Chapter 18: Victory and Defeat

Asa's keen instincts made it clear to him that he was not on the same level as his opponent.

General Grutt appeared to be standing casually, his hands clasped behind his back, as if he were simply observing a harmless chick. Yet to Asa, it felt as though he faced an ancient behemoth from a primordial realm. The relaxed posture concealed a razor-sharp, dangerous aura, poised to unleash its true, chaotic form and tear apart everything in its path.

From the earlier actions of his opponent, Asa realized he had no chance of winning. The white aura enveloping Grutt wasn't magic, but rather a more primal, direct force—raw and effective. Even with the protective robe he wore, a single hit to his body would be fatal. This power fused with Grutt's physicality, allowing every move he made to exceed the limits of human speed.

Asa crouched into a starting position, his right foot slightly angled outward, his left hand pressed against the ground, and his right hand gripping the hilt of the dagger at his back. Every muscle in his body coiled as he prepared for an explosive release of energy. His eyes were fixed on the ground, but he kept a peripheral watch on his opponent.

One strike. All his chances hinged on that one moment.

Experiencing the threat of death awakened a primal fighting spirit deep within Asa. It felt as if a beast that had been sleeping there for ages had finally been stirred, ready to charge wildly within him. The clarity from his meditation sharpened his thoughts, merging with the awakening desire to fight into a cold, piercing yet fiery determination.

Grutt observed Asa, who was poised like a crouching leopard. Even the general's stoic expression began to shift slightly. His thin lips curled into a faint smile, granting him a flicker of vitality. A glow of white light began to radiate from his entire being.

Neither moved. The air in the room seemed to freeze, thick with the oppressive tension before a storm. Mayor Theodorus, standing by the door, slowly stepped back from the stone chamber. He felt no need to intervene and trusted that it wouldn't be necessary.

Only the breaths of the two men remained, intertwining in an unusual rhythm.

As Asa inhaled, reaching the peak of his breath, he suddenly sprang upward, unleashing all his pent-up power in a leaping motion. Like a leopard, he shot forward, the power in his legs and hips channeling through to his wrists, his dagger transforming into a bolt of darkness, cleaving toward Grutt.

Grutt's fiery gaze dimmed, as if suddenly deprived of fuel.

He recognized that the strength and speed behind Asa's strike were commendable, but the attack lacked spirit and will. The blow was executed perfectly, yet it conveyed nothing but sheer force, devoid of the life and soul of a life-and-death struggle—merely a motion akin to chopping wood.

Feeling disappointed, Grutt had initially been excited by Asa's wild, beast-like reactions, expecting a thrilling clash. He reached out right hand to grasp the blade's edge, as effortlessly as plucking a falling leaf from a tree. With his left hand, he clenched a fist, laced with a mixture of contempt and disappointed anger, and struck out.

But he immediately sensed a disparity: the blade felt light, while his fist felt heavy.

The knife was light not because it lacked power and spirit, but because Asa had released it just before it was caught. All of his strength had been preserved to brace against the incoming punch.

Asa's hand met Grutt's fist. Even with his preparations, the full force of the punch didn't diminish; instead, Asa was pushed back a step, his hand shaped by the impact, pressing into his chest.

There was no sound of shattering bones. The room was filled with a booming cacophony of air and magic intertwining. A gigantic and wild fireball instantly took shape between the two, swelling rapidly and driving a massive surge of air as it shot straight toward Grutt's face. This was the true, deadly strike with all of his power and spirit. The very shape of the fireball, altered by the intense focus of mental energy, had transformed to resemble a roaring beast.

As the light reflected off it, Grutt's pupils turned to a fiery gold color. He could even see the wild surge of magical energy swirling within this simple spell, potent enough to blast a bronze statue into a storm of fiery fragments.

Fireball magic was a fundamental fire attack spell every novice mage could master. Yet its simplicity allowed for the concentration of the caster's entire magical force in an instant, especially in such close combat.

There was no escaping it.

Asa had allocated at least half of his magical energy to accelerate the fireball's speed. This was an opportune moment—one he had created with one of his hands and a grievous injury.

He had witnessed his opponent's speed. No matter how quickly a spell was cast at any distance, he felt uncertain about hitting Grutt.

Creating opportunities was crucial. Only by forcing Grutt to strike first could he find a fleeting moment of vulnerability.

Yet that opponent, once he made his move, would almost certainly have a lethal strike ready for him. The robe alone wouldn't suffice for defense; he needed a more substantial buffer. Thus, he used all his strength with one hand to defend, while channeling his magical energy to attack.

The fireball grew to half the size of a person. As soon as it took shape, it almost touched Grutt, shooting forth faster than a crossbow bolt. They were only two steps apart. No one could evade it at such a close range, and Asa felt a surge of confidence.

Asa's fireball seemed absolutely unavoidable, at least to Grutt, who showed no sign of attempting to evade. He released his dagger, and his hand glowed with an intensity that seemed almost tangible, moving at an imperceptible speed to block the fireball's path.

The fireball was not a true sphere; it was merely a shape generated by rapidly swirling magical energy. Normally, even the slightest touch would disrupt the delicate balance of power within, releasing all its force in a violent explosion. But now, this fireball was held back like a true sphere, stopped by Grutt's glowing white hand. The flames at its edges flickered restlessly, struggling to break free and surge forward, yet they couldn't penetrate that layer of white light. It was as if the fiercest beast of the underworld were being held helplessly by the god of war, Ares, unable to advance."

This momentary halt was fleeting. With a swift motion of his hand, Grutt redirected the fireball, sending it crashing into the wooden ceiling with a thunderous roar. The entire structure, built from sturdy timber, shattered into countless fragments of flame that ascended into the sky, illuminating nearly the entire city of Orford.

Grutt's right hand was held in raised position, for redirecting a swirling mass of magical energy was no simple task—it required far more effort than merely casting a spell. At this moment, Asa's hand was already moving toward his face, with another fireball forming between his fingers. This time, it wouldn't be launched; he intended to press it directly against Grutt's face to explode.

This was not a premeditated tactic; given human physicality, the flow of magical energy couldn't move quickly enough to conjure another spell in such a short time. Thus, the fireball forming now was noticeably smaller and slower than the last. It was a spontaneous counterattack immediately following the failure of his first strike.

To use his hand, and risk potential death, to create the most effective moment for an attack was a testament to his cunning. Instead of feeling discouraged after his full-force strike had missed, he immediately retaliated with another attack—this fighting spirit surpassed that of even the fiercest warriors.

Now that was the true essence of a fighter. Grutt growled, "Good." His originally striking fist was now pulled back, and he seized the outstretched hand, fingers interlocking as if exchanging a friendly high-five. The yet-to-be-formed fireball was instantly crushed by the layer of white light on his hand.

Again, there was no sound of shattering bones; instead, the shape of that hand twisted grotesquely. The bones crumpled like brittle cookies under intense pressure, not silent due to lack of noise but because they were ground to dust before any sound could escape.

Clang. The knife finally fell to the ground. The outcome was decided.

This had been an excellent battle, showcasing all the opponent's intelligence, strength, spirit, and determination. Grutt felt a sense of satisfaction.

Asa, however, was consumed by despair. It wasn't just the futility of his efforts that brought him to the depths of hopelessness; it was also the anger, pain, and terror of death. These conflicting emotions overwhelmed him, extinguishing all reason and humanity, leaving only primal instinct. He violently tugged at his crushed hand, almost tearing it from his wrist, using that momentum to launch himself at Grutt.

Without thought—he was beyond rational thought now—he lunged instinctively at the most vulnerable spot where his opponent's head connected to his body. The faint pulsing there suggested a flow of red, foul liquid below. This instinct drove him; he opened his mouth to bite down hard.

Grutt bent his neck, colliding his forehead with Asa's oncoming head, producing a loud thud.

But to Asa, it sounded entirely different. He heard the bizarre noise of his skull fracturing, a deep, resonant groan that assaulted his nerves.

It felt as though a spike had pierced deep into his brain and exploded, sending sharp fragments through every corner and splintering everything within.

Asa didn't feel himself being knocked backward, slamming against the wall like a rag doll before collapsing to the ground. He was unaware of the blood streaming from his hands and head, spilling like a joyful river across the floor, as he could feel nothing at all.

"That was truly a spectacular battle, and one of the most artistic magical assaults I've ever witnessed. I didn't expect the Necromancer Guild to have such vibrant and creative talents. Such a pity..." Mayor Theodorus sighed, shaking his head as he entered the room and bent down to retrieve the book from Asa's grasp.

Along with the book, two pieces of fine parchment slipped to the floor. These were high-quality sheepskin, thick and sturdy, with beautifully crafted embossed patterns—clearly not ordinary materials used by common folk or even the mages of the Necromancer Guild.

Grutt remained rooted in place, savoring the details of the fight like a gourmet reflecting on a delightful meal. Though not the strongest opponent he had faced, Asa was undoubtedly the most lethal and exhilarating.

"Good," he sighed appreciatively.

"Not good." Mayor Theodorus laid the two pieces of parchment flat and, upon seeing their contents, his expression changed dramatically.