Lucian exploded forward once more, but this time, his movements were different. More refined. His strikes carried force, but they weren’t wild—they were calculated, shifting mid-motion to adapt. His fists no longer simply lashed out; they struck with purpose, sending shockwaves through the air with each blow.

  The man, for the first time, raised an eyebrow. Not in worry, but in recognition.

  Lucian drove forward, every strike a precise combination of feints and follow-ups, his attacks chaining into one another with fluidity. Yet the man still remained a step ahead, his body slipping past Lucian’s onslaught with inhuman grace. He was watching, studying, waiting.

  And then, with a single shift, he turned defense into offense.

  A palm strike crashed into Lucian’s shoulder, twisting his momentum sideways. Before Lucian could recover, a spinning heel kick slammed into his side, launching him back. He hit the ground hard but rolled back onto his feet instantly, ignoring the searing pain. His dark blue aura flared once more, and this time, his stance lowered into something sharper.

  The man chuckled. "Good. You’re learning."

  Lucian wiped the blood from his lip, his breath steadying. He locked eyes with the man, and for the first time in the fight, a smirk touched his lips.

  "I hope you’re done warming up," Lucian said, his voice edged with steel. "Because now, you’ll need to fight for real."

  The night air around them grew heavier, charged with anticipation.

  Lucian adjusted his stance, and then, with the force of a storm, he charged in again.

  Lucian's charge was not reckless—it was precise, a calculated storm of movement. His dark blue aura pulsed in rhythm with his breath, his every step light yet forceful, pressing forward like a tide that refused to be turned back.

  The man, still composed, raised his left hand in preparation. His stance was effortless, yet there was an unmistakable shift—he was taking Lucian seriously now.

  As Lucian closed the gap, he struck. A right hook that carried a deceptive delay, feinting into an elbow strike. The man reacted instantly, blocking the hook, only to realize the true attack was already upon him.

  For the first time, he was forced to step back.

  Lucian pressed on, his fists blurring in the night air, each strike flowing into the next without hesitation. A jab turned into a palm thrust. A knee strike became a sweeping kick. His attacks no longer had single intentions—they chained, layered, adapting to any response.

  The man's foot grazed the dirt as he maneuvered, avoiding Lucian’s strikes by the narrowest margins. But his smirk had faded.

  A flicker of intrigue flashed in his sharp eyes.

  "Not bad," the man murmured, weaving past a fierce uppercut. "Not bad at all."

  Then he moved.

  A sudden shift in his footwork sent him surging forward, weaving inside Lucian’s reach. His palm struck Lucian’s shoulder—not just to strike, but to unbalance. The momentary shift was all he needed.

  His knee came up in a brutal arc, aimed for Lucian’s ribs. But this time, Lucian reacted.

  He twisted mid-motion, the attack grazing past his side instead of crushing into him. Using the momentum, he spun, his leg snapping out in a counter-kick.

  The man ducked—only for Lucian to drop low, sweeping his leg in a follow-up.

  For a split second, the man was airborne.

  Lucian surged up, aiming a rising strike toward his exposed form. Victory was within reach—!

  But the man twisted unnaturally mid-air, flipping over Lucian’s attack, landing gracefully a few feet away.

  Lucian’s eyes narrowed. His breath was steady, but his body was burning with exertion.

  The man exhaled, adjusting his stance, his smirk returning.

  "Impressive," he admitted. "Most people never even force me to move my feet."

  Lucian smirked back, despite the ache in his body. "Then you’d better stay on your toes."

  Lucian's breath came in ragged gasps, his body screaming at him to stop. His limbs felt heavy, his muscles aching from the relentless exchange. But his mind was clear—sharper than ever. He had one last gamble, and he was confident it would work.

  Slowly, he raised both arms, resuming his stance. This time, however, there was a change. His right arm shifted behind him, while his left remained forward, pointing directly at the man. His dark blue aura flickered wildly around him, but within the chaos, something was forming—something focused, something lethal.

  His ascen energy, once flowing freely, now coiled tightly within his right arm. It compressed, condensed, every ounce of his remaining strength drawn into a single point. His body trembled under the immense force, his veins glowing faintly with power.

  The air grew deathly still.

  The man's smirk faded.

  He felt it. A pulse of ominous energy, unlike anything Lucian had shown before. It wasn’t just raw power—it was concentrated destruction. A terrible realization struck him. If he didn’t move—if he didn’t react—this attack could wound him.

  Before he could even shift his stance—

  Lucian’s eyes snapped open. His fist shot forward.

  And then—

  A thunderous shockwave erupted from his strike, a force so violent that the very air seemed to shatter. The ground beneath him cracked, the force blasting forward like a storm, roaring toward the man with crushing velocity.

  For the first time, the man acted on instinct.

  His ascen energy flared, his body vanishing in a blur of speed as he lunged toward his spear. His fingers wrapped around the familiar grip just in time. With a sharp twist, he brought the weapon up, bracing himself.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The shockwave struck.

  A deafening impact rang out as the wave crashed into his spear, the sheer force rattling his bones. Even with his enhanced speed, even with his ascen reinforcing him, the power behind Lucian’s strike was immense.

  Pain exploded in his arm.

  When the dust settled, he remained standing—but one of his arms hung at his side, heavily bruised.

  Silence.

  Then, a sound broke through the stillness.

  Laughter.

  Low at first, then rising in intensity. The man looked at his injured arm, then back at Lucian, his smirk returning—but this time, it carried genuine amusement.

  "You," he said, shaking his head, "are no ordinary fighter."

  Lucian exhaled, his aura fading as exhaustion overtook him. He had nothing left to give, but he stood tall, his gaze unwavering. He had proven himself.

  The man rolled his shoulder, still feeling the lingering sting of Lucian’s attack. His smile widened.

  Lucian dropped to one knee, his breath ragged, his body barely holding together after the devastating force he had just unleashed. The toll of his attack weighed heavily on him—his muscles burned, his vision blurred, and every inch of him screamed for rest.

  The man standing before him lowered his bruised arm, exhaling through his nose as he studied Lucian. The deep bruises along his forearm were proof of the sheer power behind that final strike. Yet, despite the pain, he was smiling.

  “You’re something else, kid,” the man finally said, shaking his head. “I’ve fought plenty of warriors, but that… That was different.”

  Lucian forced a weak chuckle, lifting his gaze. Despite the exhaustion weighing him down, a flicker of pride burned in his eyes.

  “The duel’s over,” the man continued. “You won.”

  Relief washed over Lucian, but before he could speak, the man’s gaze hardened with curiosity.

  “Tell me,” he said, tilting his head. “Where did you learn to fight like that? And more importantly… where did you learn to control your ascen like that?”

  Lucian’s breathing was still heavy, but he managed to answer. “I had a great teacher… and a mentor.”

  The man crossed his arms. “And who would that be?”

  Lucian hesitated, then said the name without faltering.

  “Father Aldric.”

  The reaction was immediate. The man’s expression stiffened—not just in surprise, but in something deeper. His gaze sharpened as if trying to confirm whether he had heard correctly.

  “…Say that again.”

  Lucian met his eyes. “Father Aldric.”

  For a moment, there was silence. Then the man let out a breath, his posture shifting.

  "Aldric…?" His voice was quieter now, almost to himself. He stared at Lucian with an intensity that hadn’t been there before. And then his expression hardened.

  “What are you doing out here?” His tone carried weight, not just curiosity but something bordering on concern. “Why are you looking for Orin Kael?”

  Lucian, still catching his breath, exhaled before answering. “Because he’s the one my mentor told me to find.”

  The man’s entire body stiffened.

  Lucian continued, his voice quieter. “It was his final will.”

  The man’s grip on his spear faltered. He almost dropped it. His breath hitched, his confident smirk completely wiped away. He took a step closer, his eyes searching Lucian’s face.

  “What… what do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice lower now, tinged with something almost hesitant.

  Lucian met his gaze, and for the first time, there was nothing but sorrow in his eyes.

  “My mentor… is already gone.”

  The man froze.

  The wind carried between them, but the night suddenly felt eerily still.

  “…No,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “That can’t be right.” His fists clenched at his sides.

  Lucian didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The weight in his expression was answer enough.

  The man looked away for a moment, jaw tightening. His mind reeled—Aldric, gone? It was unthinkable. He wasn’t just some warrior. He was a force, a legend.

  He had known Aldric when he was still just a young mercenary, back before he had even come to serve under Orin Kael. He had seen the kind of strength the man wielded firsthand. To hear that Aldric had fallen… it was impossible to believe.

  And yet, the boy standing before him was proof enough.

  The man exhaled slowly, forcing himself to steady his thoughts. He turned back to Lucian, his eyes still unreadable.

  “…You’re serious,” he muttered. “Aldric’s gone.”

  Lucian nodded.

  A long silence stretched between them before the man finally spoke again.

  “You wanted to find Orin Kael?” His voice was quieter now, lacking the earlier amusement. “Fine. I’ll take you to him.”

  Lucian, drained beyond his limits, barely had the strength to nod in gratitude. His body gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, too exhausted to hold himself up any longer.

  The man sighed, stepping forward and crouching beside him. “You pushed yourself too far,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You need rest before we go anywhere.”

  Lucian forced a weak nod, unable to argue.

  The man stood, glancing toward the village. “Come on. I’ll get you to an inn. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  Lucian barely managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

  The man only smirked faintly. “Don’t thank me yet. You still have a long road ahead.”

  As they walked, the man’s mind was a storm of thoughts.

  Aldric… dead.

  He had too many questions. What had happened? What enemy could have possibly brought down him? And why had he sent this boy to Orin Kael?

  For now, he would let Lucian rest. But come morning, he would get his answers.

  The night air was cool against Lucian’s sweat-drenched skin as they made their way toward the village. Every step was an effort; his limbs felt heavy, his breath labored. He had pushed himself past his limits, and now his body was demanding repayment.

  The man walked beside him in silence, his spear resting on his shoulder. His earlier amusement was gone, replaced by something quieter. Lucian could feel his gaze flicker toward him now and then, as if weighing his presence with new meaning.

  By the time they reached the village outskirts, Lucian’s legs were trembling. He didn’t complain, but the man noticed.

  “Tch. Stubborn kid,” he muttered before sighing. “Come on.” Without waiting for permission, he grabbed Lucian’s arm, pulling it over his shoulder to support him.

  Lucian grunted but didn’t resist. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed the help.

  They moved through the dimly lit streets, passing shuttered houses and the occasional flickering lantern. The village was quiet, the only sounds the distant murmur of the tavern ahead and the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.

  Lucian broke the silence first. “…You knew him well, didn’t you?”

  The man didn’t answer immediately. His grip on his spear tightened.

  “I knew him,” he said at last. His voice was unreadable. “Not like a student knows a teacher. But I fought beside him. Trained near him. He wasn’t just strong—he was the kind of man you could follow without question.”

  Lucian looked ahead, his throat tight. “He was everything to me.”

  The man exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly.

  They reached the inn—a modest wooden structure with a warm glow spilling from its windows. The murmur of voices within promised a lively atmosphere, but Lucian barely noticed. He just wanted a bed.

  The man pushed the door open, and the scent of spiced ale and roasted meat drifted out. A few mercenaries occupied the tables, laughing over their drinks, while the innkeeper polished mugs behind the counter. They barely spared a glance at the newcomers.

  The man guided Lucian toward the counter, tapping a few coins onto the wooden surface. “Room for him,” he told the innkeeper.

  The burly innkeeper raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. He gestured toward the stairs. “Last room on the right.”

  Lucian barely registered the exchange. His exhaustion was closing in fast, dulling his senses.

  Darius pushed open the door to Lucian’s room, guiding him inside. It was simple—a bed, a small table, and a single candle flickering against the darkness. It didn’t matter. It might as well have been a palace to Lucian right now.

  Darius helped him onto the bed, then stepped back, watching as Lucian all but collapsed onto the mattress.

  “…Get some rest, kid,” he said.

  Lucian’s eyes were already closing. But just before sleep took him, he heard Darius mutter one last thing, barely above a whisper—

  “Aldric… what the hell happened to you?”

  Then the door shut, and Lucian knew no more.

  Darius closed the door behind him with a quiet click, but he didn’t move.

  He stood in the dimly lit hallway, his fingers tightening around his spear, jaw clenched. The echoes of the fight still burned in his muscles, but they were nothing compared to the weight settling in his chest.

  Aldric… dead.

  It didn’t make sense. That man wasn’t supposed to fall. He wasn’t supposed to lose.

  Darius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His mind raced through every battle they’d fought, every impossible enemy Aldric had faced—and won. And yet, something out there had been strong enough to end him.

  And now, his will rested on some exhausted kid who barely stayed standing.

  His grip on his spear tightened until his knuckles turned white.

  With a final glance at the closed door, he turned and walked down the hall, his expression unreadable. But deep in his eyes, something had changed.

  Tomorrow, he’d take Lucian to Orin Kael.

  But tonight, for the first time in years, Darius felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel.

  Doubt.