Tucker lowered his sword and pointed it to the ground while observing Quincy. It was the same stance Charles had used against him, and whether it worked on the old knight was a gamble. One that he was willing to take. The air around Tucker turned cold as the breeze gathered around him and Sally. Forming a protective current against the fierce aura that burned like an undying flame. He could feel the overwhelming amount of dignity and pride emanating from the knight.

  Fifteen minutes. That was all he had.

  A direct contest of strength was futile and Quincy was an opponent far out of his caliber, but that didn’t mean it was hopeless. Alex proved it was possible. Possible to overcome opponents through wits rather than brawn.

  He stared at the knight and watched as Quincy drew a javelin from the leather bag while holding a sword in his other hand. Tucker tightened his hold on his blade and examined Quincy’s stance. The javelin was at eye level, and the visor made it difficult to see where the old man was focusing. Slowly, the weapon lowered to a certain angle. An angle that made little sense from this distance. It was as if he wasn’t aiming directly at the watchman.

  Tucker immediately kicked off the ground and sprinted towards Quincy. Focusing on the end of the javelin as it left the knight’s outstretched hand. The form was nearly perfect—a textbook example yet highly predictable. Tucker adjusted his body and shifted his weight, sidestepping the projectile just enough to avoid a fatal blow. Blood gushed out the side of his leg. Followed by a burning sensation racing through as he gritted his teeth. The torn fabric of his green trousers barely contained the flow of blood.

  Two more javelins remained and if he wanted any chance to escape, he would need to get rid of them. Pushing closer, Tucker raised his sword and took a step forward. He swung his blade horizontally, aiming to force Quincy into a defensive position, but the old knight was prepared. Quincy twisted his sword downwards, catching Tucker’s strike and redirecting it along the spine of his blade towards the ground. Sparks ignited from the emerald and azure auras as the weapons clashed, and before Tucker could recover, the knight countered.

  A flash of silver cut through the air, following a tight counterclockwise arc and towards Tucker’s neck. The sword’s luster shined beneath the moonlight. His aura flickering like a torch in the wind, undeterred by the clash of steel.

  The slash cut through the empty space as the rookie pulled back and ducked beneath the blade. Tucker raised his sword once more, feeling the strike reverberate through his body along with the clash of metal ringing in his ears. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his palms and nearly knocked him off his feet, but he steadied himself and retreated. Creating a brief window of safety before being pushed back by Quincy as another strike landed.

  The knight's relentless assault continued as metal met metal. Not giving Tucker a single inch of ground to stand on. His sword came around again, slashing at the watchman’s arm. The strike caused Tucker to wince in pain, tearing into his leather gloves. His thin layer of aura barely covering his sword failed to fully protect his wrist, but luckily, it prevented the attack from severing his hand.

  His grip tightened, retaliating with a sharp strike that landed on the midsection of Quincy’s blade. The force deflected their blade into the air, creating a brief opening for Tucker to take advantage of. He channeled every ounce of strength he had into his next attack and carved a narrow arc. Cutting through the azure aura that protected Quincy’s throat with such ferocity that a clean line etched itself into the old man’s protective armor.

  The knight retreated several steps and touched the wound on his iron armor. It barely left a dent at the plate protecting his neck, but for a moment, he was centimeters away from death. Even though this was the case, Quincy was certain of one thing after their exchange.

  The wavering green aura barely covered his opponent’s blade and the fool’s guard earlier. They were all signs of an experienced duelist but a weak aura user. The gash in his armor was hardly enough to deter him, but if there was one thing Quincy was confident about. It was that he could capture the watchmen without killing them.

  A throbbing pain ached from Tucker’s thigh and wrist. He wanted to pull out a potion and pour it on his wounds, but this wasn’t some sort of game. There’s no way in hell Quincy would just stand there and watch. He had to endure. Endure the burning sensation and come up with a way to win. Just now he had lost miserably in the duel, but that was because he approached it wrong.

  Sweat dripped down the side of Tucker's face as he angled his sword to the ground once more and slowly circled around Quincy. Both of them took slow yet deliberate breaths, trying to find a flaw in each other’s movements. The grass swayed in the wind, moving in unison with their steps, and the leaves rustled delicately against each other.

  Before Tucker could even blink, Quincy rushed forward. Launching off the ground and instantly closing the distance between them. He thrust his blade towards the watchman’s chest and soon felt a force strike the bottom of his sword. Parrying the attack into the air.

  Tucker couldn’t help but smile seeing how it all played out, and immediately drew closer, lunging at Quincy with his sword aimed at their neck. The strike landed with a heavy thud that cut deep into the knight’s aura but soon slid to the side. Leaving a moment of weakness in Tucker’s stance as Quincy tilted his body to the side and drove his fist into his opponent’s skull.

  Right before the strike connected, Tucker used his aura to shield his face. Feeling the shockwave blow his head back. He stumbled and took several steps back, shaking from the pain that coursed through his head. But before he could collect his thoughts, he felt a hand grab onto his thigh and dig into his wound. Tucker held back the urge to scream, feeling his leg pulled off the ground. He gritted his teeth as his back slammed into the cold, hard ground. Digging his free hand into the dirt, he threw it at Quincy, who swung his sword down. The knight clicked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment, but before he could cut across the area in front of him. A wave of flames blocked his view.

  The burning sensation stung even through his armor, but soon, he followed through and sliced the area before him. Narrowly missing Tucker, who rolled behind him and pulled the javelin free from Quincy’s leather bag, dropping several small stones from his pouch in the process.

  “You… you aren’t just a wind contractor,” Quincy said, brushing the flames off his shoulder.

  Tucker held his sword against the javelin’s wooden body with both hands. “Perhaps, but that's not something you should be concerned about with how weak you are.”

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  “Ha!” Quincy grinned at the pitiful taunt and pointed his blade at Tucker. “You must have fought some decent opponents to deploy such tactics.” He stared at the emerald-cladded point on the javelin and pushed forward.

  “Decent? None of them have managed to beat me so far.” Tucker replied, thrusting the javelin several times at the gaps between Quincy’s armor where it was weakest. Retreating with each step as Quincy deflected his strikes.

  “The way you carry yourself and handle disadvantageous situations is praiseworthy, but…” Quincy solidified the aura in his hand once more and grabbed hold of the javelin. Locking the weapon firmly in place. “You’re far too arrogant.”

  The muscles in Quincy’s arm filled with tension, yet Tucker didn’t completely release his grasp. He held onto the javelin and stepped closer, grabbing onto the knight’s forearm. Just before they could pommel his head with the end of his sword.

  “This is what I mean.” Quincy grinned at the rookie's quick decision-making. “Your reflexes, decision-making, and adaptability are traits well suited for a knight. So why have you chosen to be a watchman? Relying on the strength beyond one’s own is pathetic.”

  Tucker’s eyes narrowed once he heard this. Clenching his fist around the knight’s gauntlet. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “It isn’t, but I just find it pitiful.” Quincy slammed his head against Tucker's, yet to his surprise. It felt like he was hitting a stone wall as a veil of aura shimmered before his eyes. The young watchman’s aura management was outstanding. Possibly one of the best he had seen in his years as a banner knight if it wasn’t so weak.

  Blood dripped down from Tucker’s forehead as he glared at Quincy. His hands were shaking, barely keeping the knight locked in place, but he just needed to hold on for a bit longer. "It’s funny you say that because, from my position, you bastards are the ones that are pitiful. Holding onto grudges that should have ended long ago.”

  “That we can agree on.” Quincy released a torrent of aura that pushed against Tucker’s body. He tightened his hold on the javelin and slowly lifted it into the air, pulling Tucker off the ground.

  The overwhelming pressure caused Tucker to nearly lose consciousness, his mind racing from the ringing sound in his ears. He didn't want to release his hold on the javelin but had no choice and immediately grabbed onto the hilt of his sword while changing his grip. Freeing the blade that was aligned with the javelin and sliding it across the surface of the weapon. In a futile attempt to slice Quincy’s fingers off in one swift motion. Yet Quincy was prepared for such an action. He spun the javelin in his hand and controlled the path of Tucker’s sword, guiding it to the side.

  Tucker hid his shock at the masterful redirection and gathered the remaining spirit essence from his heart, channeling it into his leg. The thread wrapped around his foot, strengthening the attack as he kicked the knight back with all his might while releasing a surge of wind that rushed forth and propelled both of them away from each other.

  Quincy squinted his eyes as he shielded his face with his arms. The wind sliced at his limbs, chipping against his defenses. One after another, blades of wind seemed to slash his limbs, growing stronger with each fleeting moment. There were no traces of mana from the flames or wind, and the only plausible conclusion that the knight could reach caused his expression to turn grim. Tucker had to be a multi-contractor. He crossed the javelin and sword before him and created a wall of aura that endured the strikes. It was rare for spirit contractors to be attuned with multiple elements, just like how mages mainly used one element as mana tended to match one element. But he was witnessing such a case firsthand. Quincy felt the ground tremble, the patches of grass shifting in place as if the earth were tearing apart. In a split second, four walls of stone and clay emerged from his surroundings. Originating from a small stone that caught his eye with characters etched into the surface. Along with a tiny magic circle that fed mana into the stones with a single outer ring.

  Quincy couldn’t help but stand there in shock. Runes were commonly used by those of the earthen race, not by humans! It was rare for them to even obtain such things. Yet what shocked him the most was the fact that the runes were activated out of Tucker’s hands. It shouldn’t be possible, not for someone who wasn’t a mage.

  The stone walls encased Quincy from nearly every side except for the gap facing Tucker. Quincy could feel his body get pushed back deeper into the center of the walls, helplessly watching as the watchman held his hands together while leaving a small space as if he were compressing a ball. The knight's steel boots left skid marks in the ground as lumps of dirt piled beside his feet. There was nothing he could do against the fierce wind that surged wildly from the opening, restraining his movements and forcing him on the defensive. His azure aura flared like a beacon in the night, shielding his body from invisible blades that sought to cut his flesh.

  The vortex limited his view, and from his encounter so far, the watchman seemed to have staked his life in a contest of endurance. He would either die against the onslaught of wind or survive and face a depleted warrior.

  Quincy’s lips curled upward at the overwhelming perseverance of his opponent. It was an honorable fight, one that he didn’t expect from a watchman. Their fight was entertaining, but as Quincy examined his aura, he knew that Tucker didn’t have enough strength to overcome him. The attack was strong, but not strong enough to completely tear through his defenses. He just needed to play this game of attrition, then capture the watchman. With the sound of wind tearing around him like a raging storm. Quincy stood there with his javelin and sword in hand. Enduring the barrage of attacks with the sheer strength of his aura.

  His armor suffered cuts and scratches throughout its surface. The attacks hammer against his ears, clawing at his body in a desperate attempt to break his spirit. Yet he remained unfazed even though the wind grew louder. It was only until the breeze stayed consistent that he felt a sense of dread creep up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood. An unseen threat was approaching, and Quincy immediately raised his weapons to defend against it. But it didn’t matter.

  In an instant, flames swelled from the opening. Bursting through the gap like a dam that failed to hold back the currents. The fire fed off the wind, fueling itself as an inferno of scorching heat filled the makeshift cauldron. A loud crackling sound consumed the area as embers danced in the wind.

  Tucker stood from afar and held Sally in his hands before letting out a sigh of relief. He stared at the column of fire that pierced through the night sky. The single thread of essence he used to form the loop in his hands faded and from the inferno before him, he was certain that his foe had perished.

  Tucker pivoted on his foot and immediately began running. Too much time had been wasted dealing with the knight, but it was a miracle he won. The remnants of the battle and the crater in front of him would scar the land for years. Like the ruins he saw along the southern border but that was just how things would be.

  He gazed at his spirit companion, who flew several meters away from him and smiled. “I guess I’m relying on you a lot more than I expected.”

  The hawk, as if agreeing, gracefully circled in the air with slow flutters of its wings. Seeing this, Tucker couldn’t help but smile as he petted Sally on the head. Even though Newton didn’t do much, it was a relief to see the owl unharmed from the exchange.

  “See Sally? What did I say? Just lend me some of your spirit essence and it’ll work out.” Tucker gently patted the salamander’s head, who seemed to reluctantly agree.

  Even in the spirit world, it was rare for someone to use essence of different elements. So when Tucker asked Sally to lend their essence, the spirit couldn’t help but be puzzled, knowing that such a thing wouldn’t work. Yet to their surprise, Tucker had managed to pull it off.

  With quiet steps, Tucker sheathed his sword and pulled out a healing vial from his pouch. His head ached from the blow that Quincy inflicted on him, but for now, he poured the crimson liquid on the gash in his arm. The wound bubbled and burned, causing Tucker to wince. No matter how many times he used them, the same pain always coursed through his body.

  Combined with the flames flicking in the background, Tucker couldn’t help but sigh. The undying embers that seemed to flutter with life. The frantic breeze felt surreal. They were all chaotic sensations he didn’t expect to experience after overcoming such trials.

  He did it.

  He defeated a knight from the Empire.

  So why was it that a sharp pain filled his body as if something had crashed into him?