The Fist-Wielding Genius Magician - Episode 15 (13/201)
Episode 15. The Tenacious Challenger (4)
Looking back, there had been many warning signs.
From this being Herna’s city to procuring a carriage on the verge of collapse.
The coachman was human too – if he’d truly planned to travel such a distance, he’d have brought more horses from the start.
But we’d had no alternatives. Given a choice, we’d have picked a safer, more reliable method.
We needed to escape Clark and Herna’s domain quickly, and the carriage was our only option – a rare commodity in a small town.
“Zed… What do we do now…?”
The coachman had never intended to travel far. That’s why he’d brought one horse and a decrepit carriage. Instead of Frilda, he’d led us straight into our enemies’ jaws.
“Finally, we meet. Arahan.”
“……”
In the mountains outside the city,
Captain Clark and his guards stood before us, alongside Herna and her escort.
Hundreds by rough count.
To any observer, we were fish trapped in a net.
“Stealing keys to escape. A magician’s scheme indeed. Vermin behavior through and through.”
Bullshit. Who was the one using prisoners to kill me?
Herna beside Clark laughed with a grotesque smile.
“Such a shame. Had you joined me, this wouldn’t be your end.”
“Even if time reversed, that wouldn’t change.”
“So this is Arahan’s essence? Impressive resolve amid crisis. I admire it.”
“I don’t plan to die obediently.”
“Heh. This’ll make fine entertainment.”
As if done waiting, Clark drew his sword. White aura enveloped the blade as he channeled energy – my first glimpse of visible ‘mana.’
“You escaped. I’ll execute you here. None interfere. Arahan’s life is mine.”
Clark advanced.
A 5th-Circle Knight. To survive, I needed to defeat him and his remaining forces.
The worst possible scenario.
Yet strangely, no anxiety came.
I could win.
No – I would win. This belief felt necessary.
I didn’t know why.
It might be false bravado as Herna said, or baseless confidence.
Or perhaps because I’d never tasted defeat.
Escape was impossible anyway.
My only choice was to fight.
Then I’d give my all.
“You’d face me without mana?”
“Shall I bare my neck instead?”
“Hah. Unmagician-like courage you’ve got.”
“Either way, it’s fifty-fifty.”
“…Fifty-fifty.”
Memories surfaced abruptly, steadying my breath and calming my heart.
My mind cleared, pulse settling like still lakewater.
No one’s born a champion.
I too had been a challenger once.
Back then, I’d labored endlessly to topple champions.
Burning nights analyzing weaknesses, strategizing through sweat.
My opponents were legends – I, just another contender.
Facing that champion in the ring, I’d repeated internally:
“Whether you win or I do – it’s always fifty-fifty.”
There’s a tale I cherish.
King David of Israel sought wisdom for victory without pride, defeat without despair. Thus arose Solomon’s adage: “This too shall pass.”
A proverb marrying opposites.
‘Fifty-fifty chance’ follows that spirit.
My personal creed against intimidation by strength or complacency against weakness.
As a champion facing challengers, I learned most anticipate defeat before fighting. How can you win if you expect loss?
Even against a 5th-Circle Knight, fifty-fifty odds mean no fear.
That’s the truth of ‘fifty-fifty chance.’
“…Amusing.”
“Don’t hold back. Don’t get careless. Fight properly.”
“Arrogant till the end, Arahan.”
“Mercy is a champion’s privilege. You’re not permitted it.”
“Ha! Fine! I’ll unleash everything!”
Clark’s aura erupted violently.
The true might of a 5th-Circle Knight.
So this is why I couldn’t break Last Saber.
Reality lacked such powerhouses.
I hadn’t wanted much. Just to reclaim that old feeling.
The challenger’s fervor when facing giants.
That era when I could incinerate my soul through effort.
“Come, Arahan!”
Primordial fighting spirit surged from my core.
The moment I became a challenger again.
Then – miracle.
[Trait ‘Tenacious Challenger (S)’ activated!]
[All stats temporarily increased by +10!]
What…?
My ‘Tenacious Challenger’ trait –
This was its power? +10 to all stats?
“Try surviving this!”
Clark charged headlong.
No time to check stats except mana:
[Mana: 11]
Exactly +10.
The miracle continued.
The vacant magic slot now displayed:
[New Magic Available: Electrification (Lightning Humanization)]
Electrification? Unfamiliar magic.
No time for analysis. I activated it unhesitatingly.
[Magic ‘Electrification’ activated.]
Testing could wait for battle.
Clark’s full-force slash shrieked through air, cleaving earth in a straight fissure.
“?!”
I’d expected Arahan bisected – only split ground remained.
“C-Captain! Above!”
“What?!”
Looking up, I saw Arahan mid-leap.
He dodged in that instant…?!
Unbelievable. The man before me had vaulted upward.
But more shocking:
That light…
Golden mana radiated from Arahan.
Rubbing my eyes changed nothing – the aura clung to Zed’s form.
“Th-thunder energy…?!”
Not the four elements (water, wind, earth, fire), but rare lightning energy – something I’d only read of.
BOOM! The landing quaked the earth.
"Ugh!"
While Clark was momentarily stunned, Zed, who had leaped into the air, launched a kick.
Clark raised his sword to block, but the impact was staggering. Forced back several steps, he still wore a dazed expression.
"Pull yourself together, will you? I’m on a roll—don’t kill my vibe."
Even with the taunt, Clark couldn’t snap out of his shock.
If this is truly Thunder Aura… this changes everything.
This can’t be real! How?!
Thunder Aura defied the elemental hierarchy of the four primary attributes: fire, water, earth, and air.
It was the ultimate aspiration for mages—a power even the legendary founding patriarch of the Arahant family, revered as the Arhat, had failed to attain.
And now, Clark was facing it head-on.
"W-what trickery is this?! This… this is impossible!"
"Agreed. Even I didn’t expect this much."
"How can you—?! The Arahants are a fire-aligned house!"
Zed’s Thunder Aura was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying.
Golden currents of electricity writhed around his body, and his melted lenses revealed crimson eyes burning like molten lava. Staring into them sent a primal chill down Clark’s spine.
This wasn’t the ragged prisoner hauling rocks in a uniform. This was the Arahant dynasty incarnate—exactly as Clark had always imagined it.
So this is bloodline power… The privilege I was denied!
When Zed first arrived at the prison, Clark had been elated. The Arahants weren’t the untouchable paragons he’d resented. Here was their so-called "disgrace," their flawed heir—proof that even legendary bloodlines produced mediocrity.
Clark, too, had once been a knight brimming with dreams.
Like all aspiring warriors, he’d trained relentlessly, aiming to surpass the 10th Circle and become a Sword Master.
But reality crushed him. No matter how hard he trained, bloodline limits barred his way.
To become a Sword Master, you had to be born different.
No effort could bridge the gap of lineage.
The injustice festered.
Talent depended on luck, not merit.
Even the knightly ideals of justice were built on unequal footing.
Disillusioned, he abandoned his training.
He became just another washed-up knight, relegated to guarding a backwater prison.
Zed’s arrival had been a twisted comfort.
See? Even the mighty Arahants spawn failures.
Their golden child is just a half-baked runt.
That’s what I told myself…
But he’d been wrong.
A late bloomer was still a bloom. Petals unfurl when they choose.
Every shred of solace he’d clung to was a lie.
“…You elites ruined my life!”
"Ah. So it’s just insecurity driving you."
"You bloodline frauds will never understand the agony of us ordinary souls!"
Clark lunged forward, channeling every ounce of fury.
His only goal now: destroy the budding flower before it could bloom.
CRASH! BOOM!
His sword split trees like straw. Boulders shattered like glass. The ground quaked as white blade energy ravaged the battlefield.
Allies fell to his indiscriminate strikes. Bystanders fled—all except Zed, who dodged with infuriating calm.
"Ghk—!"
Clark faltered, drained from mana overuse. Zed seized the opening, closing the distance faster than thought.
What unsettled Clark most wasn’t the speed—it was the defiance of combat doctrine.
Knights dominate close quarters. Mages rule the distance.
Mages barricade themselves with spells; knights break through.
An unbroken law of warfare.
Yet here was Zed—a mace-wielder invading the knight’s domain, pressing into point-blank range where swords couldn’t swing.
THUD! CRACK!
Fists hammered Clark’s gut and face. How could such a slight frame harbor this brute force?
Zed’s movements were ruthlessly efficient—no flourish, no waste. A veteran’s precision paired with a brawler’s adaptability.
A knight’s strength lies in his blade, but Zed gave no room to wield it.
"Khh—!"
After taking a beating, Clark abandoned his assumptions.
He’s not fighting like a mage. To use my sword, I need space, not closeness.
But modern footwork outpaced his outdated tactics.
Damn it—no openings!
Shards of his shattered armor clattered to the ground. What remained hung in tatters. A clean strike to his exposed stomach knocked the wind from his lungs, sending him crashing down.
THWACK!
“Ghk—!”
Blood sprayed from his mouth. His legs buckled, knees hitting dirt.
In his lowered sightline, Zed’s boots stood unwavering.
Damn it!
He willed himself to rise, but his body refused. Each breath felt like glass shredding his guts.
With a hollow sigh, Clark let his mana dissipate.
“…I yield.”
“Want to know why?”
“Spare the lecture. Kill me.”
“I trained harder. That’s all.”
“…Lies! You won because you’re an Arahant! Bloodline privilege!”
Clark’s voice trembled.
The knightly virtue of graceful defeat had abandoned him long ago.
Zed shook his head.
“If you’d honed experience over excuses, you’d have won. Your insecurity shackled you. That’s why you lost. Stop blaming bloodlines. Everything else is just noise.”
“……”
Defeat’s cause lay within.
Clark had no retort.
A young mage had just schooled him in the knightly ethos—the very ideals he’d once cherished.
