"Not this time," was Ronan's cry as he leapt forward to protect Keith from Lord Rockmore's rapier.

He had poured all of his strength into his legs, hoping to reach in time. Unfortunately, Rockmore's prowess lay in his magic, rather than his blade.

When Ronan was just halfway across the empty floor, a crackling blade of mana shot out from the rapier's tip and pierced through Keith's forearms, then his heart. His head fell to the ground a moment before his arms.

"You'll pay for that, bastard!" Ronan roared, shifting his charge from a defensive one to a furious tackle.

He saw Rockmore's eyes widen in surprise, but the man shifted his body like a writhing shadow. Ronan's tackle clipped his shoulder.

Ronan smashed into a pillar behind Rockmore. Cracks webbed out from the impact and a great cloud of dust puffed out.

Lord Rockmore stumbled, but caught himself and came to a halt about six metres away. "You're quite fast for such a big brute," he remarked, appraising Ronan anew.

"I'm just getting started," Ronan retorted, brushing the dust from his jacket and raising his fists.

Unlike last time, where he had a weapon of his own to clash against Rockmore's rapier, this time Ronan had nothing but his fists. And his fury, he supposed. Anger could be a weapon, if wielded correctly.

This time around, he was a higher level and he wielded a different skill set. Time to see how Rockmore handled a martial artist.

Ronan took a deep breath, knowing that from now until the end of the battle, there would be no time for hesitation or second guessing. Only action.

He raced forwards to strike; claim the initiative. Rockmore was surprised by his speed once more. Yet the fake aristocrat was a slippery bastard.

It was like trying to grab hold of a cat. His limbs twisted and his body contorted strangely. Ronan punched and Rockmore twirled, before thrusting back with his rapier.

Small cuts and holes accumulated over his body. However, it wasn't entirely in vain. Last iteration he'd been cut down without dealing a single blow in return.

This time was different. Rockmore was becoming more lethargic. His rapier thrust out, but Ronan saw the trembling in his wrists.

As his class demanded, he was adapting to his enemy's style. The thrust was telegraphed, almost obvious to his senses. Ronan shifted his right foot a few millimetres.

He ducked low, the blade sailing over his left shoulder. Like a boxer weaving past a jab, he was stuck to the rapier's blade, yet never touching it. A parallel charge that brought him face-to-face with the fake lord.

Rockmore's eyes went wider than they'd ever been, like two saucers in the middle of his sneering face. He began to leap backward, but it was too late.

Like lightning, a fist of steel flashed forwards. Ronan's knuckles buried themselves in the bastard's face. He heard a crunch, but frowned.

The impact felt wrong. Hollow.

Magic strike's wave of destruction followed. Rather than a decisive end to the clash, it simply lifted the veil.

Rockmore's body exploded into a cloud of shadows. They shot in every direction, before pooling on the ground and reforming into the man's body.

Ronan was vindicated by the rapidly swelling purple welt on Rockmore's cheek and the man's heavy breathing. However, he'd still failed. This was the trickiest opponent he'd ever faced and it would take more than just brute force to win.

"You know what the worst thing about common scum like you is?" Rockmore said, spitting a globule of blood onto the ground and straightening his jacket.

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"I imagine you're about to tell me in excruciating detail, but I'd rather remain ignorant," Ronan quipped in response, trying to figure out how he could break the man's strange shadowy body.

Rockmore began walking sideways, circling Ronan. Not wanting to expose a vulnerability, he did the same. The two men walked in opposing directions on an invisible circular track.

The fake lord had his rapier held loosely, pointed in Ronan's general direction. Ronan had his fists in a semi-standard boxing stance. He didn't know much about combat, if he was being honest. Only what he'd learned through slaughtering countless goblins.

"Ignorance… A truly ironic response. I feel that my genius would be wasted on you, but it seems a shame not to try and educate such a talented fighter. You could join me and we could conquer this new world. I need talented subordinates," Rockmore said, a devious glint in his eyes.

"Here's what I think of your offer," Ronan said, darting across the circle. His fists flew as he activated all his skills in unison.

Rockmore didn't seem surprised this time. He actually stepped forward to meet Ronan head on. It was uncharacteristic, but Ronan had no time to question it. His stamina and mana dropped.

Double strike.

Magic strike.

His first punch was a masterful feint at Rockmore's jaw. He'd hoped to capitalise on the existing wound. The slippery bastard was ready for it, pivoting slightly and counter-thrusting with the magic rapier.

Yet Ronan had too much momentum. He barrelled past the rapier's deadly tip and planted a heavy uppercut into the man's gut. Rockmore doubled over, spitting more blood onto the dusty concrete ground.

A feeling of elated satisfaction welled in Ronan. The wave of force from magic strike wreaked havoc on the man's insides. Then the ghostly fist of double strike sent him tumbling onto the ground.

Is that all it took? One iteration to learn his weaknesses and return with more levels and skills… Ronan thought to himself as he stepped forward to loom over Keith's killer. This heritage is a true asset.

"Say hi to Keith when you get to hell, Rockmore," he said coldly as he raised a foot and stomped down towards his enemy's head.

"You can do it yourself, fool," the sadistic taunt came from behind as an ice cold lance pierced Ronan's back. Then he felt a raging storm of mana ripping him apart from within.

Fuck, should've expected that, he inwardly cursed as the body beneath his feet dissolved into shadows. He looked down and saw the tip of Rockmore's rapier poking out from the left side of his chest.

He would have glanced at his health, but he knew it was pointless. This was how he'd died the previous time and the fact he had no feeling in half his torso was a dead giveaway the battle was done. Literally.

Ronan's vision was briefly clouded in dark shadows, until they disappeared and Lord Rockmore stood in front of him. An arrogant sneer was plastered on his ugly visage.

Despite all this, Ronan smiled. His teeth were stained with his own blood and it was surely a horrifying sight, but he didn't care. It's only death, what do I have to fear?

"Hideous. Begone," declared Rockmore. A silver flash beneath his chin was the last thing Ronan saw.

When Ronan came to, he found himself in the same empty void. He sighed, letting the physical trauma of his most recent death wash away into the endless white space.

He had expected the analysis of his most recent iteration to be the first thing greeting him, but instead, there was a notification he'd never seen before. As he read, his eyes lit up in surprised joy.

Unprecedented modifications detected…

Analysing…

Unable to determine harm-benefit of modifications. Deferring to inheritor

Physical body has mutated, resulting in the following:

Magical damage reduction +4%

Mind has mutated, resulting in the following:

Mental resistance +3%

Keep mutations?

For a moment Ronan wondered why his heritage was even attempting to deny free boosts. Then he remembered that it had the property of maintaining his personality and mind through iterations. Keeping such mutations might lead to unforeseen consequences.

What caused them? he briefly wondered. Then it hit him.

Learn through suffering.

The second class skill of adaptive martial artist. The description was minimal, but it boiled down to 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'.

In this instance, whatever 'it' was had killed Ronan. However, it seemed that before his death, the skill had worked to improve his deficiencies.

The magic damage resistance made sense—Lord Rockmore used a magical rapier. That storm of violent mana had torn him apart from the inside.

What was incredible to him was that somehow he had the option to keep the changes. Even after he had died and no longer had the class or the skill that it gave him. Ronan knew he would be taking adaptive martial artist again. The skill was too good to pass up, at least until he was able to take out Rockmore without breaking a sweat.

He accepted. Nothing really happened, except the message disappearing. I guess it makes sense. The changes already happened, I just told it I want them to stay, he thought.

As the message faded, another, much larger message appeared in his vision. This was the one he'd been expecting—the analysis of his most recent life and what he'd gained from it.

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