Paragon of Destruction

Brightblade’s review proved to be exactly what Arran had expected.

She spent three days going over every spell and seal he had learned, evaluating his progress in excruciating detail. And whenever she encountered a gap in his knowledge, she smugly corrected the Matriarch’s oversight.

That her main concern was with one-upping her old friend was obvious, but Arran benefited all the same. Even if he had initially been reluctant to spend even yet time learning magic, he soon discovered that Brightblade’s insights were extremely helpful.

She was every bit as knowledgeable about magic as the Matriarch, and if her lessons weren’t quite as structured and organized, at least she did not have him study past nightfall.

Still, Arran rejoiced when they finished with the last of the spells.

Brightblade might be more pleasant as a teacher than the Matriarch, but after a month of working incessantly on the useless spells and seals, he desperately needed a change of pace.

Fortunately, Brightblade appeared to sense his exasperation, and when Arran completed his work on the final spell, she said, "Take the evening off. Tomorrow, we’ll practice some swordplay."

At this, Arran breathed a sigh of relief.

He spent the evening doing little of anything. While he experimented with his Destruction Realm for a bit, he did so without pushing himself. He casually turned a dozen rocks and two old enchanted swords to dust, then abandoned the pursuit for the time being.

Instead, he read the Earth Realm Scroll, then used Destruction Essence to quickly open the Realm. If nothing else, at least it could do this — no small benefit, since it would have taken him days or even weeks otherwise.

He awoke at dawn the next morning, then spent the day practicing swordplay with Brightblade.

Facing her was both challenging and enjoyable. He struggled to match her even if she hid most of her strength, but the exertion did him good. And when he went to bed that night, it felt as if much of the stress from the previous month had been washed away.

The remaining days, she instructed him in the Shadowflame spell and several simpler variants of the Shadowcloak spell.

While he was supposed to learn these things from Anthea and Oraia, Brightblade correctly surmised that the Matriarch had left Arran little time to focus on other matters, and she resolutely set to work on correcting that.

Brightblade’s help proved invaluable.

With her guidance, it barely took him a day to learn the Shadow spell to conceal objects. And while the spell itself wasn’t especially useful — it only worked on small objects, and only if they didn’t move — it was more progress than he’d made in a month of training with Oraia.

The Shadowflame spell, however, proved a different matter. While Brightblade’s explanations certainly helped his understanding of it, the spell was frustratingly complex. Even after his improvements over the past month, he knew that his current level of skill was far from enough to learn it.

And that was only half the problem. The other half was that the spell required him to merge Shadow and Fire Essence, and no matter how often he tried, the task seemed utterly impossible.

When he told Brightblade of this, she nodded in response. "It’s impossible," she confirmed. "But with enough practice, even the impossible can be achieved."

Her cryptic words were of little help to Arran, but he kept practicing all the same. He had experienced the Patriarch using the spell, and from that, he knew it could be done.

And then, the week came to an end. They left shortly after dawn on the final day. Arran had expected that Brightblade would want to make full use of every hour she had available, but when he asked her about it, she shook her head.

"Some rest will help you," she explained. "Rhea’s methods are effective, but pushing you too far will only slow your progress."

Naturally, Arran had no objections to this decision. Whatever rest he could get, he would gladly take.

They traveled back into the Valley at a casual run, taking several breaks to eat along the way. Without a need to hurry, Arran took his time to enjoy the scenery as they journeyed through the Valley.

Away from the capital, the Ninth Valley was mostly forest, allowed to grow wild everywhere but on the roads. Only the occasional mansion or estate could be found in the area, and in several hours of travel, they only encountered a handful of other travelers.

It was a pleasant environment, to Arran. The densely populated parts of the Valley still filled him with a sense of unease, and if this wasn’t exactly a true wilderness, it was close enough to

They parted ways near the capital, with Brightblade returning to the House of Swords as Arran made his way back to the House of Seals.

Arran arrived at his mansion not long after, the guards at the gate bowing politely as he entered the walled gardens.

Almost immediately, he was approached by Jovan. How the man had learned of his return Arran did not know, but it was clear that he had been waiting.

"Lord Ghostblade," the steward said, raising his hand in greeting. "You look much better," he added after giving Arran an appraising look.

"I took your advice and got some rest," Arran replied with a grin.

"Good," Jovan said. "Now, allow me to take you to your friends. They are already waiting for you in the gardens."

"My friends?" Arran gave his steward a confused look, and some moments later he was surprised to find Doran and Anthea sitting in the gardens, enjoying what looked to be a particularly elaborate meal.

"What are the two of you doing here?" he asked, looking at them curiously.

"We came to welcome you back, of course," Doran replied with a bright smile. "Nobody likes to return to an empty home, after all."

Arran gave the adept a skeptical look. "You’re here for the food, aren’t you?"

"That, and the mansion," Doran confirmed with a nod. "This really is much better than my own place. And I figured your servants could do with some extra training while you were gone."

"What about you?" Arran asked as he turned to Anthea. While Doran’s actions hardly surprised him, he doubted Anthea would have come just to enjoy some luxury.

"You gave me dozens of students, all of them eager to study the Forms," she replied, only a hint of embarrassment in her voice. "I could hardly have them go a week without training."

"So did the two of you spend the entire week here?" Arran asked.

From the way they sat in the gardens, he doubted they had only just arrived. They looked entirely too comfortable for that.

"Most of it," Doran said. "I went back a few times to teach the novices, but..." He looked around at the luscious gardens. "You can hardly blame me for preferring this place over my own. And you weren’t using it."

Arran didn’t blame him in the slightest. While the adepts’ presence came as a surprise, he was glad to have some familiar faces around the mansion.

He took a look at the table, then joined the two adepts in their meal. There was far more food than Doran and Anthea could handle, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

When they finished the meal a while later, Doran gave Arran a thoughtful look. It was clear that there was something on his mind.

"What is it?" Arran asked.

Doran hesitated in answering, but then, he spoke in a serious voice. "The servants," he began, "you should give them a demonstration of your skill. So far, they’ve only caught some glances of your training. It would help if they saw your power with their own eyes."

"My servants?" Arran looked at the adept in confusion. "Why the sudden concern about them?"

"You’ve been treating them like students rather than servants," Doran replied. "And if they are to be your students, they should know what their master is capable of."

Arran considered Doran’s words for a moment, then decided he had a point. "What do you suggest?"

"A simple match," Doran said. "Jovan, could you gather the guards and servants?" The bald man nodded eagerly and hurried off, and Doran turned to Anthea. "You come as well. We’ll need all the help we can get."

Some minutes later, Arran found himself on a large field of grass, facing Doran, Anthea, and all but a handful of his guards and servants.

"You want me to fight all of you together?" he asked Doran, now understanding what the adept had in mind.

"I do," Doran replied. "Though I doubt that will be enough to even the odds."

His words caused some skeptical looks among the guards and servants, though none of them gave voice to their doubts.

"Very well," Arran said, unsheathing his sword. "Let’s begin."

Whatever doubts the servants had lasted only a few seconds. As Doran had predicted, the odds were on Arran’s side, and heavily so. Only the adepts among his opponents proved any challenge at all, but even they barely lasted seconds.

The fight came to an end within minutes, with Doran the last to fall.

Arran could have defeated them even faster, but he had taken care not to injure any of his opponents — it was a demonstration, after all, not a real battle. And while practice injuries were hardly unusual, he did not want to risk injuring any of his cooks. Their work was far too important for that.

Doran demanded a rematch even as he got back to his feet, the wide grin on his face suggesting that he savored the chance to fight a superior opponent.

Arran obliged, quickly securing another victory without too much effort.

Yet after showing his skill to the servants, all of them were eager to see more of it, and the sparring matches soon turned into a training session that lasted until evening.

It was an outcome Arran didn’t mind in the least. Spending a long afternoon casually sparring and teaching swordsmanship was as relaxing an activity as he knew of, and when nightfall approached, he felt even more refreshed than he had when he returned.

Still, he retired to his quarters long before midnight. The next day would bring more training with the Matriarch, and even if the first month had been a test of his resolve, he had little doubt that the second month would bring its own challenges.