Pain was almost a foreign concept to Eric, that was until the day of the Harvest festival when he lost his leg. The injury left him helpless with his every thought scattered by the unbelievable agony of it all. Now, he wasn’t sure if he preferred the horror of that moment to the complete torment he felt now.

The simple twitch of a finger was enough to send arcs of fire through his veins. The vision in one of his eyes had dulled surely due to a broken blood vessel of some kind. Every breath burned as if he’d been forced to run without end. If not for his gravity magic, Eric would surely be slumped on the floor like a corpse, just like the many burned husks that surrounded him.

He'd pushed his body too far flooding his mana channels with more power than he ever dared before. Every mage had his limits and he’d burst through his without hesitation channeling far too much and far too quick. It was all in the hopes of stopping the foolish ambush his countrymen were planning, but he was too late.

Harm and Rain in a fit of defiance against Vellia wrapped the few nobles left into their stupidity. Leif had to be with them as well. They wouldn't attempt an attack on anyone without their secret weapon. It didn't matter, they’d all be dead soon anyway.

A guttural stream from Mildrith pulled Eric from his thoughts. Carr, one of Tanya’s personal guards and apparently a massive werebeast, held her down with his remaining arm. There was a sword embedded in her stomach, one made from her own mana, but she was in far too much pain to banish it herself.

“Carr, you have to hold her still!” Asta shouted as she held onto the sword’s hilt.

The healer was forced to ignore her own wounds that stained her robes crimson. Carr wasn't doing much better. His stump of an arm had stopped bleeding, but like Eric, he pushed himself too far and was suffering from the backlash of over throttling his mana for so long.

With a swift pull, Asta freed the sword from Mildrith’s stomach immediately placing her hand on the blood now flowing freely from the injury. Carr forced more of his weight on Mildrith with nerves of steel while Asta shed tears as she healed the wound with magic.

Eric's eyes on the other hand looked at the gory display but only saw what would become of his people. Mildrith's cries sent images of an invading army marching across his mind. He would be forced to hear this again as thousands were put to the sword. Whether it be an army stretching beyond the horizon or a handful of individuals with the power to end nations, South Bastion was finished.

“Set me free Eric!” Harm exclaimed.

Eric turned to him, wiping away tears he hadn't known were there. He still held the teleporter in a localized dimensional lock and pinned to the ground by channeling his gravity focus.

Most cultivators would have been crushed under their own weight by now. The fact that Harm could lift his head off the ground was a testament to his strength. That strength made Eric press down harder, deepening the crater and slamming Harm back into the tightly packed earth.

“You’ve killed us all,” Eric said without anger or accusation, it was simply a fact.

“I'm taking a stand, one we should have taken years ago!”

Eric sounded defeated as he spoke and tried his best to hold back more tears. “Stand against who, against what?”

“Those damn humans!” Harm spat in disgust.

“Those humans are now going to kill us because of what you've done. Tanya’s personal guards were enough to do all this.” Eric gestured to the smoldering corpses around them. “When Vellia finds out, they’ll send more than just a few powerful guards, they'll send a whole fucking army!”

“Not if they think this attack was Fenris,” Harm pleaded, his voice becoming a whisper as if that would stop anyone from hearing his plan. “All you have to do is kill the rest of them.”

Carr looked over to Eric but he hardly noticed as he laughed without a hint of amusement. “South Bastion nobles, Fenris, it doesn't matter! You think the human will see a difference! I certainly wouldn’t!” The crater around Harm began to deepen as anger crept into Eric’s voice. “With Tanya dead, her father will see us as not worth the trouble even if he doesn't just glass the city for revenge!”

“Tanya isn't dead,” Carr growled as if daring someone to say otherwise. He rose walking passed Eric to the edge of gravity spell’s crater. “It will take someone a lot stronger than you to take her out. And then there’s Bitarr.”

Harm struggled to raise his head and smiled. “Your little lion doesn't stand a chance against Rain. And even if she can win, Leif will finish the job after finishing off Bitarr.”

“You better hope not,” Carr said like he had an enticing secret. “None of you will live long enough for Vellia’s revenge.”

“The Advisory,” Eric said.

“What?” Harm asked completely puzzled.

“He works for Tanya doesn't he,” Eric said.

Carr shrugged looking at Harm. “Maybe, but you won’t have to worry about that.”

The werepanther tossed a throwing knife with such ease Eric couldn't recognize it as an attack until it was too late. The blade flew straight and would have sailed right over Harm’s head but shot down as soon as it reached the gravity field holding him. The small weapon struck with the force of a javelin shattering Harm’s skull before embedding itself several feet in the ground.

Carr lept back as Eric lashed out, compressing where the werepanther stood an instant before. The noble roared in anger, lashing out with streams of mana that pressed furrows into the ground while trying to ignore the streams of pain racking his body.

“You son of bitch! Why did you?” Eric fell to his knees as he was struck with a backlash of power. In the state he was in, he was lucky to even be conscious after such a display of power.

“How did you think this was going to end,” Carr said, coming to a stop. “It's not like you could keep him captive for much longer.”

“That wasn't your choice to make,” Eric said already knowing Carr was right.

“Well, we’re strapped for time, so get over it.” Carr turned to Asta. “Heal him as much as you can.”

“What about you?” she said, looking at Carr’s missing arm with Mildrith who was barely able to keep her eyes open.

“I’ll be fine. Healed or not, I won’t be of much use in a fight.”

“So why heal me?” Eric asked.

“Someone needs to protect everyone while I search for Tanya.”

Eric got to his feet and stared Carr down. He now saw something in the boy, something dangerous that had been well hidden until now. It was like staring into the vacant eyes of an executioner whose sword had groaned dull with use.

Despite the wide difference in age, strength, and status, Eric suddenly felt threatened. As if by pure instinct, a purple aura of protection sprang to life around him. It caused a terrible burning sensation along Eric’s already abused body, but Carr, no, that thing was far too close.

Images of being ripped limb from limb flashed through Eric’s mind as a wave of blood lust washed over him. It wasn't an expression power, it was simple animal savagery far removed from any soldier or even assassin.

“Carr,” Asta said like a scolding mother. “Your mana.”

The vacant look and murderous presence around the werepanther evaporated in an instant leaving nothing but a friendly smile. “Sorry about that. This whole situation has me a bit... anxious.”

“Anxious,” Eric said slowly.

Eric tried to relax, but couldn't. What stood in front of him wasn't a man or werebeast. Carr was like some kind of tortured monster whose emotions bleed into his mana. Having him as a guard, as anyone close by was madness, but not to Tanya apparently.

“Here is out this is going to go,” Carr said with a confident smile Eric already knew was an empty lie. “You‘re going to stay here and protect my sisters. And Alda,” He added shortly after. “If anything,” Carr’s smile grew wider as if emphasizing a threat. “And I mean anything happens to them, the Advisory will finish off what’s left of your noble friends.”

“None of that will matter if you or Tanya don’t make it,” Eric said.

“True. But I like assuming we’ll win until we die.”

*****

“Who the fuck are you?” Brand asked as an aura of silence washed over him. The source of the surpassing magic was standing several feet from him as if presenting himself.

The urge to conjure a weapon itched at the back of his mind like an instinct he was forced to suppress. Not doing so along with the banishing of his magic perception and losing any way to communicate with Thora left Brand feeling just a bit too mundane for his liking, but he wasn't defenseless.

He could still throttle his mana, admittedly slower as it couldn’t swirl around his body to gain speed without being dissolved. His fortress aura was now just a thin sheet of constantly dissolving magic that could barely convert the silencing mana fast enough to be maintained. This left Brand’s defenses intact but robbed him of all but his fist to fight with. At the very least he was in a far better state than Bitarr who didn't have the mind to alter his aura.

The only way to truly silence him was to flood his body with the bothersome mana around him. Even then, it should take several minutes to do so, time this man didn't have.

The silencer palmed his fist in front of himself and bowed slightly. His height was average as well as his build which to Brand made him seem unimpressive. Fiery red hair spread along his hands with a pattern of black stripes, an obvious tiger kin at first glance.

The strangest part of the man's appearance was how instead of armor he wore a bathrobe, or at least something close to one. Brand expected to see chainmail underneath or a baculus proving the man a mage, but his well lean muscles and scarred knuckles told a different story.

“Eminence... Exalted one? Godliness? I’m sorry. I don’t know how to address a god, but my name is Leif.”

The man’s voice was calm and measured. That alone was more of a threat than a drawn sword or a crackling spell begging to be released. This man, whoever he was, was strong, strong enough to think he could kill Bitarr. But if that was the case, why did Brand have no clue I was?

“Cut the formal bullshit. And I'm not Bitarr,” Brand said with a sneer.

“You're not?” Leif said his shoulders slumping in disappointments. “I know the Pantheon's Bane is an honest god, but am I really supposed to believe there is more than one dark-skinned tattooed human running around with the regent?”

“Doesn't matter what you believe,” Brand said.

As he listened to the talkative beast kin, Brand concentrated on throttling his mana and maintaining his Ironsides. It was a slow process and hard to control without letting any mana leak outside his body. With years of perfect control under his belt, he couldn't help feeling sluggish, but his mana was flowing and growing faster by the second.

Leif continued talking but at this point, it was more to himself. “You know what, even if you’re not Bitarr I still have to kill you. Regardless of my orders, you made the mistake of killing nobles. Now my hand are tied and-"

“You're the one that's made a mistake,'' Brand said, bringing Leif rambling to an end. “I can't conjure my weapons.”

“And how was that a mistake?” Leif asked with a raised eyebrow.

Brand lowered his center of gravity as his muscles bulged with power. “Because now I'm going to have to beat you to death instead of quickly splitting your skull open with an ax!”

“Wait, what?”

Brand dashed forward closing the distance within the space between words. His fist shot out expecting to burst through the beast kin’s chest while at the same time, his stomach turned, dreading how much blood was about to drench him.

It was almost a relief when the oddly dressed man jumped, no, hoped back with an ease Brand had never seen in combat. In the same motion, Leif turned to let Brand’s fist graze his chest as he struck, slamming his fist into Brand’s shin.

The blow sent Brand into another world of dulled colors, nausea, and where everything spun uncontrollably. Another strike brought him back when Leif’s foot landed right under his shin, shattering his roots to the world sending him crashing through an ancient tree.

Brand hit the ground a moment later, limp and in pain. Blood filled his mouth and his head pounded worse than after being struck by the paladin’s mace during the Yule festival. If not for his cranial augment and iron sides, his brain would be a pulpy liquid right now.

He rolled onto his stomach and coughed as blood poured from his mouth. “What!” He paused as the world continued to spin, only speaking again after using some of the little mana he had left to heal. “What are you, an apex cultivator or something?”

“An apex pugilist,” Leif said while steering at his hand in curiosity like something was wrong.

“One of those idiots that only fights with their fist and are as tough as wet paper,” Brand said as he found his footing and spat the rest of the blood from his mouth.

“This idiot just hit you harder than any enchanted hammer could,” Leif said, a defensive chip on his shoulder present in his voice.

Brand didn't want to agree with the pugilist but denial wouldn’t soothe the aching in his jaw or keep his brain from rattling. The blow he’d taken while delivered by a man the striker could literally rip limb from limb held more power than even Cull’s unbreakable fist.

If Leif used magic, or more precisely, if he could use magic, Brand was sure he would have been on his way to see Hel far sooner than anticipated. Thankfully, silencers couldn't form runes, enneagrams, or any kind of pattern with their mana. Even powering enchanted weapons and armor would unravel whatever magic they held but none of that matter if one could shatter a metal ingot with a punch.

“So you disarm your enemy then beat them to death. That’s messed up,” Brand said, hoping he still sounded confident, powerful, not like he was about to take another beating because his plans went to hell.

“Not really,” Leif said and clenched his fist looking at Brand in a different light. “But you should be dead.”

Leif’s words were said like an obvious fact, as if having to explain that blood was red and Alfhiem’s sky was pink. It was as if no one had ever survived his single strike to the shin and doing so shook him, not in fear, but curiosity.

“Most apex cultivators don't get up after a blow like that.” he continued with a smile. “Finally, someone I can’t kill with just one punch!”

The beast kin charged with a smile on his face. He didn't look like a man in a battle to the death, more like someone in the mitts of a game, one he couldn't help but win.

The moment Leif was within arm's reach, Brand threw a punch without a hint of grace or reservation. All he needed was a single strike to break the flimsily built pugilist. The man's bones might as well have been made of mundane glass thanks to his build, but he accepted the blow on his face without hesitation.

For a brief moment, Brand thought he’d won. He never expected his attack to strike true but felt the faintest bit of contact before Leif spun out of the way.

The pugilist's fist shot out like a crossbow at point-blank range crashing into Brand’s face with a deafening boom that shook the forest. Like before, blood sprang from the striker’s mouth and his consciousness retreated from the trauma.

Just before letting himself fall, Brand’s mind came back to him with a burst of healing magic. Back in the fight, he launched another attack only for Leif to catch his wrist and push it aside with ease.

“Oh fuck!” Brand thought right before another blow sent him back into darkness. His self-repeating healing spell kicked in just in time for Leif to send him right back into nothingness.

Again, Brand came to, his improvised spell growing stronger and faster with power absorbed with each blow. This time he was back fast enough to throw a hooked punch that Leif easily ducked under.

He came in close kicking Brand’s feet from under him with enough force to break a lesser man’s legs. Still, Brand held true, his roots to the world not letting him fall until a kick to the stomach sent him flying.

A good half a mile later when he came to a stop, crimson fluids colored the grass as Brand wretched. Something inside him had ruptured, but he ignored the purplish-red spreading across his skin, instead further increasing the strength of the isolated spell healing his mind.

Brand looked up hearing Leif’s approaching right before seeing the man dash towards him like a leaf on the wind. His cheerful expression was gone, replaced with determination.

“Oh great. Now he’s taking me seriously.”

“Flurry of blows!” Leif called out, then his fist blurred.

The next few seconds were like a faraway light sputtering in the darkness. Brand’s healing spell kept bringing him back, each time faster than the last. It was a painless process at first, but soon enough, his thinned fortress aura had the mana he needed to stay in the fight.

The wind began to whirl around the two cultivators as both began to blur with motion. Blast of air shook the surroundings with every punch Brand failed to land. Rapid-fire thundering echoed through the forest as Leif’s attacks landed one after the other.

Soon, the space between unconsciousness was like a blink of an eye to Brand. Empowered with the mana beaten into him, he was finally able to fight back in earnest.

Leif ducked under another attack and was about to deliver an uppercut when Brand’s leg rose up stopping the blow. The striker twisted into a kick that hit its mark only for Leif to move with the impact, diffusing most of the force but still having the wind knocked out of him.

“I win!” Brand cheered catching hold of the beast kin’s arm before he could recover.

His grip tightened, expecting to enjoy the feeling of shattering bones but felt the strength drain from his limb. The weakness spread to his chest before Brand’s realized silencing mana was invading his body at an alarming rate.

With no time to waste, Brand tried to smash Leif’s face in with his free hand, but the beast kin expertly blocked the attack by striking at his arm’s joint.

Brand growled, not willing to let go, and pulled Leif in closer after grabbing hold with both hands. The striker smashed his head into Leif’s hoping for a shower of brains but his impossible strength was already gone leaving only a bloodied nose.

Still not giving up on victory, Brand went low grasping Leif with what strength he had left and pulled him to the ground.

“Let go of me!” Leif cried out in panic, but Brand was now in control and was on him like a constricting snake.

The pugilist now being stronger didn’t make a difference. Brand crawled around him, locking an arm around the beast kin's neck and right arm. When he tried to move, Brand rolled, taking Leif with him to confuse the formal fighter with backstreet wrestling maneuvers.

Brand changed position again, releasing his prey only to catch him again with an arm around his neck and his knee pressed firmly into his back for leverage.

Brand's free hand rose up glowing red with the mana he could still control. “Time to die!”

His fist came down with an explosion that tore the forest asunder.