'He can wield a secondary elemental Art?! What else is there to note?!'
Eric's mind raced, caught in the whirlwind of battle and revelation.
He wasn't the kind of mystic who lived knee-deep in arcane studies or participated in the elite circles of the mystic order. That life was never fully his.
There was a time back when he was a rough-edged teenager, fumbling his way into adulthood that he had taken steps into that world. Back when the future still held its promise. As an orphan forced to carve a place in a timeline that didn't belong to him, Eric had no choice but to straddle two complex systems: the national order and the mystic order.
He'd never risen to greatness in either path. No prestigious title. No royal crest. But what he lacked in status, he made up for with perseverance. He'd walked far enough in both worlds to know how their gears turned, and more importantly, how their people fought.
During his time within the mystic order, his eyes had witnessed enough to write grim folktales. He'd seen what it took to go head-to-head with a mystic and what it cost to survive one.
The first rule? Identify your opponent's core abilities. Their mana signature. Their elemental leanings. How large the pool they drew from was.
Now here stood Hector, casually conjuring a secondary elemental Art like it was child's play. That wasn't a trivial feat. It required dual-elemental ownership and the ability to synthesize those elements seamlessly, a task far beyond most mystics.
The statistics on that aren't promising, Eric mused grimly. The chances of winning against someone like that… slim.
But not impossible, not for an Aldaman bearing the two-clover eye at the moment.
Eric moved swiftly, shifting his focus and veering to the left, preparing to strike from an unexpected angle.
He didn't get past two steps before another ice wall surged upward, halting his momentum once more.
'How?! How is he reading me so well?!'
It didn't make sense. Eric's two-clover eye gave him insight into mana fluctuations, allowing him to anticipate his opponent's next move before it happened. It was a near-perfect tactical advantage, watch the ripple, strike before the wave.
So how was Hector keeping up with him? He wasn't just reacting, he was stopping Eric in his tracks before the assault had even begun.
'Is he predicting my next moves?! No… that's not possible.'
Eric discarded the thought. Even with razor-sharp instincts, prediction was ultimately guesswork. No one could consistently anticipate every movement with this level of precision.
And yet, Hector was doing exactly that.
The realization was unsettling. If Hector could intercept his actions with such pinpoint accuracy, it meant this wasn't a casual fight. Eric wasn't just outmatched in power, he was being outmanoeuvred mentally, step by step.
"I know, I know. The look on your face says everything," Hector said suddenly, breaking the silence with a voice that danced between amusement and pride.
Eric blinked, momentarily thrown off. What is he talking about?
"I get it, bodyguard fellow. I've heard it plenty of times; Oh Hector, you're so unpredictable!, Even I'm amazed at my brilliance sometimes. Truly one of a kind."
Eric stared at him, baffled. Is he... unhinged?
There was an eerie energy behind Hector's words, a manic joy that didn't sit right.
Then Hector clapped his hands once and opened his arms as though offering them a choice. "Well then, for the sake of this radiant genius of mine, I'm willing to give you a second chance."
Dravin, standing a step behind Eric, found the courage to interject. "And what exactly would that be?"
"To hand your lives over willingly, of course. No resistance, no fuss."
To Hector, this was the ideal outcome. Cooperation meant less strain on his mana reserves, and less need for dramatics. A clean transaction.
But when people refused to listen? When they fight back? Oh, how that irked him.
"Cut the theatrics," Eric snapped. "No one here's surrendering. If you want them, you'll have to go through me first."
Moments ago, he had hesitated, torn between protecting Ramprandt and abandoning Marvelous. That internal conflict had vanished now. He had chosen to shield them both, no matter the consequences. That decision made everything far more dangerous.
"I see," Hector muttered, disappointment laced in every word. "I had this magnificent image in my mind. You'd fall to your knees, and I'd offer a painless end. Such a shame."
There was a sudden stillness, as the world inhaled in suspense.
"'Go through you,' was it?" Hector mused, raising one hand and shaping his fingers like a pistol. "That shouldn't take long."
At the tip of his extended index finger, the air crystallized. Frost bloomed from the invisible barrel, coalescing into a sharply pointed shard. Sleek, deadly, designed like a spiralled drill, long enough to pierce through steel, yet thin enough to fit through a human skull.
"Bang."
The mock gun fired. The frozen projectile tore through the air with blistering speed, howling as it travelled like a banshee on the hunt.
But before it reached its mark—
CRACK!
A flash of crackling blue light intercepted it. A lightning-infused fist collided with the ice in midair, detonating the projectile into a thousand glittering fragments that rained harmlessly onto the floor.
"You're mistaken if you think this will go the way you've planned," Eric said, voice steady, electricity dancing along his knuckles like loyal hounds awaiting command.
He stood tall, defiant. Not a man willing to die, but one ready to fight until the last breath.
His pupils shimmered with radiant silver, each iris emblazoned with the proud mark of the two-clover. They glowed with confidence, with arrogance, unyielding and unbending.
And Hector saw it.
Those eyes… they stirred something in him.
Not fear. Not exactly. But something ancient. Something primal.
The instincts of a predator, ones dulled over years of hunting lesser prey suddenly sparked to life again. A flicker of tension, of anticipation, coursed through him like a long-lost thrill.
"Come Heck! I will take you on!". Eric barked, violently.
Hector's lips curled, first the lower, then the upper. His smile stretched wider, more feral.
He was delighted.
The game had finally begun.