Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Mirza took the first step, and Kaedan felt his own lungs momentarily refuse to draw air. The Herald's presence wasn't just an aura—it was a physical density that squeezed the space out of the hall. The Orc was in no hurry. He walked unhurriedly, shifting his monstrous cleaver for a better grip, and each of his movements seemed frighteningly perfect to Kaedan.
The young man looked at his basalt greaves and cuirass. They were now part of him. Over this time, he had transformed from a frightened orphan into a Warrior standing on the threshold of the Pillar rank. He had become stronger, faster, and much denser. But looking at the approaching Orc, Kaedan realized with cold horror that everything he had achieved might be but a grain of sand under this giant's feet.
"Iskon, take the flanks!" Kaedan shouted, not letting fear bind his will.
Mirza didn't use his Spirit. He didn't even release his inner essence in flashes or haze. The Orc simply compressed his energy within his muscles, turning his flesh into a biological monolith. He lunged forward suddenly, without a wind-up, covering ten paces in a split second.
The cleaver descended on Kaedan from above. The young man managed to cross his vambraces, pouring all his power into them. A sound like thunder inside a closed cave erupted. The floor under Kaedan's feet sank a hand's breadth, and deep cracks ran across the obsidian slabs. The young man's entire Unbreakable Armor groaned pitifully, bearing the monstrous physical impulse.
Kaedan wasn't thrown back—he defended as well as he could, but the Herald's blow was so heavy that blood spurted from the young man's nose. At that moment, Iskon made a lightning-fast thrust, lengthening his sword blade to pierce the Orc's side.
Mirza didn't even turn. He simply swung his left arm back, and his palm, fortified by dense energy, intercepted Iskon's steel. A screech of metal against skin, now harder than stone, sounded. The Orc pulled the sword towards himself with force, causing Iskon to lose his balance, and delivered a short elbow strike.
Iskon managed to raise his shield, but the Orc's power was such that the young man was hurled towards the wall. Iskon landed on his feet, but his shoulder jerked unnaturally—the recoil from Mirza's simple physical blow was devastating.
"You have backbone," Mirza boomed, easily deflecting Kaedan's next lunge. "I see years of toil in your movements, stone boy. And I see ice in your eyes, swordsman. But your Vessel is merely a cup, while mine is a deep well. You try to fight me with force, but you don't yet understand what true density is."
The Orc delivered blows one after another—simple, devoid of magic, but filled with such inertia that Kaedan had to expend colossal resources just to maintain his Armor. Mirza moved with the grace of a predator; he was clearly enjoying the fight, testing the Order's knights for durability.
For Kaedan, this battle became a bitter revelation. Six months ago, he had thought Iskon was the summit. Now he saw a Herald who handled them both without even using his Spirit. The gap between Warrior and Herald was not just a difference in rank—it was a difference in the very nature of their existence.
Iskon surged into attack again, his teardrop shield rotating, creating a defensive perimeter. "Don't give up, Kaedan! We must find the rhythm!" he shouted, his voice strained to the limit.
The young men clashed with the giant again. Kaedan took the blows on his shield, while Iskon tried to find a weakness, constantly changing the scale of his sword. But Mirza was everywhere and nowhere at once. His energy allowed him to sense their every intention before it became a movement.
The Orc blocked Kaedan's next strike and, grabbing him by the cuirass, simply hurled him across the hall. "Good try," Mirza grinned, baring his powerful fangs. In his gaze, one could read genuine respect mixed with the cold superiority of a warrior who knew victory was already in his pocket. "You made me get serious. That's an achievement. But the games are over."
Mirza slowly raised his cleaver to eye level. He still wasn't using his Spirit, but the density of his presence in the hall increased so much that Kaedan felt his Armor begin to tremble finely under the pressure. The battle was only entering its most painful phase.