A Duel Between Masters That Wasn't Much to Watch

A storm swept through the entire forest.

Amid the downpour, Gorion raised his glowing staff toward the sky, his expression grave.

Thunder rumbled within the clouds. Streaks of Electricity slithered like dragons and snakes, now and then illuminating the rainy night before vanishing in an instant. Light and darkness traded places so rapidly it made the eyes swim.

Sarevok stood motionless in the rain.

"Your Spell is interesting," he said. "But if you want to defeat me, a Spell of this caliber won't be enough."

He spoke with easy confidence, as though the howling Wild Wind, driving rain, and furious thunder were nothing more than a warm afternoon breeze that made him want to take a nap.

Gorion did not trade words with him. He silently recited a spell.

Golden Electricity fell from the sky toward Sarevok. But the instant it descended, the bald man drove off the ground. He went from stillness to motion in a heartbeat, blasting a white spray through the curtain of rain, and was gone.

The Electricity struck empty ground instead. Its heat vaporized the rainwater, sending white mist billowing upward.

But Sarevok had already reached Gorion.

A white trail hung in the air behind him, left by raindrops shattered against his body.

Beside him came a roar as his sword tore through the air.

A gigantic, transparent hand appeared out of nowhere to block him. One swing of his sword sliced it into countless specks of light.

Several human-shaped masses of water tried to hold his feet. He stamped once, shaking them to pieces and reducing them to puddles.

Several transparent figures emerged from the air and lunged at him. A ring of crimson light surged from his body, striking them and scattering them into nothing.

The layers of Spells Gorion had spent so long arranging held Sarevok back for less than two seconds.

That bolt of Electricity could easily have killed several fighters of Pan Long's caliber. Even Sarevok would not dare take it head-on. But by watching Gorion's eyes, Sarevok had known when and where he would strike. No matter how powerful an attack was, it meant nothing if it missed.

The hand was the equal of a mighty strongman with no fear of death. It could crush monsters like goblins with ease and restrain even an ogre for quite some time. Sarevok destroyed it with one stroke.

The water and air elementals were no ordinary cannon fodder, but monsters summoned from the elemental planes. Together, they could have routed a squad of patrolling soldiers. Sarevok merely stamped his foot and barreled through them, and they all fell apart.

After all that, Sarevok was not even breathing hard. His expression had not changed in the slightest.

The false smile he had worn earlier was gone. Now his face was stern and cold, as though covered by an iron mask. A chilling murderous aura poured from him like water through an opened dam. Within seconds, the temperature in the forest clearing plunged.

Lying nearby, Pan Long even saw the water beneath Sarevok's feet freeze. A thin layer of ice spread outward from him.

Damn it! This is way too strong!

He roared inwardly, certain those fanfics had led him badly astray.

If old bald Sarevok was really this strong in the game, why would he need to join some organization? Why work for anyone? Even if he couldn't afford to provoke a big shot like 12345, he could walk sideways through most of this world!

But he could not help it. When he had read those fanfics, their arguments had seemed perfectly sound.

What kind of figure was old Sarevok? The story's grand villain, the game's final boss—and he was bald! That was the important part.

There had once been a famous meme: "I went bald, and I got stronger." It came from a story about a bald man whose fighting power was almost impossible to measure, who could defeat practically any opponent with a single punch.

That story was so famous that whenever people saw a bald head afterward, they immediately wondered, Could this guy be really strong?

Were bald people really strong? Pan Long was not sure. But when he had read the fanfics and seen the claim that "Sarevok is bald, so it makes perfect sense for him to be this strong," he had agreed wholeheartedly.

Now he was about to face the consequences of applauding that claim.

If he could turn back time, he would leap up and slap the keyboard, shouting, "Not every drop of milk is Telunsu!" Then he would argue with the claim's supporters for three hundred rounds.

If only I'd known!

While Pan Long drowned in regret, Gorion and Sarevok had already clashed through several exchanges as quick as Electricity.

In short, Gorion kept teleporting, and Sarevok stayed hot on his heels.

To watch, it was neither fierce nor particularly thrilling.

Throughout the chase, old bald Sarevok destroyed one "Gorion" after another. But every one he destroyed was an illusion. Not a single one was real.

Pan Long even suspected the "Gorion" currently being hunted was a fake. The real Gorion might have hidden himself the moment the fight began.

A seasoned Mage would never meet a powerful warrior head-on. Mages who did that were dead.

Pan Long glanced around. Charname and Imoen had not emerged since ducking into the woods on either side of the road. Perhaps Gorion had sent them a message. They might even have escaped already.

Maybe Gorion is just doing everything he can to buy time?

He suddenly remembered something. According to those fanfics, the big shot 12345 had received Gorion's plea for help and was on his way. In the game, the protagonist did indeed meet that "unattackable" big shot shortly after Gorion died.

Maybe we can hold out until he gets here?

The thought lifted Pan Long's spirits and bolstered his confidence.

That big shot was supposedly a protagonist favored by fate in this world. "Badass" did not begin to describe him—he had even won the heart of this world's leading lady, the great Magic Goddess. That was how formidable he was!

The other protagonist favored by fate in this world, the dark-skinned, dual-wielding Brother Cui, was just as captivating. Even the leading villainess, a certain Spider Goddess, looked on him with favor. That Goddess hated traitors more than anything, yet after he betrayed her, not only had he escaped death, he had gone on to win glory after glory. Supposedly, he later even chopped down an evil overlord on the level of Satan, king of hell.

In a flash, Pan Long felt he might have grasped an important law of this world.

To do well, you first needed high charisma. The more women, men, creatures of uncertain gender, things that might not even be creatures, and things that definitely were not creatures you could romance, the more smoothly your life would go.

Then he looked at his character sheet.

[Charisma: 14]

A charisma of 14 was not low. It marked someone generally recognized as influential, someone who could win others' trust fairly easily. With a little flattery, you could just about call him "personally charismatic"—provided you had a thick enough skin.

But that level of charisma was clearly farther from charming the entire world and becoming a protagonist favored by fate than the journey from Great Tang in the Eastern Lands to the Great Thunder Monastery on Spirit Mountain.

Since he could not help in the fight right now anyway, Pan Long considered how he might raise his charisma.

Certain equipment could raise it temporarily. Certain magical items could raise it permanently. Apparently, some Spells could raise it permanently too.

...But every option seemed far beyond his reach.

If only this were one of the later games in the series! In those, you get an attribute point every few levels. And there's plenty of gear that boosts attributes...

No, wait. Attributes aren't worth as much in the later games! In those versions, never mind 14—even 24 isn't exactly heaven-defying... Big shot 12345 apparently has two attributes above 20.

His thoughts grew muddled again. Then alarm jolted through him.

Wait! Why are my thoughts such a mess? This isn't normal!

Only then did he notice the shadowy figures around him, fading in and out of sight.

They had the faint outlines of humans, but no discernible limbs, let alone facial features. They stood perfectly still, yet each time they vanished and reappeared, they had shifted position.

A cold aura seeped from them, chilling him to the bone.

Damn it! Evil spirits—ghosts or something like them!

Pan Long was shocked. He had not expected Sarevok to possess an ability like this. Was it a special power granted by the Blood of the Evil God?

He watched the figures draw closer and hurriedly forced himself to his feet.

That brief rest had allowed his injuries to heal a little. His constitution of 20 gave him a supernatural ability to heal himself. It was not fast, but by his estimate, it was much quicker than the recovery rate in the Sword and Lament system: roughly one point per minute.

And when he switched to the "Heroic Chronicles of Charname" system panel, his total health was only 30 points. He could recover completely in half an hour.

Unfortunately, he had rested for only three or four minutes. He had gone from badly wounded at 10/30 to moderately wounded at 13/30.

He was in no condition to fight. Even moving was difficult. But he had to act now.

If these evil spirits surrounded Gorion on all sides, Gorion would have little room to dodge, and his plan to buy time would fail.

Once Gorion fell, Pan Long would surely be the next to die.

He would not truly die here, but if he could avoid dying, he still wanted to stay alive.

He drew a deep breath and readied himself.

"Gorion, remember to heal me in a moment," he called.

Then his eyes gradually turned bloodred. A savage aura rose from him, and scarlet lines appeared on his face, lending his features a vicious edge.

He threw back his head and let out a wild roar. Primal power surged in his chest and filled his entire body.

Now he could no longer feel the wound in his right arm, the biting cold, or the danger. All he felt was a boundless lust for battle, surging as though it might burst into flame.

Instinctively discarding his weapon, he charged straight at the evil spirits. His fingers curled like a tiger's claws, and he slashed at them viciously.

Yesterday, the whole family had watched Ne Zha together. It was a good movie, but ever since watching it, my brain hadn't been working quite right...

(The end of this chapter)