Three spiders, each weighing 23 kilograms, striking you at thrice the speed of sound was no one's idea of a good day. Like the many who had come before him, Duncan Ishfall didn’t take the beating very well. A spider struck his shoulder, completely destroying the joint, sending his left arm flying.

  Unfortunately, the remaining spiders never hit him, at least, not with the force they should have. Duncan released a pulse of law-infused aura, and everything within a hundred metres of him froze completely, his own body included. It was a little disconcerting to see; the king of the ice elves standing absolutely still, his severed arm suspended in motion.

  One of Wovan's meteorites had hit Duncan on the head, and his skull was partially caved in, bits of splintered bone careering out from the impact crater. They were frozen mid-explosion now. Duncan finally began to move, agonisingly slowly, like every centimetre he covered was a mile, his remaining arm reaching out towards Arthur.

  “You’re really something else, Arthur. I can't believe you actually managed to damage this vessel.” Duncan was speaking, but the noise was coming from magically manipulated air particles instead of his mouth. Arthur suspected the man would’ve been speaking in slow motion otherwise.

  “This emergency defensive skill is what helped me survive the foolishness of my youth for all those years my stupidity outclassed my power. Today, it seems to have saved me from my foolish decision to underestimate you.”

  Duncan's right arm had covered half the distance to Arthur’s head now, the pinky finger oddly outstretched. Arthur suspected he knew what was going to happen next. Duncan confirmed things with his next words.

  “When my life is in mortal danger, my skill will freeze everything around me. With my true body, that area would span this entire planet several times over. In light of this being a sparring match, however, and the relative weakness of my current form, I’ve only frozen everything within 230 metres.”

  Duncan smiled. “The captured force usually gives me a lot of energy to work with. I destroyed an entire corrupted world with it once. As diminished as that energy may be today, it is not an insignificant amount, especially when it’ll be transmitted via a surface area the size of my smallest finger into your skull.”

  The ice elf turned his eyes skyward to where The Weaver was hovering. “What do you think, Makora? Surely The Council has seen enough now. It’s time to call this combat session off.”

  The Weaver was wearing a cowl that hid her face, but the smugness radiating off her was undeniable. “I think it’s a little premature for that, Ishfall.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Duncan turned his attention back to Arthur in time to see what she was talking about. It took far longer than it should have, four long seconds for an action that should’ve taken an instant, but the movement was undeniable.

  In a world frozen in time, Arthur Ward had just blinked.

  “Oh shit.”

  Green flames erupted from Arthur's eyes, moving far slower than they should have, but still significantly faster than Duncan. They struck the man on the face, burning his eyes and scorching his skin, before a wave of ice magic rose up to combat it. The damage was done, though. Where eyes should’ve rested were now two charcoal lamps, surrounded by blackened flesh.

  Fighting in slow motion was strange; Arthur's thoughts operated at their regular speeds, so it felt like he had minutes to decide his every action. He ran some rough calculations in his head, even as he willed his body to move. Duncan was still faster than him, which meant dodging the incoming finger was all but impossible. He could move his head out of the way, but Duncan seemed to have already countered for that, angling his hand now so it would strike him centre mass.

  Arthur's heart still had a spike of ice going through it, and his torso was a mess. Getting hit there would hurt like a bitch, but Arthur was sure he'd survive it, especially if he started channelling healing ether and green fire at the exact moment of impact. Spikes formed from Armaments of the Soul formed around his shins even as his right leg kicked forward.

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  Duncan no longer had eyes to see, but the way his shoulders involuntarily tensed, even in slow motion, told Arthur the man knew exactly what was coming. Turned out, even reaching the pinnacles of power didn't mean you weren't afraid of taking true soul damage to your crown jewels. Arthur wasn't sure if the damage would carry over to Duncan's real body from his current vessel, but he doubted the elf wanted to find out.

  "That's enough," Makora called out, and suddenly, the world shifted. They were back in their original starting positions, both of them free from any damage, as if the battle had never taken place. The phantom pain in his chest and his missing health points told him otherwise.

  "That was some vicious fighting, Arthur Ward. It's not the most brutal I've seen—I've participated in some gory battles over the years—but the violent efficiency of your every move was sublime," Makora praised.

  "The way you're willing to trade damage makes you a daunting opponent. The complete trust you have in your body's survivability is admirable, and your ability to shrug off a mastered Law with a half-baked concept and stats alone is unprecedented."

  Makora shook her head in disappointment. "That's the good stuff out of the way. Besides your physique and adaptability, your physical combat is poor, and your magic even worse. You use your skills like they're still new to you, and you're overly reliant on your green flames, a very recent addition, I believe. They should supplement your fighting, not make up for your inadequacies."

  Arthur frowned, but he could find nothing he could say in his defence. It was honest criticism that broke down exactly where he stood skill-wise. He was like a 64-bit program running on the latest hardware, carried by his specs, but severely underutilised.

  "Thank you for your feedback, Lady Makora," Arthur finally said. "I'll take it all into consideration as I move forward."

  "See to it that you do. I hate to see potential go to waste."

  The Weaver turned her attention to Duncan, who looked like he'd just seen a ghost. It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that he'd almost lost to a man millennia his junior, one who hadn't even reached level 200, no less.

  "Duncan Ishfall," The Weaver sighed. "You're old enough and wise enough that you don't need to hear any advice I can give you. You know exactly what lesson today should teach you. Do not grow complacent in your power. A throne can crumble, even as you sit and watch your subjects from on high."

  The remaining observers floated down to the ground. Ezrial walked over to him. The man was regal and beautiful, striking in a way that was almost physical. The fae looked him up and down, sizing him up.

  "My daughter is a clever girl, and far wiser than I was at her age. She's smart enough to make her own decisions, no matter how I may feel about things"

  Ezrial smiled, the small expression lighting up his entire face. "Surprisingly enough, I agree with her on this decision, though. She takes after me on these matters, I think. I chased and married the strongest woman I know, and she's doing the same."

  Arthur smiled wryly. "I'm not sure your wife would be very happy if she learned you only pursued her because of her strength."

  Ezrial chuckled. "You're right. She'd skin me alive" His eyes took on a far-off look. "And a whole lot of other things."

  Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. It seemed Ezrial had a very interesting relationship with his wife.

  "I'm only messing with you, boy," Ezrial chuckled, patting him on the back. "I was always worried about Iris' future. With her mother's blood running through her veins, it was always a fear that she would grow to love someone who'd hold her back. It is a terrible thing to grow strong enough that none can challenge you, yet be bereft of the one you loved most, simply because they weren't strong enough to survive through the ages. It's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies."

  Arthur raised a puzzled brow. "I thought with magic and science being so advanced, we could allow someone to live forever, no matter what level they were."

  Ezrial smiled sadly at him. "Time is not so kind. We can keep a body in a perfect state until the universe finally succumbs and perishes. The soul, however, isn't so simple. Even with the greatest of Soul mages, a time will come when a weaker soul will simply give out. No magic in existence can stop that."

  "Iris' potential means she will live far longer than even I. Now, at least, I know she will have someone to spend her time with in those twilight years."

  This was all new information, and even if it wouldn't matter for the next thousands of years, he couldn't help but worry a little.

  Ezrial slapped him on the back again. "Enough with this morose talk. The seers back in my day used to tell me I had five hundred years tops. They're long since dead, and I haven't kicked the bucket yet. I've broken my limits so many times over, I'd be a fool to believe in them at this point. Maybe I'll be the one to outlive you both. Hell, we'll probably die horribly gruesomely long before our natural lifespans run dry."

  Ezrial elbowed him on the side. It looked like his future father-in-law wasn't big on personal space. "That's enough philosophy for one day. Let's go see what The Council has to say about you."

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