Chapter 26: The Anticlimactic Hero

BZZZT!

The massive holographic bracket flashed high above the arena. The semi-finals had arrived.

[Neville Hennesy vs. Draven Mordis]

The stadium erupted. The crowd stomped their feet and chanted the Golden Boy’s name. They were starving for a show.

They wanted the righteous Hero to crush the cowardly slum rat who had tricked his way into the top four.

Draven walked out of the dark tunnel. He stepped into the bright sunlight of the ring.

He wore his simple black compression shirt and cargo pants. He held a standard, un-enchanted combat knife in his right hand.

Neville Hennesy stood waiting on the opposite side. He looked immaculate.

His silver armor gleamed. His holy aura radiated a warm, majestic light.

"I prayed we would meet here, Mordis," Neville announced loudly. He made sure the floating camera drones caught his perfect, sorrowful angle.

"Your cheap tricks end today. I will show you the true power of a Vanguard."

Draven spun his combat knife casually.

"Are you going to fight me?" Draven asked. "Or are you going to recite poetry until I fall asleep?"

The crowd booed Draven’s disrespect. Neville’s perfect smile tightened.

"Match start!" the referee shouted.

Neville did not hold back. He wanted a public execution. He channeled his golden aura into his legs and shot forward like a cannonball.

SWISH!

Neville swung his heavy silver sword in a brutal, horizontal arc aimed right at Draven’s ribs. It was a strike meant to shatter bones.

Draven did not dodge. He did not retreat.

He stepped directly into Neville’s guard. He raised his simple combat knife.

He applied a massive, highly concentrated kinetic vector to the flat of his small blade.

CLANG!

The impact echoed like a thunderclap.

The crowd gasped. The VIP box fell dead silent.

Draven had blocked a two-handed heavy sword strike from the Hero with a basic knife.

He did not even flinch. His feet were planted firmly on the stone.

"What?" Neville whispered.

His blue eyes widened in shock. The kinetic feedback traveling up his arms felt like he had just struck a solid mountain.

"Your footwork is sloppy," Draven said coldly.

Draven twisted his wrist. He reversed Neville’s own momentum and pushed the silver sword aside.

He drove his left palm squarely into Neville’s chest plate.

BAM!

Neville was pushed back three heavy steps. He stumbled, barely keeping his balance.

"Impossible!" Kael screamed from the student stands. "He just pushed the Golden Boy back!"

Up in the VIP box, Lord Tokks leaned over the railing. His scarred eyes widened.

"It is not brute strength," Lord Tokks observed sharply.

"It is flawless kinetic redirection. The boy parried the exact center of gravity on Hennesy’s blade. He is a martial genius!"

Lord Hennesy clenched his jaw. His knuckles turned white.

Down in the ring, Neville regained his footing. His face flushed bright red. The humiliation burned in his chest.

"You got lucky!" Neville roared.

He charged again. His golden aura flared violently. He unleashed a barrage of high-speed slashes and thrusts.

SWISH! CLANG! CLANG!

Draven moved like a ghost. He did not use massive amounts of mana.

He simply read the vectors. He saw the physical arrows of force before Neville even swung.

Draven parried. He sidestepped. He deflected.

Sparks flew everywhere as the silver sword repeatedly clashed against the black combat knife.

"You swing like a blind man," Draven taunted.

He ducked under a wild slash and tapped the back of Neville’s knee with his boot.

Neville’s leg buckled slightly. He missed his next strike completely.

"Shut up!" Neville hissed. He spun around, swinging his sword down in a heavy vertical chop.

Draven casually stepped to the left. The sword smashed into the arena floor.

CRACK!

Stone fragments flew into the air.

"Too slow," Draven whispered right into Neville’s ear.

Draven slammed the pommel of his knife hard into the back of Neville’s helmet.

THWACK!

Neville stumbled forward. His ears rang. The majestic golden aura flickered erratically.

The crowd was completely stunned. This was not a heroic execution.

It was a one-sided humiliation. The trickster was playing with the Hero like a cat playing with a wounded mouse.

Neville stood up straight. He was breathing heavily.

His pristine blonde hair was a sweaty mess. His armor was scuffed.

He looked at Draven with pure, unfiltered hatred.

The facade was gone. The merciful Golden Boy was dead. He wanted to obliterate Draven Mordis.

"I will kill you!" Neville screamed.

A blinding, chaotic pillar of golden light erupted from Neville’s body.

He raised his silver sword high above his head.

The mana gathered into a terrifying, condensed blade of holy energy.

He was preparing his ultimate attack.

"DIVINE SMITE!" Neville roared.

He leaped into the air. He brought the massive, glowing blade down with all his remaining strength.

He aimed to crush Draven into the stone. He aimed for absolute, total revenge.

Draven looked up at the falling Hero. He smirked.

He did not raise his knife. He did not prepare a counterattack.

Draven simply took one casual step backward.

His heel slid off the raised stone platform. His boot touched the dirt exactly one inch outside the white boundary line.

TWEET!

The referee blew the whistle sharply.

"Out of bounds!" the referee screamed.

BOOOOOOM!

Neville’s Divine Smite crashed into the empty stone ring. A massive crater exploded outward. Dust and debris filled the air.

The shockwave blew Draven’s hair back. He just stood there in the dirt, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets.

Neville stood in the center of the crater. He panted heavily.

He looked up, fully expecting to see Draven crushed or terrified.

Instead, he saw Draven standing out of bounds. Draven looked down at his own boot.

He gave a theatrical, exaggerated sigh.

"Oops," Draven said clearly. "I slipped."

Neville froze. His ultimate attack had hit nothing but rocks. He had gathered all his rage, all his power, to finally crush his tormentor.

And Draven had simply stepped away. Draven had stolen his victory and turned it into a punchline.

"Ring out!" the referee announced over the magical speakers. "Winner by default, Neville Hennesy!"

There was no cheering.

The stadium was filled with confused murmurs.

"Wait. Did the Hero just win because Mordis tripped?" a citizen asked.

"He didn’t even land a single hit the whole match," another student whispered loudly.

"Mordis parried everything. Neville looked like a complete amateur out there."

"He only won on a technicality."

The whispers spread like wildfire. The cameras zoomed in on Neville’s sweaty, furious face.

He had won the match, but he had completely lost his pride. He looked like a total joke.

Neville stared at Draven. His chest heaved. He wanted to swing his sword again. He wanted to cross the line and sever Draven’s head.

"Good luck in the Finals, Golden Boy," Draven smiled coldly. "Try not to miss next time."

Draven turned his back and walked calmly toward the competitor’s tunnel.

As the shadows of the corridor washed over him, a crisp blue screen flickered to life in his vision.

Ding!

[System Alert: Target ’Neville Hennesy’ has experienced extreme psychological trauma.]

[Hidden Status Updated: Corruption in ’The Hero’ has increased by 5%.]

Draven read the floating text. His dark eyes gleamed with absolute satisfaction.

The Hero was finally breaking.