Day of the fight.
Lambdo wasted no time. Three days. That's all it took him to whip Theiopolis into a frenzy. He even hired griffons to haul nobles and guildmasters from across the continent just to watch me swing my fists again. I honestly don't know if he does this to feed his dungeon self or just for the love of the game. Maybe both.
Areva was out exploring while I stayed holed up in my suite. If I stepped outside, I'd be swarmed by fans asking me to sign their baby, or their goat. How did Michael Jordan deal with this?
The door opened and Areva swept in, practically glowing.
"John! That was so fun! Your fight's being promoted everywhere. Your opponent looks terrifying."
"You've seen them?"
"Not in person, but posters are plastered across the city. Apparently, they beat a dragon."
"Oh?" That actually gave me pause. Beating a dragon is no small feat.
"Are you ready, John? They say you're the strongest man in the world, but I've never actually seen you fight."
"You must have heard the stories."
"Yes, but I'm from another continent, remember? Your reputation is… messy. I heard you were a ten-foot, scaly giant who split a country in half. Imagine my surprise when you turned out to be just a dork."
"Well, I'm not ten feet tall."
"And you split a country in half?"
I didn't answer.
"You split a country in half?" she pressed.
"Hey!"
"And now—the main event!" Lambdo's voice rolled across the Grand Ocular, dripping with theatrics. "Ladies and gentlemen! The Seven-Time Champion of the Ocular! The Undefeated! The Strongest Man in the World! Joooooohn 'The Immortal!' Delinger!"
The crowd exploded. Thousands of voices chanting my name, fists pumping. Some people were actually crying.
I walked into the arena, raising my fists. Might as well play into it.
"Delinger! Delinger! Delinger!"
Areva was in the front row, best seat in the house. She looked like she'd stepped into a dream.
For the first time in years, I carried a weapon—a massive sword. Sponsored, of course. I didn't have to use it, but I had to walk out with it. Let's just say that I am not immune to the charms of money. Two thousand platinum clinks was enough to make me compromise.
Now what? Do I stab it dramatically into the ground? Too cliché. Besides, it'd probably break. Then I spotted a kid staring at me like I was the sun itself. I passed him the sword. "It's yours now, kid."
The crowd melted. Wouldn't surprise me if "The Charitable" became my newest title by tomorrow.
"And his challenger!" Lambdo's voice thundered again. "The Blade of Redell! The Winner of a Thousand Duels! Three-Time Ocular Champion! The Woman Who Outran Death! Kaela 'Mirage' Kolette!"
The arena shook as the cheers grew even louder.
She stepped out. Big. Heavily armored. Long, tangled hair spilling from her helmet. Silent, measured steps that didn't waste a single ounce of movement.
And her eyes.
Sharp, unblinking, locked on me with years of obsession behind them. I knew instantly. Lambdo hadn't just picked a fighter—he'd brought me someone who had been waiting for this moment. Someone who lived for it.
Guess I'll return the favor. I locked in.
The noise of the crowd faded. Lambdo's voice evaporated. In that instant, there were only two people in the world: me and her.
I didn't hear the announcer call the start. I didn't need to. I knew the match had begun the second she exploded forward, steel flashing, sand tearing beneath her boots.
She swung. I leaned back, dodging by a breath. The speed she closed the distance with—yeah, there's merit to her titles.
The next strike came fast. I ducked under, peek-a-boo style, and closed in. A straight right flew out. She had the reach advantage with her halberd, but I was taller, longer. She slid back, keeping space, counterattacking. I slapped the shaft aside like it was nothing.
Quick. She definitely earned those titles. Guess I'll prove I earned mine too.
Her halberd whistled through the air—this time, I didn't dodge. I met it head-on. My fist shattered the weapon in a spray of steel and splinters. The bones of my hand cracked with it, but they healed before the pieces hit the ground.
The crowd gasped, then erupted. First real explosion of the fight.
"Kaela strikes first! Look at that speed! But Delinger—oh, he just shattered her halberd with his bare hand! By the gods, did you see that?!"
She didn't flinch. A new weapon appeared in her hands from her spatial ring—a sword of fire. We clashed. She swung, I broke it. The fire singing my face. I countered with my other fist, only to meet a shield she conjured mid-motion. I destroyed that too. She stayed standing.
"You're fast at everything, huh? Even your ring."
No reply. Another weapon already in hand—a bow. She loosed arrows in a blur, dozens at once, all enchanted. They exploded into lightning, fire and ice. They screamed through the air. I swatted, dodged, slipped through the storm, and closed distance. She was ready with yet another weapon.
"Another weapon—already replaced! Kaela's hands are faster than most men's thoughts! Sword! Shield! Gone in an instant! And yet—she's still standing!"
I feinted a punch into her guard, then swept her legs. She crashed down. I dropped a hammerfist meant to end it, but she rolled, shields stacking out of nowhere to block me. I tore them apart, one after another, but she was already back on her feet.
No spells. No chants. Just weapons, shields, armor—and speed enough to keep up with me. No weakness. Except…
"How much arsenal do you even have in that ring?"
Silence. Daggers came flying. I clapped my hands, releasing a shockwave—only for the enchanted blades to tear straight through. One buried into my side. I ripped it free, my flesh knitting over.
Enough. Stay close.
I charged. She brought out a mace. I took the hit—let her cave in half my skull. That thing was enchanted to be dozens of times heavier that it actually is. My fist crashed into her chest at the same time. A boom shook the arena. Her armor shattered, blood spilling from her lips.
"And now—a mace! She caves in his skull! But Delinger answers—OH! The sound of that punch! Armor shattered, blood spilled! Both warriors taking damage, both refusing to fall!"
My skull already knitting back into place. The mace she hit me with? Its enchantments are already being drained by my body. She looked worse—torso raw, armor useless. She discarded it and conjured fresh ones in the blink of an eye. In that split second of armor change, I saw her face.
"Wait… I know yo—"
She cut me off with another swing. I bit down on the weapon mid-arc, broke it between my teeth. Another weapon, another. All with different exploding enchantments. I smashed them all. She just kept summoning more. Endless.
"Folks, this is no ordinary duel. This is obsession forged into steel!"
Time to stop holding back.
I exploded forward, sonic booms cracking the air. To my surprise, she kept pace, minus the sonic booms. I see. She wasn't using brute strength like me—her body was running on some kind of internal magic.
Fine. I pressed harder. A kick aimed for her midsection met another shield. She turned the deflection into a sword thrust that pierced into me. I let it happen. My body drank the enchantments, corroding them. I smashed her helmet with a punch—shards scattering.
Another helmet flashed into place instantly.
Again and again. Strike, shatter, summon. Weapons, shields, armor. All the pinnacle of magic weapons. Her ring was endless, her obsession bottomless.
It's like she trained exactly for me.
She knew external magic was useless against me, so she turned inward—mastering internal magic. She knew magical weapons would crumble in my hands, so she brought hundreds of them.
We danced. I shattered her weapons; she stabbed me whenever she found an opening. But we both knew this couldn't last. My stamina and healing are endless. Her arsenal? Finite.
She must have realized it too. Her stance changed. Her eyes narrowed. Then—she vanished.
The crowd roared as Lambdo bellowed:
"And there it is, folks! Kaela's Mirage Technique! Where will she strike—back, front, or side?!"
I couldn't see her. Couldn't even hear her. But she still had to touch the ground. Footsteps on sand—that's my clue.
There!
I caught her first strike, barely saving my neck. My arm was sliced deep.
Another step, another flash—my torso split open. I tanked it.
"There! No—there! She's everywhere at once, carving the Immortal like a butcher's prize! This is the Mirage, ladies and gentlemen, the pride of Redell, the nightmare of any who've faced her! The Immortal Bleeds! The Immortal Bleeds!"
I tried to read a pattern… no, screw that. Play to my strengths.
I rocketed into the sky, then slammed down like a meteor. The arena erupted. Sand and weapon debris blasted into the air. And there—a silhouette. I threw everything into a punch.
But it was a feint. An empty suit of armor.
She struck from below, stabbing through my liver. It had some sort of gravity effect that made it hard to dodge.
I staggered. Blood gushed. She was good. I yanked the blade free, healing already kicking in, but she never let up.
Weapons rained. Swords, spears, axes—an endless barrage from her ring, faster than a machine gun. It exploded the ground I was on with a variety of exotic effects. I punched most of them away, a few slicing into me. By now, the arena was a graveyard of steel.
"I don't even know what the hell is happening anymore!"
And still—I stood.
Kaela finally appeared again. Breathing hard, sweat dripping. She couldn't maintain the Mirage forever.
I smiled. "You studied me well. Built your entire style to counter mine."
I bent my right knee.
"But you missed two things."
Her eyes widened.
"One—" My rune flared.
I warped. A streak of light. She dodged the first strike with pure speed that kept up with mine—but I wasn't done.
I accelerated further. The air itself ignited. Shockwaves hammered the stands. Lambdo threw up barriers to protect the crowd.
I caught her.
Dozens of shields burst into existence around her in desperation. I tore through them. Armor shattered. The ground cracked open under us, air twisting into howling typhoons.
My fist landed.
She hit the ground, mangled, on the brink of death yet somehow still alive. My own arm's bones and flesh liquefied under the impact. But her eyes. Those same obsessed eyes. Unbroken.
I stood over her.
"The second thing you didn't account for, Kaela…" I said, voice low.
"…is that no matter how perfectly you counter me—"
I raised my fist once more.
"—I'm simply too strong."
She still stared, spirit intact even as her body failed.
I looked up at Lambdo. He gave a nod, then thundered to the arena:
"Aaaand the winner! The now Eight-Time Ocular Champion—Joooohn 'The Immortal' Delinger!"
I heard her say something to me, but the crowd's shouting blocked it out..
I blinked.
"…Wait. This was a titled match?"
He was still beautiful. Gods, he was still beautiful.
The crowd thought the fight was close, but I knew better. I know his eyes. I know the storm behind them. He wasn't threatened. He wasn't straining. He wasn't even… here. For him, it was a day like any other. For me, it was the knife's edge between life and death.
Every strike I gave him, every drop of blood I carved, healed in moments. Skin like iron, flesh like memory—it refuses to stay broken. Me? I had to bury myself in spells. Layer upon layer—strength, haste, regeneration, steadfast, burst, thirteen more besides—burning, clawing inside my veins just to let my blade kiss him. Every second drained me. He only had to exist.
Do you see the cruelty in it? The simplicity?
The first time we fought, years ago, I was a prodigy. Bright, clever, praised. A spellcaster, like any sensible warrior. Magic is the path, they said—the fastest, the most versatile. And I believed them.
John tore me apart before I could finish a chant. He wasn't even after me. I was debris.
And my magic? It died around him. No spark. No fire. Just ash.
But my curse is obsession. Always has been. I can't put a thing down once I've gripped it. And John—John became my anchor, my lodestar, my ruin. To reach him, to surpass him—that became my breath, my waking thought, my dream.
I studied him. He cannot use magic. He cannot wield enchanted tools. Only brute strength.
So I thought: there it is. The crack in the armor.
But no. No. The irony is exquisite—he destroys the very thing he cannot hold. My spells, my craft, all collapse around him. He unmakes what I am.
So I turned inward. Internal magic. If I could not throw fire from my hands, I would burn inside.
And still, he shattered it.
So I forged weapons. Thousands. My hands blistered in the forge until I could shape steel blind. I made my own ring, filled it until it groaned. Daggers, spears, bows, halberds—blades without end.
I challenged him again.
I lasted longer. Half-dead, but longer. And it was glorious.
But speed was my failure. Too slow. Too clumsy. So I built faster rings, bigger rings. I learned every weapon—no, not learned—consumed them. I mastered sword, mace, whip, hammer, shield. I hunted teachers, broke them, surpassed them. Thousands of weapons, thousands of styles.
And it still wasn't enough.
But I was winning now, in Theiopolis. Losing at first, bleeding in the dirt, then winning, then never stopping. They gave me titles. Fastest Warrior. Thousand Duels. The Mirage.
The Mirage—my jewel. A spell of my own making. Not a trick of light, no. Erasure. Flesh, bone, spirit—gone. I vanish from the inside out.
And yet—after all of it—
He remains untouchable.
John is no man. He is nature. A mountain in the shape of flesh. A tide you cannot push.
But when Lambdo called? When the chance came to stand before him once more?
I didn't hesitate.
I knew I would lose. Of course I would lose. But I needed to see. To measure. To place myself against him one last time.
So when I lay there, armor shattered, blood soaking into the sand, I asked him the only question that mattered:
"Can I ever be as beautiful as you?"