Paragon of Destruction

When they returned to Darkfire’s mansion, Arran finally got a look at how vast the place was. With over two dozen bedrooms, a library, several studies, and not one but two great dining halls, the mansion was clearly designed for to house dozens of people.

And yet, Darkfire lived there by himself, without even servants to look after it.

Moreover, from the state of the place, it was clear that Darkfire wasn’t much of a decorator. If the mansion hadn’t been clean and mostly free of dust, Arran could easily have believed it to be abandoned.

"You can take any room you want," Darkfire said. "Other than my bedroom, I don’t really use the place much."

"Then why get something so big?" Arran asked.

"The field outside is great for training," Darkfire replied with a grin.

Arran picked out a large bedroom on the second floor, with a good view of the city and a massive bed. After spending over a year sleeping on the stone floor of a prison cell, a soft bed would be a welcome change.

He awoke early in the morning, and when he went downstairs, he found that Darkfire was already outside, practicing.

Arran observed him for a while, impressed by the sight. He could see that Darkfire was executing a seemingly endless series of sword strokes, each different from the last.

Although there wasn’t a pattern to the movements, exactly, to Arran’s eyes it looked as if Darkfire was engaged in a fight with a dozen invisible enemies.

"That training technique of yours... what is it?" Arran asked after Darkfire finished.

"It’s something my mother taught me when I was a child," Darkfire replied. "Let me show you how it works."

Darkfire spent the next hours teaching the technique to Arran, and although Arran only understood a small part of it, he could already tell that it would greatly help his own training.

"Want to head for the tournament?" Darkfire asked after they finished their training some hours later. "We can visit the Governor afterward."

They arrived at the arena half an hour later. It was large, circular, and made of stone, with a floor covered in yellow sand. Although it looked like it could easily accommodate a crowd of thousands, right now only barely a quarter of the seats were taken.

"The weekly tournaments don’t usually draw large crowds," Darkfire explained. "Only the monthly ones draw out the strongest fighters."

As Arran looked around, he spotted half a dozen youths in black robes who stood out from the rest of the crowd, with nobody in the audience closer than ten paces to them.

"Who are they?" he asked, pointing at the group.

Darkfire looked over, and the moment he saw the group, his face fell. "Shadowbloods," he said in a disgusted voice.

"Shadowbloods? What are they?"

"They’re a faction within the Shadowflame Society," Darkfire said. "If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far away from them."

"Why?" Arran asked. This was the first time he saw actual members of the Shadowflame Society, and he hadn’t expected he would have to avoid them.

"They believe that only those born within the Society should be allowed to join," Darkfire said. "You don’t see them much in the border cities, since they don’t usually recruit outsiders. And when they do, those recruits are rarely seen again."

"And this group?" Arran asked.

"These are just novices," Darkfire said. "But don’t take them too lightly — they’re still Society members. If they try to recruit you, refuse, but be polite about it. No point in needlessly making enemies."

Arran nodded, deciding that he would do his best to stay away from the Shadowbloods. Yet even as he made the decision, he saw one of them point at Darkfire, and a moment later the group approached them.

"Darkfire," one of the Shadowflame novices began, a sinister smile on his face. "I was wondering if your friend—"

"Fuck off," Darkfire said, not at all polite.

The young man’s smile disappeared instantly. "You think just because your family—"

"Fuck off!" Darkfire said again, louder this time.

The young man’s face twisted in anger, and for a moment, it looked as if he was going to attack Darkfire. Yet an instant later, he regained his composure, although a scowl remained on his face.

"One of these days you’re going to get recruited," he said. "We’ll see what happens when you’re out there in the wilderness."

After a final glare at Darkfire, he turned around and left, the other novices following close behind him.

"That could have gone better," Arran said once they were out of earshot.

"Sorry about that," Darkfire said, sounding slightly embarrassed. "I just can’t stand those treacherous bastards."

Arran nodded. Although part of him feared that the incident might cause problems in the future, he understood that Darkfire wasn’t the type to hold his tongue. And even if it wasn’t exactly convenient, Arran appreciated the lack of duplicity.

"So where do I go?" Arran asked, turning his attention back to the tournament.

"Follow me," Darkfire said, leading Arran to an area on the side of the arena where a large group of young men and women stood, apparently waiting to fight.

A large man immediately approached them, giving Darkfire a wary glance — clearly, the man recognized who he was.

"It’s just him," Darkfire said, gesturing toward Arran, and a look of relief appeared on the man’s face.

"Do you know the rules?" he asked, turning to Arran.

Arran shook his head.

"No sharpened weapons, and no killing blows," the man said. Pointing to Arran’s sword, he added, "You’ll have to leave that outside the arena, and use one of the provided weapons."

Arran handed his sword to Darkfire, then walked over to a large bucket filled with blunted swords. None of them were particularly well-made, but after a quick search, he found one that seemed at least halfway decent, even if it was far too light for his liking.

As they waited for the fights to begin, Darkfire leaned over to Arran.

"Don’t show your full strength," he said in a low voice. "You won’t need it, and you don’t want to draw any more attention from the Shadowbloods."

They watched the first few fights from the sideline, and it didn’t take long for Arran to understand that there would be no real challenge today. Although the fighters might be skilled by normal standards, none of them seemed to have any training in magic or Body Refinement.

When Arran was finally called to fight, his first opponent turned out to be one of the young men he had fought the previous night, face still carrying a large bruise. The moment the young man saw Arran, his eyes went wide with shock.

"I concede!" he called out, ending the fight before it had even started.

The crowd booed and jeered as they walked back to the waiting area, and Arran could not help but feel annoyed with the young man — even if he had no chance of winning, he should at least give it an honest effort.

The next few fights proved little more difficult than the first. Although now Arran’s opponents did make an effort, the difference in strength was just too large. Even with Arran taking care not to injure his opponents, none of them lasted more than a few seconds.

The one exception was his final opponent, but that was only because the man ran away the moment the fight started, much to the amusement of the crowd. When Arran caught his opponent after a short chase, the man conceded before he could land even a single blow.

Arran felt some disappointment at his opponents, but then, he reminded himself that none were mages or Body Refiners.

The announcer was just about to call out his victory, when suddenly, a voice sounded.

"How about a real challenge!"

Arran sighed. Without even looking, he knew that the voice belonged to one of the Shadowbloods.

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