Alonso ducked under the spear thrust with a grin, shifted sideways, and pulsed his waves through his armor, driving his motion faster.

He shot forward, one sword stabbing straight.

The beastman twisted, dodging the thrust with a smooth pivot, already winding up a counter—

But Alonso was ahead of him.

He surged forward with his knee, crashing it into the beastman's gut before the strike could land.

A sharp grunt.

Then came the follow-through—he pivoted, slammed the pommel of his sword into the beastman's ribs, swept his leg low to knock him off balance, and spun into a clean high kick that sent the beastman rolling out of the circle.

Another one bites the dust.

Alonso straightened. His breath came steady. His nerves buzzed.

Full Overdrive felt damn good right now.

Alright... let's dance.

He turned to a nearby beastman who had been eyeing him.

"Hey, you."

Without waiting, he flung one of his swords into the air. It spun, humming softly from the residual EM current.

The beastman jolted back—

—but Alonso's blade wasn't aimed at him. It clipped the edge of a nearby jug of braluc, flicked it up midair, and then boomeranged smoothly back.

Alonso caught the jug first, took a deep swig, then caught the returning blade with a clean reverse grip.

This shit hits right in the spot!

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then flashed a sharp grin—white teeth catching the firelight, hair a bit wild from the last clash.

"Alright then…" he said, rolling his shoulders loose. "…who's next?"

The beastmen were less agitated now—more cautious, even. With eight of their own already flung out of the ring, the fire in their eyes hadn't dimmed, but the eagerness had cooled into something sharper.

Then, from the back, an older one stood up with a lazy grunt.

"Alright, lad… let's play."

He was bulky. Carried himself like a walking cliff. His weapon was a single, curved large blade—scimitar-shaped and clearly carved from the bone of some massive creature.

Alonso narrowed his eyes slightly.

The big boys are finally coming out. Took them long enough.

The old beastman jumped—and landed with a surprisingly soft thud in the blood-marked arena.

"Name's Thurgus, kid. They call me—"

"Yeah, yeah," Alonso cut in, voice dry. "I'm gonna forget your name anyway. Just throw a damn punch and let's get this started."

His body felt light. Mind emptier than usual.

He glanced at the bralac jug. Empty.

Tch. Shame.

He casually tossed it over his shoulder—right as a gust of wind slammed into his back.

The jug froze mid-air.

Silence.

Alonso smiled.

CLANG!

His blade clashed against Thurgus' from behind—metal shrieking against bone. The recoil rattled through his arms, up his shoulders, into his skull.

Yeah, right. And they want me to fight without waves. These furry rashtats indeed…

He twisted, using the rebound to slide away—but Thurgus was already rushing, bone blade slicing a crescent through the air.

Alright then. Let's dance, old man.

Without moving his feet, Alonso sent a pulse. His second sword—still sheathed and untouched—detached and spun into motion, slicing toward Thurgus like a boomerang.

The beastman saw it at the last moment and ducked low, avoiding the strike by a hair.

Alonso was already there, thrusting his first blade forward.

Thurgus deflected it cleanly and countered with a brutal kick.

Alonso barely managed to push backward, accelerating his armor just enough to take the edge off. Even so, the hit connected—hard—sending him skidding.

His boots scraped loud against packed soil, sending up a spray of loose dirt as he skidded to a stop—just inches from the edge of the arena.

He grit his teeth, chest rising.

Dust swirled in the air around him, still settling from the last clash.

His second blade snapped back into his grip like a boomerang, metal hissing through the smoke.

Left hand armed. Right hand trembling—just slightly—but steady.

Across the blood-marked ring, Thurgus stood tall, the firelight catching on the jagged edge of his bone blade. His stance was loose, confident, breathing slow.

They stared across the circle.

One heartbeat.

Then two.

CLANG!

Metal slammed against bone.

Alonso's foot dug into the ground, scattering gravel as he leaned into the fight.

He moved.

Fast.

Blade to blade, left then right, each strike coming at a new angle. Sparks flew. Wind cut between them with every swing. His body accelerated in bursts, his swords trailing clean arcs in the air.

Dust exploded from their feet. Stones cracked beneath shifting weight.

Dozens of exchanges in a fraction of a second—so fast most of the watchers barely saw more than blurs and flashes.

Alonso pushed harder, pressure building, his rhythm starting to take form.

And yet… step by step… Thurgus held firm.

Alonso noticed his arms were shaking and his legs starting to strain. The beastman packed real power behind each strike. Their bodies were just built different—way stronger than his. These kinds of exchanges weren't going to end well for him.

At this rate…

He stared at his opponent. It was fun, sure, but… time to get serious.

As he focused, the haze from the brulac finally began to fade. His senses sharpened. A replay of the entire fight flashed through his mind in a blink—every motion Thurgus had made, his habits, his range, his reflexes, the subtle patterns in his footwork. It all lined up.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Alonso took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Thurgus stepped forward, scimitar raised.

Alonso slashed.

The beastman flinched, twisting off-line—eyes wide in confusion.

Alonso exhaled calmly, sword held low. Blood dripped from the tip.

Thurgus glanced down, and there it was—a thin, shallow line across his chest, right above the heart. The cut hadn't gone deep. It was harmless. But…

He looked back at Alonso, eyes narrowing, trying to understand what had just happened. He'd seen a slash—no force, no wind, no follow-through. And yet, he'd been hit. He hadn't even felt the blade pass until the sting bloomed a second later.

And the mark—it wasn't from a slash at all. It was a thrust.

Whatever trick this soft-foot had pulled… the result was clear.

Thurgus gave a small nod, stepped back, and left the arena.

He'd lost.

This time, the gaze of the beastmen towards Alonso shifted.

The fury and anger had faded. In their place, a flicker of curiosity—and maybe even respect—began to show.

Alonso looked back at them. But he was no longer in the mood to joke or throw insults. The drinking and posturing were over.

Now…

His eyes locked onto Grahn.

Now it was time to fight.

Grahn stared back, grinning wide. He didn't say a word but took a step forward—just as two short bone daggers were tossed toward him from behind. Without even glancing back, he caught them cleanly, one in each hand.

Alonso felt it the moment Grahn stepped into the ring—the weight, the pressure, like gravity thickening around him. This beastman was leagues above the others. Way stronger than Thurgus.

"Alright then, soft-foot," Grahn rumbled, his voice low and rough like gravel. "Let's see what your blood looks like. But since that Ayu one might whine about fairness…"

He lifted his right arm high—then tucked it behind his back with a toothy grin.

"Break my guard. Make me use this arm... and the win's yours. Fair enough?"

Alonso didn't blink. He stared straight at Grahn.

The aura around him—that blurry distortion of the space—felt like Ayu's, but sharper. More refined. The technique the beastmen used to blur perception…

This was going to be a problem.

Still—

Alonso smiled and nodded as he slid into his stance. Let's go all-in, then.

Dual Overdrive

The moment he stepped forward, Grahn vanished.

Alonso sensed the shift—too late.

BOOM!

He managed to block with both swords after activating several nodes, but the dagger still slammed into him, hurling him back. The impact tore through his muscles, pain shooting down his arms like fire.

He forced a pulse, accelerating forward in mid-air, barely avoiding getting flung out of the ring.

He landed, skidding, and locked eyes with Grahn.

That strike… it had been a casual slash with one arm. A small dagger. And still—

It nearly broke his bones.

Alonso exhaled slowly, forcing calm. That blur technique… it made no sense. Even in Dual Overdrive, he couldn't track him.

Sight was useless.

He tightened his grip.

Forget sight then.

He focused on the air pressure, on the way dust shifted. On the smells, the micro-vibrations in the ground. Every twitch of wind. Every hint of motion.

He flooded his blades, armour, and nodes with waves, holding them back—ready to release at a moment's notice.

Then—

Grahn moved again.

Alonso caught nothing. No sound. No scent. Not even a step.

And yet—

CLANG!

He blocked, barely, after emptying another set of nodes.

The impact sent him tumbling, crashing into the dirt.

He rolled with it, flipped backward mid-air, then kicked off with a burst of waves to land back inside the circle.

His forearm throbbed in pain. One more hit like that and he wasn't sure he'd hold on.

He needed to strike back. But how?

Without understanding Grahn's movements, his sword intent was useless.

And Dual Overdrive, along with the capacitor nodes... just wasn't enough.

But still. There had to be something.

Wait... the beastmen were physically strong, but their minds—

Alonso focused.

This time, he didn't rely on his senses. He extended his pulses outward like a web of fine threads, forming a region around him, each strand feeding back the tiniest anomalies in the air, the ground, the shift in pressure.

He waited.

And—

There. A flicker.

Alonso didn't hesitate. He released a strong, targeted pulse toward Grahn's mind while his nodes flared, accelerating a counterstrike.

But… nothing happened.

No flicker, no pause. No momentary stun. Grahn didn't even flinch!

The dagger came from the side and clashed against his sword, the impact bending Alonso's arm sideways with a sickening crack.

Pain exploded through him.

He flew back, skidding hard across the dirt, coughing as the impact drove the air from his lungs.

His body ached everywhere, but it was his left arm that burned like fire.

He cursed.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, dragging his knee under him.

He looked down.

The arm was gone—functionally at least. Bone had burst through the flesh, blood trickling in thick drops down to the soil.

Fuck.

He was still in the ring somehow. Not sure if that was good or bad.

Across the arena, Grahn stood still, saying nothing. Just watching. Waiting.

Alonso exhaled, his teeth gritted.

He should've figured the beastmen had some kind of resistance to mind pulses. If they didn't, no way they'd have survived the Ajnal or the Xok'al.

Still...

Dammit.

He raised his chin and breathed in deep. Magnetized his left blade into the air—hovering just above, ready to respond. His right arm still held firm, sword angled down.

If these furry bastards thought he'd just bow out now… heh, they better think tw—

His senses screamed.

Grahn vanished.

Before Alonso could react, pain exploded from his ribs. Something cracked—then he was airborne, crashing through a bonfire, flames and embers scattering, before skidding to a stop across the gravel.

The pain was sickening. He coughed—then vomited a mouthful of blood, choking on it between ragged, broken breaths.

He couldn't move. Half his ribs were shattered, piercing into his organs.

He couldn't even think straight.

He cancelled Dual Overdrive, but the sudden absence of numbness only made the pain worse.

Still, he gritted his teeth.

His body was wrecked. Smoke curled from his back—part of his hair had caught fire, though he barely noticed.

His vision blurred. His right arm found the gravel. Slowly, he pushed.

Knee to the ground.

He trembled. Almost fell. But didn't.

He rose.

Each breath was a stab. The broken arm was nothing compared to the agony in his chest.

He barely stood, using his waves to magnetize his armor for support. It helped hold him upright, easing just enough of the strain.

He stared ahead.

The arena was far now.

But Grahn hadn't moved. He was still there. Still watching.

Alonso summoned both blades, magnetizing them toward him.

Then, with a slow breath, he sheathed them using his waves.

He nodded at Grahn.

He had lost.

The crowd cheered at Grahn's victory. Some even threw rude gestures his way—mocking snarls, tail slaps, grinding knuckles to their foreheads. Alonso recognized most of them… but he was far too wrecked to feel flustered.

Meanwhile, Grahn kept staring at him for a moment, then grinned.

"You got more guts than meat on your bones. I'll give you that."

He walked forward, slow but steady, the crowd quieting slightly as he stopped right in front of Alonso.

Alonso barely managed to arch his back through the pain, just enough to stand a little straighter.

Grahn extended a hand.

"You got a weak-ass body, soft-foot," he said, and the beastmen roared with laughter. "But your eyes… not half bad."

Alonso blinked, dazed and confused, his chest screaming in pain.

But somehow—his only good arm lifted to accept it.

In a blink, Grahn's outstretched hand shifted.

In its place was a heavy jug, full of brulac.

He shoved it into Alonso's grip, then gave his back a hearty slap.

"To ease the sting, kid."

Shock flared through Alonso's body, and the jug nearly slipped from his hand.

Fucker.

Grahn laughed and turned away, but not before muttering just loud enough to hear—

"You're Ayu's mate, kid. Grow some fangs. I'll be waiting for next time."

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