CHAPTER 67: THE WEIGHT OF MOUNTAINS

The sun hung low over the Proving Grounds, casting long, bloody shadows across the churned earth of the arena. The cheering had died. The chanting had stopped. The air was so thick with tension it felt like breathing water.

The scoreboard burned with a silent, judging light: Iron-Clad: 2 – Azurefall: 2.

It all came down to this.

On the Azurefall side, Kaelan sat heavily on the bench, his chest heaving, his one arm trembling from the aftershocks of his victory. Lia stood beside him, her hands glowing faintly as she knit the worst of his bruises, but her eyes never left the ring. Ilya leaned against the wall, her face pale, her silver eyes narrowed in calculation.

"He’s big," Ilya murmured, watching the Northern champion stretch. "But Dain is solid. It’s force against mass."

"It’s not just mass," Kaelan whispered, watching Torian’s armor vent steam. "Look at the sword. The hilt. It’s vibrating."

In the center of the ring, Torian Ironheart rolled his shoulders. The hydraulic pistons in his pauldrons hissed, adjusting to his movements. He held his massive broadsword with one hand, resting it on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

"Are you done saying goodbye to your friends?" Torian called out, his voice amplified by the helm hanging at his belt. He didn’t wear it. He wanted them to see his face when he won.

Dain Ragnor stepped into the circle. He adjusted the straps of his tower shield, tightening them until they bit into his forearm. He planted his feet, digging his boots into the gravel.

"I’m not going anywhere," Dain rumbled.

"Begin!" Alistair commanded, his voice tight.

Torian didn’t charge. He smiled. He reached down to the hilt of his sword and flipped a heavy brass switch.

KA-CHUNK. WHIIIIINE.

A steam engine built into the crossguard roared to life. The blade began to vibrate, blurring at the edges.

"This," Torian said, gripping the hilt with both hands, "is the ’Earth-Shaker’. It doesn’t just cut. It pulverizes."

He moved.

For a man in full plate, he was terrifyingly fast. He covered the distance in three long strides and swung the vibrating sword in a massive, horizontal arc.

Dain raised his shield. "Anchor."

CRASH.

The sound was deafening. It wasn’t the ring of steel on steel; it was the sound of a building collapsing.

The vibrating blade hit the shield and the kinetic energy transferred instantly. Dain didn’t buckle, but he slid. His boots carved deep trenches in the dirt as he was pushed back five feet in a single second. The vibration rattled his bones, shaking his teeth in his skull.

"Heavy," Dain grunted, shaking his head to clear the ringing.

"I’m just getting started!" Torian laughed.

He swung again. An overhead chop.

Dain braced, angling his shield to deflect.

BAM.

The impact drove Dain’s knees down, compressing his spine. He held the line, but the ground beneath him cracked.

Torian didn’t let up. He turned the duel into a rhythm of destruction. Swing. Crash. Swing. Crash. He was a blacksmith, and Dain was the anvil.

"Is this the Shield?" Torian taunted between strikes, his piston-driven arms adding mechanical force to every blow. "You’re just a door waiting to be kicked in! You aren’t fighting back! You’re just standing there taking it!"

Dain gritted his teeth, sweat stinging his eyes. He couldn’t attack. The force of the blows was so heavy that every ounce of his strength was required just to keep the shield up. If he dropped his guard for a second to swing his axe, Torian’s blade would cut him in half.

He was being buried. Inch by inch, blow by blow, he was losing ground.

Far away, in the wind-scoured Echo Canyon of Aethelgard, Kairen Zephyrwind was also being buried.

He was on his hands and knees on the narrow ledge, coughing violently. Bright red blood splattered onto the gray stone. His throat felt like he had swallowed a handful of razor blades.

"Again," Vanamali’s voice cut through the howling wind. The Sage stood ten feet away, unmoving, his robes whipping around him.

"I... I can’t," Kairen rasped, his voice a broken whisper. "My throat... it’s bleeding."

"It is bleeding because you are straining," Vanamali said mercilessly. "You are trying to shout over the wind. You are trying to use volume to conquer power."

The Sage walked over, looking down at Kairen with stern eyes. "When you shouted ’Quiet’, for a split second, the wind stopped. Why?"

"Because... I used the Essence," Kairen wheezed.

"No," Vanamali corrected. "Because for a split second, you believed it would stop. But then... you heard the wind howl again. And you doubted. You remembered that you are small, and the wind is big. And the moment you doubted... the command broke."

Vanamali gestured to the canyon floor, hundreds of feet below. "The Universe hears your doubt before it hears your voice, Kairen. The Throat Chakra is the seat of Truth. You cannot lie to reality. If you command the wind to stop, but deep down you believe it will keep blowing... you are just making noise."

Kairen wiped his mouth. "How do I stop doubting? It’s a hurricane!"

"By realizing that your Will is heavier than the wind," Vanamali said.

The Sage raised his hand. From the canyon floor, heavy, jagged boulders—rocks the size of watermelons—began to float upward, suspended in a field of blue light. They hovered in the air, a dozen of them, surrounding the ledge.

Kairen stood up, eyeing the rocks warily. "What are you doing?"

"The wind is abstract," Vanamali said. "Pain is concrete. I am going to throw these stones at you."

Kairen flinched. "I don’t have my sword. I can’t block them."

"You are not allowed to block," Vanamali ordered. "You are not allowed to dodge. You must stand there, and you must Command the stones to fall before they hit you."

"If I fail?"

"Then you will be hit by a rock," Vanamali said simply. "Prepare yourself."

The Sage flicked a finger.

The first stone shot forward, aimed at Kairen’s chest.

Kairen’s eyes widened. Panic flared. His instinct screamed at him to duck, to summon a shield, to move.

Stop! his mind screamed.

"FALL!" Kairen shouted.

But his voice was thin. It was a plea, not a command.

The stone didn’t listen.

THUD.

It hit him square in the ribs. Kairen grunted, stumbling back, the air knocked out of him. A bruise was already forming.

"You asked it to fall," Vanamali observed calmly. "You hoped it would fall. But you expected it to hit you."

He raised a second stone. "Again."

Kairen gasped for air, clutching his side. The pain was sharp, real.

"This is crazy," Kairen muttered.

"War is crazy," Vanamali retorted. "The Void Hand will not hesitate. The Second Stone. Now."

The rock flew.

Kairen tried to summon the golden fire of his Will, tried to push it into his voice.

"DROP!"

The stone wavered. It slowed down slightly. But it didn’t stop.

CRACK.

It hit his shoulder, spinning him around. Kairen cried out, falling to his knees. His arm went numb.

"Better," Vanamali said. "You slowed it. But you still flinched. You prepared for the impact. A King does not prepare to be hit by a peasant’s stone. A King assumes the stone will obey."

Kairen looked up, tears of pain in his eyes. "I’m not a King."

"Then you will be a corpse," Vanamali said. He raised three stones at once.

"Stand up, Zephyrwind. Or stay down and admit you are not the Azure Devil’s son."

Back in the Proving Grounds, Dain Ragnor was trying to stand up.

The fight had turned brutal. Torian wasn’t just swinging anymore. He was using the full weight of the Northern armory.

"Boring," Torian sighed. He stepped back, letting his sword’s engine idle for a moment. Dain stood panting, his shield dented, his arms trembling from the sheer volume of impacts.

"Is that all you have?" Torian asked. "You’re just a turtle. You hide in your shell. It’s pathetic."

Dain spat a glob of blood onto the ground. "I’m... still standing."

"Not for long," Torian growled.

He reached to his chest plate and twisted a valve. A massive hiss of steam erupted from his armor. The pistons on his arms and legs extended, locking into a new, rigid configuration. The mana-crystals on his sword flared from red to a blinding white.

"Overcharge," Kaelan whispered from the stands, his eyes widening. "Dain! Move! He’s going to vent the core!"

Torian raised the sword high above his head. The air around the blade distorted from the heat and vibration.

"Technique: The Siege Breaker," Torian announced.

He didn’t swing. He leaped.

Assisted by the pistons in his legs, Torian launched himself ten feet into the air. He came down like a meteor, the sword aimed directly at the center of Dain’s shield.

Dain looked up. He saw the falling iron. He knew he couldn’t dodge. The shockwave would catch him.

He had to take it.

"SHIELD WALL!" Dain roared, pouring every ounce of his remaining stamina into his arms, bracing his legs, becoming a statue of defiance.

Torian landed.

The sword hit the shield.

BOOOOOOM.

The sound was apocalyptic. A ring of dust and gravel blasted outward from the impact zone, blinding the spectators in the front row. The ground of the arena didn’t just crack; it liquefied.

Dain screamed as the weight of a mountain slammed into his arms.

His shield held. The masterwork dwarven steel didn’t shatter.

But the earth did.

The ground beneath Dain’s feet exploded downward. He dropped two feet into a crater of his own making. The force drove him to his knees. His boots were buried. His shield arm was numb, the nerves deadened by the shock.

The dust cleared.

Dain was kneeling in a pit, his shield held over his head.

Torian stood over him, his sword pressing down on the shield, the pistons in his arms hissing as they applied crushing, hydraulic pressure.

"Look at you," Torian sneered, leaning his weight onto the blade, forcing Dain down further. "On your knees. Just like a beggar."

Dain grit his teeth, trying to push back, but his body wouldn’t respond. He was pinned.

"Stay down, dog," Torian whispered, his face inches from the top of the shield. "You aren’t strong enough to stand up. You’re just a wall. And walls are meant to be knocked over."

Torian raised his sword again for a final, thrusting blow, aiming for the gap between the shield and the pauldron, aiming to break Dain’s shoulder and end the fight.

Dain looked up. His vision was blurry, swimming with gray spots.

He saw the stands. He saw Kaelan, terrified. He saw Lia, weeping. He saw Ilya, turning away because she couldn’t watch him lose.

He saw the empty seat. Kairen’s seat.

He died standing, Dain thought. He died holding the line.

A sudden, hot spark ignited in Dain’s gut. It wasn’t the golden light of Kairen’s help. It was his own. It was a rugged, stubborn, angry heat.

I am not a wall, Dain thought, his grip on the shield tightening until the leather creaked. Walls don’t hit back.

Torian brought the sword down.

"Die!"

Dain didn’t brace.

He roared.

"GET OFF ME!"