Tom refused to engage properly with Baaron.

Every time Baaron committed to a strike, Tom create more distance between them, using his amazing tactical positioning to keep Baaron at the distance he liked.

Every time Baaron tried to close the gap, Tom’s golden flame gloves flashed and pushed him back with a burst of heat that reset the distance between them every single time.

Tom wasn’t trying to kill Baaron.

He was wasting his time. And he was enjoying every minute of it.

"You know what I love about the young generation?" Tom said speaking to Baaron as if the two of them were old friends catching up over drinks rather than enemies at the peak of power in the middle of a battlefield. "Every ten years or so, one of them comes along and reminds me why I never fully retired."

Baaron scowled.

Tom kept talking, one hand casually resting on his hip.

"That boy over there? Moon Outlaw. Do you have any idea what it took for me to find him? Do you know how many contract candidates I’ve sponsored over the past forty years? Hundreds. Every single one of them promising. Every single one of them talented. Every single one of them went on to become perfectly respectable Evolvers, and then Surpassers."

His grin widened.

"None of them, Baaron. None of them, in forty years, have ever done what he’s doing right now. On his first tournament. With one arm. Wiping the floor with two of your strongest men sent specifically to kill him." Tom made sure too flaunt Moon’s power as if it was his own.

Moon wasn’t exactly a hidden genius anymore. After today, he was going to be the number one genius of New Avalon, perhaps the entire UTA, standing on equal footing with Alaric the Monster of the Second Sanctuary, or perhaps higher.

Baaron ground his teeth in annoyance, "He’s going to die when his demonic skill ends."

"Oh, probably not." Tom waved a hand dismissively. "That boy has more contingencies than you have std’s, and i’m sure you have alot, haha. If his current skill runs out, he’ll have another one waiting. I’ve stopped trying to predict what he’s going to pull next. It’s more fun to just watch him do it."

He laughed, unbothered by the annoyed and ruthless expression on Baaron’s face.

"You should have seen him when I first met him. I looked at him and thought, ’This one. This is the one I’ve been waiting for.’ Do you know why?"

Baaron didn’t answer but Tom answered anyway.

"Because I have a very good eye, Baaron. Better than yours. Better than your master’s. Better than anyone your organization has ever put in the field. It comes from being an old fox, you see. Old foxes see things that young wolves miss."

He gestured across the arena, toward Moon’s position.

"And I saw this. All of this. The moment I met him. I saw a boy who was going to change the shape of the kingdom. Now here we are. In the middle of a battlefield, watching that same boy tear apart two Surpassers you sent to kill him."

Tom’s smile grew almost fond.

"With one arm, Baaron. Do you understand what that means? For an Evolver? At his age? Just give him a few more years and he will likely chop your legs down, haha!" Tom laughed.

Baaron’s mana flared, launching himself forward, cleaver rising for a heavy overhead strike. "Just shut up and die for me!"

Tom’s gloves flashed.

Golden flame burst outward in a controlled ring, and Baaron was pushed back three meters before his strike could reach. His cleaver hit the fire and dissipated as his feet skidded through the rubble.

Tom laughed again.

"That’s the third time you’ve tried that exact same swing. You’re really going to need to change your technique if you want to hit me. I know it’s frustrating. Old dogs, new tricks, all of that. But I have faith in you. You’ll figure it out eventually."

Baaron’s face turned dark red.

"Stop talking."

"Absolutely not."

Tom’s grin widened further, and his gloves flared brighter.

"I’m having far too much fun."

♢♢♢♢

Yoha’s remaining strength was fading with every exchange.

Moon could see Yohan’s stance slip with every successful and unsuccessful parry. Tempest Symphony’s phantom strikes were shredding his ability to read incoming cuts.

Moon took advantage of that, and set up a sequence of three real strikes followed by two phantoms. Yoha blocked the phantoms while the real cuts opened his chest, his thigh, and a long line down his left arm.

Yoha staggered from the quick combo.

Moon finding the opportunity he wanted, closed the gap.

His sword swept low, forcing Yoha to drop his guard to intercept. The moment Yoha’s blade committed to the low block, Moon’s blade lifted and struck Yoha’s temple with the flat of the sword.

The impact snapped Yoha’s head sideways as his knees buckled. His sword arm drooped for a fraction of a second.

He was dazed.

Moon found his opportunity to end the fight, but did not, and it was for a major purpose in mind. He was done playing games with the assassin.

’Curse!’

The technique reached across the space between them and settled onto Yoha’s soul like a hand closing over a throat tightly.

Moon felt the connection begin to form, the thread of control extending from his own mind toward Yoha’s, hooking into the cracks that pain and exhaustion had opened in the assassin’s defenses.

Yoha’s eyes widened suddenly, he could feel something trying to gain control over his own soul. But he pushed back with all the strength he could muster.

The connection wavered.

Yoha’s soul, hardened by decades of training and by whatever mental disciplines the dark organization had drilled into their Surpasser warriors, was thrashing against the intrusion.

The cracks Moon had counted on weren’t deep enough. The soul defenses reasserted themselves, and the thread of the Curse skill snapped free.

Yoha staggered backward. His eyes locked onto Moon’s face with something new in them.

"What was that—" His voice came out ragged, breathless by the experience. "How are you getting into my mind? What did you do? What was that?"

"I want you as my lapdog. Are you willing?" Moon smirked, "Well, whether you like it or not, it will happen."