Paragon Of Destruction

Arran put on the armor as quickly as he could, but it still took him more time than he would have liked. Between his coat, the helmet, the gauntlets, the gorget, the greaves, the cuisses, and all the other parts, suiting up was a slow affair, and that was hardly the only downside of wearing full armor.

The quality of the armor was impressive, all the more so because Tuya had managed to find in just a few hours during the dead of night. All of it was enchanted, and it fit him better than he had any right to expect.

Even so, wearing it made him slower and affected his balance, and when he put on the helmet, it immediately restricted his vision. To any other mage, the sacrifice would be far too large for a little added protection.

But Arran wasn't like other mages. The control he had gained from the Tempering easily compensated for the bulk and weight of the armor, and in the dark of night, his Shadowsight would be far more useful than his eyes.

When he finished suiting up, whatever parts of his body weren't protected by his armored coat were covered in steel. Against Body Refiners the protection would still be far from impenetrable, but then, he didn't intend to let his enemies come close enough to do serious damage. Not alive, at any rate.

Wasting no time, he immediately began to scout out the nearest guards' locations. Although both the screams in the distance and the bloodlust within him urged him to attack at once, he ignored them — haste would not serve him well.

He took care in finding all the scouts that had been posted on the side of the camp that was nearest to him, making sure not to miss any of them.

When he finally finished, he took some moments to decide his path of attack. Then, he took a deep breath, and behind the visor of his helmet, a grin appeared on his face.

It was time to kill.

He approached the first pair of guards at a jog, not bothering to hide his approach. Still, in the darkness, they only noticed him when he was already upon them, and they barely had time to draw their weapons before he attacked.

One of the guards died instantly, Arran's first slash ripping through his neck, blood spouting from his body as it collapsed to the ground.

The other stumbled backward, fear in his eyes as he held his sword before him. He began to shout, "We're under—"

He died before he could finish the words, Arran's starmetal sword finding his heart with a single thrust.

Arran did not pause to look at the bodies. Immediately, he dashed toward the next pair of guards, bounding through the trees with powerful strides.

"Attackers!" one of the guards shouted when he saw Arran approach, with the other brandishing his weapon as he prepared to face the attacker.

A second later, their dead bodies were sprawled across the ground, one missing the top half of his head and the other cleaved in two at the waist.

Again, Arran dashed off.

His next opponent was a single guard, who froze with fright the moment Arran appeared. For several moments, Arran waited, but the man neither drew his weapon nor screamed. Finally, he sighed, then stabbed the man in the throat.

As the guard's body slumped to the ground, Arran screamed, "Help! Attackers!"

His impression of a panicked soldier was clumsy, but by now, calls and shouts of alarm were coming from the camp. With his Shadowsight, he could tell that the first reinforcements were already heading for the guards.

He struck two more guard positions in quick succession, each time making sure the soldiers had time to call for help before they died.

By now, he was starting to feel the first stirrings of the Blood magic in his body, and although the effect was still weak, he could already feel his strength and speed increase. The bloodlust also grew in strength, but he had no trouble controlling it.

He ran off into the forest, away from the camp. At this point, dozens of soldiers had already reached the dead guards, and hundreds more were heading to join them. As they began to search the forest, Arran could hear them shout in anger.

A hundred paces into the woods, he abruptly turned around, then headed toward the group of soldiers near the first two guards he killed.

There were about two dozen of them, and he took them by surprise, killing three and wounding another in a single breath's time. Between their surprise and the darkness around them, they barely even had time to respond before Arran vanished into the trees again.

"Catch him!" he heard one of the men shout. He grinned, knowing they took the bait.

Once more, he ran into the forest, easily shaking off his pursuers. He stopped before the soldiers were out of range of his Shadowsight, then paused for some moments to inspect the area.

When he found that there were only half a dozen soldiers near the last guard post he had attacked, he immediately rushed toward the small group. As he reached them, he unleashed a series of furious attacks that they had no chance of resisting.

Even under normal circumstances, weak Body Refiners like these would pose little threat to him, and now, he not only had the advantage of his Shadowsight, but also the power of the Blood magic that was rapidly growing stronger.

When the last of them died, Arran paused for a moment to catch his breath, then shouted at the top of his lungs. "They're fleeing! Catch them!"

Again, he retreated into the woods before heading back and striking another group, killing and wounding just a few of them. Then, he made a quick retreat, the group unable to catch up with him in the darkness.

Several more times he attacked, each time choosing a different place and only killing a few enemies before fleeing again.

To the soldiers, it would be like fighting a small force of scouts or raiders, with Arran's speed and Shadowsight allowing him to attack and retreat effortlessly.

While he could have easily done far more damage, that wasn't his plan.

If he stood and fought, his enemies would soon discover that they only faced a single opponent, and then, the mage who led them could attack from a distance while his men kept Arran occupied.

What he needed was for the soldiers to grow confident, believing that they were driving off the enemy with their superior numbers. He would draw them into the woods, then lead them to a battle they could not win.

Yet although the soldiers advanced, it was slower than Arran wanted. They were cautious and restrained, and even now, only a few hundred had entered the woods, with the rest still holding in the camp.

Still, there was nothing for it but to continue, and so he did.

Each of his attacks was a needle stab to the enemy force, a pair of soldiers dying in one place, then a handful in another. The attacks barely dented the soldiers' numbers, but they caused enough confusion and chaos to keep them from realizing they only faced a single opponent.

Moreover, even if the enemy did not take the bait, every exchange left Arran stronger. By now, the Blood magic was filling his veins with power, with every soldier he slew further adding to his strength.

The bloodlust was growing stronger, too, but he could still easily control it. Rather than an overwhelming urge to slaughter his enemies, it now more resembled a polite suggestion to kill — a suggestion he gladly followed, but which he could resist with ease should he want to.

The battle in the woods continued for some time, Arran continuing to harass the enemy soldiers with small but deadly attacks, slowly drawing them further into the woods.

Then, finally, he heard the words he was waiting for, thundering through the woods in the mage's amplified voice.

"Kill the attackers! Let none escape!"

Arran grinned in relief. The mage had taken the bait.

Against another enemy, his plan would likely have failed. Had the enemy commander been a commoner or just a Body Refiner, he would have withdrawn and massed his forces, wary of a trap.

But this was a mage, and Arran knew well that mages had a habit of underestimating those without magic. The man might not be so foolish as to take the lead in driving off the attackers, but he wouldn't see a small force without magic users as much of a threat, either.

After all, the way Arran's enemy would see it, mages stronger than himself would simply have struck the camp with devastating force, while weaker ones would have needed magic just to hold off the soldiers.

It had been a gamble, but fortunately, it seemed things were working out the way Arran intended.

The first of his traps had been sprung. Now, it was time for the second one.