Chapter 390: Elementals

Blaze burst forward and attacked. The fire became thicker and heavier and his movements slowed. One hit! He needed just one hit!

His fists became rockets that propelled faster and faster.

That one hit might have spelled defeat so Dasha avoided it. He read his movements like a book. The thicker flames were obscuring his Qi Sense by a smidge. Pathetic. Such a little thing did nothing to change the fact that his attacks were telegraphed like a picture book.

Blaze’s attacks grew more frantic, and as the minutes ticked by, it became clear what Dasha had already known: Blaze was burning through his mana at an alarming rate. His flames were still fierce, but there was a flicker of instability in them now, a sign of his waning power.

To compensate, the flames at his feet and legs funnelled to his fist.

Just one hit! One hit!

Such predictable thoughts.

Dasha moved then, a single step forward that closed the distance between them in an instant. Before Blaze could react, Dasha’s foot shot out, catching Blaze’s knee mid-punch. He then in the same beat swiped his foot off the ground and stumbled Blaze off balance and onto his feet, the rocket fist missing the target that was his head.

Blaze snarled and swung again, but Dasha dived under and swept Blaze’s legs out from under him in a fluid motion. Blaze hit the ground hard, the flames around his limbs flickering and dying as he struggled to regain control.

Dasha didn’t give him the chance. He brought his boot down on Blaze’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Then—

Storm Surge Kick. Electro-step.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

In one second, he delivered five strikes to the heart.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

In the next second, he delivered ten. Blaze’s rib cage caved in.

Blaze gasped his last breath that night.

The crowd was silent as Dasha stood over his fallen opponent.

“Winner: Leon!”

The crowd exploded into applause and whoops. Blaze’s body was dragged away and immediately following that, his next opponent entered the barrier. The tournament rules in this backwater neighborhood were simple. Fight until you dropped. Fight until a winner emerged at night.

Night was to fall in three hours.

***

The crowd in the narrow alley had grown, pushing close to the shimmering magic circle that separated the combatants from the onlookers. The mages who maintained the barrier were strained, their brows slick with sweat.

Two and a half hours had gone and went. Dasha won every battle. Initially, he fought by leaning on his martial arts side. Finding openings, dragging the fights and causing the opponent to grow impatient.

Although many were impatient, not all of them were. Dragged by two men was a giant, eight-foot tall body. Etheul was his name and he was Dasha’s previous opponent. He was not dead, however, and not out of a lack of trying either. Dasha sincerely attempted to slay him and failed to. Etheul’s muscles and Qi were tightly and enhanced his organs and weak points to a ludicrous degree. Much of Dasha’s Qi had been spent in the previous battle with Etheul to box him down. Electro-step to increase the speed of his punches. Flame Dance to increase his fire-based attacks. Switching between Thunder Clap and Fire Fist. Never letting up. Never offering a counter.

He went on the attack, knowing that this giant couldn’t touch him, and overwhelmed him with everything in his arsenal, save the skills granted in the Dark Sorcerer Class, until the giant fell over.

Now, it was…

“Besop. I hail from the Slums.”

Murmurs spread. He wasn’t from here.

Like Dasha.

Whoever this was, their armour was mismatched; bronze boots, silver breastplates, and a gold Corinthian helmet that bore the scars of his battles. In one hand, he gripped a weathered staff crackling with unstable arcs of lightning. Strapped to his back was a short sword, the blade imbued with magic that thrummed softly.

’A sword and a staff.’

A dangerous adversary.

He had read about this in many history books: this was a Battlemage.

The Battlemage’s voice cut through the silence, low and gravelly. Must be from years of inhaling the smoke in the Slums and the magic residue. “You’ve come far, Leon.” The name was coated in respect. “But I’ll be the one walking away with the prize.”

Dasha did not respond verbally. He never did. He had no disdain for this opponent. He cared only for his abilities.

The mages maintaining the barrier nodded to one another. With a surge of mana, the arena shimmered as the outer defenses were locked in place.

The fight began.

Besop wasted no time, lunging forward with speed that belied his rough appearance. Lightning erupted from his staff, arcing toward Dasha in jagged, unpredictable lines. Dasha dashed back, his Qinggong carrying him backward in a smooth retreat as the lightning struck the ground where he had just been standing.

Then the actual close-range swing of the staff arrived. Dasha flickered away.

’He’s using something akin to Electro-step,’ Dasha noted. ’Lightning is springing his step but only the step.’

Dasha narrowed down his Qi sense to the Battlemage’s figure; wave after wave analyzed the way Besop’s muscles tensed before each strike and the faint glimmer in the almond-shaped holes of his helmet that betrayed his intent. This man was studied but not perfect.

Besop swung his staff in a wide arc and sent another bolt of lightning crashing toward Dasha. This time, Dasha didn’t retreat. He braced himself, pivoting on the balls of his feet, and brought up his arm to block the strike. The lightning crackled against his forearm, flesh absorbing the brunt of the lightning.

’Hng. I wasn’t able to completely absorb it.’

With the gauntlets of Thor, the absorption likely would have been a success. But without it, the force of the strike sent a numbing sensation up his arm. His body was strong, tempered through endless training and he read theory on elemental absorption.

’Like Blaze did. Once someone’s internal system is acquainted with a particular element, with enough skill and understanding, they can absorb said element into themselves.’

But he had not managed to do it.

Yet.

Besop sensed the shift in momentum and did not pursue in close-range. Battlemages were close range magic specialists by incorporating magic in their staffs and swords. A broad term, they were less common in the University of Magic and the Old Mage Tower and regular specimens down in the Underground.

Besop was already muttering a series of Greek incantations. He raised his staff high and called forth a stronger current of electricity that surged through the air like a viper. “O Great Zeus! Bless with me your might! Bless me with your bolt! Bless me so that I may strike her down!”

What in the world? The battlefield was suddenly lit up in blue and electricity crackled through the ground. Dasha was forced to leap.

“Keraunós!”

But that was just a taste of what was to come. All the lightning that had spread and gathered came together and shot at him.

If this landed, he was dead—

Dasha soared higher and planted one foot on the shimmering barrier. The energy field attempted to strike him away with its crackles. He ignored it and used it to thunder himself down to avoid the lightning. He smashed down, the magic circle nearly breaking, and then dashed toward the Battlemage.

“Keraunós!”

’Another?’

A bright blue light entered his vision. Dasha’s heart slammed against his ribcage and his muscles lost the weary exhaustion that once took hold of it. But even with Stamina Surge, it was too close. Too powerful.

’Counterflow Stance.’

Which was why he had put everything he had into redirecting his trajectory. Just barely, the Greek enchanted lightning caught onto his left side. His nerves tingled and numbed and he suddenly couldn’t use his left leg. The momentum still lended to his next attack.

Crack!

Super Fire Fist slammed into Besop—or so he thought.

The Battlemage had expected this. A barrier was already in place.

In the next moment, the barrier disappeared and Besop unsheathed his short sword.

“Super Spark Strike!”

One, two, three, four, five swings and the lightning-encoated skill did not disappear. Dasha dodged and back-stepped, his right foot doing all the work. The left side of his body was slowly recovering with the help of Internal Healing.

Upon the seventh strike, the shortsword thrust too far. Dasha found an opening and chopped a hand down on his elbow.

“Volt Parry—!”

Besop called out the name of the skill and his arm was enveloped in blue. The moment Dasha’s knifehand strike came down, electricity stunned him again and the shortsword slashed across his chest.

For the first time, Dasha was wounded.

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