Six medium-sized, fully identical fireballs came from his left.
Perfectly-formed fireballs in such quantity and in conjunction? Even after three months, Derrick could only create two of the same condition!
When the sixth one shot out, a seventh quickly began forming.
A fireball repeater? How can he maintain a spell for so long?!
Arthur suddenly remembered that the core trait of fireballs that separated them from other fire-spells was their ability to explode on impact. Yet, he had heard no sound remotely similar to an explosion when they struck.
He extended his neck, and his eyes looked as far as they could until the impact zone came into view. His mind raced to find an answer as he saw the Laws of Magic being broken right in front of his eyes.
Without making even the slightest sound or wasted movement, every fireball that the spearman cut with the edge of his spearhead–that was cloaked in the most delicate translucent shadow–split and dissolved into the air with no trace left behind.
How is he nullifying magic? There's nothing surrounding him or his weapon! I saw him create a magic circle. He's a mage! He has to be, so how can he do that?!
The spearman began to move as fireballs continued to be shot out at him, taking a step, and another at three-second intervals. With no one in this room producing any sounds, Arthur could hear for the first time the sounds coming in the distance from the rooms around him.
Cedric, in the middle of the two beds with the wall behind him, began shooting two fireballs at a time. With every two steps the spearman took toward him, he introduced another element to the fight.
Ice spikes, wind blades, and earth lumps. There were four magic circles; he was firing five projectiles every second, but the man's spear effortlessly cut through and negated it all, and Cedric began to tire.
Arthur tried to attack from behind, but every time he attempted it, he was struck by the blunt end of the pole and would have to somehow avoid the projectiles the spearman dodged in order to deal with him.
As the spearman neared, no less than five steps from him, Cedric released all the magic circles.
"Give me your sword!" Cedric shouted.
What? Do you want me to throw it to you? You don't even know how to use it!
Arthur began by trying to calculate the ideal method, but as he saw the spearman take another step, he decided to just apply what calculations he had. He held the sword at the base of the blade, closest to the crossguard, pulled his arm back, and accelerated it forward with as much force as he could, and released it.
It cut through the air tip-first, in a direct path to stab through the back of the spearman's head, but just before reaching, the man leaned to the right, and the sword planted itself into the wall, right where it needed to be.
Cedric pulled the sword out of the wall and held it loosely with one hand. The iris of his eyes seemed to turn black, and the two weapons clashed.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
It was not the same type of clash that Arthur had initiated. No, it was a continuous barrage of attacks from both sides. Metal rang more than five times a second, but it looked like a stalemate; they were on equal footing. Both tried, but failed to drive the other back.
How are they moving so quickly? Even with body aura enhancing their arms, there's no way they could stop all the momentum of one move and make such sharp turns, keeping the same speed even when changing to the complete opposite direction! This isn't just conservation of force through collision; they are literally breaking the Laws of Physics!
And how is Cedric able to fight on equal terms with someone so skilled? Nothing I've ever seen even comes remotely close to this.
"Huff–Huff–Huff–"
This noise suddenly became audible to Arthur, repeating again and again throughout the room. It was coming from the one with his mouth open, whose white pajamas had become transparent-gray from his sweat. And it was growing more desperate.
His movements aren't getting any slower, but from the sound of his breath, he must be at his limit! I have to do something, but I have no weapon…
He looked at the spearman's arms, and then looked at his own.
If I can tackle him down, or hold his arms from moving, Cedric can finish him off.
He ran at him, paying little attention to bracing his steps. The spearman heard something from behind and began turning his head, but the action failed as in his momentary distraction, Cedric took the opportunity and thrusted the sword at his head.
The mask was removed from his face as the sword made contact with it. Arthur suddenly heard the sound of striking metal stop, and another sound that resembled Cedric's voice, but he couldn't quite discern it.
The momentum had built up, and Arthur was too close to stop now. No matter what, he had to hold him down. He pounced, arms spread wide and flexed, lifting his chin to brace from the damage that would come from collisions between bone.
But their bones would never come in contact with each other.
Fortunately, his eyelids were closed, so no particles of ash dirtied his eyes. The same could not be said for the rest of him though. He entered and exited with as much resistance as air.
His arms that were meant to restrain caught nothing but himself and the ground. With a single kick to his back, he was thrown past Cedric, where he found the wall.
What was that–I missed? Did I go through him?
He tried to wipe the dry ash away from his eyes, but the sweat built up between his palms made the ash clump and stick. When he cleared his vision, the fight had already ended with one last, pitiful reverberation of metals, followed by a muffled cough.
Arthur opened his eyes. His vision pulsated–two, three, four times before he could deny it no longer.
The Obsidian Lance was in full extension, just centimeters away from his eyes, only now, it was painted red. On the lance, two meters in front of him, Cedric's legs collapsed, and his body hung from it.
The lance went directly through his torso, and from something, he could smell a strong metallic odor, followed by another smell that his nose rejected—the warm, sick scent of bowels and death.
"Run," Cedric grunted as he clasped the pole with both hands, his shoulders and everything below shaking violently.
A golden glow appeared around him, and he tried again. The energy felt familiar. It gave him power and energy before, but now, even with it, the result would not change.
Cedric's arms tried again, but they were pale now, and shook less than his first attempt. His arms dropped and swayed for a bit until the momentum was used up. He painfully inched his neck to the right to look back at Arthur.
His back was pressed as far into the wall as he could, extending his neck to create the tiniest increase in distance. His brain could give no other instruction but to extend.
His eyes were raised and trembled so much it looked as if they would explode. His nose was flared red, open, but holding his breath. His teeth were clasped together, but his mouth made nothing resembling a smile. It was just barely open enough for the front of his teeth to be visible, but nothing more.
"Run," Cedric said once more, raising the sides of his mouth to form a smile, but a thick, opaque liquid spilled from it, covering whatever expression he tried to make.
His brows were quivering, and throughout his body, the veins began to turn black, tracing the path of his arteries. It stood out intensely from his pale, pale skin.
Arthur saw something different. Every feature was drawn to the extremities of melancholy, and he looked like some sort of dark beast, pulling his gaze onto it, and never letting go.
The Golden light left Cedric's body and took the shape of a sphere around the shaking coward. If one were to look at the two of them, side by side, they would think Arthur was the one who had a spear pierced through his stomach.
In the next moment, the head of the spear was not pointed at Arthur anymore, but at the ceiling. Arthur's breathing returned to him in the form of shallow breaths that sped up as he continued to stare at the two pieces of flesh that made up what was once known as Cedric.
It fell and created a pool of blood that expanded across the floor and pressed against the walls of his golden dome.