Chapter Thirty: Dirk

Just as with the division of priestly professions, swordsmen are also categorized into nine ranks, from the lowest apprentice all the way to the supreme Sword God at the ninth level. When a swordsman reaches the rank of third-level Black Iron Swordsman, their battle aura begins to overflow from their body. The color of this aura varies according to professional rank. Unless there are special circumstances, the color of a knight’s aura matches that of a swordsman of the same rank. The blue battle aura surrounding Anderson marked him as a fourth-level Bronze Knight, while the multicolored sword light now assailing Chu Tian revealed that its wielder was an Eighth Rank Sword Saint.

“A Sword Saint?!” Damar cried out, swiftly raising his staff. “Meteor Shower!” It was the same spell that had just defeated Bandis, but this time its power was greatly magnified. In the pale blue flames, countless meteors compressed into grains of gravel, and the resulting spear of fire, though no thicker than a baby’s arm, was far more condensed than before.

Sword and spear gleamed together in the air. The multicolored light that struck at Chu Tian collided precisely with the pale blue flames at the very instant it reached him. Entwined, the fire spear and sword light brushed past Chu Tian’s ear and soared into the sky above the arena.

A thunderous explosion split the air, sharp and deafening. Damar’s magic and the Sword Saint’s battle aura had reached their limit, erupting in a spectacular display. It was as though fireworks burst across the New Year’s night sky, casting a dazzling array of colors over the arena—breathtaking in their splendor.

Praise be to the Goddess of Life! Feeling the sting of a fresh wound on his cheek, Chu Tian inhaled the scent of charred air and, clutching the ninth-level protective scroll, let out a silent sigh of relief—how perilous that had been! The moment the sword light appeared, Chu Tian sensed the imminent danger. Instinctively, the scroll inscribed with blood-red characters was summoned to his hand. Yet awareness was one thing, reaction another. The Sword Saint’s strike was unfathomably swift; before he could activate the scroll, the sword light was already upon him. Only Damar, an eighth-rank professional himself, could respond at such a speed.

Chu Tian’s heart still pounded fiercely, but Damar’s anger had already erupted. “Who dares interfere in a duel?!” With a furious shout, his robe billowed and his white hair whipped about, though no wind blew. Dark crimson flames crackled and roared around him, distorting the air atop the arena with the force of his wrath.

According to the customs of Caesar, duels were sacred. Not even the Emperor himself had the right to intervene, save for the referee. Yet today, Anderson had broken the rules, followed by a Sword Saint’s attack on a duelist—insults of the gravest order to the referee, the guardian of order! If the referee failed to respond, he would be branded a coward forever. Damar was beside himself with rage. The dignity of the Grand Magister demanded blood for reparation.

“Who is it?!” Damar demanded again. The flames about him surged higher, pulsing rhythmically as they swept outward to probe the surroundings.

“Heh, esteemed Minister of Magic, please quell your anger!” With these words, a gaunt figure stepped onto the arena, treading the air itself.

Dirk?! It was none other than Dirk, whom Peggy claimed possessed not a trace of battle aura! Seeing the old steward walk weightlessly across the air, Chu Tian narrowed his eyes, a cold, subtle smile curling his lips. So the old man had deceived them all—he was an Eighth Rank Sword Saint! No wonder neither Peggy nor the officers of the Imperial Guard had detected his true power. Could he have been the assassin who once tried to kill Chu Tian…?

Dirk lifted Anderson and carried him to safety, then returned to the arena. “Lord Damar, forgive my intrusion!”

“Haha, excellent!” Damar laughed in his fury, ignoring Dirk’s apology. “It’s been too long since I’ve faced a true master.” Raising his staff high, he traced swift arcs to either side, and a shield of dark blue flames enveloped him. In a battle between mage and swordsman, the magician’s first priority was always to protect his fragile body.

At the sight of Damar’s shield, Dirk’s eyes lit up, only to dim once more. As a Sword Saint, to cross blades with a peer was the surest path to self-improvement. Yet Dirk felt only helplessness; had it not been to save his young master, he would never have exposed the strength he’d hidden for thirty years. Now, his master’s plans were likely in jeopardy. If he fought Damar to the finish, his master would never forgive him.

Dirk hesitated, but Damar gave him no time. Brandishing his staff, the Grand Magister roared, “Thunderfire Explosion!”

In an instant, the surrounding flames converged upon Damar, while countless arcs of violet lightning flickered within the fire. Intertwined with electricity and flame, all air and fire on the arena were drawn to the tip of Damar’s staff. As the staff fell, a column of purple-blue fire laced with lightning surged unceasingly toward Dirk.

An eighth-level fire spell with added lightning damage! Dirk’s eyes flashed with excitement. A worthy opponent—a dangerous adversary—made him forget the world, his spirit wholly absorbed by the duel.

At some point, a streamlined black longsword had appeared in Dirk’s hand. Facing Damar’s fiery column, Dirk leapt into the air, his sword tracing a mysterious arc. From this arc, several soft, multicolored sword lights suddenly burst forth.

These sword lights, like ribbons, coiled gently around Damar’s fiery column, then spiraled swiftly up toward Damar himself.

“A true Sword Saint!” Damar exclaimed, impressed as Dirk deftly dodged his spell and counterattacked without pause. Yet his hands moved ceaselessly, and with a subtle gesture, the falling fire column shuddered violently just before striking the ground, splitting once, then again, until it divided into countless slender lines of flame. The sword lights entwined around them shattered in an instant.

The sword lights were gone, but the fire lines were relentless, whirling around to assail Dirk in midair, enclosing him in a net of flame.

“You’ll need more than that to harm me!” Dirk shouted, his sword spinning rapidly. A burst of multicolored sword light erupted, as if a thousand blades sprang from his body. A massive sphere of sword energy rose in the sky, cleaving the flames and sending them raining down to the ground.

“Marquis Vladino! Leave the arena at once!” As Chu Tian was drawn into the fierce battle on stage, a devoted spectator called out a warning. The aftermath of a clash between eighth-rank masters was not to be underestimated. Surrounded by the falling flames cut down by Dirk, Chu Tian glanced at the stands; already, the crowd was fleeing to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

Praise be to the Goddess of Life! Having retreated to safety, Chu Tian caught a falling ember, examined it, and tossed it away with a sigh. When would he ever possess such strength? Without his fire immunity and the talismans his teacher had gifted him, he was truly powerless.

With a rueful sigh, Chu Tian suddenly narrowed his eyes, a sly, wicked smile curving his lips. “Damar, stop fighting!”