Devourer Of Destiny - Chapter 135

Jenna wasn’t very enthusiastic about tonight’s outing, and running into those clusters of boys from the Academy with their stupid armbands hadn’t revised that opinion in the slightest.

Jenna and the girls had been making their way around Ascendance City with their weekly outings together for almost two years now. The initial group was all ladies from across the continent who had been initiated into the Celestial Ascendance Academy in the same admittance session. They had bonded together in boredom about two months into their studies, bored of the “official” sights recommended to them in the school manual, and each week they visited somewhere “off the list” together for an outing. The group had grown over time to include twenty girls in all now.

After a couple of years of this, the list of exciting but not life-threatening sights to see had dwindled immensely, though. Marlene, adventurous to the point of recklessness as always, had recommended that they have an excursion to one of the arenas this time, and the rest had been all too enthusiastic to agree to it.

As the entire group was all in the beginning stages Foundation Building now, they decided to attend the bouts at this arena, rated for battles between late- and peak-stage Foundation Building experts. The fights between Meridian Circulation and lower combatants were too predictable, while the clashes between Palace Establishment and higher cultivators were far more uncommon and came with door charges that the girls weren’t willing to shell out for.

Even if they weren’t entertained by the matches here, they could at least walk away from the experience having seen experts not that far from their own level in battle. That was at least what Jenna told herself as she worked to consciously avoid the gaggle of admirers gawking at their party.

A new thing that the girls had learned after they had already arrived — excitedly narrated by a skinny and garrulous youth who had been doing his best to impress — was that a few different “clubs” of male students were regulars here at the arena. Each of the groups wore armbands in various colors, each denoting their “team” and rooting for one specific fighter or another and named and themed for them. The ones constant and famous enough to get this attention didn’t regularly show up outside of the marquee matches, of course, but these superfans were addicts who showed up just in case anyway.

So far the matches hadn’t engaged Jenna’s attention all that well. The first four matches were dominated by a giant brute who inelegantly pummelled his opposition until they admitted defeat or had been injured to the point of having to be carried away by the arena staff.

The fifth challenger arrived on the arena floor with a flourish, drawing a broad-bladed sabre and flicking it around with a large smile pasted on his handsome face. A few of the girls made excited sounds while Jenna just barely kept from rolling her eyes at the pretty-faced showboat’s display.

The man’s cockiness looked justified, though. A swirling of a localized windstorm summoned three sandy warriors whose outlines matched his form, and together the four figures harassed the mountain of muscle. The brute roared and his arms ignited in flame, and he then artlessly swung them around. A fist connected with one of the sand-shaped fighters and it dispersed, but his opponent and the other two mirages withdrew in time to avoid the onslaught.

With a bellow, a shockwave blew out from the brute, and the other two mirages also dispersed then, but the young man only smirked as he flicked his large blade around. He withdrew halfway across the arena and then swung the sabre in the brute’s direction, and blades of wind emanated from its edge with each wave of the weapon. The champion crossed his forearms in front of his face to block, but a fine mist of blood sprayed out in the air as dozens of cuts crisscrossed all over him.

“Admit defeat,” the youth called, aiming the point of the sabre at his opponent.

The brute, looking much worse for the wear, glared at his foe. “I submit, this time,” he growled, and stomped off the stage while the crowd made a ruckus, some cheering the victory and others booing the defeat. Several of the girls alongside Jenna were part of the former.

The next contestant to come out with a half-naked man covered in tribal tattoos and wielding a primitive-looking spear. “Hey, Dulcinea, is that someone you know?” Jenna heard Marlene ask another of their companions.

Dulcinea’s face flushed at the question. These little barbs and jabs were a regular thing for the poor woman, and she probably wished now that she had never revealed her humble origins. She’d come from one of the primitive and clannish peoples of the central region and her original name was something ridiculous, but she’d been uplifted into a sect and changed her name to something more proper, if still a bit odd.

“Leave off, Marlene,” Jenna barked, venting a little of her irritation at how this whole outing was going. “She’s not anything like that, anyway.”

Marlene sniffed at the rebuke. “I was just curious, Jenna. Our little sugar fairy is so closed mouth about her origins and all, and I wanted to learn more.”

“It’s okay,” Dulcinea responded before Jenna could dig in any deeper. “The place where I came from wasn’t that primitive, although it wasn’t far off either. A local clan ruled the village where I grew up, and if I hadn’t been discovered and joined a sect, my parents would have probably married me off into the clan. Now I’m the same as the rest of you.”

“Hah!” Marlene barked an unladylike laugh. “Our plum has a little bit of a prickle, does she? Well–”

“Shh,” Jenna hushed her unruly companion. “The match is about to start.”

Jenna wasn’t all that interested in watching the primitive and the cocky youth go at it, but it was as good an excuse as any other to get Marlene to shut up for now. That woman sometimes just didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

Down on the arena floor, the primitive man bared his teeth in a snarl and charged the handsome youth, who stood his ground and made no effort to advance or retreat. Spear and sabre clashed at the youth intercepted the strike at the last minute, but in the impact he was shoved aside and almost staggered at the force of the blow.

The youth snorted loudly. “Nothing but a bit of brute force,” he remarked, clear enough to be heard by the audience. A swirling gust blew up dirt from the arena floor and a cyclone like force revolved around him. “Try again?” he taunted, making a beckoning gesture with his sabre.

The primitive man cackled and stabbed forward again with the spear. It was again intercepted by the sabre, but now the wind vortex traveled up through the blade and was transferred to the spear. With a cracking sound, the weapon fell apart even as the primitive man snarled and leapt back and into the air, regarding his opponent more seriously now as he floated there. The palms of his hands were bloodied by the momentary contact with that wind.

With a clawing gesture in the air, another spear materialized in the primitive man’s hands, and this one glowed with a sickly green light. With a roar, the man brandished the spear and hurled it down at the youth with tremendous force. The youth swung his empty hand around in a blocking gesture, and the wind gale focused in front of that hand and intercepted the projectile, pulverizing it to dust as it struck.

With a flick of the back of his hand, the youth dismissed the wind gale, conserving his energy. He shot up into the air, reaching the height of the primitive man in an eye’s blink. “I can turn those to dust all night,” he taunted, again making that gesture with the sabre pointed in the man’s direction. “Got anything else to try?”

The primitive man outstretched his arms, and the tattoos in his limbs writhed up and turned into a pair of clubs. With a shout, he shot forward at the youth.

The cocky youth was far better at navigating the air, easily sidestepping the fellow and flicking him on a cheek with the sabre as he passed. The clubs weren’t even close to connecting.

Blood running down the side of his face, the primitive man snarled and charged again, and added another wound to his other cheek.

This happened again. And again. And yet again. Each time the primitive man barreled at the youth and each time he left the exchange with another shallow wound. “FIGHT ME, YOU GNAT!” he roared after several of these and charged again.

Looking a bit bored, the youth didn’t dodge this time. With a sweep of his sabre he chopped both of the clubs off right above their grips, and with a grin on his face, he almost casually ran the primitive man through with the sabre.

“You should’ve spent some time getting better equipment, dear chap,” the youth said, and then twisted the blade and swept it out of the man’s body sideways. The almost bisected body plummeted to the arena floor and twitched a couple times but moved no more.

Jenna suppressed a yawn as the body was hauled away by the arena staff. The young man was clearly toying with the primitive the whole time, giving him hope before taking it away. What was genuinely dreadful was that the youth’s opponent clearly was limited in technique and equipment, while the youth clearly had an edge in both. That sabre was clearly an artifact of some sort, although probably only a lower grade.

The seventh contestant for the evening was a small and peculiar fellow. Other than his eyes, the rest of him from head to toe was completed covered in black garb. Despite being so comparatively slight, he also wasn’t carrying any weapons. Either the fellow was broke or he was supremely confident in his magical abilities, Jenna guessed.

Returning to the arena floor, the cocky youth grinned and licked the edge of his sabre. “What’s this, first it’s that weak savage and now a little boy too ashamed to show his face and too broke to afford some equipment? Are you sure you’re on the right arena floor, shorty? I’m a blood-thirsty kind of fellow, you know.”

“Heh,” the man in black exhaled, but he said nothing more.

“Since you’re obviously handicapped, I’ll put on a handicap myself then,” the bold youth asserted. “I’ll cut you down nice and quick with this sabre, so we can move on to something more entertaining.”

The black-clothed man only shrugged at that. Jenna almost didn’t want to watch this match, now; if this guy didn’t pull out something fabulous, then he was probably just here to commit suicide.

The youth’s smile wavered a little and he frowned a little before regaining his aplomb and charging at the black-clothed man. “Take this!” he yelled, swinging his sabre in a wide arc.

Neatly, almost casually, the black-clothed man dodge the blow. The cocky youth almost reeled off balance but recovered even as the black-clothed man made no move to exploit the provided opening. “You’re lucky, little man,” he said with a smirk and swung again.

The man in black dodged again. Frowning, the cocky youth kept swinging, wildly arcing the blade back and forth as he tried to cover all points of evasion. And he missed every single time.

Jenna, for once, was finding herself intrigued. Was this mysterious man taunting the cocky youth or training himself in some way? There was none of the bluster seen in the previous matches, just a casual-seeming disregard that was in itself more insulting than words.

Appearing to sense at something was off, the cocky youth disengaged and leapt back. “So you can dodge those, little guy. You’re gonna screw that up sooner or later, you know.”

“Not soon enough to save you,” the black-clothed man replied in a falsely gruff tone. Jenna frowned; was that really a kid under that getup? It sounded like a young boy trying to sound like an adult, at least.

The cocky youth sneered. “So you really are a little boy. Well, I’d spank you and send you home to your mother, but this is the arena, and the penalty here is death. Better luck next life.”

Brandishing his blade which began to glow with dull light, the cocky youth charged again on the last word, making a tremendous overhand swing to try and split the black-clothed man from shoulder to navel with a strike. A big grin erupted on his face as he saw that he was too quick this time for his opponent to avoid him. Jenna fought the urge to turn away from the impending grisly sight; why wasn’t the fellow dodging?

The sabre descended with an audible thunk, but the result was far from what the cocky youth or anybody else was expecting. The blade glimmered as it was caught between the black-clothed man’s forefinger and middle finger, unable to budge a hair further.

The youth who was no longer cocky tried to extricate the blade with a loud grunt and was unsuccessful. The sabre couldn’t advance or retreat now.

“You should’ve gone without the handicap,” the black-clothed man remarked. And then he wrenched his wrist around, and with a loud snap he broke off half the sabre’s blade. His arm then blurred as he hurled the fragment downward, where it slammed through the youth’s foot and continued for half of its remaining length.

Before anybody could make a sound, the black-clothed man’s hand was gripped around the now-frightened youth’s neck. “Better luck next life,” the man remarked, and the youth’s mouth just began to move as a sickly crack sounded out in the arena. The man held his opponent up for a moment as the corpse visibly paled before releasing it to tumble to the arena floor with a thud audible in the shocked silence.

The arena remained quiet for a moment longer before it erupted in conversation. Jenna’s arms trembled a little as she found herself swept up in the mood; what had that guy done there? Was it magic, or was he one of the legendary physique tempering experts?

“Next bout?” the man in black asked, and the arena staff moved to extricate the pale corpse.

Four more bouts continued before the black-clothed man, and Jenna found herself raptly trying to record and analyze each one. The results of each fight were much the same; the man would let his opponent unleash their arsenal and then would quickly put them down. The following fighters were smarter than the ill-fated youth and employed magic and might alike, but the fellow could almost casually nullify any attack. Not even a single tear formed on his concealing uniform.

Was it some profound technique? Was that black outfit some kind of treasured armor? Jenna tried to probe it with her spiritual sense and noticed several others in the audience trying the same, but the fellow was completely opaque to such methods. At the very least, the clothes themselves didn’t exude any kind of energy to indicate magical manufacture. She found herself needing to know the answers but wasn’t even sure what questions to ask, though.

At the end of the night, long after that black-clothed fellow had retired and Jenna had mostly ignored the rest of the bouts while in her daze of analysis, the girls finally all stood and prepared to leave the arena. “Hey, Marlene?” she asked her straightforward companion. “You think we could come back?”

Marlene blinked a couple times, surprised. “Um, I’m good with that. I think it’s a good change of pace from the usual.”

“Did you happen to catch the name of that guy in black?” Jenna asked.

Marlene frowned. “That weirdo? I think he was called Jet or something like that.”

Jenna nodded, pondering for a moment. She’d had to approach one of the other guys there that she recognized and see where they got their armbands made, and make sure none of them had them in black already