God From The Abyss

Mikael leaned casually against the arm of his chair, watching with faint amusement as Lloyd’s posture straightened back.

By now, his Sage-rank aura flared somewhat uncontrollably, and his facial expression indicated he was still in pain from the entire process.

"The Rune Breaker forcibly shatters the mana core’s fixed ranks, reversing the natural ’seal’ imprinted on it during your Awakening. What you may call your ceiling. It completely collapses your mana circuits and core, and in rebuilding them, it raises the limit of what your core can achieve. Although the change will inevitably occur, its effects vary with people."

Lloyd felt his gaze go blurry and strength leave his body. He staggered into the waiting arms of his escorts.

"What is happening?" Cecile nearly shouted. By now, the excitement in Mikael’s eyes had almost become non-existent.

"Relax," he mumbled, yawning.

"His core is drained of mana, that’s all. Share some with him till he’s no longer critical."

The knight who had issued a challenge, William, turned to Mikael.

"But you said there were no side effects after using the shard. Then..."

"Do you perhaps have milk and oats for brains?" Mikael asked, visibly annoyed. He stood. " Duke Alan, Duchess. I’ll be leaving first."

Clinton held open the doors as Mikael stepped out.

"Wait, boy!" Williams called out.

He drew out his sword. "I did challenge you to a duel. At least save some face for your bloodline!"

Mikael rubbed his temples and groaned.

"Duke Alan, a question if I may..... Am I really obliged to humor that guy?"

The Duke’s earlier smile vanished. "Of course. By law, a formal request for a duel once recognized, must be accepted. Unless the reasons for the duel are deemed to be objectively unreasonable, you are to accept the duel. And while he is a rank above you, since you agreed having knowledge of this, the duel shall not be deemed illegal.

And I will oversee this duel myself. Both parties, to the training grounds. Clinton, lead the way.

Sir Lloyd, rest up a bit. My head maidservant will have a room prepared for you and she will send for the healers to attend to you instantly."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The Duke arose. "Selena."

He held out an arm. The Duchess rose and interlocked her arm with his.

"The duel will begin in thirty minutes. Get ready," the Duke said, his deep voice booming with the authority of a Head.

"Excuse us."

They left, followed by Clinton.

Mikael followed suit, his gait was calm, lazy, and assured.

"Bothersome creatures," he scoffed. "Then again, I do need to exercise a bit. Maybe I should test the strengths of my base mortal form."

He continued down the hall, mumbling to himself. Heads bowed wherever he passed, but he didn’t seem to care or even notice.

In the Reception Hall, two healers had already arrived and were already pouring mana into the now stabilized Lloyd.

"Sage ranks are really trying. The amount of mana they need to fill their cores is rather large compared to Grandmaster rank." But still, most Grandmaster Ranks needed a few years of continuous cultivation to ascend to the Sage Rank. Not to mention the cost of resources: cores, condensed mana, amongst other things. And yet all it took for him to achieve that was a fee of one hundred million and a little over an hour.

Miracles really do exist.

He turned his emerald gaze on the knight who had issued the duel request.

"Sir Williams, I hope you know and understand that losing is not an option since you are the one who issued the challenge. Do not shame the name of the Imperial Knights!"

"Yes, my Lord."

Lloyd heaved a sigh. Today just wasn’t going according to his plans.

"Go on, warm up. We will be there to watch you." He closed his eyes.

"Yes, my lord." The clanking of his armor signaled Williams’ exit from the hall.

"Sir Lloyd, is it wise to allow this?" Cecile asked, her expression worried.

"Fret not," the other knight interjected before Lloyd could answer. "Sir Williams is a dragon among Grandmasters. He will not lose, not against that opponent."

*************

The afternoon sun now hung high, its golden rays spilling across the Limnor Estate like melted amber.

The air shimmered faintly with the summer heat, yet a soft breeze kept the warmth pleasant, carrying with it the scent of blooming roses from the gardens. Shadows of the estate’s tall spires stretched long over the marble courtyards.

Dust lifted as Williams stepped forward, boots scraping against gravel. The steel of his armor gleamed under the afternoon sun. Tall, broad-shouldered, his every movement spoke of trained precision.

Mikael stood opposite him. Unarmed, hands in pockets, his hair danced lightly in the wind.

Across, the Limnor family sat on the shielded platform, with Lloyd who had required that he watch the match, and the rest of the Imperial escorts.

The Duke stood inside the arena, proud and tall.

"I am inclined to say that this is not a life or death match. Hence, one who is no longer able to fight is deemed the loser and the one still standing, the winner. Use of spells is allowed, and do not worry about the audience. Fight to your heart’s content. That is all." He walked through the shield and sat beside his wife.

A tense silence stretched between the duo, the kind that felt like it would break the moment someone exhaled too hard.

Sir Williams’ aura flared first, the signature gold of a Grandmaster, flooding the ground in shimmering waves.

The soil cracked beneath his feet as his pressure settled like a physical weight.

At the stand, Evander’s eyes shone with envy and curiosity, excitement. Maybe Mikael’s luck had finally run out!

Williams drew his sword, a dim blue blade that hummed with restrained power.

The Duke nodded. "So that is a Mithril Blade. Sir Williams is quite lucky to have gotten such a sword."

Lloyd nodded. "Mithril blades are forged by the elves, made of one of the hardest rocks ever discovered, mithril. Safe to say it qualifies as a legendary grade weapon."

Williams settled into his combat stance, sword angled forward, center low. His presence was sharp, focused, honed.

"Draw your weapon," he ordered, tone cold.

Mikael raised his head slowly, one brow raised in honest curiosity. "Why?"

A low murmur escaped the audience.

Williams’ jaw tightened. He muttered, "Swift Pace. Determination." Then he moved.

A blur — his form vanishing and reappearing just behind Mikael, sword flashing toward the boy’s neck.

The strike was clean, fast, almost invisible like the wind, and yet it met nothing.

A gust of displaced wind rippled where Mikael had previously stood. He was already several meters away, his stance unchanged, hands still in pockets, the tail of his coat flowing in the wind, and a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

The knight exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. The boy was in his focus again as quickly as possible.

"Wanderfort Sword Arts, Second Form: Sword Judge."

He lunged again, faster this time as subtle glow enveloped his body, and his sword cutting in precise arcs that distorted the air, almost like the sword had a mind of its own, aiming directly at its target; Mikael!

This flurry of attacks forced the lad to pull out his hands as the tempo of the fight changed completely. But Mikael still had no weapon so all he could do was dodge, his eyes and its inscriptions clocking overtime in anticipation of where each strike would land.

’ He’s fast, but compared to the Duke, he poses no threa-’. A cut grazed his left cheek just before he could complete his thought.

Sir Williams had noticed the slight gap, the distraction, and he was quick to pounce on the opening! The brat was arrogant, proud, even daring to disrespect the throne! If not for the fact that the issue they were dealing with was one that could come back to haunt them if they did not tread with care, he would have been outright arrested for his utterances alone.

Even allowing the duel was just Vice President Lloyd’s magnanimity taking over logic.

"Nice attack, Williams. Noting such an opening mid attack, impressive."

Sir Williams scoffed. "The words of an arrogant brat such as yourself hold no meaning to me. I would advise you to pick up a weapon for I shall not hold back at all."

"I don’t need those frail pieces of metal. Come."

"Very well, lad. Wanderfort Sword Arts, Sixth Form: Avalanche."