Irik was soaked to the skin with blood by now. None of it was his. It made him feel alive more than anything he had ever experienced. Which was weird, because he had never felt particularly bloodthirsty before.
But it had ruined his outfit. The emblem of the Albrechts, half-eclipsed sun, had been branded on the shoulder of all of his clothes in black and white. But the black was barely distinguishable from the white by now.
He was focused on something else though.
How had this rogue known his identity? This meant that this wasn't a robbery. It was a premeditated attack! Although that hardly changed anything. The solution was clear in both cases: Fight!
Who said violence was never the answer?
The rogue had the initiative as he launched himself forward first. He seemed to possess some sort of movement technique.
All of his movements, although not having much speed to speak of, left after images. This was particularly dangerous to Irik. After all, he couldn't let the daggers graze him.
Before Irik could properly process the situation his instincts suddenly shouted at him to duck and he followed.
He ducked and rolled ignobly in the mud, staining his once pristine outfit further. Who cared for looking cool if you were dead?
Aura farmers had to be alive to reap the fruits of their labor.
He was right to do so because the rogue appeared like a phantom, like he had teleported right in front of Irik just to miss his head and cut a few strands of dirtied and bloodied black locks of hair.
He jumped up smoothly in the same motion, bringing up his sword just in time to catch one of the daggers on its way to his throat.
He parried it away, stepped back and slashed but only hit an afterimage. His instincts warned him that he needed to block the next attack coming from the right and so he did without hesitation.
Irik's heart thundered, and his chest warmed up just a tiny bit, like there was a small fire there. It made him feel stronger, more powerful.
They weaved and danced in a strange reflection of the situation Irik had had with the Barbarian.
The rogue kept trying to close the distance in order to render the sword ineffective while Irik tried to keep him in the sword's range but not close enough for the daggers to do their insidious damage.
The more they fought, the more the heat grew, the more the pulses of the flame spread to every part of his body. It made him feel, faster, stronger. He didn't grow tired, in fact, as they fought, he grew more and more energetic
With each exchange they made, Irik grew accustomed to the pitched nature of the battle. He began to see more. It seemed like the rogue had less and less after images and the teleportation wasn't teleportation anymore but really quick movement.
The process of breaking through human limits got faster and faster under pressure. Like he was unveiling his potential with every miniscule, continuously adjusted move.
Irik began to vaguely feel that he wasn't getting things from his instincts, but he was perceiving them with his actual senses, but his consciousness was just too used to his previous speed so his subconscious had to provide a nudge.
But as the fire washed over parts of his brain too even this last flimsy chain grew strained and threatened to break.
After a minute of a pitched dance the rogue suddenly jumped back and looked at Irik curiously.
"Are you toying with me?" the rogue asked.
Irik looked at him with a hint of confusion. Why would the rogue suddenly ask such a question?
In truth, Irik's physical attributes had continued to increase during the fight. From barely keeping up with the rogues attacks to being able to counter. It was an astonishing level of improvement that should be impossible.
"Interesting. Our intel had none of this. Taking you out before the event is a most prudent choice."
Irik looked at him with confusion. Why did this rogue suddenly become more talkative all of a sudden?
Irik was no idiot. Even if he had faced a fearsome opponent, the changes in him had grown to the point that e couldn't ignore them anymore.
He knew that this had to be a direct result of whatever his father had done to him, and that he was growing stronger because of it. Irik had been the peak of mundane humans before and now he was taking the first step ahead of it.
Irik was awakening. Or maybe he already had and was adjusting.
It didn't matter. Irik lunged forward. He performed a slash from the basic Bright swordsmanship, but this time, he felt something deeper.
He was jut that bit faster, and his heart had been beating thunderously for a while now. The flame at his solar plexus was about as hot as a flame now.
Something about the way he performed his slash was mysterious. He felt part of the heat in his chest shoot across his chest to meld with the entire sword arm and even run down the blade.
It happened lightning fast. One second he was brandishing the word in the attack the rogue had grown accustomed to, the next his clothing on his arm vaporized and the sword in his hand turned white hot.
The rogue noticed this but he was already committed to his block. All he could do was follow through and turn his block into a parry in the hopes that he could evade.
His hopes were for naught. The fire-augmented blade passed through the daggers like a hot knife through butter. The two weapons didn't even give any resistance.
Though shocked, Irik didn't waste the opportunity. He quickly recovered form the swing which had overextended, bringing the sword up in a slash that bisected the rogue from hip to shoulder, leaving the man in two pieces.
Shortly after, the sword in his hand actually began to melt and drip. He quickly let the weapon go and looked at it with a hint of indescribable emotion. It was, after all, just a cheap sword he picked up form a slain enemy.
He looked at the man in two pieces and couldn't help but feel a bit of regret.
"I should have held him for questioning. He seemed to have some pretty good info. Oh well, I guess I should find someone else to play with then."