“Mr Wilde,” an official-looking man at the front started, “you are expected in the arena. If you would be so kind as to unarm yourself—”

  Rafe concluded the man was an idiot there and then. Despite his gold-encrusted armour, he believed the man would be no threat. Instead he let his aura senses go wild, trying to get a sense of what he was facing. He still needed to rest his overworked lower body muscles. His stamina wasn't even a tenth of what it could be, but time wasn't his ally. Still, he could buy a bit more time if that.

  “You want me to come without my weapons?” he started.

  He tensed a moment but hid it well, trying to act casual. There were at least two sword masters hidden within the guards, and at least one grandmage if he'd learnt to read those well enough during his stay in Shariah.

  To kill a sword master. Two even. This was going to be a glorious day. One that will be remembered in the kingdom of Grayward. Weapon masters were rare after all.

  “It is only polite,” the guard in charge spoke again.

  “Only polite? Is it polite to bar my way with weapons raised like this?”

  “A precaution,” the guard ventured.

  “Will they drop their weapons if I drop mine?”

  “We'll have to see, won't we?”

  “I see. Luckily, I have no plans to cooperate then, isn't it?”

  “Indeed? May I ask, young man, what your intention is for coming to our home in this manner?”

  “You're going to pretend you don't know? Well, then so will I. I only came here to destroy house Ellan, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “A Wilde indeed. Aren't you friends with that good-for-nothing one? Noid was it? The horror. Abandoning his house, changing his name to such an unculture—”

  “Huh? That's weird. Are you a noble too?”

  “Of course,” the man said, outraged. “I am Theophili—”

  “Robert Downey Junior the third! No one gives a shit!”

  And then he attacked, right as the city guards were about to catch up. He wasn't too scared of the grand mage unless the man turned out to be a debuffer like the last mage he'd faced. That was a weakness he hadn't known he had, but then again, not many people would have anticipated that.

  He charged direct at the still-blubbering man, elbowing him in his armoured gut with a heavy blow before the man could react. He did not allow him to fall, instead using him as a human shield to barrel towards the front lines of the guards.

  One crossbowman still tried his luck and Rafe pushed the golden warrior into its path. The man cried like a pig but Rafe was close enough by then, and he just threw the man into his fellows. It was good, feeling even his meager strength stat impacting a battle.

  Then he was among them, holding a blade in one hand and his sword in the other. It was a bit uncomfortable holding his long-hilted sword one-handed, but he could manage. For his first act, he disappeared into the crowd so he could face off against the masters. The rest of the guards would just die from the reverberations of those battles, he had no doubt.

  When the golden guard barrelled into the front lines, Rafe accelerated. He crouched lower than he ever had before, and dived in among their feet, cutting calves and heels as he danced among them with his rubbery body. They shouted, some saying he was here, others there, and everywhere.

  “He is on the ground!” a commanding voice declared. “Stomp him out like the rat he is.”

  Not a rat, and not exactly on the ground. Just very near it, and using every ounce of his speed to fleet about like a bunny.

  “Earth mages!” someone else yelled.

  Rafe watched, waiting until he saw a man go down on all fours to start manipulating the earth. Not that he'd let him. His second twin blade flew and he didn't even wait to see it land before he was turning and swinging with all his might to intercept. Somehow, his sword wasn't cut to pieces. He was pushed back into a scrum of bodies, not able to get away as fast as he had been doing before. Still, his momentum had set the guards sprawling as well.

  He jumped out of the scram just as the master's blade reappeared, cutting through armoured men like they wore clothes of paper.

  “Hmmm? Don't recognize your accomplices, master?” he asked mockingly, trying to buy time.

  The man was already on him, faster than most would have been. An experienced combatant, his hair was all white and shorn down so short, he would have passed for a military man. He had a bit of white stubble, but otherwise, no beard to speak of.

  “A sharp sword you got there?” Rafe continued, trying to banter.

  He didn't do that kind of thing often, but Rafe had to keep the other sword master in check. Not to mention the grand mage. It was obvious by now they had no scruple in killing the average guards. The guards had also noticed and opted to give the fight a wide berth.

  “Shit!” someone cursed. “He knows, Dain.”

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  “You idiot, just follow the plan!” the sword master attacking Rafe yelled.

  Someone jumped into the impromptu ring created by the retreating guards.

  “Can't. His eyes are following me everywhere I go, like a hawk.”

  The old man just snorted, turning away from his comrade.

  “It's true that I knew there were two of you, and also that there is a third. Why don't you come out too, try to make this more of a challenge?”

  Silence for a bit, two.

  “I think not,” the sound seemed to come from the whole compound, loud, procellus.

  Rafe sighed. A sound mage. And just when he'd started to think this banter thing during combat wouldn't be too bad. Why were all these rare breeds of combatants coming out of the woodwork now? Well, it was the final challenge of the trial, so maybe it was fitting. Rafe wondered who the final boss would be. He could hardly wait.

  “So Dain, aye? Is it a bad time to tell you I learnt the Promise from one of your students? How is Master Aeron, by the way?”

  The man growled and charged. Rafe blocked and was forced back.

  “What, no talk? Okay fine.”

  He crouched low, looking at his opponents who were angled ninety degrees from each other. He'd already seen Dain increase the sharpness of his blade to unpropotinal levels, but that was just an insight. The man hadn't even been using the Demon God's Promise he was famous for. He was trying to make light of Rafe. And Rafe would now have the honour of teaching him the error of his ways.

  He aimed his sword forward and was next to him before Master Dain was ready. Ten slashes in a second later, and Master Dain was the one backtracking this time. Only, his robe had been cut in five different places, and there was a hint of red on one particularly long diagonal cut from left shoulder to right hip. The other master was already on top of him, a sword barrage of his own ready to cut Rafe in half. He flew over it with his movement technique, but then he felt something familiar in the air.

  He swung his sword very fast, trying to parry all the insights into sharpness and iron that had followed him into the sky.

  He had a half dozen cuts on him by the time he landed gracelessly and bounced off the cobblestoned ground. And then someone sounded a gong right next to his ears. No, not next to his ears, his ear drums. They burst.

  It was the simplest sound spell, just to damage his hearing and balance. The grand mage hadn't bothered with wave attacks to whittle him down, or a sound prison, or a siren call —something he thought sounded similar to a debuff skill. He had just hit him with crippling sound, a most basic spell. Now Rafe couldn't hear anything even as he stood - stumbled to his feet, more like - like a drunk.

  Still, Rafe looked up at the smug sword master. Dain stood next to his fellow, his dagger now unsheathed in a traditional stance of the Promise. The mage had also joined them now, ditching the guard uniform he'd been wearing to stand with his fellows, a look of boredom on his wisened face. Rafe’s head couldn't stay in one position, but he tried to focus on them.

  “A sword domain?”

  He couldn't hear himself speak, but he knew he'd spoken. The master grinned wider.

  “A sword…domain. A sword domain. A SWORD DOMAIN!”

  He had well and truly worked himself up by the end there, but he couldn't hear his voice anymore. Still, a decision had been made. He didn't like to kill, but sometimes there was no choice. Sometimes people stole. Sometimes people crossed lines.

  “DIE!”

  He was there among them before they could react, all three of them springing away to form a circle and pen him in. Too bad only one of them mattered just then. That smug-faced bastard who'd dared touch something that wasn't his. He attacked like a demon possessed.

  And the man's smirk started to morph into a frown. He opened his mouth and yelled something but Rafe couldn't hear it. With a basic diagonal slash from the Northern Wind dance style, he had the man backtracking, a large cut on his belly. The mage came from behind, carried on a wave. Rafe snarled and swung, his sword reaching the man amid a pulse of confusing undulations. It exploded, his sword did, shrapnel flying everywhere.

  Maybe the mage thought he'd be more devastated by the loss of his weapon, and maybe he was right. Only, he had other weapons on hand just then. For example, he had a few daggers, and one was withdrawn too fast for the damn mage to react and took him in the gut. The blade exploded, only exacerbating the wound the mage had obtained.

  Rafe turned just in time to block an ambush slash from Dain. It sent him flying. Flying toward the master he wanted. He didn't need a sword to destroy this fucker. He was in his stance in a moment, already swinging but the master had enough time to activate his sword domain. From such close range, it cut into him too, and he was bleeding as much as Rafe was. Dain too had been following Rafe and didn't walk off scot-free.

  Rafe dived at him, his body only a moment from failing. The dagger he aimed at the master's throat was broken. Rafe looked at it in confusion as the blade failed to penetrate the aura and insight-imbued skin. When had it been broken? When had it grown dull? A drop of blood collected towards the blade end of the break, flowing slowly over the master's neck and down his body.

  Something hit his neck then, something sharp and cold. He felt his head go higher and higher as his neck was cut cleanly through. He hadn't been able to defeat a sword master, in the end. Rafael Kingsley died.

  It was only for a few moments though. One last time - Rafe knew instinctively - he experienced the miracle that was this trial.

  “You bastard, you almost cut my head off!” he heard one of the masters complain.

  “I have enough control over my blade not to do that. Can you say the same about your stupid sword domain? Look at me.”

  “Hel…help me,” an old man's voice wheezed. The grandmage.

  “By the gods, Master Travis, what happened?”

  With a few moments to collect himself, Rafe realised just how irrationally he'd acted. Orlandir had a sword domain, sure, but it couldn't have been a unique ability. He couldn't have been the first in a world full of masters and grandmasters twice his age, maybe even higher-level warriors.

  He had gotten so angry at the reminder. The reminder of a friend he'd tried so much not to think about. The reminder of a friend buried somewhere in unclaimed lands, buried and abandoned there. Rafe would never see that grave again. A tear fell down his cheek. Only one.

  Then, as the masters fussed over the wounded mage, Rafe stood over them. Another dagger came from a hidden sheath. He took Dain first, stabbing down and into his head. The domain master looked up in confusion as Dain wheezed and started to convulse. His eyes opened in horror.

  Rafe didn't rush. He took his time to disarm Dain, and still, the crouching man made no move. Rafe gave him no more time, pointing his blade and appearing next to him, his sword deep in the man's gut.

  The grand mage looked up in horror. He died with a slit throat, but not before filthying his cherished robes.

  Rafe looked around at the circle of guards. He must have made for quite a site. They were quiet, watching him with confusion and horror. This was the first time someone had seen him die and resurrect. Or at least it was the first time those people would survive.

  Someone at the front pointed behind him, towards the left of the multi-keep palace. There were gates within the gate, paths leading to and from different towers.

  Rafe looked where the man pointed, tilting his head in confusion.

  “T-the arena, s-sir.”

  Rafe nodded and said nothing more. As he moved in the indicated direction, the shadows in the path started to move, to change shape. One grew into a clear arrow, pointing forward, showing him the way.

  “T-t-the arena, s-s-s-sir.” the voice said.

  It was mocking, playful, sounding almost like quiet laughter. It was also familiar, though he couldn't quite believe it. Talking shadows, moving shadows, emerald rank assassin. Rafe couldn't help but hope. It was futile, but it would be so cool. He didn't pay attention to the path, only following the shadow arrows to a region of densest shadow just ahead. A grand gate opened.

  The first thing he noticed was the cells almost opposite the entrance he'd entered through. He saw Jonathan, Maria, the girls, a few senior mercenaries he remembered, and Kayle from the adventurer's guild.

  But then the shadows pulsed, thickening, threatening to form a dome that would bar the rest of the world. He stared at the woman cloaked in her shadows, and he laughed. Why wouldn't he? This was a truly ridiculous last boss. A fitting end to a trial that would perhaps define the rest of his life.