The Forsaken Hero

The first match of the tournament put Soltair against Levin, the Earth Hero. Both wore gleaming plate mail and used swords, although Levin favored the heavy broadsword opposed to Soltair’s long sword. Even from the beginning, it was clear Levin didn’t hold up well against the Sun Hero, and was always on the losing end of exchanges.

"Is that all you have?" Soltair asked, jumping back to gain some distance. "And here I thought we could put on a show!"

Levin grunted, not taking his eyes off his opponent. As Soltair’s feet touched the ground some twenty feet away, the Earth Hero brought his foot down hard, his stomp releasing a wave of mana into the ground. Although it was only a fourth-circle spell, the fact that the martially focused hero did it chantless was extremely impressive.

The ground trembled before the ripple, and Soltair stumbled, losing his focus for a split second. Levin wasted no time and kicked off the ground, closing the gap in a breath. His broad sword crashed down on Soltair, who barely managed to raise his blade in time. A thunderous roar shook the arena as the weapons collided, and Soltair’s sword trembled. The crowd watched with bated breath, but that was it. Despite the tremendous impact of the blow, he didn’t give an inch.

Levin faltered and leaped back as Soltair blurred, appearing behind him. Tilting his shoulder, he caught the Sun Hero’s sword on his pauldron, deflecting it into the ground. Maintaining his momentum, he swung his fist, catching Soltair in the side and sending him spinning away. Soltair twisted mid-air and landed on his feet. He staggered, clutching at his side, and the audience murmured in surprise. I leaned forward, wondering what the matter was, and my eyes widened when I saw the inch-deep indent on his armor, which I knew to be enchanted with at least fourth-level protection. I stared at Levin, wondering what kind of strength he had to possess to do that much damage.

Mumbling the words of a "chant," Soltair straightened as he healed himself. Levin grimaced, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

"I was wrong," Soltair said, his lips curling up confidently, "Let’s have a good fight, after all."

"Of course," Levin nodded, "I’ll take you as often as you come."

Soltair dashed forward, beginning another flurry of blows. Their swords moved so quickly that I had trouble keeping up, but it was clear Levin was struggling. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and he began to slow, allowing small wounds and injuries to accumulate. Despite the ferocity of the assault, Soltair’s sword seemed to inflict minimum damage, as though he were cutting steel instead of flesh.