Clive studied his opponent with his [Artist's Eyes], searching for any signs of weakness. The bound limb should have created an opening, disrupted Kell's center of gravity, limited his defensive options. Instead, Kell had adapted his stance to accommodate the constraint.

  Balanced on the balls of his feet, free hand loose at his side, breathing controlled and steady. Even handicapped, his form remained flawless.

  A blood red aura pulsed from him, thick enough that the air around him seemed to congeal.

  [Battle Aura 5%]

  [Huntmaster Kell]

  Power level: 120

  One hundred and twenty. Almost three times stronger than Clive. No holes to exploit.

  Clive took the momentary lull to strategize. From his previous observations, Kell was a warrior. Close combat was his forte, so he recognized the need to maintain distance. His brush swept across red pigment.

  [Paint: Red Fireball I]

  "A mage, eh?" Kell's voice dripped with disdain.

  With a flick, Clive launched the fireball toward Kell. It cut through the air with a hungry roar, but Kell sidestepped it with ease, letting the flames pass by harmlessly to dissipate against the far wall.

  Before the last fire faded, the air around Kell shimmered. A circle of weapons materialized around him.

  [Armiger Arsenal]

  "I'll go with this then." Kell's fingers closed around a dagger. The remaining weapons vanished, returning to the dimensional pocket that housed them.

  "I present to you Magekiller," he said, lifting the blade, which gleamed with a shiny blue sheen. "Made of mithril. It doesn't just cut flesh, it devours magic itself."

  Clive launched another [Red Fireball I] at him. This time, he didn’t dodge. Instead, he effortlessly swiped his dagger through the fireball, consuming it. The dagger thrummed with absorbed fire before returning to its blue stillness.

  Damn it.

  [Red Fireball I] wasn’t enough. He needed something bigger and badder. He needed:

  [Mix: Amber Fireball II]

  Clive began another drawing. This time, he layered colors—red for heat, yellow for intensity, blue for control. A more potent spell was taking shape.

  "Tell me, Clive, do you know what the weakness of a mage is?" Kell called as he dashed into motion.

  The distance between them vanished in an eyeblink. Clive barely registered the movement before Kell appeared in front of him, the dagger aimed at his wrist. Clive stumbled backward as the blade whispered through the air where his brush had been. The half-formed spell fizzled out.

  "They're too… damn… slow."

  Clive retreated, creating space between them.

  "Mages chain themselves to gestures, to spoken words," Kell continued, chasing after Clive without allowing him breathing room.

  "They try to overcome it. [Swiftcast], [Surecast], [Triplecast]. " He pressed the attack, forcing Clive to abandon yet another half-formed spell. "But at the end of the day, nothing is faster than a quick dagger strike."

  Kell launched a thrust toward Clive's shoulder. "So tell me, mage. What will you do when steel finds you before your spell finds form?"

  Clive twisted away, the blade passing close enough that he felt its displacement in the air. His back was pressed against the cold stone wall. Nowhere left to retreat.

  But even now, Clive showed no fear.

  "You're right about mages," Clive said as he faced the Huntmaster head-on. "But you're misunderstanding something."

  Kell tilted his head slightly, “And what might that be?”

  “I’m not a mage.” Clive's free hand moved to his satchel, withdrawing his sketchbook. "I'm an artist."

  On noticing his movement, Kell dived towards him, thrusting his dagger forward.

  Clive flipped the sketchbook to a page of a sword.

  [Draw: Sword (High Quality)]

  A flash of light and the drawing lifted from the page and condensed into Clive’s hands. He executed a defensive sweep that forced Kell to step back.

  "What in the Light's name was that?" The question escaped before Kell could master his reaction. His gaze darted between the sword and the sketchbook. "Creation magic? No, it can't be. Must be a trick."

  "Four minutes!" called the timekeeper.

  Kell launched another attack. Steel met steel as they engaged, the clang of blades echoing through the arena. Kell's superior technique was immediately apparent, but Clive’s longer reach kept Kell at a cautious distance, forcing the veteran hunter to work for every inch.

  Kell pressed in again but Clive was ready. His brush flicked yellow paint at the Huntmaster's face. His fastest spell that he could cast in under a second.

  [Paint: Lightning Burst 0]

  Electric light crackled between them. Kell flinched, blinking against the flash. The energy dispersed harmlessly, but it bought Clive the seconds he needed to reset his stance.

  “Was that fast enough for you?” Clive asked.

  The Huntmaster wiped his eyes and smirked. "Cute trick. But you’ll need more than that.”

  He gestured at Clive’s grip. “You have a fine sword, but your sword mastery is first or second tier at best. You're no swordsman."

  Clive nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m not a swordsman nor a mage… I’m an artist."

  Kell gave a puzzled expression. “An artist eh. Let’s see how you handle this.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  [Armiger Arsenal]

  Light fractured around him as weapons materialized and vanished in the same breath. When the glow faded, a different dagger rested in his grip.

  "Smart thinking, using reach to counter my dagger. But a dabbler with a blade—"

  Clive’s [Motion Vision] sensed the shift in Kell's posture, tension gathering in his legs. The strike was imminent.

  "—is still just a dabbler."

  The Huntmaster exploded forward like a released spring. Clive swung his sword in a defensive arc, anticipating the attack.

  But the Huntmaster was too fast. One moment at a distance, the next inside Clive's guard. Their weapons met. This time, it was not the clean ring of clashing steel, but a grating noise.

  Up close, Clive finally saw the peculiar design of Kell’s dagger, its edge was serrated not for cutting but for catching. With a twist of his wrist, Clive's sword shattered mid-blade, the upper half spinning away to clatter against the stone floor.

  Clive looked down at the jagged metal in his hand. Half a sword. The upper portion lay spinning across the stone floor.

  "Swordbreaker—" Kell explained, holding up the dagger for Clive to see clearly. Its unusual profile now made sense, notches along one edge designed to trap and snap an opponent's blade. "—a legendary parrying dagger capable of breaking any sword."

  "Any more tricks, artist. Or have you exhausted your palette?"

  Despite his exhaustion, Clive smirked. This feeling of tension felt exhilarating. "Just one more," he muttered under his breath.

  From his satchel, Clive withdrew a carefully rolled canvas. The canvas of reality. Certainty’s gift. He had spent the previous nights drawing a new background, one inspired by the Huntmaster himself. If the Huntmaster could have his own pocket dimension to store his weapons, then so could he.

  "What are you—" Kell began, but fell silent as the canvas glowed.

  [Background: Hill of Swords]

  [Environment effect: Sword Mastery x 2]

  The painting depicted a windswept hilltop at dusk, the ground bristling with swords of every description. Clive had spent over five hours of meticulous work rendering the detail on each individual. Now, it was time to taste the fruit of his effort.

  As Clive held the canvas aloft, colors leaked from the painting to stain the world around them.

  Reality bent to the will of art.

  The arena blurred at the edges as the flat stone floor rose into the gentle slopes of the painted hill. A hundred swords materialized, erupting from the ground in concentric circles around Clive.

  Kell looked in awe. “Reality warping now. Only the gods should have this power. Just who are you, Clive Weston?”

  “An artist,” Clive repeated as he assumed a combat stance. "Shall we begin round two?"

  Kell's surprise gave way to the fierce joy of a hunter facing something truly new. "With pleasure."

  What followed was a dance of steel unlike anything the watching hunters had ever witnessed. Kell's experience and natural skill clashed against Clive's environment-enhanced abilities. When the Huntermaster's swordbreaker shattered Clive's blade, another was already in his hand.

  “You can break one sword,” Clive called across the transformed arena, gesturing to the forest of blades surrounding them. “But can you break them all?”

  "An impressive display," Kell acknowledged, surveying the impossible landscape Clive had conjured. "But all the swords in the world can't beat a good spear."

  [Armiger Arsenal]

  Light fractured around Kell as his arsenal manifested again. This time, he selected a spear, seven feet of polished darkwood shaft capped with a wicked leaf-shaped blade.

  Without warning, Kell dived forward. Its reach transformed the dynamics of combat in an instant.

  Clive snatched a sword from the ground and parried. He barely had time to register the impact before the spear was coming again, attacking from a new angle. The spear's blade sliced through Clive's sleeve, drawing a line of blood across his forearm. Not deep, but a pointed reminder of what was at stake.

  "The advantage of reach is not easily overcome," Kell called, maintaining a perfect distance. Close enough to strike, too far for Clive's sword to retaliate. "No matter how many blades you command."

  Clive was forced to give ground, retreating up the hillside as Kell pressed forward. The spear's reach kept him perpetually on the defensive, unable to close the gap without exposing himself to the deadly point.

  Clive's mind raced, analyzing options as he continued his tactical retreat. A memory surfaced from his previous life—Blade Edge volume twelve, the duel between Blade and Lance. Page after page of brutal exchanges, the swordsman forced back by relentless spear thrusts.

  The manga's climax flashed through his thoughts. Blade's desperate gambit in the final panels, abandoning defense entirely. The author's note in the margin: "Against superior reach, only one strategy remains—get inside or die trying."

  Clive could still picture the two-page spread where Soren charged straight into the lance point, using his body to close the distance for a single killing stroke.

  But Blade had been fiction. Ink on paper.

  Kell was real steel and muscle, stronger and faster than Clive by every measure. The Huntmaster's movements held decades of experience that no manga panel could capture. A straightforward charge wouldn't end with a heroic victory—just Clive skewered on seven feet of wood and steel.

  He needed something unpredictable. He needed to get mad.

  His hand moved to his palette, fingers finding the vibrant red pigment. Throughout history, red had symbolized many things—danger, power, vitality. But at its most primal, red was the color of blood, of rage, of the berserker's abandon.

  [Paint: Red Rage I]

  Kell noticed Clive’s attempt to cast a spell and sought to interrupt him. "No, you don't."

  But Clive was faster. The brush touched his skin. The magic activated instantly, red pigment sinking beneath his skin, spreading through his veins like liquid fire.

  The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Rationality receded before a tide of primal fury. Colors intensified, sounds sharpened.

  Kell's eyes widened as he recognized what was happening. "Buffing magic now? Is there anything you can’t —"

  Clive didn't let him finish. In the blink of an eye, he flashed in front of Kell.

  The spear came to meet him, its deadly point aimed at his heart. In the rational corner of his mind that remained untouched by the rage-magic, Clive recognized the trap. Kell was using his momentum against him, turning his charge into impalement.

  But the Red Rage had transformed more than just his emotional state. His perception altered. The spear's thrust appeared slow, its path predictable in a way it hadn't been moments before.

  At the last possible instant, Clive twisted. The spear's blade passed along his ribs, slicing fabric and skin. The pain barely registered through the haze of magical fury.

  And suddenly, critically, he was inside the spear's effective range.

  Kell's expression shifted from confidence to surprise as Clive crashed into him. "Impressive," he breathed, attempting to backstep and reestablish his optimal range.

  But Clive, still burning with the crimson fury of his Red Rage, moved like a man possessed. He clung to Kell like a shadow, matching each retreat with a relentless advance. He sliced in a tight arc. Kell twisted, but not quickly enough. The edge found purchase along his forearm, drawing a thin line of blood.

  Kell glanced at the cut, then barked a sudden laugh. "You're such an interesting person, Clive Weston!" he called. "Just when I thought I had you measured!"

  [Battle Aura 10%]

  [Huntmaster Kell]

  Power level: 150

  The red aura around him thickened like coagulating blood, deepening from crimson to something darker. The air itself seemed to pulse with his heartbeat as his power level spiked.

  Kell spun the spear in his hand and hurled it at Clive's chest.

  Clive's enhanced reflexes allowed him to knock the transformed weapon aside, but the thrown spear had been misdirection.

  In the split second Clive's attention was divided, Kell closed the distance between them. As Clive attempted a desperate swing, Kell's free hand snaked out from behind his back, capturing Clive's wrist.

  "This close," Kell said, thrusting a dagger at Clive, "even a sword is deadweight."

  Clive could feel the displaced air against his skin, sensing the certainty of steel about to taste flesh.

  But before the dagger could find its mark, the timekeeper’s voice cracked through the arena. “Ten minutes. Time.”

  The dagger froze a hair's breadth from Clive's throat, close enough that his pulse beat against the cold metal.

  "An educational session, wouldn't you say, artist?" Kell smiled as he lowered his blade, but the expression froze when he felt something pressed against ribs. Looking down, he discovered Clive's brush poised there.

  “It was very educational, indeed. I enjoyed our session,” Clive replied, lowering his brush.

  The Huntmaster's eyes widened before a rich laugh erupted from his chest.

  Around them, reality reasserted itself. The hill gradually flattening, the distant swords fading like stars at dawn.

  As the last traces of his creation faded, Clive met the Huntmaster's evaluating gaze. "So, how did I do?"

  Kell sheathed his daggers and clasped Clive's shoulder. "You've done more than well, you've surprised me. Just where did Lucia find someone like you?"

  He motioned toward the exit. "Come. Let me tell you about the shadowfen."

  [HP + 10]

  [Power Level +2]

  The greatest weapon is not forged in fire, but born in imagination. For while steel may break and magic may fail, true artistry adapts to any canvas.

  -The Legendary Moonlight Artist