The Veiled Man
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Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 139
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 16:41:25 +0000 UTCChapter 139: Declarations and Destinies
The morning sun caught on my blade as I moved through the sixth form of the True Demon Sword Art. Around me, the training grounds buzzed with activity, filled with warriors preparing for matches that could make or break their futures.
Steel rang against steel, magic crackled through the air, and the Valtherians' booming laughter punctuated it all like thunder.
"Your footwork's getting sloppy," Valeria observed from where she lounged against a pillar, looking far too comfortable for someone in leather armor. "Third step was half an inch off."
I completed the form before responding. "Is it? And you were watching my feet?"
"Among other things." Her smile could have melted steel. "Though I'm more interested in why you're training alone. Grimjaw's been dying to test himself against those pretty rings of yours."
"Pretty rings?" The mountain of muscle in question lumbered over, his tusks gleaming in the morning light. "They're weapons, Val. Effective ones."
"Everything's a weapon if you're creative enough." She stretched like a cat, and I caught at least three other warriors staring. "Isn't that right, Sunder?"
I was about to respond when movement at the entrance caught my eye. Not the usual flow of warriors coming and going, but something stranger. With a bureaucratic air. A figure in Gold Dragon livery picked their way through the training grounds, and everyone they passed fell silent.
Royal attendants didn't come to the common training areas. Not unless they had something very important to do. And… he was coming toward a worrying direction.
"Lord Sunder?"
The attendant stopped before me, and I noted the perfect posture, the way his robes fell without a single wrinkle despite the morning breeze. This wasn't just any servant. This was someone trusted with delicate matters.
"That's me."
"Your presence is requested." He produced a scroll sealed with golden wax. "It is a royal summon, but not by any royalty. It’s by a patient under Princess Amelia's personal care. One whose recovery would benefit from your visit."
Solara? The training ground went silent. Even the clash of weapons ceased as every eye turned our way. I could feel the weight of their curiosity, their calculation. A royal summons, even an indirect one, changed everything.
I took the scroll, breaking the seal with deliberate calm. The message inside was brief, formal, but I read between the lines. Amelia had found a way to arrange my and Solara’s meeting that couldn't be refused without insult. Clever. Manipulative. Exactly what I'd expect from her.
"When?"
"Now, if it pleases you, my lord."
My lord. The title sat strangely on my shoulders coming from a Gold Dragon. But I nodded, sheathing my sword. "Lead the way."
"Sunder?" Moui's voice rumbled with concern. "Everything good?"
"Probably not." I clapped his massive shoulder as I passed. "But that never stopped me."
Valeria's laughter followed me from the grounds. "The Princess summoned you? Try not to seduce any more princesses, darling. We're running out of kingdoms."
If only she knew.
The walk through Aethelgard's impossible architecture gave me time to think. Three weeks of avoiding this moment. Three weeks of pretending Solara wasn't here, wasn't recovering under Amelia's care. Every instinct screamed that seeing her would weaken my resolve, make me want to take Amelia's offer and run.
But I couldn't run. Not anymore. Not when I'd made promises I intended to keep.
The healing wards occupied their own floating island, connected to the main city by a bridge of crystallized sunlight. The air grew warmer as we crossed, touched with the scent of sun-lilies and that peculiar sweetness that came from concentrated healing magic.
"Through here, my lord." The attendant gestured to a door of white wood inlaid with gold. "The lady awaits within."
He bowed and withdrew, leaving me alone before the threshold. I could feel her through the door. That familiar presence that blazed like a star, but tempered now, refined. No longer the dim flame of our first arrival in the desert, but something steadier. Warmer.
I pushed open the door.
Sunlight flooded the solarium, streaming through windows that seemed to capture and concentrate the morning's glory. Plants I couldn't name bloomed in profusion, their petals tracking the light like tiny suns. And there, standing by the largest window with her wings spread to catch the warmth, stood my phoenix.
Solara Fenixia.
The sight of her stole my breath.
Gone was the girl who'd nearly died in my arms. This was a phoenix risen from ashes, quite literally. Her crimson wings caught the light like living flame, every feather perfect and whole. Her emerald eyes held depths they hadn't before, wisdom bought with pain, strength forged in survival.
She'd grown into her power, and it showed in every line of her body.
[Solara Fenixia, the Last Human-Phoenix, Level 96]
Our eyes met, and Soul Fire surged through me like a tide. The connection between us, forged in desperation and dual cultivation, blazed to life. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then her lips curved in a smile that held relief, joy, and something deeper.
"Look at you," she said, her voice carrying warmth like summer wind. "Finally here, finally willing to meet after avoiding me for so long."
"You know I wanted to come every second of every day, Solara."
The words broke whatever dam held us back. I crossed the room in three strides, and she threw herself into my arms with a laugh that was half sob. Her wings wrapped around us both, creating a cocoon of warmth and light.
"I know," she whispered against my shoulder. "I was joking. Amelia told me you were being stupidly noble."
"No way, stupidly noble? That's a new one."
She pulled back enough to look at me, her hands framing my face. "You're here now. That's what matters. Yeah…"
I couldn’t agree more.
….
We settled onto a cushioned bench near the window, her wing draped over my shoulder in casual intimacy. For a while, we just talked—about the tournament, her recovery, the strangeness of dragon politics. Safe topics that let us find our rhythm again. Not that we needed to find our rhythms after such a short break. It had barely been two months.
Then she coughed, a sound that made my chest tight, and moved to sit on the bed.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, seeing my expression. "The healers say it's normal since I’m still recovering. My body's still adjusting to the new power levels, and once it does, I’ll be alright." She paused, emerald eyes growing distant. "All this is crazy, you know? I never expected to… grow this strong, this fast. You know, the other you... the one who saved me... he told me something."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "What did he say?"
"He said that the you here, the you right now, would make sure to save me ‘this time around.’ You know what that means, right?" Her gaze found mine, steady and sure. "He said with the Photon Ring and something called an 'Event Horizon,' you would be able to do what he failed to do. I heard you used it. Event Horizon. After I passed out."
Her words slowly settled on my shoulders like the weight of a mountain. The Iskandaar from the only other timeline who’d managed to keep his voice had shared valuable insight with Solara, and that was the reason I created Photon Ring and Event Horizon.
In some other reality, I'd failed her. Failed so completely that I regretted everything in my life, that I became a cripple, losing everything that made me—me.
"I don't know what incident he was talking about," Solara continued, her voice soft but steady. "But I think... I think it was this. The battle in Merasca. The Supernova. You succeeded, Iskandaar. You fulfilled his wish."
"Solara..."
"Mhm, let me finish." She took my hands in hers, her touch warm as sunlight. "We're here because another version of you refused to accept failure. Because he loved me enough to maintain his mind, to share those words with me. I’m happy that you didn't waste it."
The words were heavy with meaning. This little meeting wasn't just a reunion, I realized. It was the closing of a cosmic loop, an acknowledgment of sacrifice across timelines. In a different timeline, ‘I’ never met Solara again. It pained me to even think that. That my sweet girl would have been dead, out of my mortal reach forever.
In my mind, I offered a silent thanks to the Crippled Heaven. Whatever else he'd been, he'd given us this. The two of us stared at each other, quiet with a soft smile on our faces.
"Your grandfather's here," Solara said suddenly, shattering the moment.
I went very still. "What?"
"He's been watching your matches. Sitting up there in the Royal Gallery like a mountain given form. He came to meet me earlier, and he’s as kind as I remember." She squeezed my hands. "As strong as I remember, too. He's here to capture you, Iskandaar. The Erebian Emperor demanded it."
"I see." I wasn’t surprised.
Of course he was. Sikandar the Great, the Titan who'd chosen empire over family, duty over love. The grandfather I'd never met, come to drag me back in chains. The irony wasn't lost on me.
"Amelia prepared this meeting," Solara continued. "But she's also prepared something else. A Warp Gate, hidden from her father. It would send us to the capital city where the other end of the gate is, and from there we could call for Nevaramis and flee."
"No."
She smiled, and I realized she'd been testing me. "Good. I told her you'd say that."
"You did?"
"We can't leave her alone, you know? Not after everything she's sacrificed for us." Solara's expression grew fierce. "She pulled me from death's door, hid me from those who'd use me, gave me time to heal and grow strong. I won't repay that by running."
Pride swelled in my chest. This was why I'd fallen for her. Not just her beauty or power, but the steel in her spine, the loyalty that burned as bright as her flames.
"That's my girl."
"Don’t flirt, mister, I’m being serious here." She leaned forward, and our lips met in a kiss that started gentle and quickly became anything but. Heat built between us, not just physical but the resonance of our power, the connection forged in shared survival.
“Is that so? What are your hands doing then?”
“Shut up.”
When her hands found the clasps of my shirt, when my fingers tangled in her flame-bright hair, the world outside ceased to matter. There was only us, only this moment stolen from fate and politics and the weight of watching eyes.
The bed was soft beneath us, and softer still was her skin, marked here and there with faint scars that told stories of survival. Stories I traced with reverent fingers as she whispered my name like a prayer.
What followed was fire and starlight, phoenix song and demon's strength, two souls recognizing their other half across impossible odds. And when we lay tangled afterward, her wing draped over us like a blanket, I knew with bone-deep certainty that I would burn the world before I let anyone take this from me.
"The matches," she murmured against my chest. "You should go."
"In a moment."
"Iskandaar." She propped herself up on one elbow, expression serious even as she smiled in that gentle way that she showed only me. "Whatever you're planning, whatever insane scheme you've concocted to deal with your grandfather and win over Amelia's father... be careful."
"When am I not careful?"
Her laugh was answer enough. “I’ll be watching today.”
****
The walk back to the arena felt like crossing between worlds. From the warm sanctuary of Solara's presence to the cold reality of what lay ahead. My mind churned with possibilities, plans, and the lingering warmth of her touch.
The Valtherians had saved my usual seat, though Yavanna gave me a look that could have curdled milk.
"You smell like phoenix," she announced, loud enough for half the section to hear.
"And you smell like volcanic sulfur," I shot back, dropping onto the bench. I was a little surprised she knew the scent of phoenixes, but it made sense. "We all have our charms."
Moui's laughter boomed. "Ha! Good meeting with mysterious patient?"
"Illuminating."
"That what they calling it now?" Royua waggled his eyebrows. "In my day, we just said matin—"
Whatever wisdom Royua planned to share was cut off by Lorelus, the announcer's voice filling the arena.
"Warriors and witnesses! We have reached the semi-finals of our grand tournament!" His dragon-amplified voice sent ripples through the crowd. "From this point forward, only the truly exceptional will advance. The winners of these matches will compete in our finals for the ultimate prize—an audience with His Majesty Sahrazzakhan and a single request from the Arcane King's legendary vault!"
The crowd roared approval. Around me, the remaining competitors leaned forward with hungry eyes. We'd started with over a thousand. Now, less than twenty remained.
"Our first semi-final match features royalty itself! Princess Amelia Duskleaf of the Gold Dragons versus Lord Vorlag of the Crimson Scale!"
My attention sharpened to a blade's edge. Three weeks of fighting, and this was the first time I'd see Amelia in formal combat. Part of me wondered if she'd arranged it this way, but it was likely the dragon officials instead. Since 8th Ascensions were so few under the human age of 50, they only began competing in the semi-finals.
She entered from the eastern gate, and the crowd's noise died to whispers. Everyone’s attention was on the Princess. She wore combat robes of deep blue trimmed with gold, her golden hair bound in a practical braid. But it was her presence that commanded attention, power contained but unmistakable, like a storm holding its breath.
[Amelia Duskleaf, Gold Dragon Mage, Level 165]
She was at the same level as her fiancé. On the other hand, Lord Vorlag emerged from the western gate, and where Amelia was controlled power, he was raw draconic might. Crimson scales covered his arms and neck even in humanoid form, and his eyes burned like coals. Level 160, full-blooded dragon, centuries of combat experience made manifest.
"This should be educational," Gralani murmured.
Educational. That was one word for it.
The bell rang, and Vorlag transformed immediately. No testing, no probing attacks. One moment a large man stood there, the next a dragon the color of fresh blood filled half the arena. His roar shook dust from the ceiling.
Amelia didn't flinch. Didn't step back. She simply raised one hand, and reality paid attention.
"Dragon Tongue Magic: Golden Sunlight Sphere."
The words carried power that made my teeth ache. A miniature sun bloomed above her palm, its light not harsh but purely cleansing. Vorlag's flames, already building in his throat, simply... ceased. Not blocked or countered. Purified out of existence.
"Impossible," someone said nearby.
But Amelia was just beginning.
Where every other fighter I'd watched relied on single disciplines—sword or spell, transformation or technique—she wove them together like a master conductor.
When Vorlag's claws came for her, she shifted to dragon form with liquid grace, meeting his strength with her own. But where full dragons could only roar their magic, she had a weakness. She could only use Dragon Tongue Magic in her human form. But that didn’t seem to weaken her much, if at all. She transformed back mid-strike to speak words of power that sent him reeling.
"Dragon Tongue: Gravitas."
Vorlag slammed into the arena floor hard enough to crack stone. He tried to rise, but Amelia was already moving, already changing. Dragon to human to dragon again, every form lasting just long enough to maximize its advantages.
It was, I realized, the fighting style of someone who'd spent decades turning a limitation into a strength. Full dragons were powerful but predictable. Humans were versatile but fragile. She was neither and both, dancing between forms like water between containers.
The ‘human forms’ I’d seen on these dragons were only gained after the 5th Ascension, and even so, it was a Polymorph skill rather than a form of their own. On the other hand, Amelia was born to a human and a dragon. She had her own advantages.
Vorlag adapted quickly—he hadn't survived centuries by being slow. His tail whipped around, forcing her to dodge, while his wings beat hurricanes that would have sent a human tumbling. But Amelia rode the winds, her own wings spread for balance, and when she breathed, it wasn't gold that emerged but purple lightning.
The clash of dragon breath, crimson flame against violet lightning, lit the arena like a second sun. But Amelia had saved her true power for last.
She landed in human form, both hands raised, and spoke a single word that made reality hiccup. "Burn." Then she took her Dragon form, growing into a huge bulk of muscles, her maw open wide. “Gold Dragon’s Breath.”
Gold dragon breath, the purifying flame that was her birthright, erupted from her human throat. The breath was more powerful than normal, for she’d applied magic to it. It shouldn't have been possible. Dragon breath was tied to dragon form and her magic was tied to her human form. How could she mix them? But she'd found a way, probably through decades of study and experimentation, to break that rule.
Vorlag's scream as the golden flames engulfed him was more shock than pain. By the time they cleared, he lay in his titanic size, smoking and thoroughly defeated.
"Winner! Princess Amelia Duskleaf!"
The crowd's roar was deafening, but I barely heard it. This was the woman I'd declared I'd win. This was the power I'd have to impress. Not just a princess playing at combat, but a warrior who'd turned every disadvantage into a weapon.
She left the arena without looking up at the gallery. Without looking for me. But I felt her awareness like a touch, knew she'd fought that way partly for my benefit. A reminder and a challenge rolled into one.
This is what you're claiming to be worthy of. Are you?
I was about to find out. Today was the day. If not today, then never.
****
A bit later, the arena was a crucible of noise and power once again, but where I sat, a pocket of silence had formed. The Valtherians beside me were quiet, grinning as they watched Yavanna's hardest match by far as she met every blow with the enthusiasm of true warriors.
But my mind was elsewhere.
It was in the Royal Gallery, high above.
I could feel them. Two presences like twin suns, their gravity warping the very fabric of the tournament around them. Sahrazzakhan, the Gold Dragon King, and my grandfather, Sikandar the Great. They were watching. Not just the fights, but me. Did they already figure out my little stunt?
Amelia’s victory over Lord Vorlag had been a message, a reminder of the sheer power I was trying to claim. She wasn’t a prize to be won, she was a force of nature in her own right, a dragoness who had turned her limitations into devastating strengths. To stand beside her, I couldn't just be a champion.
Victory in this tournament was merely the price of admission. It wouldn't earn me a seat at their table.
To change the game, I had to do more than just play it well. I had to break it. I needed to create a disruption so profound, an event so audacious, that it would shatter the careful balance they all took for granted. I had to force the hand of a King.
"Hard act to follow, eh, Sunder?" Moui rumbled, clapping a hand on my back that could have felled an ox. "Today’s matches have been great. Yavanna’s fight aside, the Dragon Princess is a true warrior."
"She is," I agreed, my gaze still fixed on the distant gallery. A plan had been forming in my mind for days, a desperate, insane gamble. Seeing Amelia fight, seeing the power she wielded and the cage that held her, had solidified it from a possibility into a certainty.
The path was reckless. The outcome, unknown. But it was the only path I could see. And even if I regretted it, it wasn’t as if I could turn back the wheel of time. I’d already taken action to walk this path.
“I hear it the Silver Dragon Prince’s match next,” Moui said. “That be fun! People say he as strong as the Gold Princess. They engaged or something.”
“Yeah…”
A while later, after Yavanna’s victory, the announcer's voice cut through the crowd's post-match chatter like a blade. "For our final match of the day! By request and special dispensation, we have our semi-finals of Sunder, the Hand of the Dark Heavens, versus Lord Aurelius Drakmoor of the Silver Peaks!"
The arena went dead silent. Then erupted.
"That's insane!" someone shouted.
"A Seventh against an Eighth?"
"Silver Dragon royalty against an unknown?"
Beside me, Moui's expression had gone grave. "This is not normal matching. Why they do this?"
I stood, checking my sword one last time. "Because I asked them to."
"You WHAT?" Yavanna grabbed my arm. "You challenged an Eighth Ascension dragon? Have you been drinking our beer when we weren't looking?"
"Only on special occasions." I gently freed myself from her grip. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."
"Famous last words," Gralani muttered. Oh, he was right. I feared he was right.
****
High in the Royal Gallery, Sahrazzakhan leaned forward with the first genuine interest he'd shown all tournament. Even before, it was barely amusing to him.
"Now this," the Gold Dragon King murmured, "is unexpected."
Beside him, Sikandar's frown deepened. The Titan's fingers drummed once against his chair's arm—a nervous gesture from a man who didn't do nervous.
"The boy's either very brave or very stupid," Lord Vyrastion observed. Amelia couldn’t count how many people had said the same phrase about that young man by now. She’d been one of them when they first met.
"In my experience," Sahrazzakhan replied, never taking his eyes off the arena, "the interesting ones are usually both."
Amelia sat frozen, her mask of calm cracking at the edges. This wasn't part of any plan she knew. What was Iskandaar thinking? What possible reason could he have for this suicide?
Unless...
Her eyes widened as pieces clicked into place. No. He wouldn't. Not here, not in front of everyone, not with his grandfather watching and her father—
"Oh," her eyes went to Aurelius’ empty seat, who’d already departed for his match, and she recalled his expression of amusement earlier. "These two stupid men." She cursed.
****
The walk to the arena floor felt longer than usual. Every eye tracked my movement, conversations dying as I passed. By the time I emerged into sunlight, the entire colosseum held its breath.
Aurelius waited at the center, looking exactly as he had in his garden when I met him to plan this a few days ago. He was perfectly groomed, casually elegant, and deeply amused by my audacity to actually show up. Today he wore silver and white, his hair catching light like spun moonlight.
"Lord Aurelius," I called, pitching my voice to carry. "I mean no disrespect to the Silver Dragons."
"Oh, no, it’s alright. This should be good for both of us," he murmured, but gestured for me to continue. There was a misunderstanding between us. A lie. I’d lied to him. The reason he’d agreed to set up this match for me was that he ‘knew’ I’d lose to him, but even so, he hoped I’d show enough promise for Sahrazzakhan to be interested in me.
I’d laughed and told him that yes, that was precisely the reason I wanted this. But there was something more audacious in my head. Far more audacious.
I took a breath, feeling the weight of thousands watching. Then I looked up, directly at the Royal Gallery, directly at where I knew Amelia sat.
"But I cannot fight you as a mere opponent. This duel... it's greater than that." The words rang across the arena, each one a stone thrown into still water. "This is a duel for love. I challenge you for the hand of the Gold Dragon Princess Amelia Duskleaf."
The silence that followed was perfect. Complete. As if the entire world had forgotten how to breathe.
Then bedlam.
The crowd exploded into chaos—full of shouts, gasps, laughter, and furious whispers all blending into a roar that shook the crystalline walls. In the stands, I saw Valeria's mouth hanging open, Grimjaw frozen mid-bite, the Valtherians staring like I'd grown a second head.
But I kept my eyes on the gallery, on the spot where I knew Amelia sat. I couldn't see her clearly from this distance, but I felt her shock like a physical thing.
Aurelius, for perhaps the first time in centuries, looked genuinely flustered. He glanced up at the gallery, then back at me, and I saw the moment he understood. His expression shifted through surprise, annoyance, and finally settled on something like exasperated admiration.
He stepped closer, and his voice when it came was pitched for my ears alone, though I knew the truly powerful in the gallery would hear regardless.
"You suicidal idiot," he said, and there was real heat in the words. "This wasn't the plan. If you think this will work, you're mistaken. I can't hold back now." He gestured subtly upward. "The Gold Dragon King and your grandfather can see if I hold back. If your plan… if you can call it that, was for me to hold back and let you win, you are wrong. Putting aside the people watching, the honor of my clan is at stake if you challenge me for my fiancée’s hand. The entire world is watching. I will have to defeat you, Iskandaar."
"I apologize for doing this," I replied, matching his low tone. "But yes, I know what I'm doing. You don't have to hold back."
"You're serious." It wasn't a question. "You actually think you can—"
"I'm counting on it."
Something shifted in his quicksilver eyes. The annoyance faded, replaced by what might have been respect. Or pity. "Very well, Sunder. You wanted a show." He stepped back, raising his voice for the crowd. "Let's give the Kings a performance they'll never forget!"
He drew his blade in one fluid motion. It was a thing of beauty that sang simply by existing. Moonlight given edge, starlight hammered into steel. The kind of weapon that had a name and a history and probably its own epic poem.
I flexed my hand, and my mind delved into my Soul Storage. I drew the Demon Blade of Kurayami, and it appeared in my hand with a shimmer of power.
Dark Demonic Energy filled the arena, already clashing with the pure moonlight of Aurelius’ sword even as we stood still.
The crowd’s reaction was immediate and visceral. Where the crowd had been chaotic before, now there was focus. Dark energy rolled off the blade in waves, its presence a weight on reality itself. In the stands, the Savage Seven shot to their feet as one.
"That's impossible," Valeria breathed.
"The Void Fang?" Xylo's ancient voice carried disbelief. "But it was lost when—"
"Not lost," Grimjaw rumbled. "Sealed. Hidden. Question is, how'd he get it?"
But there was no time for answers. The announcer, recovering from his shock with professional grace, raised his hand.
"Since both parties have accepted the audacious challenge. Let the match... begin!"
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The Veiled Man: A lot of stuff happening in these latest chapters. The tention is building high, and finally it's ready to explode. Tell me how you guys are liking these chapters!!
Comments
Jiří Mocek
Magnificent
Haran Prana
Another great chapter from a great storyteller
