The Runic Alchemist

Thucydides said, 'The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.' To keep power within their grasp, to maintain order and stop chaos under one leadership, the strong could do as they pleased, and the rest had to follow and suffer. But how long until those you consider your power begin to see you as the oppressor? How long can you lead if fear is the only path you can lead on?

Damian was handed a spear—of questionable quality, with a tip slightly rusted but serviceable. His opponent, a towering figure in full plate armor, wielded a sword twice the size of Damian's height, which rested on his squire's hands as the proud champion knight mockingly regarded Damian's small stature.

All Damian's companions stood outside the prepared ring, their hands still tied, guarded by two watchful soldiers. Their eyes, however, did not reflect those of children.

"If you somehow manage to win, I promise you that I will defend your lives with mine as long as you stay in this camp," promised Captain Valoris, even though everyone present here believed the chances of him defeating the high-leveled second-ranker knight champion were abysmal.

It was no secret; the whole camp—recruits and soldiers alike—had come to witness a child fight for his life against the second most powerful man in the region. Damian noticed the kid Sam had saved in the crowd, his face showing the same despair as his companions. And, of course, there were the group of kids who were the root of all their problems—four of them smiling as if their dream had come true.

The plus-sized, white-haired boy, however, at least showed some discomfort at the spectacle of their potential deaths.

Damian entered the ring they had prepared, just like in the third trial. The only difference was that only the winner would walk out. The champion knight rose from his chair, grabbed his sword, and walked into the ring.

"Maximus, the spellsword recruit here, and his five friends are charged with assaulting and threatening a noble-lineaged new recruit. In doing so, the just Lord Theoclys rendered his judgment: beheading for the six criminals.

However, in the ignorance of youth, young Maximus has challenged the lord's judgment, and we shall now see the champion knight Tiberius—The Unyielding—act as the lord's true judgment against this fledgling aggressor," announced the lord's butler.

Lord Theoclys himself sat on an elevated platform just a few meters from the ring, a goblet of wine in hand, looking down at Damian and his rustic spear with uninterested, lazy eyes.

Ignoring the audience and their constant chattering, Damian focused solely on his opponent. His mana sense told him the knight was a high-leveled second-ranker, maybe on par with, if not weaker than, the bald knight from Dawnstar who had infiltrated the Faerunian Knights' headquarters with him to save Sam. Yovan had told him that Tiberius was a spellsword who had never lost a challenge until today.

If he wasn't so ruthless and cruel, he could have had a good following among the knights and potentially challenged the current lord, possibly even winning despite the lord's unexplained and strange Esper ability. But, unfortunately or fortunately, he was content with just fighting the toad of a lord's battles for small benefits and rewards.

"Begin!"

And it started. Before taking a single step forward, Knight Tiberius released his full aura, trying to make Damian submit. Many soldiers and recruits hurriedly stepped away, feeling uncomfortable and nauseated under the powerful aura. However, Damian for whom this aura was intended stood straight, showing no discomfort.

After being crushed by the aura of a third-ranker, Damian had built a natural resistance to such petty tricks from lower ranks. The aura of a second-ranker couldn't even tickle him.

Bending his knee slightly and stretching his other leg backward, With a spear in hand Damian changed his stance to 'The Wolf Awaits' and glared at the armored knight, taunting him to attack. Tiberius snorted and began chanting loudly. A red runic circle formed near his helmet, and five big fiery arrows shot out, aiming at Damian's retreating paths, forcing him to move forward or burn.

Damian chuckled—Why did the knight think he would run? Charging straight ahead was exactly what Damian wanted.

Dodging the incoming fiery arrows one by one with his enhanced reflexes, Damian rushed forward with his spear leading the charge. Tiberius also ran towards him, moving with surprising speed for someone so heavily armored. The knight indeed had both speed and strength; no wonder he was the best. His sword began to glow golden, just like the second-ranker Damian had fought the day before.

The fusion of spirit and magic was something only high-leveled second-ranker spellswords could achieve. According to the books, it was necessary for advancing, leveling up, and crossing that last distance to the third rank. Still, spellswords were not pugilists and could not channel spirit through their full bodies—only their weapons and short bursts of force.

Damian didn't know any aura blade techniques, but he knew the next best thing. He activated the small pure white runic structure behind his spear that he had prepared before the fight, curtesy of Faerunian prince. Instantly, the iron tip of his spear burned with pitch-black fire, strengthening the rustic spear with the force of his own spirit.

The audience gasped, and Tiberius was shocked, but Damian didn't care. He dodged the knight's downward slash and aimed his spear tip to pierce through the gap in the knight's armor between his helmet and neck. But the knight moved with even greater speed, regaining his focus, and used one hand to block the spear.

Damian quickly adjusted, changing the trajectory and instead piercing the knight's shoulder gap successfully. He buried the spear deep before Tiberius could grab it and jumped backward, maintaining distance from the knight's sword.

The red blood evaporating on his black, burning spear tip was proof of the injury he had caused. The audience fell silent, and the knight screamed in pain but quickly regained control, gripping his sword tightly with both hands, his eyes locked on Damian, not giving him another chance to slip up.

Tiberius, with his sword held firmly in both hands, narrowed his eyes at Damian. The crowd watched in tense silence as the knight charged forward again, his golden aura intensifying. His movements were precise and controlled, each step echoing with the weight of experience. Damian, still calm, tightened his grip on his spear, his gaze unwavering.

The two warriors clashed once more. Tiberius swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade slicing through the air with a powerful hum. Damian ducked under the swing, his spear darting out in a swift counterattack. Tiberius blocked it with his sword, the impact causing sparks to fly as black flames clashed with golden aura.

The knight pushed back, trying to overwhelm Damian with brute strength, but Damian was nimble, slipping out of the knight's reach like water.

Damian circled around, searching for an opening. Tiberius didn't give him much time, launching another series of strikes. Each blow was heavy and deliberate, meant to crush Damian under sheer force. But Damian was fast—faster than any opponent Tiberius had faced before.

Damian's spear moved like a blur, deflecting the knight's attacks with minimal movement, conserving his energy while forcing the knight to expend his own.

Though the knight knew more spells than Damian, he was too prideful to use them. The injury had not just hurt his body but also his pride, especially in front of so many people. Insistent on ending this with pure sword skills, Tiberius refused to create distance and throw spells. Damian loved such fools.

Tiberius growled in frustration, his aura flaring as he channeled more power into his sword. He brought the blade down in a powerful overhead slash, intending to split Damian in two. But Damian wasn't there. With a swift sidestep, he dodged the attack and thrust his spear forward, aiming for Tiberius's side.

The knight twisted just in time, but the spear still grazed his armor, leaving a burning streak across the metal.

The pain from the earlier wound in his shoulder slowed Tiberius down, and Damian was quick to capitalize. He pressed the attack, his spear striking with relentless precision. Tiberius found himself on the defensive, his sword barely keeping up with Damian's assault. Each strike was aimed at the weak points in his armor, forcing the knight to divert more and more of his energy to defense.

Damian's spear, still burning with black flames, finally found its mark. With a quick feint to the left, he slipped past Tiberius's guard and drove the spear into the knight's side, piercing through the armor and deep into his flesh. Tiberius gasped, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of him.

He staggered back, trying to pull the spear out, but Damian twisted it, sending a wave of pain through the knight's body.

Hannah Arendt said 'The most evil deeds were done by people who never make up their minds to be either good or evil.' Hesitation is a sign of morality, but it is not always useful. Some decisions must be made—moral righteousness, the right decisions, the path to truth. But what was right? Doesn't everyone have their own right, their own truth, their own justice?

Damian pulled the spear free, the black flames licking at the edges of the wound.

Tiberius fell to one knee, his sword clattering to the ground. He looked up at Damian, his expression a mix of pain, frustration, and anger.

The aura around him flickered and faded, his strength drained. He knew he was beaten if he continued like this. But that was not all—a glowing red runic circle hummed beneath the heavily armored knight's feet. Before anyone could comprehend what had just happened and why Damian stopped moving, a huge pillar of fire erupted beneath the knight, accompanied by his heart-wrenching screams.

But he wasn't alone in screaming. Another man—a lord seated on his throne—screamed, slashing at the invisible air, and punched wildly, his cries matching the champion knight's in intensity as one burned to death and the other suffocated, trapped with no air left in the invisible box around his proud, throne-like padded chair.

With all else Damian's favorite one, however, was from Maximilien Robespierre: 'To punish the oppressors of humanity is clemency; to forgive them is barbarity.'