Paragon Of Destruction
Chapter 93: The Tournament Begins

The moment the announcer called a start to the fight, Arran's opponent launched a series of furious attacks at him, striking over a dozen times in an instant.

Arran only barely managed to fend off all the attacks, with several almost slipping past his defense.

Even as he desperately defended himself, he was shocked at the difference between their previous fights and the current one.

His opponent was incomparably stronger than the last time they had faced each other — not only did he show far more skill, he was also very clearly an unusually strong Body Refiner.

Arran stumbled back several paces, parrying the man's attacks as well as he could. Yet even as he defended, he was losing ground, his opponent attacking relentlessly and not leaving him even the slightest chance to counter.

Panicked by the unexpected onslaught, he knew that the way things were going, he would soon lose the fight. Now, he understood that earlier, his opponent had hidden his true strength, studying Arran's skills even as he lost match after match.

He had no time to give it further thought, because right at that moment, his opponent intensified his attacks even further. Appearing to sense Arran's weakness, he struck with such force that it shook Arran's hands, each blow nearly knocking his sword from his grasp.

Arran knew that he could not let this continue, yet he saw no way out — forced to defend with all his might, he simply had no way to use his sword to attack. Even attempting to counter would leave him exposed, and his opponent was too good a swordsman not to seize such a chance.

That left only one option. In a desperate move, he rushed forward right as he parried yet another attack with his sword, ramming his shoulder into his opponent's chest.

Although the man did not fall, the force of Arran's charge still brought him off balance, and just that short moment was enough for Arran to seize the initiative. Without wavering, he launched a series of blows at his opponent, attacking so violently it forced the burly man to step back in defense.

Arran knew that his advantage would soon pass, and before his opponent could recover, he struck out with all his force, slamming his sword into the man's defense in an attempt to break through with sheer strength.

Yet when the two blades met, the burly man's defense did not break. Instead, caught between the power of two Body Refiners, the hardened steel of Arran's sword snapped with a loud crack.

For a moment, Arran stood still in astonishment, staring at the broken blade in his hands.

His opponent, however, did not hesitate. The moment he saw the opportunity, he swung his sword at Arran in a savage strike.

Acting on instinct, Arran raised his left hand and threw up a Force Shield that stopped the attack in mid-air. Then, with all the strength he had, he rammed the pommel of his bladeless sword into his opponent's face.

The man staggered back a pace, dazed from the impact, and before he could recover Arran rushed toward him, first striking his face again with the pommel of the sword, then unleashing the most powerful Battering Force he could muster at the man.

The magic attack sent Arran's opponent flying, his body tumbling a dozen paces across the arena floor before finally coming to a stop.

Even so, the man got to his feet again in an instant, raising his sword as if he was about to resume his attacks.

But then, to Arran's surprise, the man dropped his sword and called out loudly, "I concede!"

As the crowd erupted in cheers at the unexpected spectacle they had just witnessed, the burly man approached Arran with a limp that was obviously feigned to trick the crowd into thinking he was injured.

"Good fight," the man said, twisting his bloodied mouth in a grin. "Amaya will be pleased with your performance."

With that, he started to limp toward the exit.

For several moments, Arran stood there motionless, only now fully understanding what had happened.

As he began to move toward the waiting chamber, the cheers from the audience did little to lift his spirits. Amaya and the burly man had played him like a fiddle, and despite his victory, he felt like an idiot.

Arran's opponent had tested him for Amaya, and in the process had forced him to show much of his true power — not just his strength in Body Refinement, but his skill in magic, too. Just one fight into the tournament, any hope he had of going noticed was already lost.

Had he known what was going to happen, he would simply have conceded the fight. Yet in the heat of battle, he had fought on instinct, treating the fight as if it was real.

He shook his head in disgust at his own foolishness.

Now that he knew the burly man worked for Amaya, he was all but certain that their meeting at the Governor's palace had not been a coincidence. In all likelihood, Amaya had posted the man to the northern arena, ready to report on any skilled fighters he encountered.

When Arran and Darkfire were invited to the Governor's palace, Amaya must have already known who they were, and she had most likely arranged to be there herself just to meet them.

The worst thing, however, was the fight itself.

Arran's opponent had conceded the fight, but Arran knew very well that the man could have won if they had continued. And that was just the man Amaya had posted to the northern arena — who was to say that she didn't have three equally strong fighters in the other arenas?

So far, he had believed that only the novices themselves were a threat to him, but now, he understood that there were recruits who could match him as well.

That meant the dangers beyond the border would be even greater than he had expected. With a sigh, he realized that he had gravely underestimated the situation.

"Ghostblade!" a voice sounded, shaking Arran from his thoughts.

He looked up and saw that it was the uniformed man. "What is it?" he asked bluntly, his mood too foul for courtesy.

"Where's your sword?" the man asked.

"It broke," Arran replied.

"And you still won?" The man raised an eyebrow, then nodded in approval. "Well done. Now, go pick out a new one before the next fight."

As Arran made his way to the table to get a new sword, he silently cursed his own carelessness.

He knew that in the months to come, he would have to be more careful. If he wasn't, his enemies were likely to defeat him without ever even having to raise a sword.