The impact Veric absorbs is heavy enough to push the dust under him outward in a circular blast. Small cracks form under the supporting foot. The shield rings in a low, dirty note, and underneath the note I can still hear the wail of souls fading from the previous contact.

After the contact, Veric shoves Death’s Lantern back with the shield to gain momentum and launches himself in the same motion, going for a counterstrike before Death’s Lantern, still in the air, can recover.

But Death’s Lantern reads it.

He hops backward off nothing, gaining distance through empty air, and lands a few paces back.

"Wow. You’re pretty strong for a dead man." Veric mocks Death’s Lantern openly. "But stepping on air is cowardice, don’t you think, you wailing little spirit?"

’Air-stepping is an advanced skill. This man is definitely a Unique-class.’

Veric is the king of trash talk—that part is undeniable. With every provocation he lands, even the crowd starts to feel uncomfortable. A low-class strategy, but it works.

I learned this one the hard way in another life, playing low, playing dirty.

A good fighter can be lured into spending more energy on his answer than on his next move, and once the rhythm of his fight starts following the rhythm of his temper, the fight is already half lost.

Veric is just being who he is: a professional pain in the ass.

He glances at me quickly and winks. I still don’t understand this man or his strategies.

He sheathes his gladius and locks his focus entirely onto the shield.

"Showtime. Come on, you horror-flick cowboy. I’m ready."

Rhayne lets out a loud sigh next to me, sharp enough that my attention shifts directly to her face. She’s worried at a level I don’t quite understand. Maybe she’s as lost as I am about whatever Veric thinks he’s doing. Or maybe she’s read something in him that I’m missing. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

She’s been doing that more often, lately. Reading rooms before I do, and I like it.

To be fair, I think Veric is far more agitated than usual today. Which, on its own, is irritating.

Death’s Lantern advances again. His body dissolves in mid-step, vanishing in an instant. The crowd loses sight of him for a full second.

He reappears on Veric’s left flank, already winding into an uppercut. The arc of his arm tears a clean rip through the dust of the arena floor as it climbs.

The blow connects on Veric’s shield—he raised it at the last possible second—but the impact is heavy enough to launch him airborne. Several feet up. The wailing of souls hits a higher pitch this time, the sound of the contact carrying across the pillars and back to us in a thin, doubled echo.

Death’s Lantern doesn’t wait.

He jumps after Veric, preparing a straight punch. Completely telegraphed. I can read his strikes from where I’m standing. Of course, Veric too.

’I hope...’

Veric activates the magic chain inside the back of his shield. He throws the shield directly at Death’s Lantern, still in mid-flight.

The shield catches Death’s Lantern off guard. It slams into his chest. But he gets both arms up and crosses them just in time, taking most of the impact on the ghostly forearms.

The hit drives Death’s Lantern down hard. He crashes into the arena floor and a fine cloud of dust rises around him, obscuring the view for everyone in the crowd.

Veric lands in a defensive stance. The shield arcs back to him through the air, returning to his arm like a boomerang on the magic chain.

His shield is the [Undertow]. Rank B. Not a Growth Relic, but an upgradeable piece. In a few years, he will get famous for turning this shield into a treacherous weapon on the battlefield.

I wonder if that fame might come even sooner now, with me interfering this much in his future. Maybe I should walk him through the first upgrades so he reaches a Rank A item as fast as possible. Sooner he climbs, the more weight he can pull in the missions ahead of us.

I shook the thoughts away, returning my focus to the fight. I still haven’t figured out his strategy.

Sheathing the gladius and going pure shield gives him maneuvering room, sure, but he loses any decisive offensive option. Right now, a lunge with the sword would be a perfect counter against a recovering opponent. Instead, he just stands there. Waiting.

Either he’s baiting Death’s Lantern into committing to a kill swing, or he’s burning OXI faster than he should be on a defensive-only stance, and the comment about reserves was real.

I genuinely can’t tell which.

The dust settles. Death’s Lantern’s silhouette resolves again. He brushes the dust off his shoulders—small, fastidious motions. The impeccable suit got dirty and he visibly disapproves.

"Ahh, using this shield really wears me out. My OXI is dropping fast." Veric says it openly, loud enough for the whole Oathring to hear.

Death’s Lantern smiles. Tilts his head slightly but says nothing.

This Veric move just entered my personal top ten of the stupidest things I’ve ever seen anyone do in Thirstfall. You don’t announce your OXI cost, your current reserves, or any other sensitive data mid-battle.

Ever.

It’s the verbal equivalent of handing your enemy a list of your weaknesses, signed and notarized. Unless Veric is trying to bait his opponent—which would be a worthless gambit against a veteran like Death’s Lantern.

"Come on, Veric. I know you’re a clever bastard. What the hell are you thinking?"

Death’s Lantern’s energy detonates. He’s clearly going to push all in now.

’Either he fell for the bait, or Veric is genuinely this stupid.’

"The Last Ride..." Death’s Lantern whispers. Almost inaudible. I have to read it off his lips to catch the words.

A high, sharp whinny from a ghostly horse rolls through the entire arena, silencing everyone at once.

As if the crowd already knew this was coming.

As if every fighter, every drowned, every drunk at the back of the Oathring line had been waiting for that exact sentence.