Arnault dug deep into his soul.

  Their method so similar to cultivation yet distinct, was called Soulforging—the tempering of the spirit into something more. It carried all the benefits of cultivation but none of the weaknesses. Yet, for reasons of secrecy and doctrine, few techniques within the Order were ever officially named. More often than not, the techniques and names always stayed with at least two people, the mentor and the student. The one Arnault was about to use was among those unspoken arts.

  Reality Overwrite. Soul Territory. Astral Emanation. Phantasm Anchor. Dreamscape Emanation, Soulrealm Reverie, and Soulscape Projection are just some of the names various members have given it.

  Arnault himself had once called it émanation Onirique. He chuckled faintly, remembering Vi’s teasing words. He was starting to think he was right.

  We really are starting to sound incredibly chuuni. He sighed inwardly. If it’s not the Americans, then it’s the Japanese coining ridiculous names that make our work all the harder, or more embarrassing.

  Then—he let go.

  A surge of power erupted from within him. The enemy’s Boundless Field: Space trembled, not destroyed but overwhelmed. Arnault’s will and soul expanded outward, superimposing his Soulscape over their reality and the black void shattered like glass.

  Then an endless horizon and radiant blue sky replaced the blackness. The battlefield became a vast plain of emerald grass swaying beneath a sun that had no source.

  His assailants flinched and shielded their eyes from the sudden brilliance. When they looked back, their expressions hardened.

  Arnault had changed.

  Where once stood a man in a torn suit, now towered a knight in glorious argent armor, his form regal and composed. The silver plates shimmered with faint runes of sanctity, draped in a sash of azure and a shawl of crimson. A greathelm crowned his head, adorned with golden laurels and a tall plume of crimson horsehair.

  In his right hand, a conical lance of diamond-tipped brilliance hummed with barely restrained force; in his left, a bluish white longsword etched with runes and glyphs. His steed, a massive Percheron of marble-white skin and a mane of living flame pawed at the earth, eager for battle.

  Standing before them, donned in his Regalia: Resplendissant Arnault was Arnault Fran?ois de Martine, Archon of the Western Domains.

  “Gentlemen, the true fight can now begin,” Arnault said, tone rich with calm joy. He raised his lance, Ode, in salute before lowering it and pointing at the leader. “En Garde!”

  With roars of fury two of his opponents rose to meet his challenge.

  The world inside the field erupted as four demigods clashed—three against one. Elemental vs spiritual, System vs Soulforge.

  Erudition Torrent!

  The air screamed as bolts of lightning rained down from the heavens, like torrential rain, carving molten scars across the plain, chasing the silver blur of Arnault’s gallop.

  Jagged Baluster!

  His mount weaved between columns of jagged stone that erupted from the ground, each pillar an attempt to cage or impale him.

  Nova Barrage!

  Arnault spun the lance once, carving a crescent of light that cleaved through a dozen flaming projectiles. Yet, dozens more fireballs the size of minivans detonated around him, their shockwaves flattening and scorching the grass into smoking craters.

  One swing of his blade and a crescent of sun fire erupted from the edge, dispersing his enemy’s formation.

  Arnault pressed onward, his aura expanding, his domain resonating with every hoofbeat of Eclat. Each pulse of light from his armor dispelled an incoming strike, turning enemy spells into shreds of harmless brilliance.

  During this time, the one opponent he had merely knocked unconscious had awoken from the sounds of the battle. Their leader with a peal of thunder teleported to him and shouted, “Contain his Field!”

  The man responded instantly and after a few seconds, three overlapping magic circles snapped into place in the sky. Runes glowed beneath the earth, forming a sigil of binding that began to constrict Arnault’s Domain.

  But this was his world.

  Arnault raised his lance, its edge glowed with starlight.

  The grassland stilled then began to tremble. He lowered it and a beam of pure light tore through the sigil like a crack in glass, dispersing the magic. The backlash flung the one constricting his domain backwards, his magical wards flickering and sparking.

  Thunder Step!” the leader barked—and in a flash of static discharge he reappeared before the formation of glowing circles, lightning still clinging to his body.

  Arnault urged Eclat forward. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the distance became zero. His lance met the enemy’s overlapping magic circles with a ringing impact, shattering their Aegises like brittle ice.

  He twisted and brought his longsword down in an arc.

  Chthonic Blue Steel met energy blade in the clanging of metal and a shower of sparks that sprayed like meteors on the ground.

  The leader blocked—barely. The impact still launched him several meters back in the air.

  Arnault’s voice called out, steady and cold. “Well now, in case you don’t know, within my soul, I am sovereign.”

  The fire mage had already recovered and loosed another volley of fireballs—larger, hotter, roaring like miniature suns.

  “Your Order has a saying, that you are gods, hidden among men,” The leader grimaced, rallying his men. “Then let us see if a god still bleeds!”

  Arnault laughed, bright and reckless, avoiding the spells shot at him or deflecting others with his lance. His enemies had foolishly overextended their formations and had left one where the others cannot assist. He turned his gaze toward the earth-user—grounded, and now dangerously isolated.

  “That is just a saying! At least we don’t act like we are gods!” he shot back, “We work for a living! We have day jobs!”

  He lowered his lance again and urged Eclat into another full charge. The distance closed in seconds, the air shattering in his wake.

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  The earth-user stood his ground anticipating the charge. When he judged Arnault had fully committed his charge, he slammed a hand to the ground.

  “Iron Curtain!”

  A tall wall of gleaming metal erupted, thick as a fortress gate. He laid his hand upon it, channeling a torrent of blessings.

  “Grand Aegis!”

  “Iron Castle!”

  “Greater Force Armor!”

  “Unyielding Bastion!”

  The barrier glowed white-gold, dense as a mountain.

  Behind Arnault, lightning sparked and crackled.

  “Thunder Step!”

  The leader blinked into position at Arnault’s back, sword hand raised, ready to deliver the killing blow.

  Two meters.

  Anticipation grew as the two waited for Arnault to fall into their trap, for they had deliberately left one open so they can lure him in. Everything was perfect. Their trap was set.

  One.

  BOOOOM!

  The impact shook the world again—but the Arnault that struck the barrier exploded into shards of light, scattering like glass. The two men froze in disbelief. A split second later the two men turned around to see the source of the explosion.

  The fire-user’s chest detonated in a bright blossom of light and flame. His torso from the waist up disintegrated to ash, spreading on the wind before vanishing. The remains crumpled and fell down on the grass with a final small thud.

  A refraction spell—simple light bending, elegantly timed.

  The real Arnault was seated astride Eclat several paces behind the corpse, his armor still gleaming in the sky of his own domain, his lance still humming with white light.

  He looked down upon the two survivors with calm disdain. Now the odds tilted in Arnault’s favor.

  Once a charge has begun—. The words of his grandfather echoed in his mind.

  His voice carried over to his opponents like thunder over the quiet field. “I do not stop!”

  The two surviving attackers braced themselves, preparing for another of Arnault’s devastating charges.

  But this time, Arnault did something unexpected. He planted his lance onto éclat’s side and secured it in place. When he surged forward again, both opponents instinctively leapt back.

  Arrogant Totem!

  Erudition Lance!

  One of his attackers raised corrupted pillars of earth, shooting up skyward, while the other unleashed a spear of red lightning that screamed as it tore through the air.

  Arnault ducked low, the lightning scraping past his helm in a flash of ozone. éclat deftly sidestepped the tainted columns that would have cursed them with weakness on contact.

  He pivoted mid-charge, his eyes locking onto the earth-user. With his lance still secured to éclat’s side, Arnault extended his right arm in a sweeping gesture—an unspoken command.

  Eclat responded instantly. Her form shimmered, collapsed inward, and transformed into a radiant sphere of light. Before either of his opponents could react, Eclat in sphere form, streaked forward like a comet. It struck the earth-user dead in the chest, the impact resounding like a thunderclap

  Arnault leapt from the saddle mid-motion, landing hard, sword in hand. He skidded across the grass for fifty meters, one gauntleted hand gouging a long furrow to break his momentum.

  éclat did not stop. She carried through the charge, a streak of divine light across the horizon, dragging the earth-user with her and away from the leader. The force of the impact was enough to flatten hills. In moments, both vanished from sight.

  The battle was now one on one. A masterful upset, he thought to himself. But there was no time for celebration. He still didn’t know the full extent of the cabal leader’s power, and the fourth mage—the one who had first tried to constrict his Domain—could awaken at any moment.

  As he stood up and turned just in time to catch a thrust aimed at his face, deflecting it with the flat of his blade.

  Crushing Blow!

  The leader had already closed the distance, shifting into a stance that mixed swordsmanship with brutal boxing strikes. Each jab was a hybrid of kinetic energy and mana discharge, each blow could crush rocks and rend flesh in a single motion. Arnault parried and pivoted, his blade, Serment, the sword made by the Order’s finest smiths, sang with each impact. Forged to slay demons, it was equally lethal to mortals, was a silver arc between them.

  “Mana-Breaker: Claw!” the leader roared. The blades on the man’s forearms changed into a clawed gauntlet.

  With that the man’s form changed again, movements now fluid and bestial. It was a form of Chinese martial arts that added claw swipes, rakes, and crushing grips, each strike carrying a tearing effect. He fought like a predator, each movement calculated to maim.

  Arnault kept him at bay, twirling and slashing his blade in wide arcs, hoping to catch his opponent off guard. Every time their weapons sparks flew as the energies within their chosen weapons opposed each other. He could feel his advantage slipping as the leader’s rhythm was tightening, his assault chaining perfectly, each blow feeding into the next.

  By now it was clear to him, they were evenly matched in raw skills. He needed to finish this quickly. éclat’s absence was temporary, and any of the two remaining mage’s return could turn the tide, worse if reinforcements show. He had been lucky so far that his gambits have paid off, but he didn’t wish to test the limits of his luck as his enemy kept chaining his attacks well.

  Thinking quickly, he shifted his grip, changing stance. From two-handed slashes, he transitioned into half-swording—grasping the blade in the middle for precision and leverage. He used the pommel as a bludgeon, striking like a hammer; then flipped the blade to parry and thrust in short, brutal bursts.

  Sanctified metal rang against condensed mana in a furious rhythm—twelve blows, thirty-two, a hundred and twenty-eight and on and on. Each exchange faster than the last, a blur of sparks and light flashes as their exchange became more heated.

  Neither man yielded ground. Arnault raised a leg for another kick thrust, but the man would stamp it down, a movement lifted from Wing Chun—forcing them both to disengage before re-engaging a heartbeat late.

  Then a chance appeared. Arnault let the man’s next strike rake his arm, leaning into the blow, his left pauldron shattered in a spray of fragments. But the pain bought him an opening.

  He slammed the crossguard of his blade into the leader’s face. The man staggered, dazed. Arnault followed through, Serment dipping low, then drove the pommel into his opponent’s stomach, folding him in half and dropping him to the ground on one knee. In one smooth motion Arnault spun the blade, re-gripping it with both hands in a two-handed, executioner's stance.

  Serment rose high, its inner core flared, energies roiling and igniting, then the mana within surged and began to spin like a chainsaw along the blade’s length, sharpening the already lethal instrument into a monomolecular edge. Arnault brought the sword down with the resolve and wrath of an angry god ready to end his opponent’s life.

  —but the strike never landed.

  Pain crept in his chest as a blow from the left cracked his ribs and sent him hurtling more than five hundred meters away. He crashed, rolled, and somehow forced himself upright. Once he managed to stand up to compose himself and get his bearings, he got a good look at the one who had attacked him.

  Across the field, a new figure stepped into view. Reinforcements.

  “Taarush? Is that you?” Arnault managed, forcing healing energy through his battered ribs. Each breath was a lance of fire to his side. It was not a good omen, another one had appeared and this time, it was an A ranked opponent, one a few leagues above him. “I didn’t recognize you with that new arm. Didn’t Remington cut that off two years back?”

  Taarush Chauhan stood tall and lean at 190 cm, a brown-skinned giant inked with concentric tattoos and lined with piercings that glinted under the haze of his own power. Energy already pulsed around him like a second skin, layered with defensive wards. His gaze was sharp and cold.

  “Get up,” he ordered impatiently without looking, and the lightning user behind him obeyed instantly.

  Arnault winced as he breathed. His ribs grated when he exhaled and from what he could tell at least two were broken. He poured more healing energy into them—then the ground beneath him erupted.

  Merde! He already managed to get away from Eclat!?

  The earth-user burst from below, driving an uppercut into Arnault’s jaw that launched him two hundred meters skyward.

  “Thunder Step!”

  The lightning user vanished in a blur—then reappeared behind Arnault, voice like a churning storm. His eyes glowed with power and electric discharge.

  “Omni-Volt Barrage!”

  His opponent became a streak of static fury and crackling electricity as he battered Arnault in quick successive strikes from random directions. Each strike felt like a hammer blow and punctuated by the cracks and peals of thunder. The attacks of concussive lightning, on Arnault’s armor scorched the metal and cooking the flesh underneath. His once gleaming amor now a charred wreck as sparks danced across the field.

  When it ended, Arnault plummeted, striking the ground with a dull, metallic thud. Smoke curled from his armor; the silver was now scorched and fractured. He tried to rise, but his left arm slipped out from under him.

  Figures, I got hit by lightning, limb function is basically moot at this point. He grumbled to himself. Where are you Eclat?

  BOOM!

  The ground trembled as colossal stone pillar crashed down from the heavens with the force of an angry god’s stomp. The enemy wasn’t about to stop.

  Titan Tomb!

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  Dozens of granite monoliths fell in sequence from every direction imaginable, each titanic column that fell shook the earth and burying the silver knight in a mountain of stony pillars, as the name suggest, tomb fit for a demigod.