Paragon of Destruction

Arran looked at the woman in front of him. The Ninth Valley’s Matriarch. The single most powerful person in the entire Valley. The leader of the House of Seals. And, as far as she was concerned, his new mentor.

He took a deep breath as he looked her in the eyes. Then, suppressing his nerves, he replied.

"No."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "You would refuse me? The Matriarch of the very Valley you’re standing in?"

"I would." Arran’s voice was firmer this time, his earlier fear fading now that the decision was made.

Years ago, before he had any of his current strength and experience, he had rejected Panurge’s attempts to forcibly take him as an apprentice. If he could stand up to a supposed god even then, how could he let himself be cowed by a mere mage now?

Moreover, even if his refusal angered the Matriarch, there was little she could do about it. She had plenty of status and power, but incinerating a talented initiate from another House would hardly be a good look. It would weaken the Valley, offend the House of Swords, and make her seem like a madwoman — which, hopefully, she wasn’t.

Reassured by these thoughts, Arran faced the Matriarch calmly.

Yet though he had been prepared for her to be angry, what he saw in her eyes was unexpected — a faint glint of amusement.

"Why?" she asked, sounding curious rather than offended.

"Why?" Arran repeated the word sheepishly, unprepared for the question. He had expected annoyance or a cold dismissal, not calm curiosity.

"Other than you, there isn’t a single initiate in this Valley who wouldn’t jump at the chance to become my apprentice," she said. "But you rejected my offer like a week-old piece of bread. Why?"

"I already have a teacher," Arran replied uneasily. "I’m a member of the House of Swords, and I’m training with the other Houses as well." The explanation was a weak one, but it was all he had.

"There is no need for you to leave the House of Swords," the Matriarch replied. "You’ll have two Houses — unusual, but hardly unheard of. As for your instructors in the other Houses, I will have them teach you here. That will save you some much-needed time to spend on your studies."

Arran paled slightly. In a few words, she had disarmed all his objections — at least, those he could mention publicly.

A slight smirk crossed her lips. "You’re worried that I will try to uncover your secrets?"

At this, Arran felt a stab of panic. Even if she hadn’t discovered his secrets just yet, that she knew he had them was bad enough.

"Don’t look so surprised," she said. "Talent like yours isn’t something one is born with. Doubtless you’ve had more than a few lucky encounters — your skills contain traces of insight from several powerful mages. But that is no concern of mine. I have no interest in delving into your past. My goal is to develop your talent."

Arran was unsure of whether to feel relieved or concerned at her words, and he stared at her wordlessly, trying to figure out whether she was speaking the truth.

"Still unconvinced?" she asked. "I’ve already addressed your concerns. What else is keeping you from accepting my offer?"

He took a slow breath as he tried to come up with an answer. With everything she had already offered, refusing would be more than a little suspicious. And even if she felt no desire to delve into his past, if he maintained his refusal without giving a reason, that just might change.

"My teacher," he finally said. "I can’t accept your offer unless she agrees."

Following Brightblade’s orders had gotten him into this mess, and now, he quickly decided that she would have to be the one to solve it. Any further attempts he made to deflect the Matriarch’s offer would only worsen the situation.

"Very well," the Matriarch said. "Tell me her name, and I’ll send for her."

"Adept Brightblade," Arran responded, silently wondering whether he’d made the right decision.

A servant appeared in the clearing only moments later, summoned by the Matriarch through means Arran could not discern. She gave the man some quick instructions, and as he left, she turned back to Arran.

"While we wait, you can show me what other talents you have," she said. A sword appeared in her hand, and she continued, "As a member of the House of Swords, I assume you know how to handle a blade. Show me."

Arran reluctantly drew his sword and faced her, and a moment later, she attacked.

It was immediately obvious that the Matriarch’s skill with the sword was exceptional, and in just a few exchanges Arran found himself on the defensive, driven back with each attack she made.

Yet after just a handful of exchanges, she stepped back, an annoyed expression on her face.

"Stop trying to mask your insights," she said. "I already told you I have no interest in unearthing your past. But if you continue to conceal your abilities like this, I will start to wonder just what you’re hiding."

Arran sighed in frustration. She had seen through his ruse with ease. Naturally, he hadn’t used his newly created sword style, instead relying on his old techniques. But apparently, that wasn’t enough to fool the Matriarch.

He briefly considered refusing to continue, but then decided against it. Her remark hadn’t been made in jest, he knew — if he refused to show his skills, she would certainly grow even more suspicious than she already was.

"All right," he said. "Let’s try again."

They faced each other once more, and this time, Arran used his own sword style. He refrained from using his true insight, but other than that, he fought using his full ability.

He knew that doing so was risky. From the style, the Matriarch might deduce that he had a true insight, which was one of the things Brightblade had urged him to hide.

Yet he had no better choices available — refusing to fight would be even more suspicious.

As they crossed swords again, Arran was surprised to find that using his own style, he could just barely match the Matriarch. And she didn’t appear to be holding back, either.

In his matches against Brightblade, there was always a hint of concealed strength hiding just below the surface. But against the Matriarch, there was no such hint. As far as he could tell, she was fighting as well as she could.

Faced with an equally skilled opponent, Arran quickly became engrossed in their swordplay. Each exchange was a challenge, and if his opponent got the better of him more often than not, the difference between them was small enough that it didn’t matter.

They continued for over an hour, with Arran soon growing excited at the match. Before, he had lacked a good comparison for his own skills, and now, he grinned in wonder at his abilities. The Matriarch’s skill was exceptional, and if he could match her, then so was his own.

Finally, the Matriarch lowered her sword, a hint of weariness on her face.

"I can see why you joined the House of Swords," she said, gazing at Arran with narrowed eyes. "It seems your talent isn’t limited to seals. And your insights... once you develop those, there are few who could stand in your way."

Arran responded with a polite smile, though inside, he felt more than a little relief. Perceptive though the Matriarch might be, it seemed that swordplay wasn’t one of her strengths, and as far as he could tell, she had not recognized his true insight.

"Now, let’s see if you’re as skilled a mage as you are a swordsman." The Matriarch’s sword vanished from her hand as she spoke. "Show me what spells you know."

This time, there was no need for Arran to hide his abilities. What little he knew of magic was nowhere near enough to arouse suspicion, and after just a few minutes, a disappointed expression appeared on the Matriarch’s face.

"I suppose nobody’s talents cover everything," she said. "But that’s no excuse for ignoring your studies. Once you start your training under me, you will—"

She went silent mid-sentence, then turned to the edge of the clearing, eyes wide with surprise.

Arran turned as well, and a moment later, he sighed in relief. Brightblade had arrived — and hopefully, she would be able to handle the problem.

"Dao Liang Jie?" The Matriarch’s voice sounded through the clearing, filled with wonder. "What are you—" She briefly went silent, then asked in a puzzled tone, "You’re his teacher?"

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