Volume 2: Arc 1: Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Yes, I got this out much earlier than planned. The rest of the chapters will be out tomorrow morning 730 am EST. In the future, I will have chapters out on the weekends as asked; however, this weekend I am nowhere near a computer so this was the best I could do.

Please rate the series here http://www.royalroadl.com/fiction/1666. I would be most grateful.

Thanks

September 17, 32 R.E

Abhar Tulain stood with an erect posture, overlooking his students below as they practiced their sword forms. His auburn hair, curling into ringlets over the ears, was turning grey in places as his age began to show, in spite of the effects training with the soul had on his body.

He had passed the level 100 threshold in his forties. That had been twenty years ago. In all likelihood, he would never pass the level 200 threshold. He was far from reaching it. There were at least fifteen more bottlenecks before he reached that precipice and he neither had the time or energy to reach for that lofty height.

He would die. Not soon; he would live longer than normal for a human. But he would die all the same. It mattered not. He had done much in this life. Seen much as well. If he was one of those fools who sought immortality, he would have bound his soul to his heart long ago.

Three years ago, he opened this training hall. Experts from all around Mushan flocked to learn from him. It was not every day that one could learn from an expert who passed the level 100 threshold.

He was content.

As he walked between his students, many of whom used the Kandaji Style, he made slight corrections to their forms. Without saying a word, he gripped elbows, pushed knees, and bent hips to correct their slight imperfections.

The students nodded or made grunts of acknowledgment as they continued to train ceaselessly.

As Abhar helped a student of a particularly small stature modify his Thakan Form to match his frame, the wide, oaken doors to the training hall creaked open.

Dust-speckled sunlight highlighted a man that stood in the training hall’s entrance. A cloak shadowed his face while a sword hung at the man’s hip as he walked through the hall, the door clanging shut in his wake. As the man moved closer to the students, they backed away respectfully.

Every so often, experts came to challenge Abhar. He accepted each and every challenge. It was a good way to keep his forms in shape and to spread the name of his school even if he lost. Though, he rarely did.

The man walked up to Abhar who noticed off-handily how tall the man was. His dark, knee length cloak outlined refined muscles on a thin, but athletic frame. A few locks of black, almost purplish hair cascaded down the man’s refined, but not handsome face, to his neck where a striking teardrop chain made of a brightly polished metal hung proudly. And what was under that hood? It looked as if there more than a few protrusions coming out from the top.

Abhar shrugged to himself. There were more than a few experts who were of the Beast Races. This man might be one of them. Perhaps he wished to hide his face due to the scrutiny it would cause. Abhar could understand that sentiment.

“Are you Abhar the Wind-Rider?” The man asked. He had a deep, sonorous voice that echoed throughout the small training hall and sent chills down Abhar’s spine.

“I am.” Abhar said as he peered into the man’s hood. All he saw was the darkness within.

As he wet his lips, Abhar asked, “And who are you?”

The stranger waved a hand unconcernedly. “My name does not matter. You wouldn’t know it in any case.”

Abhar laughed at that. Experts who passed the Level 100 threshold, as this one clearly had, were known throughout the continent. Even if he was new to his title, his name would be recognized within the community.

“Ah. Very well.” Abhar said as he chuckled. He could not force the man if he wanted to remain anonymous. All it did was make Abhar all the more curious about his identity.

“What is it you want? A match isn’t that correct?”

The stranger nodded solemnly.

“And you still won’t tell me your name?” Abhar asked.

“No. As I said before, it would mean nothing to you. I only wish to test my mettle against yours.” Abhar caught the slight hint of a grin as the hood shifted up slightly and revealed a corner of the mouth.

Abhar thought that the expert was odder than most. Experts who traveled the continent and searched out others of their caliber usually did so to spread their name outside the community. On the other hand, this expert refused to divulge his name. Abhar suspected the man might value his training over any fame he might gain as a result. Abhar had heard of a few who did but had never met any.

Abhar, himself, was not one. There were pleasures in life that did not revolve around continuously fighting or training. The quiet comfort of a loved one, the sweet scent of flowers in luxurious gardens, sleeping in the afternoon. These were just a few of the many things Abhar enjoyed other than training. And, perhaps, it was theses reasons he would never be able to pass, nor even try for the level 200 threshold.

Abhar sighed. “Very well, stranger. But when I claim victory, I shall unmask you and find out your identity.”

The expert let out a harsh bark of laughter as he settled into a defensive posture and revealed his sword. It was a curious weapon. Not for its refinement or polish, but for its plainness. There were a few scratches along its edge and the hilt grasped by the expert was covered in rough-shod leather that looked as though it had been sewn by an amateur tailor.

Abhar slowly pulled out his own sword, Meket, from the sheath at his belt. The large Sadat gleamed in the enameled pommel as he settled into his own defensive stance. As a practitioner of Themat Variation of Kandaji, Abhar was always faster than his opponent. Wind Elemental Magic was the primary tool used in every form of the Themat Variation. In fact, it was impossible to use without Wind Elemental Magic.

“Shall we go to first blood?” Abhar asked as he filled the Sadat with his will, prepared to move first.

The expert nodded once as he raised his sword.

“Very well. Let us begin!” Abhar grunted as he propelled himself forward with his Wind Elemental Magic. Stepping into the Haj Form, Abhar moved behind the expert in the blink-of-an-eye.

All that could be heard was a small whisper of wind at his movement.

With the flick of his sword, Abhar threw a scythe of wind at the back of the expert.

Without turning, the expert did something strange…

A gigantic metallic wall coalesced in mid-air, buffeting his wind strike. A few of his students were struck by the dissipating blast. Even then, the strike was powerful enough to send a few to the ground in pain.

Abhar realized this fight could truly become dangerous for his students. The expert’s magic was truly magnificent. After he motioned for his students to head toward the second level, Abhar turned to the expert.

The expert could have struck Abhar as he turned towards his students. His victory would have been all but assured. Many would have leapt at the chance. The fame garnered from defeating Abhar the “Wind-Rider” was worth it.

But, as Abhar suspected, this expert sought no fame.

Before Abhar could say anything, the expert said solemnly, “I regret that I did not restrict my magic. Some of your students could have become seriously injured.”

Abhar nodded in thanks. “It is my fault. I took too few precautions before the bout. There are few experts who reached the level 100 threshold that could completely block my blow.”

Abhar’s curiosity gnawed at him but he restrained himself. When he claimed victory over this expert, he would find out who this unknown was. Even if the expert wished to remain anonymous, after this day, it was doubtful he would be for long.

“Are you ready?” Abhar asked as he once again bent into his defensive formation.

The expert nodded and raised his sword as both prepared to begin the bout in earnest.

Abhar moved into the Niku Form. With quick-steps, he walked on the wind as he lunged at the expert. A pulsating wave tore through the training hall as the expert blocked his sword with a quick flick of the wrist. The forced splintered the wooden wall directly opposite the dueling pair.

The expert turned out of the blow, ducked, and threw small, metallic spikes at Abhar’s chest. Creating a wall of wind, Abhar stopped the projectiles in mid-air. As he pushed forward and attacked the expert directly, he marveled at how versatile this expert was.

Stepping back into Haj, Abhar skirted to the side of the expert. This time, however, instead of throwing a wind scythe at the expert, he took another step in Haj, until they were only a pace away, before he struck out with Meket.

Expecting to feel the tearing of skin, Abhar stood silently after his motion for a single moment. The tearing sensation, however, never came. The expert threw up a wall of earth directly in the path of Abhar’s sword, Meket, impeding its progress mere inches from the expert’s skin.

Again, the expert spun away from Abhar, his dark cloak twirling as he did.

Abhar was breathing heavily now. The use of Magic taxed the human body. Humans, lacking a Thismus, relied on a Sadat to channel Magic and the Soul to use Magic. Races with a Thismus, on the other hand, relied on the organ to use Magic and the Soul to channel Magic.

Experts of lesser races were at a disadvantage to those of Greater and Epic origin as they were restricted by the limitations of the Sadat.

To overcome this issue, Abhar bound his Soul to the nerves within the wrists. It was common practice for experts of lesser races as the link between an expert and his Sadat was best if they were physically close.

Abhar turned, stepping back into Haj, as the expert darted toward him with his sword coated in Fire Elemental Magic. A ripple of heat passed over Abhar’s face as he stepped back and narrowly avoided the blow.

Stepping to the side, Abhar lashed out again with a gust of wind. It crashed into another wall of metal the expert threw up. Abhar, as he advanced, grit his teeth and mentally cursed the fortitude of those walls. They were well-matched against the Themat Variation.

The expert struck out with his sword and met Abhar head on as he advanced. The clang of blows swept through the training hall once again. Four, five, six, seven consecutive blows were met by the duelists as they spun and danced in the middle of the training hall, kicking up flurries of dust as they went.

Abhar was beginning to feel drained as they continued to fight. A wave of exhaustion hit him as he swung his eighth consecutive blow at the expert. The expert dodged the blow with a few quick steps before he lunged forward and struck out with Fire Elemental Magic.

“Gahh!” Abhar groaned as he attempted to dodge with Haj Form. He was too slow. A portion of the fire lanced up his arm even as he moved. Quickly, he put the fire out with a gust of wind but the damage was done. He had lost the fight.

As he looked at the expert, Abhar heaved out a breath, exhausted to the bone.

“Remarkable. I’ve rarely been so worn out from a fight.”

The expert chuckled heartily. “I think that is the point.”

With a slight bow to Abhar, the expert said in a more solemn tone, “I do thank you for the duel Abhar. I traveled a long way to come fight you.”

“My pleasure. My pleasure.” Abhar said with a chuckle as his students looked on with awe at these two great experts. Of the millions of experts on the continent, only a few thousand actually reached the level 100 threshold. Even though it was a common sight to see their master duel one of these famed experts, it was always a marvel to see.

“If there is nothing else, I believe I will take my leave. Once again, it was a pleasure.”

Sheathing his sword, the expert turned to leave. A faint sense of panic rose in Abhar then. This expert who defeated him could not remain nameless. He needed to know who he lost to. Even though he gave up passing the level 200 threshold long ago, his pride as an expert still remained. And with it, the names of all the experts he lost to over the years.

Hastily, Abhar called after him, “Stranger, your name, will you give it?”

The expert half turned, his face hidden in shadow, and said as he caressed his teardrop chain, “As I said, it matters not. But if you insist, I am called Rajac.”

With that, Rajac opened the oaken doors to the training hall and left an introspective Abhar in his wake.

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