It was in an underground dungeon, where prison guards watched from afar, that Issen's first battle took place. He was led into an enclosed arena, its structure unbreakable, and the gate behind him was sealed. The Entrapment Spell on his body was immediately undone. This would be a trial fight, one of many. Only the winners would be sent to the arenas, where they would fight for the opportunity to compete in a tournament.
Issen looked ahead. Standing before him was an elderly man, dressed like a beggar.
"We will start in one minute," a distant voice announced.
As always, Issen felt nervous before a battle. But this was a good thing. He had learned that his best performances came when fear sharpened him. His worst came when he walked in without tension. There were stories of fearless warriors, but any true veteran knew better, those without fear were often the first to fall.
Issen shifted lightly on his feet, preparing to move at any moment. Axiom Water gathered within him, ready to create distance. He loosened his limbs and steadied his breath.
"We will start in thirty seconds."
Looking closer, he noticed something strange about his opponent. The man's body was covered in wounds, some shallow, some deep, all arranged in a strange, deliberate pattern.
"Who did that to you?" Issen asked.
"I did it to myself."
"Why?"
"As a test."
A sharp tone rang out.
"Begin!"
He would not allow hesitation to overcome him. At the very instant the fight started, Issen moved. He slid back and released an Axiom Arrow, aiming directly for the man's Heart Energy point.
The beggar raised his arms, crossing them into a shell-like guard. The arrow struck into the guard. The man did not move, and stared at Issen, unaffected.
"Thank you," he said.
He began walking forward, arms still locked in that guarded position.
Issen fired again, then again, this time prioritising speed over precision. Each arrow struck the shell. Each time, the beggar continued advancing.
"Thank you," the old man murmured.
Issen changed tactics. Now he loosed three arrows in quick succession, then followed with a fourth laced with explosive energy, intending to detonate it just before impact.
But the beggar saw through it. He took the first three arrows on the guard, and then he shifted his head aside at the last moment. Clearly, this had not been the first time someone had attempted this attack on him.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for this pain."
Then, in an instant, a golden burst erupted from his body. He lunged forward, releasing an attack that took the shape of an axe cleaving through the air.
Issen barely evaded it with Axiom Water.
My attacks aren't working, he realised. Worse than that… he's enjoying them.
"What's your name?" Issen called out.
"I have no name," the beggar replied. "I am a student of the Fakir. I am glad we have met. This pain will allow me to overcome my body."
"The Fakir?"
Issen had heard the stories. They were monks who devoted themselves to suffering. Their belief was simple: through pain, one transcended the body. The more trials endured, the closer one came to something beyond the physical.
They would stand motionless for days, months, years. Some would sit beneath burning suns and freezing storms. There were some that hold unnatural postures until their bodies broke. Many inflicted wounds upon themselves, all in pursuit of transcendence, just as this one had seemingly done.
But the stories said they had died out.
Was this man truly one of their followers, or merely someone who had adopted their teachings within these walls?
The battle continued in a stalemate.
Issen fired from a distance. Every arrow struck the shell. The Fakir follower advanced and struck with explosive force, each attack missing by inches. Neither gained ground.
Then Issen began to understand.
That guard, this Axiom Shell, was the core of the man's practice. So long as he remained within it, he could not be harmed. More than that, he was strengthened by what struck him.
And there was something else.
If he truly followed the Fakir path, then his will would be absolute. Like the Faceless Soldiers, unyielding, relentless. Issen had learned from experience that this was perhaps the most terrifying type of opponent, the type that followed you unaffected, no matter what you did. He had seen how such a fight could a change a person completely even if they managed to win, as they no longer had any faith in their abilities. That was why this fight could not be prolonged.
Issen adjusted his approach. He continued firing arrows, but now with minimal energy. Instead of attacking, he observed.
As he dodged another explosive strike, he noticed it. He was beginning to see a pattern.
Each time the Fakir received an attack on his guard, he inhaled, and each time he attacked, he exhaled.
So that's it, Issen thought. The secret lay in his breath.
Then what would happen… if he struck during the exhale?
Issen repositioned, steady and precise, while the Fakir advanced.
Three arrows flew, and they struck the guard. The Fakir inhaled, then he lunged forward with another axe-like strike.
And in that instant—
From the viewing platform above, a guard leaned forward.
"Hey, look at that."
"Yeah… I see it. The old guy's bleeding."
"I thought this one was just desert scum. Not bad. He's got talent."
The Fakir follower looked down. A cut had opened across his chest. The attack itself was imperfect, but it was a real attack nonetheless.
Issen had struck during the exhale.
In that moment, Issen did not hesitate. As the Fakir surged forward again, he met the movement head-on, countering with an Axiom Blade.
The old man felt the blood flowing from his wound. He raised a hand, touched it, and licked it clean.
"Very good," he said.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"Thank you. This pain… will make me stronger."