothing to scoff at. His Body score, in particular, was quite high, and his attunement exceeded Orion’s despite being a martial class. Hell, his Mind was also reasonably decent, considering he probably wasn’t earning many points for it.

  All three stats, along with his Traits, contributed to making him a very dedicated and dangerous man who couldn’t be older than twenty-five but was clearly on track to reach the third tier.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure,” Orion smiled back politely, prompting Yacob to incline his head and introduce himself.

  “As I was saying, I am the reason why there are so few trainees compared to your previous visits. You see, with the change in leadership at the High Council, the Grandmaster of the Radiant Vigil decided that we needed to renew our presence in Valderun to keep up with the times.”

  Orion lifted an eyebrow, turning to Jordan and silently questioning if he would be leaving too, but the other shook his head. “I am one of the few who are staying. Another couple of guys are too, but the rest are going back to the Vigil, and we have been given leave to recruit newcomers, or, as it’s more likely to happen, train up a new batch that will be sent to us.”

  That explained some things, but not why Yacob said it was his fault. He said as much, earning a nod.

  “Among those sent back were some of the older guards who had become a bit too accustomed to the relaxed lifestyle of the capital. Nothing that a little strict reeducation won’t fix, I assure you, but we couldn’t allow our representatives to be seen as indolent and lazy. I will be taking over the training of the trainees and wanted to participate in this small session to gauge what the more promising youths here are capable of, if you don’t mind,” he said, speaking in a tone that made it clear he knew he wouldn’t be denied, but also that he wasn’t arrogant enough to just demand it.

  It was a bit of a departure from the more bro-like members of the Vigil he’d met so far, and it made him wonder if the rumors about ascetic paladins self-flagellating in search of purity had any truth to them, considering how rigid Yacob seemed beneath his friendliness, but he decided to withhold judgment for now.

  “I will be glad to. I’m sure we’ll learn a lot from sparring with you, and having someone who won’t go down with a single spell will help keep my ego in check.” He replied, and both Jordan and Ophelia made outraged noises back at him, promising they would show him exactly what was what if he kept talking his mouth.

  That successfully eased the low tension that had subtly built up with Yacob’s words, though Orion didn’t miss the warning look Ophelia sent him.

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  That guy means business, got it.

  “So, how are we doing this? I was expecting a repeat of the all-out round we did last time,” he said to keep the conversation moving, though he paused to glance at the people watching them with a new awareness.

  Whereas last time, the embassy’s grounds were filled with loud laughter, jockeying, and all-around chaos, it was now much tidier, if in an almost sterile way.

  The paladins watching them were all dressed neatly in their shining armor, and their expressions were closed.

  Has the Grandmaster really put his thumb on the scale this much? Or will it settle down once they realize things won’t escalate with Antares in charge?

  He didn’t know, but he sincerely hoped it was the latter, because while he wasn’t a fan of loud noises, this level of control reminded him of the worst aspects of living in the Sanctum. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Jordan, who was much more easygoing than he was.

  With a slightly awkward laugh, the squire tried to steer the day back on track, leading Orion and Ophelia to the sparring ring that had been prepared.

  Like in the past, a member of the Vigil in less martial clothes awaited them, serving as both referee and healer in case anyone got really hurt, though Orion didn’t expect that to happen, given the level of control he now had over mana.

  Orion felt Yacob’s gaze settle heavily as he and Jordan stepped onto the chalked ring. The man didn’t bother to hide his interest, and Orion wondered how much the man had already learned about him.

  He probably knows who I am in detail, but not what I want to do, though I shouldn’t expect that to last much longer.

  It was his last day in Valderun. Whatever Yacob knew or suspected wouldn’t change that. It was better to learn something himself and, if he was lucky, provoke a useful reaction.

  They took their positions. The referee, a caster dressed in plain linen with a silver torque, raised a hand, and the pavilion’s murmurs, the sounds of armor clicking, and the boots scuffling soon quieted into expectant silence.

  “Begin,” he called.

  [Light Exoskeleton] formed around Orion in a smooth, glassy sheath, with plates forming along his limbs and ribs, a luminous brace supporting his spine. The crowd hummed in surprise, and a few appreciative grunts followed. Jordan seemed to notice the changes in the spell too, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He moved low and fast, shifting into a stance, and tore his sword free from its scabbard.

  The draw blossomed into something new. It didn’t feel like a spell so much as a match catching fire, which only kept growing into a wave of gold. It hit Orion’s suit hard, and he slid back a couple of feet, heels skidding across the grit, light plates humming, but the overall shell remained strong.

  No, this isn’t nearly enough to stress it. Give me more.

  Jordan’s grin showed he was just getting started. He moved again, trying to keep Orion off balance.

  “Fine,” he murmured, adjusting his stance and fighting the urge to end this immediately. Instead, he thrust his hand forward, and [Wind Push] howled.

  Jordan caught it on his side and spun around, holding his blade close, boots bouncing on the gravel. He allowed the energy to propel him several feet back, but bent his knees upon contact with the ground and leapt back into combat range with a slash that shimmered with golden energy.

  Orion let it clash against the plate on his forearm and responded with a series of miniature [Wind Pushes] to Jordan’s shoulders, which forced him to waste more mana to stay upright.

  The squire rolled with the hits, using them to build his momentum, and tried a shoulder check to force him back. Orion slid out of the line, hit the other’s back with another [Wind Push], and Jordan corkscrewed past him instead of tumbling, landing in a crouch with a laugh.

  They moved faster from that point on, both aware that the other could handle it. Orion stuck to fair spells, avoiding the more showy magic that would end the duel too soon and go against its spirit, and Jordan responded with the best swordsmanship Orion had seen so far, executing quick, sharp arcs of half-swording, only to shift to a sudden lunge that feinted into a grapple, and demonstrating a level of body control that could be achieved only after a decade of daily training.

  Yet it still wasn’t enough to truly push him. The gap in rank and level was too wide, and Orion had to intentionally go out of his way to extend the match, which caught the attention of the more alert spectators. Yacob’s focus sharpened like a razor, and Orion felt it as a prick against his neck.

  Jordan found an opening and struck low, but Orion jumped, allowing the edge to pass through the empty space where his ankle was, then layered two [Wind Pushes] at crossing angles.

  The first hit lands on Jordan’s chest; the second strikes his hips. He adjusts, of course, but Orion knew he would, and reversed the local gravity from beneath the squire’s boots, creating a compact ten-meter bubble he’d been forming during the exchange, then flicked a third push straight upward.

  Jordan shot upward with a loud yelp, spinning around.

  A ghostly hand as large as a wagon bed materialized around him as the referee finally intervened and carefully lowered him to the ground.

  Polite claps were followed by loud cheers and cackles of delight, showing that not everyone was as uptight as Yacob.

  Jordan shot up instantly, hair wild, grin wilder, and obviously eager to jump back in. Yacob’s hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could take a step.

  “Feron,” he called without raising his voice.

  A man in his early twenties stepped forward, already unbuckling his straps. He shed his fine armor, handed it to a squire, and shrugged into a plain tunic. He was calm, watchful, and confident, all signs of a dangerous opponent.

  Orion quickly activated his glasses. If Yacob sent him, he had to be quite something.

  Feron Hale — Fourth Order Paladin

  Class: [Merciful Blade] [C-rank]

  Level: 67

  Mind: 92

  Attunement: 168

  Body: 214

  Traits: Castigator of Faded Light [C-rank]; Inner Mana Manipulation [C-rank]; Radiant Swordsmanship [C-rank]

  The numbers posed less of a threat than Yacob’s but were still enough to make him dangerous. However, one Trait stood out immediately: [Castigator of Faded Light].

  The name suggested a particular specialty, leaving Orion with much to think about.

  He suddenly felt the urge to see what that meant and prepared to cast something a bit different from what these people might be used to.

  “I accept,” he said, then let [Light Exoskeleton] fade away. He flexed his fingers and shrugged his shoulders, noticing how the pavilion’s atmosphere shifted from mere curiosity to a hint of unease.

  Feron, for his part, simply nodded as if he had never had a choice and stepped to the mark with his hands open. He held no blade or shield. The referee looked between them and clearly decided it was beyond his pay grade.

  “Begin.”

  Orion shaped an [Infinite Laser] and shot it toward Feron’s shoulder in a test fire, keeping the “holy” parts of the light from influencing the spell’s formula.

  Feron’s posture conveyed a lot: he stood with his arms crossed, chin raised, and weight evenly distributed. He intended to accept the blow openly, to let it break on his skin and use it to make a statement about the superiority of paladins.

  The beam touched his tunic and kept going. It sliced through cloth, flesh, and muscle as if they were butter, carving a burning line through his back in the same moment.

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