Paragon of Destruction

Chapter 205 A Long Journey

"She has to be hiding in the copse of trees on that hill over there." Snowcloud’s eyes held a look of grim determination. "It’s the only place nearby that offers cover and a good vantage point. If you can distract her, I’ll go around and attack from the back."

Her knuckles whitened as she reflexively tightened her grip on her sword. After more than half a year of training her strength and swordsmanship, she no longer treated the weapon with disdain. Now, she wielded it with as much confidence as she wielded her spells.

Arran looked out over the dense wilderness that lay before them, considering Snowcloud’s assessment. The rolling landscape was thick with brush, but from what he could see, she was right — the tree-topped hill was the only place that gave both shelter and a good view of the area.

He gave Snowcloud a quick nod. "Let’s do this."

She moved off slowly, crouching as she silently crept toward the hill. It only took a few moments before Arran could no longer see her, but that didn’t matter — he knew her well enough to guess how long it would take her to get into position.

After a quarter hour, Arran decided it was time. He took a deep breath, then began to gather Fire Essence, preparing to attack.

His first Flamestrike exploded the largest tree in the copse, showering the area around with large splinters of wood. The second arrived an instant later, tearing through two of the smaller trees.

He quickly began to move forward, maintaining a Force Shield with his left hand while he continued to launch Flamestrikes with the right. While the copse was already ruined and ablaze, he did not stop his attacks — if their enemy was there, the distraction would be sorely needed.

While Arran advanced, Snowcloud emerged from the brush a few dozen paces away from the burning copse. She headed forward at once, sword drawn and ready to strike.

But then, Arran saw it — a figure appearing at her back, a raised blade in its hands.

"Behind you!" he called out.

Snowcloud managed to turn just in time, and for a few brief seconds, she held off her attacker. But despite her furious defense, the fight was lopsided, and she fell before Arran’s hasty Flamestrike even reached their foe.

Arran rushed forward, already forming a second Flamestrike, when the figure raised its hand — Brightblade’s sign that the exercise was over.

At this, Arran breathed a secret sigh of relief. Whatever the reason, he was happy to have escaped the thrashing that facing their teacher entailed.

As Snowcloud got back to her feet, Arran began to head to his two companions, curious to see what good stroke of fortune had saved him from another painful defeat.

Ever since they departed the Sixth Valley half a year earlier, hidden within merchant wagons in the dead of night, Brightblade had made Arran and Snowcloud face her in battle hundreds of times.

Sometimes they were ambushed, sometimes they were chased, and sometimes Brightblade merely faced them directly for days on end, making them fight for every step forward before inevitably defeating them and gloating over her victory.

At times, it was enough for Arran to wish he really had gone into secluded training for the next decade, as the Valley’s Elders had been told. Between isolation and Brightblade’s teaching methods, the former certainly seemed like the less painful option.

Yet grueling though Brightblade’s training methods were, their effectiveness was beyond question. She often made Arran fight using only his magic and Snowcloud only her strength, and the constant practice had seen Arran’s skill increase with leaps and bounds.

Perhaps his Flamestrikes weren’t yet quite as strong as Snowcloud’s, but the difference was no longer the vast chasm it had once been.

And Snowcloud’s progress had been at least as astonishing, if not more so. Yet Arran knew that this wasn’t just due to Brightblade’s skill as a teacher.

In the week before they left, the Patriarch had spent several days having long conversations with Snowcloud, and she had been silent and morose for several weeks afterward. She had refused to discuss the matter with Arran, but he understood the Patriarch had talked about her parents — and it was obvious the news wasn’t good.

Her spirits eventually improved, if only slightly, but something had changed inside her. She began to study Body Refinement and swordsmanship with a fervor that bordered on fanaticism, studying and practicing even in the few moments of rest they got each day.

What he saw caused Arran worry, yet there was nothing he could do but hope that her pain would eventually lessen — or that she would decide to share it with him.

As much as he wanted to help her, he knew it was something he could not force.

When Arran reached his two companions, he quickly turned to Brightblade. "Any reason you decided not to blast me with a spell or two?"

"I was feeling merciful," she replied with a grin. "And more importantly, we have a guest."

She gestured behind her, and when Arran looked, he saw a young woman in the distance who was slowly walking toward them. At a glance, he could tell that she was dressed like a Shadowflame mage — a novice, from the looks of it.

The three of them waited as the young woman approached. Naturally, Arran felt no worries — with Brightblade at their side, there wasn’t much in the borderlands that could threaten them.

As the stranger came closer, Arran saw that she was younger than he had initially thought. Instead of a woman, she looked more like a girl, with an innocent face, large green eyes, and curly brown hair.

The girl came to a halt a dozen paces from them, some hesitation on her face. "Are you also novices?" she asked in a timid voice.

"I’m an adept," Brightblade replied. "These two initiates are my students."

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed, then cast a glance at the burning copse of trees. "Then it was your magic I Sensed. That explains why you’re so powerful."

Arran suppressed a grin, quickly deciding that he liked the girl already.

"I’m Acantha," she said. "Apologies for not recognizing you. I... I don’t know many adepts."

"I’m Brightblade," Brightblade introduced herself. "These two are Snowcloud and Ghostblade. And that you didn’t recognize us is only natural — we’re not from your Valley."

"You’re not from the Ninth Valley?" Acantha’s eyes went wide with surprise. "Then you traveled all the way from the Eighth Valley?"

"That, and then some," Brightblade replied. "But we’ve come to visit your Valley."

"You have? Oh! But then I can show you the way! We’re only a few days from the border!"

Brightblade nodded. "Lead the way."

"Of course, Adept Brightblade," the girl said, only barely managing to contain her excitement.

They soon were on their way again, but despite her promise, it wasn’t long before Acantha fell back behind Brightblade. Excited or not, she was clearly uncomfortable leading an adept, and after a few aborted attempts at talking to Brightblade, she silently slipped in between the initiates.

The quiet didn’t last long, however, and she soon attempted to strike up a conversation with Snowcloud. This predictably failed — Snowcloud wasn’t much for talking these days, especially not to strangers — and finally, all other options exhausted, Acantha turned to Arran.

"I actually just finished my first year across the border," she said, her smile slightly forced.

"By yourself?" Arran raised an eyebrow. "You didn’t have any recruits with you?"

"I couldn’t find any good recruits to join me," she replied dejectedly.

"But wasn’t it dangerous?" Although Arran knew novices should be able to defend themselves, he had some doubts about this particular one.

"It was," she said with an emphatic nod. "I met a group of bandits, and I had to injure one of them to scare them away." Then, in a lower voice, she added, "I heard from other novices that one of the new recruits was actually killed some months ago."

Arran gave her a puzzled look. "It’s rare for recruits to die?"

"Of course!" She looked at him as if he’d just asked whether grass was green. "If it happened often, the Elders wouldn’t just send us across the border."

"But aren’t there enemies in the borderlands? Hostile mages and Body Refiners?"

"Not really," Acantha said. "There are the Hunters, of course, but they don’t usually bother novices. Not unless you—"

"Hunters?" Brightblade interrupted her sharply. "You said there are Hunters in the region?"