CHAPTER 13: Battle in the Depths - Part 2

  Torches lined racks near the entrance. Varne took one, ignited it with Dorian's dagger and a flint. He broke the padlock on the door and entered, making sure to close it behind him, lest the sunlight set the whole mine aflame.

  He had heard that Lorith mine walls were shiny black, and this mine's walls convinced him he had chosen the right one. The torchlight bounced off the walls, trailing deep within.

  Lorith's sensitivity to light depended on its purity level. As a rule, the light from a single torch was not strong enough to activate it. Yet, worry lingered. Should it burst into fire, only two fates awaited: death by flame or suffocation.

  Realizing this, his strides were not as wide as usual and he held the torch as far as possible. Past the main corridor, the paths branched and descended further. Varne chose at random, and then jumped down into a room.

  The room was spacious, twice the height of a man. Standard mining equipment lay scattered about. Dark tunnels, leading who knows where, perforated the walls.

  Placing the torch in a torch holder, he picked up a pickaxe, and began swinging. He did not know the proper way to chip the wall, relying instead on greater and greater force.

  A blue glimmer amongst the black rocks halted his swing. He plucked it. The blue mineral, the size of his thumb and was heavier than a stone of comparable size, reminding him of aquamarine from the river. Unlike aquamarine, this stone was clear, and when tilted, a well arranged grid structure was visible inside.

  Varne could not be certain it was Lorith, but another idea came to him. Bringing it close to the torch, the stone warmed, more than it should! If this was not Lorith, he did not know what else it could be.

  After storing it in a leather pouch along with the Sky Core, he took a deep breath, raised the pickaxe overhead, ready for the next one. He swung down but his hands grasped nothing but air. Someone had taken his pickaxe from behind!

  “Who's there!” He turned. The enemy had approached unnoticed; he could not let his guard down.

  A young man, about his age, juggled the pickaxe with one hand. A long-sleeved jacket and dark clothing almost melded him into the shadows.

  “You know,” the young man said, tossing the pickaxe over his shoulder. “Mining Lorith without permission, you could end up doing forced labor in the Lorith mines.”

  If the youth could see in this dimness, he was sure to possess Prana vision. However, even with Prana, Varne could not discern the details of his face.

  “Swiping Lorith this size,” he peered into a leather pouch, “could get you five years.”

  Varne glared upon realizing the pouch was his. The Sky Core was in there. “Bastard! Give it back!” he shouted, reaching out.

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  The youth dropped the pouch into his hand. “Sure.”

  Varne checked its contents at once and then double-tied the pouch to his waist.

  “Let me put it this way. Head back and give that Lorith to the city magistrate. This mine–”

  Ruin Fist exploded the air beside the youth's head. He intended to smash his face, but the youth tilted his head aside.

  “Hey! I’ve returned your stuff! How would you be responsible if that punch had hit?”

  Varne's pride wavered since the youth had slipped past, and now he dodged Ruin Fist. If he struggled against someone like this, what would happen when he faced Margivaz? He must gauge his true strength in combat.

  “You've stolen my items. Think you can get off so easily, eh?”

  “I didn’t steal it, but I apologize if that bugged you. I'm here for a job. This mine–”

  Pivoting on his right foot, Varne spun with a kick. Once again, the youth evaded, this time leaping back. The youth's Constellation seemed focused on speed, balance, and agility.

  “Grab your Lorith and get out of here. I'll act like I didn't see–”

  Varne’s barrage of bare-handed strikes showered at the youth's face, but he kept dodging, ducking, parrying, fending, and swinging back. Varne gritted his teeth, curious how it would feel to rearrange the youth's face with his fists.

  “If you don't stop, I’ll have to–”

  He swung his Ruin Fist in wide arc, scraping the cave wall and sending a barrage of stone shards towards his opponent's face. As the youth shielded his face with an arm, he burst forward using Blast Rush and kicked his ribs.

  The kick sent the youth crashing against the wall. Varne regretted failing to fracture the ribs as his foe bent an arm in defense. However, the sensation of bones cracking brought a smile to Varne's lips.

  Giving him no chance to recover, Varne darted forward again with Blast Rush and–

  Varne's right foot slipped inward, sweeping his left leg. He tumbled down. It was just a glimpse, but a green disc had appeared under his foot, causing the slip.

  A Hybrid Decima. The name flashed in his mind as he rose.

  “A Hybrid Decima masters both Prana and Mana. They use Prana to strengthen their body and Mana for their attacks.

  “Training both is a way to overcome the limited range of Prana techniques and the sluggishness of Mana Decimae. Of course, their Prana and Mana abilities aren’t as strong as pure Decimae, but facing them can be troublesome.”

  Moreover, Hybrid Decimae tend to use weaker attacks because they focus on rapid spells and timely spellcasting. Their Mana attacks are more about hindering enemies, while they still rely on Prana for takedowns.

  Mana attacks could manifest from anywhere within the caster's range, so a Prana Decima relying on speed and mobility….

  “Damn it all!” Varne dashed forward. His head was boiling with rage, too much to consider all that.

  Before taking a step, a green orb manifested in front of his face, striking, and sending him reeling. Blood trickled from his nose. The attack was not lethal. Had he been the one who struck, the youth would have been unconscious for a day.

  In the darkness, the opponent drew something from his waist. It was long and shimmered golden. Before Varne could get a clear view of it, a golden arc, like a snake striking, shot from the youth's hand towards his neck.

  Varne dodged. The golden arc lashed the floor, cracking the stone surface before retracting back to the foe's hand.

  A golden whip. His opponent wielded a whip made of flat scales connected by some wire.

  Varne charged, knowing a mid-range duel was disadvantageous. He zigzagged to avoid the pursuing whip. The cave walls were scored by the whip's lashes.

  Activating Pale Thundercloud would allow him to break through without worrying about the whip. But he would not – and should not – exert everything just to face a mere thief like this.

  Dulling his hearing, he unleashed Ruin Fist with both hands and clashed his fists. The thunderous boom in the enclosed space forced the foe to cover his ears, halting the whip attacks for a moment. Varne slipped in and struck the opponent's solar plexus.

  The opponent blocked Ruin Fist with his left palm, which glowed with a green orb. The action diminished its destructive force, but did not prevent Varne from hurling his foe against the wall.