Chapter 31

Luke took a deep breath as he settled into the First Stance of the Sword. Yjarn did the same in response before gasping for breath as his knees wobbled. He steadied himself moments later as the shock of overdrawing his mana faded away.

That's right, asshole, you have none.

Luke put on a confident grin as he observed Yjarn in spite of how nervous he was feeling. Half the battle is mental, right? he thought, paying careful attention to the position of Yjarn's feet, the angle of his blade, and even where his eyes were looking. Searching for anything and everything that could give him a leg up in the battle.

Blades raised, they both started circling each other. Neither wanted to be the one that attacked.

This is going to be a hard fight, but I have my advantages. I can use the techniques, and he can't. I'm fresh and rested, while he probably spent the last few hours in a trance, not paying attention to his hunger or thirst. Lack of mana isn't debilitating, but it is uncomfortable. I have a shield, and he doesn't. That's a big one, and probably why he's being so cautious. I'm at my best, and he's definitely not.

He has the advantage in strength and experience, and that's undeniable. Something tells me that he isn't like those people I won against in the society's arena. He's not as casual as they were. He's not going to half-ass this fight and give up when it gets painful. He's not going to tap out if I get him into a hold. So when I do win, I'll need to immobilize him. Somehow.

He's calm and he's smart. I can't expect to kill him in the chaos, like I did in the room full of lava. I don't have any protective talismans tucked away, either. It's just me and my sword … and my shield, and everything else that's useful in my inventory.

This isn't strictly life or death, but defeat does mean torture and severe maiming, so he'll fight with everything he has. I'll need to as well. Any less, and the outcome will be my death, even if it isn't immediate.

Bad things will probably happen if he lives and spills the beans about me having abilities that I shouldn't, but that cat's almost out of the bag anyway, and if I can escape, no one should be able to track me down.

So it won't be my problem. It might suck for the society if Arke finds out I was the thief and they were harboring me, but I can't do anything about that … Unless I can swing it the right way so that he bleeds to death an hour or two after I leave. Or something like that—now isn't the time to think about what I'm going to do when I win. I need to win.

Yjarn twitched forward, itching to attack but holding off.

He's getting impatient. Good. I think.

Seconds later, Yjarn leaped forward, his blade outstretched as he aimed at Luke's arm, seemingly intent on making true on his words and leaving him nothing but a limbless torso.

The draw on Luke's mana surged as he did, the First Stance of the Sword devouring it voraciously. A moment later, it became clear why.

Weaknesses in his opponent's stance became clear. In that moment, he knew Yjarn's body like he knew his own. He knew exactly what forces were acting on him and how his enemy would react to them. How a tensing in a muscle on his forearm and a tilt of his wrist would lead to an upward swing, cutting his hand off at the wrist, if he tried to meet the Inner Disciple's sword head-on like he had planned to.

Thoughts that weren't entirely his whispered in the back of his mind and urged him to lunge forward and twist his body to the left. He'd escape the reach of Yjarn's blade while simultaneously driving his own deep into his heart. Delivering instant death.

This is … Luke lunged forward, letting the truth buried in the First Stance guide his actions.

Yjarn's sword sailed by his head, cutting a lock of his hair as it did, his momentum not allowing him to adjust his attack in time.

Luke's blade moved unerringly to strike at the Inner Disciple's shoulder, ignoring the instinct to impale his heart like the stance called for. Only to be batted away by Yjarn's open palm when it was inches away from piercing the flesh. Ripped free from his hand, Bellerophon's blade clattered on the ground, dangerously close to falling in the lava.

Wha—

Before Luke could even begin to process what happened, Yjarn drove his knee into his gut, hard. Making him wheeze in pain and his ribs crack and then break.

"Ghk." Luke's bulging and bloodshot eyes met the older cultivator's cold stare. A savage but hollow grin stretched across Yjarn's face as he pulled back his knee and panted.

His shoulder was farther away than his heart.

"If it weren't for Arya, my brother would s—"

Luke summoned his spear into his shield hand and stabbed forward with all his might, slipping its sharp tip straight through Yjarn's ribs and into his lungs.

"Wh—"

Luke rolled his wrist and twisted the tip of his spear, equally uninterested in answering the Inner Disciple's unasked question as he was in his brother's death or whatever had driven him to seek to punish Luke for it.

Fighting through the pain of broken bones, Luke bashed Yjarn's arm with his shield, disarming him. And unlike Luke, Yjarn didn't have an inventory to call upon for an extra weapon.

"How?" he wheezed, just beginning to realize that their battle was over and he had lost.

Luke, once again, didn't answer. Kicking him forward, he ripped his spear free. Then, rotating it over his head, he slapped the cultivator's face with it, mustering every iota of strength that he could manage and leaving a large welt on Yjarn's face.

He's durable.

Twirling his spear again, he stabbed forward, sinking it into the flesh above Yjarn's knee.

Roaring with pain, the Inner Disciple stumbled to the ground, unable to muster any resistance now that he was disarmed, wounded, and with his opponent having the superior reach.

Luke struck again, this time leaving a large gash that traveled from his hip to his shoulder.

"I—"

"Shut up! I don't care." Luke stabbed forward twice in quick succession, leaving deep rends where his arm connected to his shoulder and immobilizing the limbs.

Yjarn screamed in pain.

Uncaring, Luke stepped forward and bashed the back of his skull with his spear, knocking his head to the ground. It bounced.

Luke's ribs protested in pain with every breath he took, but he ignored it. Stepping on the other man's back to keep him down, Luke swiped the spear again and left deep cuts on the bottom of his calves, severing his Achilles tendons and, hopefully, neutralizing him as a threat.

I'm a terrible person. I'm also unusually good at this kind of thing, he thought, standing over the disciple's downed form. Really not sure I like that.

Luke glanced to where Len was still lying unconscious and returned his spear to his inventory before walking over and collecting his sword. I can't believe I almost lost this. Putting it back in his sheath on his hip, his eyes were drawn to the only other objects in the room.

The pair of shoes that Yjarn had unwittingly chosen as his prize. Walking over to them, he deposited them in his inventory as well.

Then, running out of things to distract himself with, his eyes returned to his foe's defeated and bloody form.

That's not pretty. At all, he thought grimly. Frowning deeply, as he watched Yjarn silently writhe on the ground, struggling to get to his knees, a simple task made impossible with the wounds Luke had inflicted on him.

"I can't kill you in here," said Luke. Walking toward him slowly. "So I guess I have a few options." He knelt beside him. "Either I can take you with me through the portal and kill you on the other side—"

Yjarn screamed and increased his thrashing on the ground.

"OR"—Luke raised his voice—"I can leave you here. Hope you die before you talk to anyone else. It's what I want to do, but I'm not stupid. Someone could come in here and help you, after all."

Luke punched the ground near his head. Anger raced through every cell in his body, and he suppressed the urge to scream his frustrations.

"You know what I wanted to do? Not fight. Fifteen minutes and I would have been gone. That's all. If you hadn't been greedy and hadn't wanted to torture me for my secrets, we could have sat around for a bit and left. But I can't. This world is turning me into a monster, and it's because of people like you that I have to let it."

Luke grabbed Yjarn by his calf and dragged him to the altar. He glanced at the time and nodded as the last five seconds ticked away in front of him. Resting his hand on the control post, he navigated to a random island and selected the remotest destination he could find, far away from any city or town shown on the map and in the middle of a large forest. Not even a stream ran through the area, if what was shown was accurate.

He glanced at Yjarn's twitching form at his feet.

It's not enough. I can't half-ass this. He scrolled through his inventory and sighed when he found something he could use. A scorpion's tail appeared in his hands, dripping with sickly venom. The very same one that he had fought three weeks ago when he entered the tomb.

He hit the enter button on the post, and a large, swirling ring appeared behind the altar. Through it, Luke could see a vast snow-covered forest, needled trees stretching as far as the eye could see, and immense snow-covered mountains in the distance. A gust blew, and flakes of snow whirled into the lava-filled chamber.

Nodding to himself, he knelt beside Yjarn and stabbed him in the side with the poisonous appendage, digging it deep into his skin. Closing his eyes, he sighed softly as Yjarn's body thrashed under him. He'd hoped that by not witnessing his actions and their cruelty, he would be less revolted by his own actions. It didn't work.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. I hate this, his thoughts screamed at him. Opening his eyes, he looked at the result of his work. Yjarn was silent—had been since the moment he had told him to shut up.

"Here's what's happening. I've filled you with poison. Maimed you so that you can't walk or lift your arms, and I'm going to throw you through this portal. It's a random spot, so I don't really know what you can expect. It's not worth much, but I'm sorry it came to this. I hope that the afterlife treats you well. For good measure, though"—he bonked him on his head—"I'm going to put you to sleep. Can't have you calling for help … I really do regret that things came down to this, though."

Kneeling down, he grabbed Yjarn by his thighs and, working through the pain, chucked him through the portal. He sighed softly as it closed behind him.

Then, navigating back through the maps, he selected his own destination. Taking one last look through the room, his eyes landed on Len.

He had climbed to his feet and was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

You know what. Fuck it, I really don't care.

Len's eyes met his and lit up in surprise.

"Oh, hey. Thanks a ton for the potion. You saved my life. I mean it, I can't thank you enough."

"Don't worry about it. Listen. I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything." He nodded earnestly.

Either he's a really good actor, or he has no clue what happened between me and Yjarn. Either way, it looks like he saw nothing. Good.

"Can you stay down here for a few hours and wait for Spiros or Arya to come down? I need you to tell them that I won't be able to return to the society, and tell Spiros that I'll come visit him one day."

"Ah. Sure, that's not a problem. Why not, though?"

"I have some things I need to do. And I can't let you see where I'm going, either. Would you mind standing way back and turning around?"

Len looked at Luke like he'd grown a third head before shrugging his shoulders and walking to the sandpit.

Luke smiled gratefully and opened the portal. Taking in the sight of the tall grass on the other side, he leaped through.

I should have left them a letter. Oh, well.