Dranta loved to fight. He had the Oracle send him into the Nyx Valley, an area with a 1% survival rate for neophytes. The area was so hellish that by the time he reached the Iron Wall separating Nyx Valley from civilization, he had ranked third in the Trial of Worth—for the multiverse.

  He was sixteen.

  It was a glorious feat for someone without wealth, training, or an elaborate background. He was considered slumrat royalty until the multiverse started claiming that Mira Hill broke the multiverse rankings. The speculation was unconfirmed, as the rankings were suppressed, but unsurprisingly, everyone who ranked told the multiverse about it.

  Yet there was a black spot for someone who had taken first in seventeen multiversal rankings and second in two. That year, the second place was larger than Dranta’s numbers by a substantial degree, a classic aristocratic murder baby story. Speculation immediately ran wild until the tale of Areswood’s breakthrough was revealed. Then, people heard that Mira had a cat, and there was a blackout for the companion rankings. A companion beast had taken first in ten categories, fueling speculation that it was hers.

  Areswood this; Areswood that. Once the news broke, he realized that Nyx Valley was well known—but it wasn’t famous across the multiverse. Areswood was.

  That’s why Dranta decided to come to Areswood. He wanted to know how dangerous it was—and see for himself how powerful Mira was.

  He was horribly disappointed.

  Everyone kept saying that Areswood was dangerous—but no one left Wraithwood. He saw strong beasts, but who cared? There were third evolution beasts in Nyx Valley. The most impressive thing in Wraithwood was the wyvern—but it wasn’t that remarkable in the scheme of the universe.

  Then, he met Mira. She was a hot piece of ass, he’d give her that—but that was it. She was just another murdercrat, just a rich girl with enough money to get a strong body constitution since she was a child. She came to Areswood and got some books—and that was it.

  She had no mana pressure.

  She had no aura.

  When he was around her, it was like he was drinking tea with his mortal mom. There was no danger. No thrill. She just looked at the other scrubs as if she had never seen a present, and felt guilt for not having one.

  Weak.

  But oh boy was she arrogant. He had never met someone so arrogant. Despite reading his application, she blew him off like a scrub.

  But that was okay.

  Once he broke her in two, he would get a juicy reward. Considering that he already had the Poison Sense skill, amongst a dozen survival-focused diamonds, he was hoping that he would get something that helped him navigate the forest. Until he went to this famed “Fifth Ring,” he wasn’t going to be satisfied. So he was going to force the issue.

  That’s what he thought as he ran to the center, but he felt primal danger when he saw Mira waiting for him.

  It took him fifteen seconds to run a mile.

  There was no way that she got there faster than him.

  He looked around and saw Kline in his panther form. Oh, so that’s what it was, he thought, relieved. He looked at Mira. “Are you a beast tamer?”

  “No,” Mira said.

  “Then he’s out. Yeah?”

  Kline yawned and groomed his paws.

  Mira smiled. “Yeah. It’s just you and me. Of course, you may complain later—but I don’t care. To me, this isn’t a duel. I’m not looking forward to it, I’m not going to enjoy it, and when it’s over, I’m not going to celebrate. This is work—nothing less, nothing more.”

  Dranta’s chest boiled over with rage, and his mind went white. “You better hope your cat can save you. ‘Cause sanctioned fights are free game—and I’m not great with holding back.” He lifted his hands, and violent spheres of raging winds formed in his fists.

  As Dranta attacked, Malo’s eyes were wide with terror. There was no hesitation or holding back. A crashing hurricane of thousand-mile winds ballooned from the center of the field, sending rocks flying hundreds of meters in all directions. A concentrated gale force followed in Mira’s direction, ripping out a quarter mile of the land. If that attack hit a third evolution beast, it would rip them to shreds.

  That was a lethal attack.

  Malo pulled out his sword and shot forward, but stopped when a golden meteorite blasted out of the galeforce.

  Dranta’s small body flew backward when the arrow hit the ground. The ground was then covered in another hurricane that made the ground crater as water sprayed everywhere.

  The devastation didn’t surprise Malo, but it did surprise Dranta. Not only did Mira survive his attack—with her clothing intact—but she managed to counterattack him with an arrow that left a thirty-meter crater. He whistled and grinned, and when he looked up, he saw her flying with angelic wings.

  “Okay… Okay…” he said. “Let’s see how fast you can fly!”

  Dranta threw hundreds of wind saws at her in rapid succession. Most people couldn’t even see them, but he had full control as he painted her into a corner. She was fast, even in flight, but not fast enough.

  He actually grimaced when she proved slower than he expected, and one of the blades cleaved through her leg.

  His eyes widened as blood shot out, and he clicked his tongue. “You can’t be serious!” he yelled. “Are you really—”

  A connected thread of red blood connected her leg to her body, and he watched in surreal horror as her leg, which blew away fifty feet, returned along with the blood. It was like watching her leg explode in reverse.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “W-What the hell are you?” Dranta asked as her bare leg reconnected to her body.

  “You talk too much.” Mira’s body multiplied thirty times as the crowd boomed with approval in the distance. “Guess which arrow is real.”

  Mira created thirty bows and charged up arrows with swirling balls of water and compressed wind magic.

  His brain haywired with primal fear signals, and he activated Divine Eyes. To his horror, all of the clones looked identical. They had cores and neara and mana through their veins.

  All but one.

  He barely saw it in time to dodge. Twenty-nine illusionary arrows shot at him, but he dodged the real one.

  Or so he thought. He dodged the one fired by the clone, but a second arrow, which he had found clearly fake a moment before, hit him in the chest and sent him flying a quarter mile in a death spiral.

  His body could take serious pain, but the arrow slammed him like a water hammer and sent him skipping on the ground like a skipping stone.

  Dranta hit the ground and rolled ten times before coming to a stop. To the crowd’s amazement, he immediately got up and dodged another attack. Mira had closed the distance with her clones and started shooting at him.

  There’s two, he thought. He dodged the one arrow and found the second. It turned out that the first one was actually a cheap diversion to hide the more subtle version of her. In fact, that clone wasn’t even shooting a water arrow. It was just concentrated mana!

  Clever bitch! Dranta thought. He dodged the first arrow and pretended to miss the second. Sure enough, he dodged at the last second and jumped at Mira. She seemed to panic and tried to fly away, but he jumped too fast. In a split second, he managed to grab the whore by her hair and make her scream.

  Just as he was satisfied with that, another Mira flew at him.

  Don’t waste your time, he thought. You won’t—

  Dranta felt danger at the last second and dodged the “clone.” Serious wind pressure came from the punch, and then she threw a second hook that smashed into his jaw and sent him flying.

  He hit the ground again, confused beyond belief.

  What the hell was that? Dranta thought. He was clearly pulling Mira’s hair. He felt her silky hair. He heard her scream and tug. There’s two of them… there’s actually two of them!

  He planned to say something, but why bother? She was an illusion master hiding in an alley with her illusions. She wouldn’t explain which was which, so he had to expose her on his own.

  He roared and released a hurricane around him. Razor wind blasted out for almost a quarter-mile, obliterating what was left of the pit. The trees uprooted from their positions, and the dirt cycled around in a brown cyclone.

  From Malo’s perspective, it looked as though there was a brown sphere of impossible size in the forest. Barrier masters had to protect the crowd as two-ton rocks were crashing on the earth around them.

  Dranta lacked finesse, but he had overwhelming might, and his expansion capabilities were absolutely awe-inspiring.

  That said, Malo was no longer worried; he and Dranta had changed places.

  Lingering dread had taken over Dranta’s heart when the wind cleared, and he saw thirty Miras still flying in the air, surrounded by barriers.

  This isn’t real… Dranta thought, looking around. Flying barriers would’ve gotten caught in the storm. Even the strongest fixing spells wouldn’t save them from a third evolution expansion—as a second evolution entity. Yet they were just sitting around with their arrows ready as if nothing had happened. Dranta looked left and right.

  “Where are you!” he screamed. “You and your cheating ass friend!”

  “Friend?” The Miras laughed in unison. “Try friends.” One released an arrow. Then another. And a third. Each hit the ground and obliterated it without distinction.

  Dranta was furious as he fumbled around the attacks, feeling primal fear and frenzy as he rushed around. Each attack hit, proving that she had numerous friends—but where were they? When did they get there? He had so many questions—and then he got his answer when he dodged a specific attack and looked up.

  He then noticed that when the Miras released their very real arrows, they exploded into a rain of pixie dust.

  “How!” Dranta screamed.

  “Oh…” the remaining Miras said in unison. “You finally noticed.”

  Suddenly, they flew out in twenty different directions and started firing. He avoided two and then got hit by a third. He rolled thirty meters, and then got hit by another arrow, and then another, and another still.

  The crowd watched with rapt attention as Mira hit Dranta repeatedly. The fight was so one-sided that the amazement and excitement had turned to a ringing horror.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Malo heard someone say.

  “Maybe with brain damage. This is ridiculous.”

  “It’ll be fine. Mira isn’t cruel.”

  “That’s not cruel? What the hell is cruel then?”

  There was excitement everywhere, but it was manifesting in dark and powerful ways.

  And then it stopped.

  The area fell silent as the attacks ended and the Mira clones disappeared, leaving only a thin, milky white stream of aura. Those watching with a Seeing spell watched it wash away into the distance, and those who couldn’t followed the eyes of others until they stopped in the center of the field.

  A lingering feeling of dread and foreboding gripped the new elites when they saw a woman walking from the center of the field toward Dranta. Her steps were slow, but seemed to carry the weight of the world with every stride.

  “There’s no way…”

  “You mean she didn’t even move?”

  “No, she had to have moved, but… still. She didn’t even touch him.”

  Someone laughed. “What type of bullshit magic is that? Kalgo. What type of bullshit magic was that?” People started asking their guides, and the silent answers they received resulted in an uproar.

  “What’d it say?”

  “It says it doesn’t know.”

  “Like doesn’t have enough information?”

  “No, like it actually doesn’t know. It says…”

  “Shut up! She just reached him!”

  A cascading hush suddenly engulfed the area when they saw Mira walk up to Dranta, who surprisingly stood up. Everyone wanted to know what she was about to say.

  A notification popped up in Malo’s eyes.

  It read: Scion Mira Hill has created an event: A Warning to Wraiths. She wishes to share an Oracle stream with you. Will you accept?

  Thousands of Wraiths suddenly got the same notifications in both Wraithwood and Rall’s Fort. Excitement overtook the area as people accepted.

  Malo accepted, and his mind linked to a video. It began with a brutal, thirty-second recap of the battle. Then, it showed footage of Mira standing before Dranta, who had barely stumbled to his feet in a bloody mess. His teeth were missing, his body was ripped, and bones were jutting out of his forearms—but he was standing.

  Mira’s eyes stared at his words coldly. And then she spoke.

  https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0F95SLKZX?maas=&ref=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_tkin_1