Arayn struck first, closing the distance between them in an instant. Valen moved to intercept, raising his spear to block the attack—but his weapon sliced through empty air. Suddenly, a sharp sting bloomed across his neck. Blood trickled down his skin.

  Without hesitation, he sprang back, golden light flaring from his fingertips as he sealed the wound with magic.

  Arayn materialized a few steps away, his gaze locking onto Valen's.

  The Heavenly Demon class really did have sharp reflexes. Valen had avoided a fatal strike just in time, turning what should have been a killing blow into nothing more than a shallow cut.

  Valen, on the other hand, clenched his jaw. Arayn’s footwork was a problem. If he didn’t find a way to counter it, he would be on the defensive the entire fight.

  Arayn unleashed a dozen [Cursed Fangs], the crimson projectiles streaking through the air toward Valen. Before they could reach him, a light buckler formed a short distance away, pulsing with radiant energy. The moment the cursed projectiles neared, they veered off course, drawn to the glowing shield like moths to a flame.

  A chain of explosions erupted as the [Cursed Fangs] detonated. Arayn surged forward, using the blasts as cover. However, Valen was already moving—he leaped back and swung his spear at empty air.

  A sharp clang rang out. Metal against metal.

  Then, out of thin air, Arayn appeared. Valen’s eyes narrowed. So that’s how his footwork worked. The first Arayn behind the second Arayn was nothing more than an afterimage. The footwork was cancelled after Arayn performed an attack.

  Without hesitation, he struck again, spear flashing toward Arayn, but Arayn parried the attack with ease. They clashed, their weapons colliding in rapid succession. Sparks flew.

  Valen's frustration grew. Why couldn’t he overpower Arayn? The Heavenly Demon class was supposed to be unmatched, yet he was barely holding his ground. No—he wasn’t even winning. He was equal to Arayn.

  His focus wavered for a split second.

  That was all it took.

  His spear sliced through an afterimage, and in the next instant, the real Arayn struck from his blind spot. A searing pain ripped through his side as blood sprayed into the air.

  Arayn didn’t stop. He readied his second strike, black tendrils crawling up his blade. As the sword came down, Valen roared and blocked with his spear, the force of the impact rattling through his arms.

  Gritting his teeth, he leaped back, his hands already weaving a spell. Magic words spilled from his lips. "Lux divina, sana corpus meum. Curatio sacra, plagae recedant!"

  Golden light surrounded him, healing the wound before it could drag him down.

  Arayn watched as Valen’s wound sealed almost instantly, golden light knitting flesh back together as if the injury had never happened. He exhaled slowly. He had to admit—Valen was a formidable opponent.

  It wasn’t just the Heavenly Demon class that made him dangerous. He could also chant in the magic language. That alone changed everything. The incantation he had spoken bore a striking resemblance to the ancient demon tongue. Those who could wield magic language weren’t bound by the rigid structures of normal spells. They could twist and shape magic as they saw fit.

  Arayn tightened his grip on his sword. If he had to put a number on it, his chances of winning were no more than fifty percent. His speed was exceptional, thanks to his footwork. His strength matched Valen’s, his class passive enhancing his power against demons and demonic classes. But defense? That was his biggest weakness.

  Defeating Valen would be an uphill battle. Yet, strangely, he felt no frustration. No fear. Instead, a thrill coursed through him.

  For the first time, he faced an opponent who could genuinely take his life. A real risk. A real stake. He couldn’t wait to see how far he could push himself.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Valen’s lips moved swiftly, chanting in the magic language once more. A tiny orb of light flickered into existence above him, pulsing with holy energy.

  Arayn’s instincts flared. Valen was preparing something. Something dangerous.

  He wasted no time.

  [Calamity Step: First Form – Destructive Mirage]

  The battlefield distorted as he moved. Afterimages trailed in his wake, each one bursting into violent explosions. Smoke and fire erupted, obscuring the air. However, the real Arayn had already vanished, his body melting into invisibility.

  Valen’s gaze snapped to the side. He understood the secret of the footwork. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and ran.

  Arayn chased Valen. Through the dust and the lingering echoes of destruction, he closed the distance. It took time, but in the end, he caught up.

  Suddenly, Valen skidded to a stop and whirled around. Above him, the tiny orb pulsed once—then expanded. A blinding wave of light surged outward, washing over everything in its path. The moment it touched Arayn, his invisibility shattered like fragile glass. His form flickered back into view.

  Valen’s smirk widened. “There you are,” he muttered, eyes locking onto Arayn at last.

  Valen lunged and launched a barrage of strikes. Each thrust shattered stone, carving deep gouges into the road, ripping through walls as if they were parchment. Without the veil of invisibility, Arayn was fully exposed. He wove between the strikes, twisting, sidestepping, deflecting where he could—but Valen was relentless. A spear thrust shot forward, too fast, too precise.

  Arayn’s eyes widened. No time.

  The tip streaked toward his skull. He threw himself backward, spine bending like a bowstring. The spearhead skimmed past, close enough for him to feel the cold bite of displaced air. He rolled midair, momentum carrying him into a tight flip before his boots struck the ground. Then, he was moving—charging—closing the gap.

  Their weapons met, sending sparks in the air. Each of Valen’s blows slammed into him like a hammer, forcing him to brace with every block. The heavenly demon's strength was overwhelming. If Arayn kept fighting like this, he’d burn through his stamina before he could land a decisive strike. He needed an opening—fast.

  He saw it.

  Valen retracted his spear, muscles coiling for another thrust. Arayn didn’t wait. The instant the spear shot forward, he twisted his blade along its shaft, redirecting its path. With a burst of speed, he surged in, sword flashing as he carved a shallow gash across Valen’s side. Not deep enough.

  Arayn clicked his tongue.

  He spun, aiming for Valen’s back—but the man had already turned. The spear left his hands, a missile of pure force. Arayn barely raised his blade in time. The impact hit like a battering ram, knocking him off his feet and sending him hurtling backward.

  Valen exhaled sharply. "Aetherfang."

  The spear obeyed. It tore through the air, a streak of silver returning to his outstretched hand. Fingers closed around the familiar weight.

  His gaze flicked to Arayn. That swordplay—flawless. Each movement was precise, each strike carrying intent. However, it wasn’t just the skill that made him dangerous. His power, his raw strength—it matched Valen’s own. That was a problem. A Heavenly Demon should not be evenly matched on the same rank.

  Valen’s eyes narrowed. That sword. It pulsed with dark power. A demonic artifact, no doubt. It must be amplifying him beyond his natural limits. If that was the case, then the answer was clear.

  He needed to separate Arayn from his blade.

  Hand-to-hand. That was where Valen would crush him. No one at their rank could surpass a Heavenly Demon in sheer strength. No one.

  Valen shot forward in a blur of motion.

  Arayn didn’t hesitate. He raised his sword, stepping into the charge, meeting strength with strength. Their weapons clashed, the force of each strike shaking the ground beneath them. Sparks flew. Steel ground against steel, neither giving an inch. Then, Arayn saw an opening.

  His sword cut toward Valen’s neck. However, Valen was already moving. He leaped back, just beyond the blade’s reach. The moment his feet touched the ground, he hurled his spear once more.

  Arayn braced. The projectile tore through the air, forcing him to raise his sword and block. The impact rattled his arms—but that was when Valen struck.

  The man was already closing the gap, one hand shooting forward in a thrust. Arayn reacted instantly, thrusting his own sword in return. Suddenly, Valen’s fingers curled mid-motion, shifting into a clawed grip.

  The sharp bite of steel piercing flesh. Valen had let the sword stab straight through his palm, but he didn’t stop. His fingers clamped around Arayn’s wrist like iron, locking him in place.

  A fist rocketed toward Arayn’s face. He had no time to twist away, no room to dodge. So he retaliated.

  His knee bent. His body coiled. Then his leg shot up in a vicious high kick, aimed straight at Valen’s chin.

  Valen staggered, but his grip never loosened. With sheer brute force, he wrenched the sword from Arayn’s grasp, ripping it free. Arayn cursed and instantly leaped back, putting distance between them.

  Valen chuckled in satisfaction. He raised his wounded hand, flexing his fingers as if testing the damage. Then, without a hint of concern, he gripped the sword impaling his palm and yanked it free. Blood dripped onto the road, but he barely glanced at it.

  With an almost lazy motion, he tossed the weapon. The blade spun through the air before landing on a ruin of a house.

  As Valen used healing magic, the torn flesh on his hand began to mend. The wound sealed itself, muscle and skin knitting back together as if nothing had happened. A smirk played on his lips.

  "Round two," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Can you match me in hand-to-hand combat?"