Chapter 22 – Duo vs Trio II
Meanwhile, Shawn faced off against the soldier who had previously used mirages to deceive him. Summoning a sword using his power, he materialised a sword in his hand, the air around them growing thick with tension. The soldier’s expression was unreadable, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes—a resolve to end this fight quickly. The clash between them was intense as their blades met in a fierce exchange, but it was something different from before. Shawn’s movements were calm and collected, his focus unshakable, with no trace of the reckless emotion that had previously clouded his actions. With every exchange, Shawn began to gain the upper hand, the ancestral instincts from his power kicking in, sharpening his focus. The inherited power within him started to manifest, refining his fighting style with each passing moment.
The soldier, sensing the shift in Shawn’s approach, noticed how his opponent’s strikes were becoming increasingly precise and formidable. It was clear that Shawn was not just adapting—he was evolving, his style becoming more dangerous with each swing. The soldier’s calm exterior began to crack as he realised he was being outmatched. Simultaneously, the soldier caught sight of his comrades being overwhelmed by Makara. Desperation began to creep in as he understood that he needed to end this fight quickly if he had any hope of helping them.
A sudden clash sent both Shawn and the soldier skidding backwards, creating a brief distance between them. Seizing the opportunity, the soldier activated his elemental skill—Mirage. The air around him shimmered and distorted, and in the blink of an eye, multiple identical copies of the soldier appeared, surrounding Shawn in a disorienting circle. Shawn’s heart pounded in his chest as he found himself encircled by a crowd of seemingly identical soldiers. The sight was overwhelming, the sheer number of copies making it nearly impossible to discern the real threat. His mind raced, switching between defensive and offensive stances, but deep down, a voice whispered that these were mere illusions. Yet, the constant movement of the mirages and the soldier’s rapid shifts made it difficult for Shawn to trust his instincts. In the midst of that chaos, Shawn’s concentration wavered, and he lost track of the real soldier, who now lurked among his indistinguishable clones, ready to strike at any moment.
Shawn’s grip tightened around his sword, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the mass of clones surrounding him. Each figure moved with eerie coordination, advancing in a seemingly random pattern that made it nearly impossible to predict the next attack. His senses were on high alert, every nerve in his body taut with tension as he tried to distinguish the real soldier from the ethereal fakes.
With a sharp inhale, Shawn lunged at the nearest clone, his sword slicing through it effortlessly. As expected, the figure dissolved into thin air, confirming that it was another illusion. But before he could even fully register the lack of resistance, another clone was upon him. Shawn quickly brought his sword up in a defensive block, only to find his blade meeting nothing but air as the clone vanished on contact.
The soldier was playing a cunning game, using the clones not just to distract, but to wear down Shawn’s focus and stamina. The real soldier would occasionally step in, his blade clashing against Shawn’s with a jarring force that threw him off balance, only to disappear again into the swirling crowd of duplicates before Shawn could fully react. Each time Shawn attempted to zero in on the real soldier, the clone would dissipate, leaving him once more lost in the disorienting mass.
The clones were relentless, each one charging at Shawn in unpredictable directions. Though he knew they weren’t real, the chaotic barrage of attacks kept him on the defensive. His sword cut through one mirage after another, but every successful strike did nothing to alleviate the pressure; the real soldier remained elusive, slipping back into the crowd the moment Shawn thought he had found him.
Frustration gnawed at the edges of Shawn’s concentration. His heart pounded in his chest, his breathing becoming more ragged with each passing moment. The soldier’s tactic was working—Shawn was beginning to feel the strain. The constant switching between blocking phantom blows and clashing with the real soldier was slowly eroding his focus. His mind raced, trying to find a pattern or a tell that would reveal the real threat, but the soldier’s strategy was flawless in its simplicity and effectiveness.
Suddenly, Shawn felt a sharp sting across his back—pain flaring hot as the real soldier emerged from the shadows of his clones, striking with a lethal slash before quickly vanishing again into the sea of illusions. Shawn’s instincts screamed at him to react, but by the time he turned, the soldier had already disappeared, leaving only the false images behind. The cycle repeated mercilessly. The soldier would bait Shawn with the mirage of an attack, drawing his focus to a false target, and then strike from a different angle. Each time Shawn swung at the wrong image, the real soldier would lash out, landing shallow but painful slashes on Shawn’s body. The wounds, though not deep, were strategic, meant to slow him down and finally land a lethal strike. As the soldier’s blade bit into his flesh, Shawn’s body responded almost instinctively. The power he had inherited began to work on its own, closing the wounds nearly as quickly as they were made. Shawn felt the familiar warmth of healing spread through him, dulling the pain and knitting the cuts back together.
The soldier, who had been carefully observing his handiwork, noticed with growing frustration that the wounds he inflicted were not staying. His attacks became more aggressive, the illusions multiplying in a desperate attempt to overwhelm Shawn. The air around them shimmered with the chaotic dance of mirages, each one trying to deceive and distract Shawn. But the more the soldier pressed, the more his rhythm became apparent. Shawn, though battered, was far from beaten. His instincts sharpened, his mind honing in on the subtle cues that set the real soldier apart from the phantoms. He began to notice the faintest differences in the soldier’s movements, the barely perceptible aura that the clones couldn’t replicate. Shawn realised the soldier was circling back toward him, preparing to strike again.
This time, Shawn was ready. Without turning back, he took a calculated step to the side, letting one of the clones pass on him with the intent to harm. As the real soldier used that distraction and lunged at him from behind, but Shawn spun his sword back as it cut through the air, meeting the soldier’s blade in a resounding clash, the force of Shawn’s parry sending a shockwave through both their arms.
The soldier’s eyes widened in shock as he realised he had been found out. He tried to retreat by creating a clone between him and Shawn and using it to disappear into his illusions once more, but Shawn anticipated the move. His instincts, now finely attuned to the soldier’s tactics, guided him not to lose this opportunity obtained by him. With a fluid motion, Shawn thrust his sword forward, his blade piercing through the illusions and striking the real soldier.
With a swift, decisive strike, Shawn’s sword found its mark, plunging into the soldier’s chest before he could vanish once more. All the soldiers’ illusions flickered and dissolved, leaving the real soldier impaled on Shawn’s blade, his expression twisted in shock and disbelief as he realised he had been bested in combat by a young warrior.
The soldier staggered, his strength fading as he fell to his knees, clutching at the wound. Shawn withdrew his sword, watching as the soldier collapsed to the ground, the fight finally over. The man’s breath grew shallow, his life slipping away, and with his last ounce of strength, he managed to look up at Shawn, perhaps hoping for some final words, but Shawn offered none, only a calm, resolute stare that conveyed both the weight of what had just transpired and the inevitability of the outcome.
Shawn stood over his fallen opponent, his breathing steady, the adrenaline slowly fading from his system. The pain from his earlier wounds was now a distant memory, overshadowed by the clarity and focus that came with victory. The battlefield, once filled with the chaotic sounds, had now fallen eerily silent.
He turned his gaze to find Makara, who had already finished off the other soldiers. Their bodies lay strewn across the ground, their weapons discarded, and the flicker of life gone from their eyes. Makara stood amidst the fallen with a casual demeanour, as if he had merely been out for a stroll. He met Shawn’s eyes and gave a slight nod, acknowledging the conclusion of their battles.
Shawn took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his sword as he undid his power, making it disappear into smoke. His resolve, however, had only been strengthened by the encounter.
The fight had tested him, pushing him to the brink both physically and mentally, but it had also steeled his determination. As Shawn stood among the fallen, surveying the aftermath of the battle, a deep sadness settled over him. The devastation around him—the lifeless bodies, the ruined village was a grim reminder of the cost of this war. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a heavy burden that seemed almost too much to bear.
As he stared at the destruction with a sorrowful expression, he suddenly felt a familiar weight on his head. Looking up, he saw Makara’s sake gourd perched there, and Makara standing beside him, his face uncharacteristically serious. “It was a trap,” Makara said, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “They set it to lure in any survivors, but before that, they decimated everyone in the village. There’s nothing left here, kid. Now let’s go,” with that, Makara turned and began to walk away, his usual carefree attitude replaced by a sombre resolve.
Shawn remained still for a moment, the weight of Makara’s words sinking in. The reality of the situation was harsh, but it was one he could no longer ignore. “The guardian you mentioned…,” Shawn began, his voice low but firm, “It’s me… I’m the current Guardian.”
Makara stopped in his tracks, and for a brief moment, there was silence. Then, to Shawn’s surprise, Makara let out a soft, knowing laugh, as if he had known all along. He took another swig from his gourd, the familiar glint of mischief returning to his eyes. “Figured as much,” he said, turning his head slightly to glance at Shawn.
Shawn felt a surge of determination rise within him, fuelled by the knowledge of what he had to do next. “All this destruction… for what? I’m going to stop this war. Let’s go meet the Tri-Kings, Makara.”
Makara chuckled, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere just a bit. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. “You can talk to the Tri-Kings, stop the war, and all that grand stuff… But first, let’s have breakfast. I’m starving.”
Shawn couldn’t help but smile at Makara’s unchanging nature. Even in the face of such grim circumstances, Makara’s priorities remained refreshingly simple. And perhaps, Shawn thought, that was exactly what he needed—a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, life goes on.
“Alright, breakfast first,” Shawn agreed, falling into step beside Makara.
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