The Sinful Young Master

With a quiet step, he withdrew into the shadows, vanishing as silently as he had arrived.

Not out of fear.

Not out of weakness.

But because the eyes of Illumarhen were on the battlefield. If he remained any longer on this field, Inadrys might notice his presence, and he would have to engage in a battle, which he wasn't sure he would win; after all, the opponent was Inadrys himself.

Inadrys watched from the heavens, his presence an unspoken warning. If he acted now, he would be inviting the wrath of the King of the Deities himself.

No matter how much it tore at him, revenge would have to wait.

For now.

But soon—very soon—they would reemerge.

His presence disappeared, and his gaze took clear note of the one young man amidst the battlefield.

Yilar, still standing under the shade of the trees, saw the disappearing sunlight make his figure darken.

Meanwhile, back on the battlefield,

Then, with a surge of energy, Jolthar broke the deadlock.

He twisted his body, using Dagur's own momentum against him. Knashii flashed out, the blade cutting a deep gash across Dagur's chest.

The barbarian staggered back, blood pouring from the wound.

Dagur, however, was not finished yet.

He was like a wounded lion; he wouldn't back down, even more enraged.

With a roar, he swung his axe in a wide arc, forcing Jolthar to leap back. The axe's edge grazed Jolthar's arm, drawing blood. Jolthar gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain.

Channelling the new found power, Jolthar's aura flared to life, a swirling maelstrom of energy that surrounded him. His eyes glowed with a fierce light, and Knashii's blade seemed to lengthen, its edge shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

Dagur's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't back down. He raised his axe, his own aura flaring in response.

Dagur attacked again, this time with a series of brutal, lightning-fast strikes. His axe became a blur of motion, each swing carrying enough force to cleave an ordinary man in two.

This was the technique that had made him legendary among the southern barbarians—the Whirlwind of Death, they called it, a sequence no warrior had ever survived.

Yet Jolthar was no ordinary warrior.

His perception of time seemed altered, each of Dagur's movements appearing slightly slowed to his enhanced senses. He deflected the first blow, sidestepped the second, and ducked under the third.

His blade now bathed in green-coloured energy, flashed out with precision during a momentary opening, scoring a deep cut across Dagur's left thigh.

The barbarian chief bellowed in pain but didn't falter.

The cut was deep.

Blood streaming down his leg, he pressed his attack with even greater ferocity. His axe cleaved downward in an overhead strike that Jolthar caught on his blade.

The force drove Jolthar to one knee, the ground beneath him cracking from the impact.

For a moment, Dagur stopped and breathed in heavily. His sight was starting to blur, and by this time, he was covered in blood from the cuts on his body.

He roared with his hands spread wide; his eyes turned pure red now, like he was some battle god. His voice turned the heads of his men; they quickly followed his cry, and soon a war cry engulfed the battlefield.

They weren't backing down, not even after seeing how the ferocious beasts tore their men apart.

They were grinning, watching their leader, Dagur, still standing and fighting.

His roar lasted for several seconds, joined by his men.

Hamen and his men were startled by the uproar and halted in their steps.

Hamen watched the two of them, Dagur and Jolthar, who were now standing in the middle of the battlefield; a space had been created for them to fight. The men around them cleared, more like afraid to get caught up in their fight.

Myron, who had been caught in the debris, reached the field, watching from afar. He was once again, became a spectator of Jolthar, watching how he fought with Dagur. He escaped the debris with a few scratches and was no longer heard; the voices of Inadrys, and he didn't care anymore.

Myron had thought that he had already played in Inadrys' enough, and he wasn't to listen to his whispers anymore.

It was now a matter of pride; he would end Jolthar's life soon, he thought so.

-

Inadrys, who was watching from above, could only shake his head, while Ivyone smiled, unaware of her husband. Inadrys was watching with an intense gaze as the battle progressed; he could tell that Jolthar had become even more adept to the power of the beast king.

Ivyona turned her attention from Myron to Jolthar; her eyes sparked as she watched him. There was undeniable wildness in the youth she laid eyes upon.

-

Jolthar watched with fascination how Dagur was influencing his men with just his presence alone.

For a moment, Jolthar really thought of Dagur as more than just a barbarian.

The war cry ended, and Dagur once again turned his attention to Jolthar.

"Brat, let's end this," he roared as he moved again.

He bore down with all his might, his axe edge inching closer to Jolthar's face. "Not so special now, are you?" he snarled.

Dagur was like a force that couldn't be contained, his eyes ablaze with a primal energy that Jolthar couldn't help but admire. No matter how many times Jolthar struck him, Dagur's strength was declining, nor were his steps faltering.

Jolthar's eyes suddenly flared with green fire. The energy coursing through his veins intensified, becoming visible through his skin like a network of glowing emerald veins.

With a roar that matched Dagur's own, he surged upward with impossible strength, throwing the barbarian backward.

Before Dagur could regain his footing, Jolthar was upon him. His blade moved with blinding speed, a series of precise strikes that Dagur barely managed to parry. He put his strength into every strike; green-coloured energy flared around him, and the knashii danced in the flames of green energy.

Each blow sent shock waves through the barbarian's arms, numbing his hands until he could barely maintain his grip on his weapon.

"What... are... you?" Dagur gasped between desperate defences. For the first time, Dagur felt the immense aura radiate from Jolthar and it was so massive that it made Dagur falter.

Jolthar didn't answer.

His attacks continued without hesitation, without mercy. His expression was rather serious as he intended to finish the battle.

Where Dagur fought with rage and instinct, Jolthar fought with cold precision enhanced by supernatural power. Each movement was economical, and each strike was calculated for maximum effect.

Desperation began to show in Dagur's defence. Each time he parried the strike, his wounds spilled more blood, and he winced in pain.

The barbarian chief, undefeated in countless battles, found himself giving ground with each exchange.

Another deep cut appeared on his forearm, then another across his chest, then a third that laid open his shoulder. None were immediately fatal, but they bled freely, gradually weakening the mighty warrior.

With a final surge of desperate strength, Dagur launched himself at Jolthar, abandoning technique for pure aggression. His axe swung in a reckless arc aimed at Jolthar's neck, a killing blow fuelled by the last reserves of his formidable strength.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl for Jolthar. He watched the axe approach, calculated its trajectory, and made his decision.

Instead of retreating or parrying, he stepped forward, inside the arc of the swing. The axe head passed harmlessly behind him as he drove his blade through Dagur's chest with unerring precision.

The barbarian's forward momentum carried him onto the sword, the blade emerging from his back in a spray of blood. His own attack faltered, the axe falling from suddenly nerveless fingers to thud heavily onto the blood-soaked ground.

Dagur's eyes widened in disbelief, looking down at the blade piercing his chest, then up at Jolthar's emotionless face.

For the first time in his life, the barbarian chief knew fear. He saw something behind Jolthar, a huge shadow containing nothing wide mouth filled with sharp sword like teeth and eyes blood red, glaring down at him, with such oppressive might that it made Dagur tremble.

"What in the fuck is that!!??" he gasped, blood bubbling from between his lips.

"You're just... a boy..." He couldn't believe that such a young man was holding such immense power inside him.

With a sharp twist of his blade, Jolthar ensured the wound would be fatal beyond any doubt.

He withdrew his sword in a single smooth motion, stepping back as Dagur collapsed to his knees. The barbarian chief remained upright for a moment, swaying slightly, his eyes already clouding with death's approach.

As Dagur lay dying, blood pooling beneath his massive frame, an unexpected clarity came to his eyes.

Despite the mortal wound that had pierced his chest, he summoned his remaining strength to speak once more. His voice, normally a thunderous boom that commanded barbarian hordes, had diminished to a hoarse whisper that Jolthar had to lean close to hear.

"Don't let them use you, boy," Dagur rasped, each word costing him precious moments of his remaining life.