Malichi was breathing hard.
Not clean, controlled breathing, but the rough kind that scraped his lungs and left his chest tight. Sweat clung to his back beneath his robes, and his legs burned from constant motion.
He stood in a corner off the arena with nowhere left to retreat.
Around him were people. Too many of them.
Twenty five, give or take, forming a loose ring that shifted every few seconds. Some held weapons. Some clenched their fists nervously. Others tried to look confident and failed.
One boy near the back swallowed hard and leaned toward the one standing slightly forward from the rest.
"Are you sure about this, Elijah?" he asked in a low, paranoid voice. "Will the elders really not interfere?"
Elijah snapped his head toward him. "Are we breaking any rules?" he barked. "No."
The boy flinched and fell silent.
Malichi's eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on Elijah.
Elijah was not like the others.
He stood apart, arms folded, posture relaxed in a way that was clearly forced. His cultivation was obvious to Malichi, even without sensing carefully. Level two of the Body Forging Realm, same as him.
A cousin.
Elijah had long black hair tied loosely behind his head, strands already coming free. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken and poorly set, and a fat dark mole sat just under his lower lip. His eyes were sharp, calculating, always watching.
Malichi did not need to guess what was happening.
Elijah had seen him fight.
He had seen Malichi take down opponents too easily, without hesitation, without fear. And instead of stepping forward himself, Elijah had done what he always did best.
He gathered people.
Only Elijah had the social pull to make it happen. He was apart of the main line, and confident enough to convince others that attacking Malichi carried no real risk. Not socially. Not politically.
Not that there would have been consequences anyway.
Malichi knew the elders were not so small minded. They would not punish children for fighting in an orientation they themselves had approved. Elijah knew it too.
That was what made this so irritating.
Elijah stayed back, letting others do the work.
Another wave came again.
Three from the front, two from the left, one trying to slip in from behind.
Malichi moved.
He ducked under a wild punch, slammed his shoulder into another attacker's chest, then twisted to avoid a kick that grazed his thigh. His counterstrike landed solidly, but not decisively. The boy stumbled, winded, but did not go down.
That was the problem.
There were too many.
Even with superior cultivation, even with better technique, Malichi could not strike hard enough to incapacitate people quickly without overcommitting. And every time he overcommitted, another opening appeared.
He forced himself to stay calm, to conserve energy, but fatigue crept in regardless.
Another batch rushed him.
Six this time.
Malichi felt irritation flare into something sharper.
Enough!
He planted his feet.
Spiritual energy surged through his body, flooding his arms with familiarity.
"Swift Root Mirage."
His arms vanished.
Not literally, but to the eye they blurred into afterimages, moving too fast to track. His hands struck out in rapid succession, each blow snapping forward like a whip and retracting just as fast.
There was a reason his combat technique and cultivation manual resonated so strongly with each other. Both had been created by the same Hans ancestor, someone who understood the harmony between strength and speed better than most.
Swift Root Mirage was made for someone like him.
Someone who walked the roots of strength and speed together.
Cries rang out.
One attacker screamed as his arm bent at an odd angle. Another was knocked off his feet entirely, skidding across the floor. A third gasped as the air was driven from his lungs.
Two fell hard enough for cultivation instructors to appear instantly, removing them from the arena in flashes of motion.
The remaining four recoiled, eyes wide, scrambling backward.
Malichi released the technique.
The sudden absence of spiritual energy left his arms heavy, almost numb. His breathing worsened, chest heaving as he fought to draw air in.
He knew the truth.
He could not keep this up much longer.
Elijah's expression darkened. For just a moment, Malichi saw it.
Fear. The realization that this was not going as planned.
Around Elijah, others stared at Malichi with open awe now. Hesitation spread through the group, some shifting their weight, others glancing toward the instructors as if measuring how close they were to being pulled out.
Malichi straightened his posture despite the ache in his muscles.
He refused to show weakness.
Then something crashed into the crowd to his right.
Bodies stumbled and fell as someone barrelled through with no hesitation. The formation around him broke apart in confusion.
Malichi snapped his guard up instantly, spiritual energy gathering reflexively.
Two figures emerged.
Will.
And Zareck.
Relief hit Malichi so hard it almost made him laugh out loud.
Will moved first, intercepting an attacker who had been circling wide. His technique was clean and efficient, a sharp contrast to the messy aggression around them.
Zareck followed half a step behind, striking another boy hard enough to send him tumbling away. Malichi noticed the way Zareck favoured one hand, his posture slightly angled.
Then he sensed it.
Zareck's aura.
Level two.
Malichi's eyes widened just a fraction before amusement took over. He laughed silently, a breathless sound in his chest.
So that was it.
About time.
He let out a long breath and allowed himself a brief smile as he glanced at them. "About time," he said aloud, voice hoarse.
The fight shifted instantly.
What had been a desperate struggle became something else entirely.
With Will and Zareck at his sides, Malichi no longer had to watch every angle alone. Zareck positioned himself smartly, controlling space despite his injury. Will moved constantly, breaking up groups before they could coordinate.
The attackers hesitated now.
Some tried to retreat, only to find their escape blocked by others still pressing forward. Confusion spread. Confidence cracked.
Elijah's jaw tightened.
He finally stepped forward.
Spiritual energy flared around him as he cracked his neck once, eyes locking onto Malichi. "Looks like you needed help," he said coolly.
Malichi wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Looks like you ain't bring enough people," he replied.
For a moment, the noise of the arena faded.
This was what Elijah had wanted from the start.
Him weakened. Easy pickings.
Malichi didn't care.
He sensed Elijah would finally move. And he welcomed it.