Chapter 363: Terror and crimson
The crowd’s roar rolled over the arena like a tide, fists pounding against anything nearby, savages leaning forward with bloodlust plain on their faces.
Meanwhile Ilya circled, dagger low.
Ragul rolled his shoulders, and the ground seemed to shift under the motion. Up close, his bulk wasn’t just fat. Corded muscle ran beneath the layers, thick as rope, coiled tight around a frame built to end things in one blow.
He swung the club sideways this time, a horizontal arc meant to catch her mid-step.
Ilya dropped.
The club passed above her head, close enough that she felt the wind of it tug at her hair, and the momentum carried him a little forward.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
She used the drop to drive forward, blade flashing across his exposed forearm as she rose.
A shallow cut, barely more than a scratch, but blood welled up dark against his skin.
Ragul grunted, more surprised than hurt.
He didn’t retreat. Instead his free hand shot out, faster than his size should have allowed, fingers spread wide to grab her by the throat.
Ilya twisted away, boots skidding in the dirt, and put three steps between them before he’d even finished the motion.
"Careful," Regath called out, grinning. "She bites."
Ragul said nothing. His vacant expression hadn’t changed at all, but something in his eyes had sharpened, tracking her now with the patient focus of a predator that had stopped underestimating its prey.
He came at her again, faster.
This close, his footwork surprised her. He wasn’t lumbering. Each step landed with deliberate precision, closing distance in a straight line that gave her no easy angle to slip past.
Ilya stepped left, then cut right.
Ragul’s club met empty air where she should have been, and in the same instant his other hand swept low in a backhand grab that nearly closed around her ankle.
She yanked her leg back just in time, the fabric of her boot brushing his knuckles.
That was close.
She landed hard, rolled once, and came up already moving, putting distance between them before he could press the advantage.
The crowd howled at the near miss, several men slamming their fists against their chests in unison.
Kalish’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground, watching his daughter with the same stillness he’d worn since the fight began.
Ragul advanced again, and this time he didn’t swing the club at all. He simply drove forward with his shoulder, using his entire body as the weapon.
Ilya sidestepped, but his outstretched arm still clipped her, and the impact sent her stumbling three full paces before she caught her balance.
Even a glancing hit from him carried weight enough to knock the air from her lungs.
She pressed a hand to her ribs, breathing hard, and reassessed.
Ragul turned to face her, club dragging a furrow through the dirt behind him, patient as ever.
Ilya exhaled once and darted in low, aiming for the back of his knee where the tendon sat closest to the surface. Her dagger bit into flesh, and this time the wound was deeper, blood running freely down his calf.
Ragul roared, the first real sound of pain he’d made all fight, and spun with the club already rising.
She was already gone, three steps clear, dagger dripping.
The crowd’s chanting broke into a frenzy of noise, and somewhere above it all, Regath’s laughter rang out loud and delighted, utterly unbothered by his son’s bleeding leg.
"That’s it," he shouted. "Make her work for it, boy!"
Ragul limped once, tested his weight on the injured leg, and found it would still hold. He rolled his neck, and the scars along his scalp caught the torchlight.
He suddenly slammed both feet into the ground with enough force to make the earth tremble beneath him. Raising his club high above his head, he threw his head back and roared.
"Gaaaaaaahhhh!"
The crowd fell silent as a violent crimson wave surged through the ground, spreading outward from Ragul in every direction.
"!!!"
Ilya’s body suddenly went rigid. Her back remained slightly bent, the dagger in her hand frozen in place as her eyes widened in shock.
This was not fear caused by the roar itself.
It was magic.
Ragul’s battle cry had carried a magical force capable of paralyzing those who heard it, and Ilya was not the only one affected. Several people within the crowd had also been rendered completely motionless, their bodies refusing to respond to their commands.
Thud. Thud.
Ragul took advantage of the opening immediately and charged forward.
"Ilya!" Kalish shouted as he watched the massive man raise his club, every ounce of his considerable strength gathering behind what would be his next and final strike.
But then...
SHUAAAANK!
Flames erupted from the center of the arena.
A fiery crimson light engulfed the battlefield, illuminating the surrounding forest with such brilliance that it seemed as though the sun itself had risen far earlier than it should have.
Ragul froze.
The burns covering his scalp began to tingle as he stared at the flames, and his expression rapidly shifted from aggression to terror. He instinctively began backing away, his eyes remaining wide as his grip on the club loosened.
The weapon soon slipped completely from his hand.
"N-No... Don’t burn me, Mother... no!"
Ragul turned and desperately tried to flee, but before he could take more than a few steps, something struck him from behind and sent him stumbling forward.
DHAK!
The massive man crashed face-first onto the ground.
He made no attempt to rise.
Ragul was physically capable of fighting, but whatever courage he had possessed was gone. The sight of Ilya standing within the flames had completely shattered his will to continue, leaving him utterly incapable of facing her.
The crowd had fallen completely silent.
Whether it was because of the terrifying display of such high-grade sorcery or the pitiful state Ragul had been reduced to, no one seemed willing to make a sound.
Ilya stepped forward and stopped in front of Ragul, who was trembling violently from head to toe. The massive man had completely lost the composure he had displayed moments ago, his body shaking as he remained sprawled on the ground before her.
For a moment, Ilya looked up at Regath. Her expression, illuminated through the flames surrounding her, was unmistakable.
Regath merely sat there, his eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold.
A few moments later, the desperate cries of his son had echoed throughout the entire village, yet Regath remained completely unmoved. There was no concern in his expression, nor even a hint of hesitation.
Instead, he quietly muttered under his breath,
"I need to finish this in the next battle."