In the realm of Terra Veritas, the division between mages and warriors, or knights, is both distinct and intertwined. Mages wield the arcane power of mana, bending it to their desires to command elements and shape reality. Guided by a five-stage progression, mages traverse the path from novice to archsage, with each stage marked by a deepening mastery over mana and the art of spellcasting.
In contrast, warriors derive their strength not from mana but from an intrinsic force known as aura. This unique energy resonates with the essence of each individual, making knights strong from within. The knightly ranking system, spanning from pawn to king or queen, embodies their progression as combatants and their connection to aura. The stages of aura—Embryonic, Chromatic, Form-Fitted, and Signature—mirror the growth of knights, with each stage representing a greater understanding and control over this internal energy.
Embryonic Aura, the nascent stage of aura, is barely discernible, while Chromatic Aura unveils colours that mirror the user's very soul. Form-Fitted Aura moulds itself around the user's chosen weapon or combat style, enhancing their abilities in seamless harmony. The pinnacle of aura mastery, Signature Aura, becomes a knight's embodiment of identity and convictions, empowering them with unique and advanced techniques.
But the question remains: which is stronger, mages or knights? The answer eludes a definitive conclusion, as the true measure of strength lies in one's dedication, effort, and innate aptitude.
Nevertheless, an exception exists—the Battle-Mages. These extraordinary individuals possess the rare capacity to harness both mana and aura, standing as living legends on the battlefield. They wield a unique advantage, drawing upon the combined might of both worlds to reshape destiny itself.
And now, amidst the clash of blades and a charged atmosphere, I find myself facing a Battle-Mage entrenched in the chromatic stage. On this battleground, our swords intertwined with precision and intent, and the danger of direct sword contact was evident. Elara's blade, enveloped in her golden chromatic aura, exudes destructive power that could shatter any normal weapon. A conventional weapon would be reduced to mere fragments in the face of such potency. Adapting to this new challenge, I transition to a dance of evasion, abandoning my previous approach.
"You just spoke about your secrets, Neah." Her voice rings out amidst the clash, her gaze locked onto mine as our battle rages on. "I am eager to witness them unfold!"
Her challenge hangs in the air as I make a calculated choice, momentarily disengaging from our intense combat. Elara's perplexed expression mirrors the surprise of our audience as I raise my sword, a semi-transparent energy enveloping its blade. It is a manipulation of aura, akin to Form-Fitted Aura, a technique that should be beyond my embryonic stage. Despite my hollow nature, I have managed to imbue my weapon with a semblance of an aura, channelling its power into a concentrated form.
Ordinarily, warriors use aura to augment their entire form, including body and weapon. However, with my hollow limitations, such a method is inefficient. Instead, I draw inspiration from the form-fitted concept, channelling my embryonic aura into a focused point. This strategy is both a risk and a calculated gamble. As my aura-infused blade cuts through the air, its enhanced power is palpable.
In this fleeting instant, I adapt my style, compensating for my hollow condition. The results are astonishing, even to me. Through ingenuity and determination, I've created an imitation—a mirage of a form-fitted aura—a concept that should have been far beyond my reach.
Elara's voice echoed with delight as she leapt forward, exclaiming, "You are truly exceptional, Neah!" With a burst of energy, she dashed towards me, her sword arcing through the air with formidable force. In response to her swift approach, I secretly used another hidden card from my sleeve—I unleashed magic. As her sword's deadly trajectory neared, I swiftly cast a basic spell, harnessing the power to transform the terrain beneath us. The ground beneath her feet shifted, creating an unexpected bump that disrupted her balance in the final moments before impact.
I replied with a measured tone, "Don't get too excited just from this, Elara. It's merely an imitation, and truth be told, it consumes a significant amount of mental strength just to maintain it.
Seizing the opportunity created by her momentary stumble, I executed a swift downward slash. However, Elara's agility was remarkable; she rolled away, narrowly evading my strike. I pressed on, attempting to maintain the upper hand by keeping her on the defensive. But Elara quickly regained her footing, her gaze clouded with confusion over the unexpected turn of events.
Without hesitation, she chanted an incantation, conjuring a fireball into her hand before hurling it towards me. Simultaneously, she resumed her relentless swordplay, striking at me with a barrage of attacks. The fusion of her magic and swordsmanship created a formidable and intricate assault, making it incredibly challenging for me to find an opening to retaliate. Each fireball added an extra layer of complexity, forcing me to focus on both defence and evasion. The sheer diversity of her attacks made countering her strategy a daunting task.
Caught in the heat of battle, I attempted to cast another basic spell, hoping to catch Elara off guard once more. However, she was quicker than I anticipated—she seized my casting hand mid-incantation, her astonishment evident in her words, "You can also use magic!?" The element of surprise had been stripped away, leaving me exposed to her heightened vigilance against my magical abilities.
Despite her grip on my hand, I persisted in my attempt to complete the spell. But before I could finish, she swiftly manoeuvred, using her strength to swing me off balance. The unexpected force of her motion propelled me through the air, creating a brief gap between us. Seizing the opportunity, I scrambled to regain my footing, only to realise that Elara was already behind me.
Her ability to close the distance so swiftly showcased her agility and combat prowess. I had underestimated her physical capabilities, focusing too much on her magical talents. As the battle raged on, it was evident that I was facing a truly formidable opponent—one who had honed both her magic and combat skills to a remarkable degree.
With limited options left, I decided to place a desperate bet on enhancing my combat abilities. Channelling my remaining mana, I cast basic supporting spells, infusing my body with a temporary surge of power. The spells—Muscle Strengthening, Wind Steps, and Stone Skin—imbued me with increased strength, speed, and resilience by using my remaining aura. It was a calculated gamble, one that would grant me a fleeting edge in the battle.
As the clash continued, Elara swung her sword with determined force, but to her surprise, I not only managed to block her attack but also disarmed her in the process. She made a swift attempt to reclaim her sword, but I pressed the advantage, thrusting my blade towards her. Her aura responded in kind, allowing her to evade the attack unscathed.
The momentum of the battle shifted, and the details of our duel were etched into the memories of those watching. Elara's movements, once fierce and unwavering, began to slow down. Her strikes, though still determined, lacked the same intensity they once held. On the surface, it seemed that our strengths were waning in tandem, but beneath it all, her reserves were depleting at a faster rate.
I, the hollow, should have been the one struggling, yet it was she who found herself weakening more rapidly. She, the naturally gifted and talented battle-mage, should have been dominating this stage. My frustration and confusion deepened as I pressed my advantage, attacking with a relentless barrage of strikes and aura-imbued moves.
"Why do you look so pathetic right now, Elara?" I thought to myself, my frustration mingling with a tinge of sympathy. Her once-confident smile and her aura of self-assurance were now juxtaposed with her dwindling strength. The support spells had granted me a temporary edge, but even as I observed her struggle, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to her than met the eye.
In the midst of our duel, my mind was consumed by conflicting thoughts. Frustration battled with empathy, and confusion clashed with determination. The battlefield was both a physical and mental arena, a place where strengths and weaknesses intertwined in a dance of blades and aura.
In the intensity of our battle, I could sense that Elara was nearing her limit. Her once-powerful strikes were growing weaker and her defences less stalwart with every exchange. I found myself propelled forward, determined to seize the opportunity presented by her waning strength.
With each clash of our blades, I pressed the offensive. My strikes became more relentless, driven by a strange mix of frustration, sympathy, and a burning desire for more. It was a paradoxical moment, wanting to push her to her limits while also wishing for the battle to continue, to test our strengths against each other further.
As our swords met once more, I couldn't help but wonder why she still smiled and why she appeared so resilient despite the inevitable outcome. Her grip on her sword tightened, and it was evident that she was preparing to unleash everything in her next attack. I yearned for more—for the clash to continue, for the battle to push us both to our utmost limits. In that moment, I wished I could ask her to satisfy my craving for more.
But as our blades were about to meet, her body betrayed her. She could no longer muster the strength to carry out her intentions. With a sudden collapse, she crumbled to the ground, and our swords never met in that final clash.
The arena fell into stunned silence, with an audible gasp rippling through the spectators as they witnessed Elara's fall. The battle had come to an abrupt end, with my opponent lying on the ground, her strength depleted. I stood there, my sword poised, a mix of emotions swirling within me—frustration, empathy, and a lingering desire for the battle to have lasted just a little longer.
My body was a symphony of pain, with every muscle aching, my legs trembling, and my arms feeling as if they'd been through a forge. The grind of training, the relentless battles, and the sheer exhaustion had taken their toll. I hadn't had a proper rest since the beginning of the tournament. Even before and after matches, I pushed myself through rigorous training regimens.
"So, Elara," I muttered as I leaned over where she had collapsed, "tell me, how did I manage to win against you?"
It was a question that nagged at me, but before she could answer, I received news that the final round would take place the next day. Without further ado, I made my way to my room and collapsed onto my bed, fatigue washing over me. It was the first proper rest I'd allowed myself in what felt like an eternity.
In that moment, I no longer cared about anything. The impending final match seemed trivial, and my thoughts drifted into a realm of dreamless sleep, free from the weight of the tournament.
The sun had barely kissed the horizon when I woke up, feeling strangely refreshed. The anticipation in the air was palpable as I made my way to the stage, the jubilant cheers of the crowd filling my ears. The people were celebrating for the two us, the finalists, their excitement contagious.
I glanced at my opponent, standing there with determination in her eyes. But the first thought that crossed my mind was simple: "Weak and boring."
As the referee stepped forward to announce the start of the battle, I found myself strangely disinterested. When he signaled for us to engage, I chose an unorthodox path. Without a second thought, I surrendered. Sheathing my sword, I turned and left the arena, leaving the crowd in stunned silence.
The cheers turned to murmurs, confusion rippling through the spectators. I paid no heed to their astonishment. For me, this tournament, this stage, and this victory no longer held any significance. I had found what I was searching for, and it wasn't on the battlefield.
In the realm of Terra Veritas, the division between mages and warriors, or knights, is both distinct and intertwined. Mages wield the arcane power of mana, bending it to their desires to command elements and shape reality. Guided by a five-stage progression, mages traverse the path from novice to archsage, with each stage marked by a deepening mastery over mana and the art of spellcasting.
In contrast, warriors derive their strength not from mana but from an intrinsic force known as aura. This unique energy resonates with the essence of each individual, making knights strong from within. The knightly ranking system, spanning from pawn to king or queen, embodies their progression as combatants and their connection to aura. The stages of aura—Embryonic, Chromatic, Form-Fitted, and Signature—mirror the growth of knights, with each stage representing a greater understanding and control over this internal energy.
Embryonic Aura, the nascent stage of aura, is barely discernible, while Chromatic Aura unveils colours that mirror the user's very soul. Form-Fitted Aura moulds itself around the user's chosen weapon or combat style, enhancing their abilities in seamless harmony. The pinnacle of aura mastery, Signature Aura, becomes a knight's embodiment of identity and convictions, empowering them with unique and advanced techniques.
But the question remains: which is stronger, mages or knights? The answer eludes a definitive conclusion, as the true measure of strength lies in one's dedication, effort, and innate aptitude.
Nevertheless, an exception exists—the Battle-Mages. These extraordinary individuals possess the rare capacity to harness both mana and aura, standing as living legends on the battlefield. They wield a unique advantage, drawing upon the combined might of both worlds to reshape destiny itself.
And now, amidst the clash of blades and a charged atmosphere, I find myself facing a Battle-Mage entrenched in the chromatic stage. On this battleground, our swords intertwined with precision and intent, and the danger of direct sword contact was evident. Elara's blade, enveloped in her golden chromatic aura, exudes destructive power that could shatter any normal weapon. A conventional weapon would be reduced to mere fragments in the face of such potency. Adapting to this new challenge, I transition to a dance of evasion, abandoning my previous approach.
"You just spoke about your secrets, Neah." Her voice rings out amidst the clash, her gaze locked onto mine as our battle rages on. "I am eager to witness them unfold!"
Her challenge hangs in the air as I make a calculated choice, momentarily disengaging from our intense combat. Elara's perplexed expression mirrors the surprise of our audience as I raise my sword, a semi-transparent energy enveloping its blade. It is a manipulation of aura, akin to Form-Fitted Aura, a technique that should be beyond my embryonic stage. Despite my hollow nature, I have managed to imbue my weapon with a semblance of an aura, channelling its power into a concentrated form.
Ordinarily, warriors use aura to augment their entire form, including body and weapon. However, with my hollow limitations, such a method is inefficient. Instead, I draw inspiration from the form-fitted concept, channelling my embryonic aura into a focused point. This strategy is both a risk and a calculated gamble. As my aura-infused blade cuts through the air, its enhanced power is palpable.
In this fleeting instant, I adapt my style, compensating for my hollow condition. The results are astonishing, even to me. Through ingenuity and determination, I've created an imitation—a mirage of a form-fitted aura—a concept that should have been far beyond my reach.
Elara's voice echoed with delight as she leapt forward, exclaiming, "You are truly exceptional, Neah!" With a burst of energy, she dashed towards me, her sword arcing through the air with formidable force. In response to her swift approach, I secretly used another hidden card from my sleeve—I unleashed magic. As her sword's deadly trajectory neared, I swiftly cast a basic spell, harnessing the power to transform the terrain beneath us. The ground beneath her feet shifted, creating an unexpected bump that disrupted her balance in the final moments before impact.
I replied with a measured tone, "Don't get too excited just from this, Elara. It's merely an imitation, and truth be told, it consumes a significant amount of mental strength just to maintain it.
Seizing the opportunity created by her momentary stumble, I executed a swift downward slash. However, Elara's agility was remarkable; she rolled away, narrowly evading my strike. I pressed on, attempting to maintain the upper hand by keeping her on the defensive. But Elara quickly regained her footing, her gaze clouded with confusion over the unexpected turn of events.
Without hesitation, she chanted an incantation, conjuring a fireball into her hand before hurling it towards me. Simultaneously, she resumed her relentless swordplay, striking at me with a barrage of attacks. The fusion of her magic and swordsmanship created a formidable and intricate assault, making it incredibly challenging for me to find an opening to retaliate. Each fireball added an extra layer of complexity, forcing me to focus on both defence and evasion. The sheer diversity of her attacks made countering her strategy a daunting task.
Caught in the heat of battle, I attempted to cast another basic spell, hoping to catch Elara off guard once more. However, she was quicker than I anticipated—she seized my casting hand mid-incantation, her astonishment evident in her words, "You can also use magic!?" The element of surprise had been stripped away, leaving me exposed to her heightened vigilance against my magical abilities.
Despite her grip on my hand, I persisted in my attempt to complete the spell. But before I could finish, she swiftly manoeuvred, using her strength to swing me off balance. The unexpected force of her motion propelled me through the air, creating a brief gap between us. Seizing the opportunity, I scrambled to regain my footing, only to realise that Elara was already behind me.
Her ability to close the distance so swiftly showcased her agility and combat prowess. I had underestimated her physical capabilities, focusing too much on her magical talents. As the battle raged on, it was evident that I was facing a truly formidable opponent—one who had honed both her magic and combat skills to a remarkable degree.
With limited options left, I decided to place a desperate bet on enhancing my combat abilities. Channelling my remaining mana, I cast basic supporting spells, infusing my body with a temporary surge of power. The spells—Muscle Strengthening, Wind Steps, and Stone Skin—imbued me with increased strength, speed, and resilience by using my remaining aura. It was a calculated gamble, one that would grant me a fleeting edge in the battle.
As the clash continued, Elara swung her sword with determined force, but to her surprise, I not only managed to block her attack but also disarmed her in the process. She made a swift attempt to reclaim her sword, but I pressed the advantage, thrusting my blade towards her. Her aura responded in kind, allowing her to evade the attack unscathed.
The momentum of the battle shifted, and the details of our duel were etched into the memories of those watching. Elara's movements, once fierce and unwavering, began to slow down. Her strikes, though still determined, lacked the same intensity they once held. On the surface, it seemed that our strengths were waning in tandem, but beneath it all, her reserves were depleting at a faster rate.
I, the hollow, should have been the one struggling, yet it was she who found herself weakening more rapidly. She, the naturally gifted and talented battle-mage, should have been dominating this stage. My frustration and confusion deepened as I pressed my advantage, attacking with a relentless barrage of strikes and aura-imbued moves.
"Why do you look so pathetic right now, Elara?" I thought to myself, my frustration mingling with a tinge of sympathy. Her once-confident smile and her aura of self-assurance were now juxtaposed with her dwindling strength. The support spells had granted me a temporary edge, but even as I observed her struggle, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to her than met the eye.
In the midst of our duel, my mind was consumed by conflicting thoughts. Frustration battled with empathy, and confusion clashed with determination. The battlefield was both a physical and mental arena, a place where strengths and weaknesses intertwined in a dance of blades and aura.
In the intensity of our battle, I could sense that Elara was nearing her limit. Her once-powerful strikes were growing weaker and her defences less stalwart with every exchange. I found myself propelled forward, determined to seize the opportunity presented by her waning strength.
With each clash of our blades, I pressed the offensive. My strikes became more relentless, driven by a strange mix of frustration, sympathy, and a burning desire for more. It was a paradoxical moment, wanting to push her to her limits while also wishing for the battle to continue, to test our strengths against each other further.
As our swords met once more, I couldn't help but wonder why she still smiled and why she appeared so resilient despite the inevitable outcome. Her grip on her sword tightened, and it was evident that she was preparing to unleash everything in her next attack. I yearned for more—for the clash to continue, for the battle to push us both to our utmost limits. In that moment, I wished I could ask her to satisfy my craving for more.
But as our blades were about to meet, her body betrayed her. She could no longer muster the strength to carry out her intentions. With a sudden collapse, she crumbled to the ground, and our swords never met in that final clash.
The arena fell into stunned silence, with an audible gasp rippling through the spectators as they witnessed Elara's fall. The battle had come to an abrupt end, with my opponent lying on the ground, her strength depleted. I stood there, my sword poised, a mix of emotions swirling within me—frustration, empathy, and a lingering desire for the battle to have lasted just a little longer.
My body was a symphony of pain, with every muscle aching, my legs trembling, and my arms feeling as if they'd been through a forge. The grind of training, the relentless battles, and the sheer exhaustion had taken their toll. I hadn't had a proper rest since the beginning of the tournament. Even before and after matches, I pushed myself through rigorous training regimens.
"So, Elara," I muttered as I leaned over where she had collapsed, "tell me, how did I manage to win against you?"
It was a question that nagged at me, but before she could answer, I received news that the final round would take place the next day. Without further ado, I made my way to my room and collapsed onto my bed, fatigue washing over me. It was the first proper rest I'd allowed myself in what felt like an eternity.
In that moment, I no longer cared about anything. The impending final match seemed trivial, and my thoughts drifted into a realm of dreamless sleep, free from the weight of the tournament.
The sun had barely kissed the horizon when I woke up, feeling strangely refreshed. The anticipation in the air was palpable as I made my way to the stage, the jubilant cheers of the crowd filling my ears. The people were celebrating for the two us, the finalists, their excitement contagious.
I glanced at my opponent, standing there with determination in her eyes. But the first thought that crossed my mind was simple: "Weak and boring."
As the referee stepped forward to announce the start of the battle, I found myself strangely disinterested. When he signaled for us to engage, I chose an unorthodox path. Without a second thought, I surrendered. Sheathing my sword, I turned and left the arena, leaving the crowd in stunned silence.
The cheers turned to murmurs, confusion rippling through the spectators. I paid no heed to their astonishment. For me, this tournament, this stage, and this victory no longer held any significance. I had found what I was searching for, and it wasn't on the battlefield.
