Alarion could feel it. The push and pull. The ebb and flow of two combatants so evenly matched. It was a familiar sensation, one driven into his very bones by bout after bout against the phantasmal dragon. Strangely, that familiarity bore with it a certain level of comfort. He had never fought this fight, but he knew this kind of fight.

This time, he was stronger, while his opponent was faster. He had better durability, while his enemy had only a single vulnerability. The Steelborn had better ranged options, but Alarion was more mobile and capable of bringing his primary weapon to bear. It was a fight that either could win, a fight that either, or even both, might lose.

Alarion needed an edge. Fortunately, he had one strapped to his wrist. <Suggestions?>

<The slivers have a sizable recharge time on most models. At least a minute, maybe more. Play keep away while he uses it, then pressure him when it is down. He can self-replenish ammunition, so don't rely on him running out.>

<And the mace?>

Alarion could practically hear the shrug. <Don't get hit. You are already doing impossibly well.>

"Lan va so it ka?" The Duke said, his deep voice echoing off the pyramid walls.

<He wants to know->

Alarion closed the gap between himself and the Duke in three quick strides, pressuring him with two quick swipes of his greatsword, each met with a corresponding parry. If the Duke was offended by Alarion's refusal to parley, his body language didn't reveal it. Alarion might have stayed his hand if he thought there was some line for peace between them, but he knew a stalling tactic when he heard it.

A minute, maybe more, until the slivers could strike again. He had to use his time wisely.

On the attack, in melee, Alarion had the distinct advantage. His Awakened body had been reforged for just this sort of combat, and his unusual weapon of war had the Steelborn off balance. The resizing weapon defied the conventional rules of melee combat. It allowed Alarion to attack faster than he should have been able, from angles that would not usually be possible at such speed. It let him slip out of a blade bind and into unarmed combat in an instant, letting the human set the pace of their encounter in ways that it could not match.

The problem was finishing the fight. This Steelborn was no fool. It knew that there were only two ways Alarion could defeat it. He could smash its head, or he could dismember it until it could not defend itself. And then smash its head.

This knowledge allowed it to make strategic sacrifices that Alarion could not. It could afford to trade an arm for an arm, since it could rehabilitate the injury in moments with access to the arm, while Alarion could not. That willingness to sacrifice like for like bound Alarion's movements. A small opening wouldn't do. He'd need a wide one to do meaningful damage, and the machine was unwilling to provide.

Around him, the tide shifted, and a fresh bout began.

The slivers sprang into action as Alarion's turn on offense came to a close, zipping nearly silently through the air in their 'All Range Attack'. He pivoted, leaping backward as he swept his sword out before him. He hoped to catch one of the slender bits of metal, to bend or break it. But to no avail. They were too quick, or he was too slow.

Crack!

A sharp pain blossomed on Alarion's side as a round tore through him. It was not a lethal attack. Barely a sixth of his HP, according to the notification, but it was a bad omen and a painful lesson. His focus on the swarm, which had been so crippling in their first bout, caused him to ignore the cannon—a stupid mistake.

Not that his awareness of the situation would have been all that helpful. The slivers were all around him, penning in his movement for shot after shot. Only careful blocks with his bracer or last-minute teleports kept him from being struck again, but neither did anything to keep the damage from compounding as the slivers chipped away at his HP. Time was his only saving grace, as the slivers abandoned their assault again.

Thirty seconds on, a minute and a half off. That was their timing. As the battle waxed in his favor, Alarion knew he needed to finish things in this bout, or drown in the coming tide.

He threw his weapon toward the Steelborn, then flickered to it almost instantly, baiting out a counterattack well outside its reach. Or, at least, what he thought was outside of its reach.

The Duke's mace extended mid-swing, its foot-long hilt tripled in length as a hydraulic mechanism triggered within. The resulting attack was awkward, but effective as it drove Alarion off balance despite a desperate interception with his greatsword. The follow-up attacks were more elegant. Carefully measured two-handed blows that struck, struck, and struck again, battering Alarion's defenses and shattering his attempt at offense.

<Shield your eyes!> Alex demanded.

Alarion did not have time to consider the words in the heat of battle. He could either obey or refuse, not debate. And to his surprise, he obeyed.

Even with his eyes closed and guarded, Alarion still saw the world pulse with light. It was beyond bright, as though he'd somehow stared into the sun with his eyes closed. His wrist felt hot, and he heard the Duke grunt in something akin to pain for the first time. An afterimage of the sudden flare still lingered as Alarion opened his eyes and pressed his attack with a single wicked cut that sent the Steelborn's arm, and its primary weapon, spinning off to the floor below them.

<You could do that the whole time?> Alarion shouted angrily.

Alex's reply was strangled. Difficult. <I… no. Can't.>

Before Alarion could structure another question, the Duke made itself known once again. Its eyes were gone, the once green orbs sparking with short arcs of lightning, but that victory was short-lived as a thin red visor slid down to replace them. It pulsed once, as if in rage, as the one-armed Steelborn advanced upon him.

There were no words to show its anger, just an abandonment of formal combat in favor of unrelenting violence. It raked him with sharp fingertips, struck him with eerily familiar low kicks, and abused its sheer bulk to bully him in close combat. But for all the sound and fury, the attacks were ineffective. It had one arm, and the damage to its vision must have been considerable, given how many of its attacks were drifting to his left.

Specifically, to his left arm.

He realized the danger a moment too late. Their arms clashed, and a small grapple ensued. And though Alarion struck several telling elbows on Steelborn's head in the scuffle, only the Duke came away with a true victory—a small, lightly flashing wristband in its grasp.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Alarion didn't barter. He didn't beg. The young man met like with like, violence with violence. He threw his all into a series of brutal reprisals, hoping to end the fight before the Duke could even think to threaten his new hostage.

It was not to be.

Alarion's sword carved through the blackstone frame in half a dozen places, but none of the strikes were disabling or lethal. The once-proud Duke stood in tatters, but as the seconds ticked by, he stood all the same. A pressurized hiss of air announced the return of the slivers. It announced the Duke's victory.

One the Steelborn celebrated by crushing the wristband, and discarding Alex over the railing like so much trash.

The emulated man was dead. Alarion was nearly certain of it. The core of the wristband had made a particularly nasty crunch within the Duke's closed fist. Even if he weren't, the self-destruct they had set in motion would need to be reset in seconds. The correct decision was to chug his last potion, to force his way through the slivers, and to smash Alex's murderer into a few dozen pieces.

It was the correct decision, but it wasn't Alarion's decision.

Even the Duke seemed surprised as the young man vaulted over the railing and plummeted to the floor below. The fall was survivable with his current HP. Probably. But Alarion did not leave that up to chance as the slivers raced after him. He pivoted in midair, judged the distance, and threw his greatsword upward, shifting toward it a moment before he hit the ground.

Bssht.

He emerged from the shift with all the original momentum of his fall directed not down, but up. His stomach lurched at the sudden change as he 'fell' upwards for a scant few seconds before gravity reasserted itself and dropped him the last few feet to the floor in an undignified heap.

Alarion did not wallow in the pain. Not with Alex nearby.

The band was in three pieces, the 'straps' broken off and twisted beyond recognition, while the central core was cracked and flickering. Flickering was probably good. Better than the alternative, certainly. Alarion brushed away broken glass and double-tapped the wristband's core.

Nothing.

He tried again, then again, and twice more. It continued to flicker, but it was impossible to tell if the shifting brightness was a reaction to his touch or simply the dying embers of the device.

<Alex? Can you hear me?>

If the man inside answered, it was drowned out by the resounding thud that marked the Duke's return to the battle. It had dented the floor where it landed, its footsteps announcing Alarion's end as it stood upright and leveled its weapon in his direction.

Alarion did not hesitate. He kicked off the ground at a near sprint, dodging the first shot as he lined up one of his own.

His weapon flew with the sort of accuracy only the System could provide. And the Duke was ready for it. It had seen enough of Alarion's tricks to know what to expect. It swatted the greatsword into the ground, then stepped away, its weapons trained on where the boy was soon to appear.

This left Alarion just enough time to close the distance in the old-fashioned way. And punch it in the face.

Just because he could teleport didn't mean he had to.

Two more punches shattered stone as the Steelborn's visor cracked, a neon red liquid spilling down its cheek like a trail of blood.

It tried to retaliate with its fists while the slivers rained down from above, but Alarion shifted in the space between breaths. He appeared behind the Duke and shattered the underslung rifle on its remaining arm with a vertical swing, only to be punished with a sweeping kick that sent him sprawling, his weapon at the feet of his most hated foe.

The slivers peppered him with fresh cuts as Alarion recovered, his System notifications flashing with a concerning warning as the autonomous weapons retreated.

Attention! Warning! HP Critical!

Less than 20% of his HP left, which meant he was already well into the negatives. That explained all the pain as he struggled to his feet, drew the last crystal vial from his bracer, and downed it without hesitation. A 20% malus to all attributes was a small price for a full HP pool, going into what he knew would be the final bout.

Especially given that he was now unarmed.

Part of the pain hadn't gone away when he'd drunk that healing potion, and a glance at his status explained the issue. His HP wasn't the only pool that had been near depletion. His mana had run dry on that last teleport, and his stamina would not be far behind if he had to block any more shots with his shield. He wasn't teleporting to his weapon any time soon.

So he'd have to borrow one.

The Duke's arm, and more importantly, his mace, had fallen on Alarion's side of the room. While the Steelborn stooped to retrieve Alarion's blade, Alarion moved to retrieve its mace, which was easier said than done.

The Steelborn had fought with the weapon as if it were an extension of its body. In Alarion's hands, it felt heavier than his first greatsword, all those levels ago. He could lift it, but it took both hands and considerable leverage on its long grip to bring it into a proper combat stance.

He stared across the field at the Steelborn with a shared animosity and a shared respect. The situation was familiar, and a twisted déjà vu flowed through his mind as he stared down his one-armed foe.

And in that moment, Alarion understood. He'd been fighting the wrong way.

The push and pull, the ebb and flow. They were so similar to his triumph over the dragon that he'd mis-categorized himself. His foe was faster. He was stronger. He was more durable, but his enemy had a near-endless ability to try again. Alarion was the dragon in this equation, but he hadn't changed how he'd fought. He'd relied on clever tactics and attritional damage that always cost him a little more than his opponent. What he needed was decisiveness. Stubbornness.

Single-Mindedness.

Alarion shouldered his mace and met the Duke's visor.

And he charged.

The two met in the center of the room, and the Duke drew first blood. The tip of the greatsword struck Alarion on the right side of his abdomen, piercing through cloth, skin, and muscle as it delivered a pain he had never felt.

Had he been unawakened, the blade would have sunk to the hilt and killed him outright. Had he had lower vitality, it would have done so anyway. If he'd not chosen [Survivor's Endurance], the resulting bleeding condition might have been the end of him. Without [Soulless Bane], the damage would have been enough to kill him. If he'd not been so pig-headed in his skill selection, he wouldn't have been able to live into negative HP, let alone stay standing.

And if he hadn't followed his heart, he wouldn't have resisted damage while on the attack. But deep down, Alarion knew that the [The Best Offense is a Good Offense].

Which was why he'd taken it.

The mace slammed down with every ounce of weight Alarion had been carrying. Its damage reinforced by the near-fatal injury Alarion had received, the mace did not crush the Duke as much as it shattered him whole.

You have slain [A̴̗̥̋̍F̶̯͔͆M̷̨͂̅͑͝-̶͇̐́D̸̹͂͝-̷̺͎́̓̇̊͠0̶̼̈́̃̑̓̕0̴̰̙̣̥̋̉̕͜8̵̡̡͎̘̫̈ ̴̢̱̥͆̑͜-̵̡̯͈͂̏̓̉͜͝ ̴̙̱̘̣̜͗͋D̷̜̥̩̭̾͑ư̸͍̳k̸̤̰̑ĕ̶̴̢̧̡̺̘̈́͛͗͐̕ – UCL Error]

Exception: Unexpected Subject

Full Traceback

Re-categorizing

You have slain [The Duke – UCL 212] – Bonus experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.

Level Up! Congratulations, your Stubborn Swordsman Class has advanced to Level 22! STR +24. AGI +24. VIT +6. INT +6. PER +24. WIL +18.

Level Up! Congratulations, your Orphan Class has advanced to Level 12! STR +10. AGI +15. VIT +10. INT +10. WIL +10. LCK +192.

Skill Grade Up! Imperial Greatsword Mastery (Common) -> Oversized Weapon Mastery (Uncommon).

Skill level increased. Oversized Weapon Mastery is now Level 2. STR +12. Skill level increased. Detection is now Level 5. PER +2. WIL +2 Skill level increased. Thrown Weapon Mastery is now Level 9. AGI +4. PER +4. Skill level increased. Pig-Headed Resilience is now Level 4. VIT +16. Skill level increased. Survivor's Endurance is now Level 7. VIT +8. Skill level increased. The Best Offense is a Good Offense is now Level 3. STR +16.

Alarion slumped to his knees as the assault of notifications filled his vision, reassured that he'd successfully put the Steelborn down. One hand moved to his abdomen to put pressure on the wound as Alarion checked his HP with a frown. He'd hoped the sudden jump in vitality might have put him above zero, but apparently, a higher max HP didn't translate to an immediate gain in hit points.

It was good information to know, offset slightly by the open stab wound in his midsection. Still, he'd live.

<Did you win?> a voice asked.

Yes, he would live. And so would Alex.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.