Lightning sparked around Aren. His collapsing buffer was filled with so many symbols and instructions that it was a miracle he could move at all. Slowly, the planar energies pouring through the disintegrating symbols were causing a reverse-shock and annihilating his physical body — which was the conduit and focus for these energies — as the buffer failed to clear itself, time and time again. This was a symptom known as overdraw. It was comparable to electrical systems, where an overdraw of current could cause systematic failure after catastrophic shorts annihilated all fail-safes. This was the exact same situation.

The lightning that sparked from Aren was so powerful that it set the grass on fire, almost an entire meter away from the spot where the tongues lashed — and what the electricity did directly touch was practically annihilated, ripped atom from atom or fused into more exotic elements.

From an outside perspective, it was obvious that Aren just short-circuited his buffer, and even if it did not kill him instantly, it would be the cause of his certain death. Overdraw was notorious for causing paralysis. Although, it wasn’t paralysis, but rather the fact that avoiding death required total concentration and single-minded focus, to the point that a single twitch of physical movement could cause a cascade of failures that would lead to the disintegration of the body.

It no doubt came as a relief when the adventurers realized that Aren would no longer be a threat, that is why, when Aren stepped forward and disappeared in a flash of lightning, the effect that shock had was amplified to mind-boggling magnitudes.

“How?” the archer asked, as Aren appeared next to him. The question wasn’t really directed to anyone in particular. The shock and terror of the fact that Aren could still seemingly use his buffer short-circuited the brain and came out in the form of that question. How?

It shouldn’t be possible. But under the guidance of Leviathan, the surges of lightning energy sparking around him weren’t just overflow from his collapsing buffer. It was the same as back when he first used [Flash]. The inspiration and knowledge that came to him was not of his own will or even his own doing. Back then, he didn’t even know how to channel energies, and yet he had done it as if it was an effortless thing.

Fang once mentioned that wielding a shadowblade had the potential of revealing hidden skill sets, and Aren didn’t have to check to verify whether this was true or not.

[Arcane Territory]. The knowledge of that skill set worked itself into Aren’s understanding as if it had always been present. It was the ability to create a field of planar interference and use it as an external buffer. It had three primary abilities: [Arcane Warfare], [Arcane Manipulation] and [Planar Interference].

Yan Li was a legendary player ten years ago, who led the Alliance Challenger to victory for four seasons in a row. Yan Li, coincidentally, was a legendary Lightning Destroyer, an evolution of the Elementalist class. With spear and lightning, Yan Li annihilated all opponents thanks to a unique skill he discovered, or potentially invented: [Arcane Dominion]. In those times, magic type classes were unpopular because macros and aliases didn’t exist, leaving potential spellcasters with an incredibly difficult class that required a PhD to operate. Even the best results of hopeful magicians were underwhelming at best, and even geniuses had trouble generating effects that could compete with the high-end abilities of physical power, or adept classes that used their bodies as a focus, rather than using an object for that purpose.

Then Yan Li came and blew away the competition with an external buffer that was magnitudes larger than what anyone else was capable of, and likewise capable of unleashing catastrophic magic that could wipe out an entire army with a single spell. Not only could Yan Li create a massive interference field, but he could manifest those fields as physical objects, use them as weapons to kill mages, walk on them, or have them serve as an anti-magic field of sorts.

Of Yan Li’s many, many abilities, only [Arcane Warfare] was passed down to the rest of the Alliance, and from there, into the wider world where, even to this day, top alliance mages all used that ability. It was indispensable, and an absolute requirement just to remain competitive.

The world was full of examples like Yan Li, who discovered strange and wonderful skills, but few would ever be able to use them to climb to the top like Yan Li did. In other words, it was never safe to underestimate someone else, especially a loner who was not part of an alliance or guild. Not being famous did not always mean someone was powerless.

However, Aren did not really feel like he was using unique or powerful skills. The reason why he was so confident in his abilities was the fact that he was under the effects of Estella’s blessings and Priscilla’s blessing. The fact that he was attacked first meant that his abilities increased by at least two ranks, and in some cases, by three. That meant that he single-handedly overpowered this group — he was at a level that would take a normal player at least three or four years to achieve.

Estella’s blessing boosted his swordsmanship to an effective level of Grandmaster, and it had a relationship to Lightning Blade, which increased its rank to Expert. His Lightning Manipulation was similarly boosted by the relationship it had with Lightning Blade.

On the other hand, Priscilla’s blessing opened his [Arcane Territory] class, and it was as if he was possessed by her spirit, guiding him towards utilizing that new, strange skill set. And not just that one — [Lightning Divider] was an ability he shouldn’t even be able to use at his level, especially not without a lightning blade. A buffer failure was but a small price to pay, and an extremely lucky outcome for using such an ability. In reality, the counter-shock should have reduced him to ashes.

When he moved, he did so with an energy that could crush mountains. His improved Reaping Sword ability was such that each strike came with the heaviness of inevitable death. And heaviness was the best way to describe that. That tyrannical air he exuded was thanks to Reaping Sword — it infused his movements with the essence of death and destruction. With such oppressive influence, it manifested in the mind’s eye as heaviness.

Still, Aren’s sudden appearance caused a pandemonium of action to explode. The usual disdain the adventurers had for those like Aren disappeared and they reacted to his dangerous presence as if he was an enemy worthy of their consideration and full capabilities. However, their lack of cohesion and unified action suggested that their idea of group hierarchy was extremely lacking.

Perhaps, against well-researched opponents, such as those found in dungeons or the wild, the group adhered to a hierarchy defined by their social status, in which case, the warrior was certainly the one with the highest standing. But against an unfamiliar foe whom they took seriously to the point that they may have begrudgingly thought was superior to them, such social constructs did not matter.

Three voices immediately gave orders, and each one conflicted with the other two. The warrior shouted for the archer to stand his ground and keep Aren’s attraction. A priest wanted the archer to run and the warrior to engage Aren, and another individual, whose class was unclear by his equipment, wanted everyone to disengage.

But it was too late.

Aren’s [Half Moon] from the Reaping Sword ability carved into the archer’s neck, burying the shadowblade halfway through, and causing the archer to instantly drop to the ground, only a few dozen seconds away from bleeding out.

[Injury inflicted. Severity: Debilitating mortal wound. Enemy paralyzed.]

Aren turned, a wayward crackle of lightning flashing over his head, briefly distracting his next target; the enigmatic individual who wore both robes and scale armor. Aren couldn’t tell if he was a mage or some kind of warrior. Perhaps a special sort of Striker? The lack of a weapon only confused matters further.

“Taria, heal Zom,” the warrior called out as he stomped forward to engage Aren, bringing his kite shield up, and drawing his sword.

Taria, the priest who gave orders earlier, was already pacing backwards when Aren unleashed his attack against the archer, and was quietly chanting under her breath. Unlike arcane magic, divine magic required chants instead of only constructing symbols in one’s buffer; that was to say, they had a heavy verbal component, whereas arcane warriors utilized a lot of somatic components for their magical effects.

As Aren stepped towards the enigma, he felt himself slam against an invisible wall. Or perhaps it wasn’t a wall, but more like a fog? Aren couldn’t tell which it was, but his movements became sluggish. His nerves were firing warnings at him, urging him to disengage and retreat, but Aren was already mid-swing with [Singing Crescent], and his blade howled as it parted the air in just the right way to produce a pleasant tone; but then his blade stopped in mid air, trembling against an invisible force.

It turned out that Aren was right when he figured the enigmatic individual was a Striker of sorts. He was a Psion, and the “wall” stopping Aren was a telekinetic field. When the Psion manifested a thought-forged lance made of glimmering dream essence, Aren realized that he should’ve listened to his inner voice screaming at him to run.

This close, he had no opportunity to dodge.

The thought-forged lance twisted unto itself, creating a spiraling shape, and with each twist, Aren felt that the weapon became more and more powerful, as if the Psion was charging it up somehow. Logically, it made no sense that twisting a shaft would make it more powerful, but to Aren, it simply felt that way. The way it vibrated in the air, as if it was barely held back by the telekinetic field holding it in place, exuded an ominous feeling that only increased in potency with each twist.

Aren almost regretfully recalled his thoughts about the danger of underestimating unknowns. He had made the same mistake. Perhaps not entirely. He attacked the Psion exactly because he didn’t know what class he was, or what abilities Aren could expect from him. And he did it while he thought he had the advantage.

A lashing whip of lightning carved through the air, discharged from Aren’s collapsing buffer and connected with the thought-forged lance. The transformer-like hum spilled into the area which had become mostly silent.

Aren was considering allowing his buffer to collapse, in order to create an opportunity for him to escape, but he would not have the opportunity to explore that idea to its full potential.

Estella’s sword plunged through the Psion’s back, and emerged from his front, instantly destroying his heart and killing the Psion on the spot.

The adventurers looked dumbfounded. How could they have forgotten about Estella? In all honesty, Aren was among those as well. He also had forgotten about Estella. To be specific, he had not forgotten about her — it just slipped his mind that she was perfectly capable of fighting. In fact, she was more powerful than he was; Aren was absolutely sure of that.

[Injury sustained. Severity: Critical.]

It almost came as a surprise to find that Aren had a spear emerging from the area of his stomach, impaling him all the way through. If it were not for the notification, he never would’ve even realized its presence. He couldn’t feel a thing — not when it plunged into his back, or when it plowed through his organs.

The heaviness he felt in his motions, the certainty, they all evaporated. On the contrary, he suddenly felt light and uninhibited. A toxic, but sweet fragrance reached his nostrils — the air itself tasted like pending death.

Aren managed to look over his shoulder, and see his assailant, a young teen about his age, with blonde hair and grey eyes. He wore light, metal armor similar to Fang’s lamellar, but lighter. When did he get behind Aren?

It was only then that Aren realized that among all the adventurers, this person was the only threat. It took only one brief look to realize this, but he exuded the same kind of martial presence that Fang did. This person was an expert, if not a genius.

It wasn’t so much a problem of when that person got behind Aren, but when that person appeared in the first place. No matter how hard Aren tried to search his memories, he couldn’t remember seeing that person before. He was not with the group. A late arrival? Reinforcements? This soon?

Aren felt fear. Despite his coldness — that island of clarity — he felt the oppressive presence of fear envelop his form. It was as if his own mind was trying to construct a death line, but instead of a line that guaranteed death, he was trying to find a path that guaranteed his own life. And he could not find it.

This person… was not that simple. To begin with, he didn’t fit with this group. He didn’t have that derisive attitude or toxic mannerism. He seemed cold and calculated, and sharp like a blade’s edge. He was experienced; not as a hunter of the creatures that oppose adventurers, but as a hunter of other adventurers.

Aren’s [Lightning Cleaver] passed under the newcomer’s chin, who merely tilted his head back to avoid the attack, but that was enough for Aren to step towards him, impaling himself further on the spear, and to unbalance the spear-wielding warrior. This caused the individual to stumble, and at the risk of losing possession of his spear, he drew it back, freeing Aren.

This time, Aren felt the spear carve through his insides, and it was incredibly painful and discomforting. So much so, that were it not for the influence of lightning, he would’ve probably died of shock, if not have been completely paralyzed by the experience.

Lightning surged around Aren, discharging in such a way that it carved over Aren’s wound, burning flesh and cauterizing bleeding wounds. It was not a mortal wound, but over time, it would have become one.

“Arcane warfare?” the individual asked, as he politely waited for Aren to treat — if it could be called that — his wounds. “Not only can you move while your buffer is collapsing, but you can still control your field. Impressive.”

“Aren…” Estella said, stepping towards him, and positioning herself between the newcomer and her friend. “Retreat.”

“Toril,” the warrior — the leader of the group — approached the newcomer with a submissive attitude. “Thank you for coming. We appreciate the assistance.”

Toril, the spear-wielder, looked at the warrior and frowned. A slap echoed in the field as Toril’s backhand left a mark on the warrior’s cheek. And then another slap echoed, and a mark appeared on the warrior’s other cheek.

The warrior’s eyes were filled with tears, his face twisted into an unreadable, but horrifying grimace.

“Who started this?” Toril asked.

“They did…” the warrior whispered.

Toril looked at Estella.

Estella up-nodded towards the warrior. She didn’t say anything.

Without a warning, Toril’s spear skewered the warrior’s chest, and pinned him to the ground. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling over the warrior’s ruined and extremely expensive armor. Toril, sadistically, twisted the spear and wiggled it around, inflicting both pain and catastrophic injury on the warrior to the point that even Aren pitied him.

“You,” Toril said, pointing at the priest. “What’s your name?”

“Taria, sir,” the priest replied.

“Heal him,” Toril commanded.

“Yes, sir.” She opened her hand towards the warrior and began chanting.

“Not that scum,” Toril said. He then pointed at Aren. “Heal him.”

Taria hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

A faint light surrounded Aren, and he felt a relieving kind of warmth touch the wound Toril inflicted.

Aren’s mind was racing. He was trying to comprehend Toril’s actions. Did he want to duel Aren? Was that it? A fair duel where they were both at their best? With Aren’s buffer in the state it was, that was not going to happen.

“I am from Vanguard,” Toril said. “It has come to our understanding that certain groups in our affiliate programs have been targeting you and your clan. We want you to know that Vanguard is not behind this, and does not condone this behavior.”

Aren coldly stared at Toril, trying his best to manage a passive expression — a poker-face. To Estella, this came naturally. She didn’t have a poker-face. That was just her natural expression, it seemed like.

“There is a rumor that you are a returning player, and personally, having seen what happened today, I believe that is true.” The fact that he could say player out loud meant that Toril was definitely not a simple person. “I do have a question for you, though.”

Aren’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. He licked his lips. “Go ahead.”

“Who is your sponsor?” Toril asked.

Aren was about to ask what Toril meant by sponsor, but then his body became paralyzed. He could not move. He could not even breathe. He was pretty certain even his heart stopped beating.

Leviathan.

“Come now,” Toril said. “You left the Island of Beginnings less than a few weeks ago according to our information, and you already have Arcane Warfare. I just want to know which alliance these idiots almost started a war with. Is it Sigil?”

Estella raised an eyebrow, glancing at Aren. The words surprised her. Obviously, she could not know that Aren wasn’t actually affiliated with any alliance, but his strange skills supported Toril’s idea. [Arcane Warfare] was not simple to obtain. Other than absurd amounts of money, it also required permission from one of the top alliances that possessed it. How could a newbie possibly have that ability already?

After Aren failed to reply again, Toril sighed. “Fine, I won’t press the issue. I am here to offer you two things: First, our leader would like to meet you at some point. To smooth over these misunderstandings. A show of friendship.”

Aren nodded. He could sense there was politics involved with the first offer, but Aren could not figure out exactly what the point of such politics was. This rumor — this idea — that Aren was a returning professional was certainly behind it, but Aren could not figure out the objective of a show of friendship, unless that was the objective to begin with. To show the other alliances that Aren was friends with Vanguard.

“And second?” Aren asked.

“Right,” Toril nodded. “If, by some chance, you do not have an alliance behind you yet, showering you with gifts — and even if you do — Vanguard is prepared to offer you a position. Whatever anyone else is offering you, we will double it.”

Toril tilted his head suddenly, his gaze unfocused, and then he nodded. “We will triple it.”

Aren swallowed. His poker-face faltered briefly. A position with Vanguard? He could live like a Duke for the rest of his days if he accepted that offer.

“Think about it, you don’t have to answer immediately,” Toril said.

Aren nodded.

Toril sheathed his spear across his back and then took out a whistle and blew into it. Seconds later, a majestic griffon landed next to him and lowered its head. Toril climbed onto its back, and then the griffon took off into the air.

In the meantime, both the warrior and the archer bled to death, and the Psion was long dead before either one of them. The adventurer group dispersed, except for the priest who continued to heal Aren for several more minutes, until his wounds entirely disappeared. She was faster than Cassandra at healing by several orders of magnitude.

When her job was done, the priest excused herself with a bitter expression and tone, and left.

Aren fell to his knees when they all left, and sighed in relief.