"Not so confident now, are you?" Verin gloated, sensing victory.
Grim finally spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"I was just wondering how someone can train for years and still be so fucking awful," he said, loud enough for the gathered nobles to hear. "Did your father pay your instructors to pretend you had talent, or are they just as incompetent as you are?"
Verin's face reddened with rage. "You little...."
"Is that a family trait?" Grim continued, his tone casual despite being backed nearly to the edge of the clearing. "Making empty threats and failing to follow through? Like father, like son, I suppose."
The taunt had its intended effect. Verin's next attack was wild, overextended, fueled by anger rather than technique. Grim ducked under it easily.
"How many mana hearts does he have?" Grim silently asked the voice.
[One heart at approximately 70% capacity,] the voice replied. [Fire affinity. Not particularly strong, but adequate for his age.]
"One heart," Grim muttered under his breath. "Pathetic."
He stopped retreating abruptly, planting his feet firmly on the ground. The change in his demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. The nervous youth being driven back was gone, replaced by something more dangerous.
"Playtime's over," Grim announced.
Without warning, mist began to flow from his body, starting as wisps around his feet and rapidly thickening. It spread across the clearing, growing denser by the second.
Verin hesitated, confusion replacing his triumphant expression. "What trick is this?"
Murmurs swept through the watching crowd. Most seemed as confused as Verin, but a few faces showed recognition. General Yongrun leaned forward slightly. Archmage Dongmei's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. Rowan's expression was a mixture of pride and concern.
And the elderly man watched Grim intensely.
"Ethereal Mist," someone whispered in the crowd. "A Celestial Mist technique. How does a child...."
The mist thickened until visibility was reduced to just a few feet. Verin stood tensely in the center, his saber raised defensively as he tried to peer through the swirling fog.
[You don't have a whole lot of mana to use this effectively for long,] the voice warned.
"It won't matter," Grim thought back. "When I draw blood, it will be over."
The sound came first. Splashing footsteps, just like at the ball, but faster now. More purposeful. The noise seemed to come from multiple directions at once, making it impossible to track.
"Stand and fight properly!" Verin shouted, turning frantically to locate his opponent.
A slash appeared across his formal jacket, the fabric parting cleanly though the skin beneath remained untouched. Verin spun, slashing wildly at empty mist.
"What's wrong?" Grim's voice taunted, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere. "Can't keep up?"
Another slash, this time across Verin's back. Again, just cutting cloth, not flesh.
"Stop hiding like a coward!" Verin's voice had taken on a higher pitch, fear beginning to overwhelm anger.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Grim replied, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "I thought I was being considerate. After all, your father prefers to attack children when he thinks he can't lose. I assumed it was a family tradition."
Grim's sword carved gouges in the earth around Verin, the blades of grass severed cleanly as he circled his opponent using the Drifting Mist Steps. The technique allowed him to move with unnatural speed through the mist, appearing and disappearing like a ghost.
With each pass, he tapped Verin's saber with his own blade. Light touches that did nothing but further unnerve the older boy.
The watching nobles could see little through the dense mist except occasional flashes of movement and the increasingly desperate figure of Verin Terras spinning and slashing at phantoms.
"This is your last chance to yield," Grim's voice announced, now deadly serious. "I suggest you take it."
"Never!" Verin shouted, his pride overriding his fear. "Fight me properly, you coward!"
"As you wish."
The mist began to thin, drawing back until the entire clearing was visible again. Grim stood ten paces from Verin, his borrowed sword held casually at his side.
"There you are," Verin said, his confidence returning now that he could see his opponent. "No more tricks."
"Just one more," Grim replied.
He raised his sword in a horizontal position and channeled his mana into the blade. The weapon began to glow with shifting colors. The aurora energy building until it was unmistakable to everyone watching.
The elderly man with the scar leaned forward, his full attention now fixed on Grim. Rowan took an involuntary step forward before catching himself. Even Lord Terras seemed to sense something was wrong, his smug expression faltering.
"Aurora Flash," Grim said quietly.
He swung the sword in a swift horizontal arc. The multicolored light erupted from the blade, hanging in the air for a full second. Far longer than he'd ever managed in practice. The flash was blinding, causing many in the audience to shield their eyes.
Verin cried out, raising his free hand to cover his face, temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of light.
In that moment of vulnerability, Grim moved quickly. He sheathed the borrowed sword in one fluid motion, then immediately began to draw it again. But this time, aurora energy compressed along the blade's edge as he pulled it from the scabbard.
"Sundering Slash," he whispered.
The sword cleared the sheath with a sound like tearing silk. An arc of concentrated light energy, no larger than a hand's width, shot from the blade. It moved so fast that most observers saw only the aftermath. A thin line of aurora energy hanging in the air for a split second before fading.
Verin screamed, his hand flying to the side of his head. Blood poured between his fingers as his left ear, or most of it, fell to the ground. The wound glowed with residual aurora energy, the edges of the cut cauterized by the heat of the technique even as the center bled profusely.
What happened next occurred so quickly that few could follow it. The Sundering Slash continued past Verin, its power barely diminished. It shot through the space between watching nobles, causing several to dive for safety, and headed straight for the elderly man with the scar.
He didn't move, didn't flinch, merely turned his head slightly so that the arc of energy grazed his cheek rather than striking him fully. A thin line of blood appeared where it passed, but he showed no reaction to the wound.
The slash continued beyond him, fading into the distance as its energy dispersed.
The clearing erupted into chaos. Lord Terras rushed to his son, who had fallen to his knees, still clutching the bloody side of his head. Nobles backed away in shock and fear. Guards moved forward, unsure whether to intervene.
The elderly man met his gaze across the clearing, and Grim saw neither anger nor shock in those eyes. Just a sense of approval.