Paragon of Destruction Chapter 388 An Imperial Knigh

Although the Knight's attack came with no more warning than a flicker in her eyes, that fraction of an instant was enough for Arran. He had already been wary of the woman's intentions, and now, his response was immediate.
At once, he drew his own weapon, moving to parry the Knight's sudden attack with every shred of strength his body contained. He did not dare underestimate his opponent. If she was even half as strong as he suspected her to be, he was in mortal danger.
Yet when Arran's blade met the Knight's as he parried her attack, the violent impact he expected did not come. Instead, when their swords clashed, he barely felt any resistance at all. It was as if his sword had struck a twig of willow.
At that moment, Arran's eyes went wide with shock.
Although he felt no resistance, his sword suddenly moved backward, pushed aside as if some irresistible force controlled it. And as Arran's defense failed instantly, the Knight's strike came soaring at his neck.
He jumped backward at once, narrowly avoiding the cut that would've sliced his throat if he'd moved an instant later. And even so, his opponent's blade left a shallow wound on his neck.
There was no time to consider the bizarre attack. As he retreated, the Knight came at him again, somehow crossing a dozen paces in a single unhurried step. And the moment she reached him, she calmly thrust her sword forward.
The attack was almost laughably slow, but as Arran moved to defend, he found that his own movements were even slower. The thrust was one he should have deflected with ease, but instead, there was nothing he could do but watch helplessly as the Knight's sword pierced his shoulder.
It was like being stuck in a dream, where the normal laws of the world had ceased to function. Yet the pain from his wounds told Arran that this battle was all too real.
And so far, he was losing miserably.
Once more he retreated, eyes fixed on his opponent as he took several steps backward with his sword raised before him.
By now, any doubts he'd had about the Knight's strength were long gone. Two brief exchanges had been enough for Arran to understand that her insights were far beyond what he had imagined.
He still remembered the battle between Lord Rannoc and Lord Kadun, and he was all but certain that this supposed Knight' power rivaled theirs. With Arran not even able to match normal Knights, that meant his chances of winning against this monstrous opponent were all but non-existent.
Yet he had no choice but to fight. He knew he could not outrun the woman, and she had not even asked for his surrender.
He still had a single advantage, however — she did not yet know all his secrets. And as small as that advantage might be against an Imperial Knight, even a sliver of hope was better than the certainty of death.
No more than a breath had passed when the Knight's attacked again. Though Arran had retreated several dozen paces, she crossed the distance in an instant, her sword flashing out in a strike that shimmered with power.
Again, Arran parried with all his might, moving his blade to block his opponent's weapon as it came soaring at him. But this time, his strength wasn't the only thing he relied on. Instead, as the two weapons clashed, he imbued his defense with the full power of his true insight into binding.
The effect exceeded his expectations. The moment the two blades connected, it was as if they were suddenly frozen in space and locked together, bringing the Knight's attack to a sudden and complete halt.
Surprise flashed across the woman's face, and in her brief moment of confusion, Arran did not hesitate to seize the advantage. In a single movement, he withdrew his weapon and struck with all the power his body could muster, drawing on his true insight into severing to obliterate his opponent in a single strike.
It was an attack that could not be blocked. With Arran's full strength and his insight into severing behind the blow, the Living Shadow sword cleaved down with such power that nothing could stand in its way. Even if the Knight tried to parry the strike, her weapon would be torn asunder as easily as her body.
Yet Arran's blade met only air.
Strong as the attack was, it was no use. His target had vanished into thin air before he could hit her. And as the overwhelming power of Arran's strike tore a deep scar in the ground ahead, a voice sounded behind him.
"Interesting."
As the word sounded, a chill went down Arran's spine when he felt the cold steel of the Knight's sword against his neck. He did not know how it was possible, but somehow, she'd vanished and appeared at his back.
He'd been defeated.
But the death blow he expected did not come. The sharp blade against his neck disappeared an instant later, and the Knight said, "Sheathe your sword. I've seen enough."
Arran did as she said. While he had intended to use his magic as a last resort, he doubted it would do much good. And it seemed that, at least for the time being, the Knight did not want him dead.
When he turned around and faced her, he found her looking at him with a calm expression. And not just that — her eyes carried something that appeared to be approval.
But although the Knight was calm, the same could not be said for Arran. His blood was still heated from battle, and although he now understood the Knight never intended to kill him, that did little to soothe his anger.
"You were testing me."
"So I was," she replied. "And you did not disappoint. Your strength is even better than I expected, and those two insights of yours are phenomenal. And I see your wounds are already closing up. If your foundation wasn't lacking, you would be close to matching a common Knight."
She gave Arran a pleased smile, almost appearing like a teacher who praised a student for an unexpectedly good performance. From the look on her face, one would never have guessed that she'd stabbed him in the shoulder only moments earlier.
"What do you want?" Arran asked in a cold voice.
Though he felt some small relief at still being alive, it could not compare to the fury he still felt at the attack. Even if the Knight had never planned to kill him, he hadn't known that when they fought. As far as he knew, he had been on the verge of death.
"I would think the answer obvious," the woman said. "What I want is to give you an invitation."
Arran suppressed a scowl as he faced her. "And if I refuse?"
After the Knight's attack, he had little interest in accepting anything she had to offer. But angry as he might be, if the alternative was death, he wasn't so foolish that he would reject her invitation.
Unexpectedly, the Knight shrugged. "Then you are free to do as you wish," she said. "You can choose to become a lackey in some Lord's service, or you can choose a more pious path and join the church. The choice is yours."
She briefly paused, then added in a more serious tone, "Though you should know that the church does not look kindly upon heretical bloodlines. If they discover that bloodline of yours, your bright future will meet a swift end at the hands of their Paladins."
Arran knitted his brows in confusion. "Heretical bloodlines?"
"As the church would tell you," she explained, "the Darian bloodlines are sacred gifts from the gods, granted to resist the abominations that seek to destroy us. But a bloodline like yours?" She whistled between her teeth, then shook her head. "To the church, that's no less abominable than the Blight."
"But you disagree?" Arran asked, looking at the Knight with curious eyes. He still knew little of the divisions within the Imperium, but even so, this latest twist was a particularly unexpected one.
"Look around you," she said, gesturing at the hundreds of Blightspawn corpses that littered the ground. "A century ago, no Blightspawn had ever gone beyond the Desolation. But now, with every passing year more land is lost. Even if Sacrifice and the other great bastions do not fall, it is only a matter of time before they are cut off from the Imperium, islands in a sea of Blight."
Arran remained silent, though he looked at the Knight in wonder. As far as the Shadowflame Society knew, the Darians — or Hunters, as they called them — were zealots without exception, dedicated to purging all mages from the world.
Yet the more he saw of the Imperium, the better he understood that the truth was far more complicated.
The Knight paused for several seconds. Then, finally, she clenched her jaw and shook her head, frustration clear in her eyes. "We need power wherever we can find it. The Imperator knows this, even if the church is too blind to recognize the truth."
"Then my bloodline isn't an obstacle if I wish to become an Imperial Knight?" Arran asked, his eyes narrowed.
"Not unless you're foolish enough announce it to the world," the Knight replied. "Unusual talents aren't as rare as you might think, among our numbers. Truth be told, I think the Imperator would recruit even mages if it didn't mean war with the church."
It was only with great difficulty that Arran managed to stop himself from exclaiming in shock. If what she said was true, the implications were massive — perhaps the war between the Imperium and the Shadowflame Society could be avoided, after all.
"So you're offering to take me as your apprentice?" Arran asked, his interest in the woman's offer now far greater than it was before. If the Imperator and his Imperial Knights were potential allies, then joining them might be an opportunity he could not afford to lose.
Yet now that the woman had raised his interest, she casually shook her head. "Apprentices are recruited before becoming Rangers. While you haven't received the title yet, you've already moved far beyond that stage."
"Then what is it you're offering me?"
A small smile crossed her lips. "Though most Imperial Knights are recruited as youths, it isn't unheard of for those who achieve glory in the Desolation to be invited to our ranks. Should you prove yourself worthy, I will speak for you."
At this, Arran's expression turned sour. "You're inviting me to win my own place?"
The Knight gave him a wry smile. "Had you accepted my first invitation, your path would have been easier. Now, you will have to rely on your own strength. But don't despair — even my apprentices need to earn the gods' bloodlines in the Desolation."
Arran let out a deep sigh. Despite the Knight's words, he had little doubt that her apprentices had a far simpler road ahead of them.
But then, it made little difference. He would travel into the Desolation anyway. And, if nothing else, at least he would have more time before having to make a decision.
As promising as the woman's description of the Imperial Knights sounded, he would not blindly trust her words. Nor, for that matter, would he tie himself to a faction before learning more about the true situation in the Imperium.
As Arran pondered this, the Knight cast a final look at the Reaver's corpse. "I've seen enough," she said. "We should return to the village. I have matters to discuss with that captain of yours, and I suspect my apprentice will wish to speak with you."
As they set off toward the village, Arran gave the Knight a curious glance. "You have something to discuss with Kaleesh?"
She responded with an amused smile. "You didn't think yours was the only talent that caught my eye, did you?"