Rafe had no idea why the chosen was bringing up Collab. He only knew thing, Rare hated the chosen for some reason.

"Collab also says you are a great fighter. He speaks very highly of your ability."

Rafe smiled, though there was no joy in it. "Is that so?"

"I wouldn't lie," the chosen said with another of his benevolent looking smiles. "In fact, he got me interested. How about a little training bout?"

Rafe didn't let the abject fear he felt in that moment show. Even if Rafe was somehow a better fighter than the chosen, there was no chance at so much as touching a D grade.

"It's unfortunate we do not have any suppression equipment able to handle a D grade such as yourself," Rafe said. "And they are prohibitively expensive as well," he finished with a shrug.

The chosen chuckled. "Worry not. One of the advantages of reaching this far in my journey is the absolute control of my body and soul. I can fight at an F grade level without too much difficulty."

"Is that a fact?" Rafe tried, but he knew he had no choice.

****

Filoria hated this new development, though she was not sure why.

Standing next to the princess, she studied the two fighters preparing to gauge each other's strength. Rafael still refused to hold a sword, instead now spotting a gigantic war hammer. The chosen had a simple training sword, and he hadn't even changed out of his luxurious training gear. He was underestimating Rafael, holding the sword in a leisurely manner and smiling like a kind old man looking over his grandchildren.

Rafael on the other hand looked tense, scared even. He was in a stance Filoria had never seen before, his eyes narrowed on his opponent.

She had to admit, she envied him a little. She never merited enough attention to duel with her father. She was simply not good enough. And yet here he was, newly arrived on Primus and already getting this kind of attention from the chosen himself.

"Why does he look like he thinks he can win?" she queried, not expecting any kind of answer.

"That's just how he is," someone answered her though. The princess. "Once he sees a challenge, Rafe will go right for it. No matter what it is."

Collab announced the start of the match. Rafael took a step back and gritted his teeth, like he was preparing to receive the chosen's attack. But there was no attack. Instead the still relaxed man smiled and gestured for Rafael to attack. The boy gritted his teeth. Then he moved.

Filoria's eyes widened in shock. She turned her head around in a rush.

She couldn't see him though, follow his movements, until the sound of clanging metal attracted her attention. With one hand behind his back, her father had his sword up, intercepting Rafael's hammer. He still wore a relaxed smile. Rafael was sent flying back, yet not even a heartbeat later he was already back and exchanging super fast blows with the chosen.

"This is an impossible battle," Helare commented.

It was impossible. Impossible that Rafael was truly this strong. This fast. This skilled. Sure, the chosen was not even trying, but still.

Filoria had once believed she and Rafael were close in terms of fighting ability. What a mistaken notion that was.

Of course he could do nothing against someone who was almost a god, but if he fought her with that much of his power, Filoria would lose in seconds. She knew this. All the other people probably watching knew this as well.

She looked in Collab's direction. The old warrior smiled like a child looking at a hoard of candy, his eyes never straying from the action. He nodded to himself every few seconds, as if saying I knew it all along.

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Then everything changed. The audience, formerly impressed by Rafael's tenacity, now sucked in a breath. Even if he was holding back, they were all in awe when the chosen finally unleashed his first attack. A simple slash of his sword.

After pushing Rafael back, the chosen took a famous stance. A simple stance with his feet apart and both his arms on his sword. The same stance depicted in the giant statue that stood in the capital of the Ma'la kingdom. He slashed and the crowd of watchers held their breath.

They should not be able to see it, when he slashed, because of his speed, being a D grade and all, but today they could. Because he was fighting with his stats lowered. Still, that slash should have pushed Rafael, sent him flying even. Instead the boy's hammer met the sword, and deflected the slash just a little to the left.

The force of the slash still forced him back a few steps and cleaved a rock on that side in two.

"Ho," the chosen spoke first after a few moments of stunned silence.

Then the muttering started, the crowd getting agitated.

Filoria felt her shoulders start to sag slightly. She felt her face slacken. She stared on, not knowing what to think, what to say.

And then the boy attacked again, and again the chosen went on the defensive. It didn't take long for the fight to end after that.

For some reason, her father had used a very strong attack as his first, but all his subsequent attacks did not cause such impact. They all landed though, unlike that first one. Rafael always shrugged them off. He fought until he couldn't lift his hammer anymore. The fight lasted no more than a minute, and that only because the chosen would let Rafael attack for many seconds before counterattacking him once.

Still, the impression had been made. The boy could fight, and he could fight better than anyone in the camp probably could.

A healer tended to him as Filoria, Helare and Collab went down to the sparring circle to join the two former combatants.

"That was a great fight," she heard her father say when they arrived.

"Sure it was," Rafael said in a sullen voice, like he was not used to losing.

But he had been fighting against the chosen of Primus, what had he expected?

"Princess," the chosen said once he noticed them, "I like your friend here. Why don't the three of you attend the upcoming festival in the capital?"

He had ignored Filoria's presence, as per usual she thought.

She turned to see the princess looking unsure. Helare looked down at Rafael with a frown, then at the chosen.

Filoria decided Helare was acting odd. It seemed as if she wanted to go to the festival. Earlier, she had sensed the air between her father and the princess was less than cordial, but now the princess seemed amenable to the idea.

"The three of you should come," the chosen said. "I want my daughter to see the things I have brought to Primus."

For a second, Filoria allowed herself to hope. Was he really inviting her? Did he finally want his daughter to share his glory?

But he was not looking at her at all. Instead he was staring at the princess, a small knowing smile playing on his lips. And the princess did not notice, busy as she was, staring at the sullen boy receiving treatment on the ground.

"What do you think, Rafael?" she asked.

"Hmm?" the boy responded. "I'd rather no—"

He stopped suddenly, as if the pain had gotten too much and interrupted his thinking.

Then he said, "fine. Why not? Doesn't look like I have much to do here anyway."

"Alright then!" the princess said with a voice more cheery than Filoria has heard from her before. "We will be there. Although, we will not be coming to the spire."

"Just knowing you'll be in the city is enough for me. You'll be able to see most of it from there anyway," the chosen said.

Filoria wondered what they were talking about. Helare took more of her father's attention than she did on this visit.

"As you know, I only stopped by here on my way to hunt a few dissidents. I will be on my way anon. I hope to see you when next you come to the spire, princess, though we probably will not be in the tutorial sector anymore at that time."

"Hopefully," the princess said.

"Great. Filoria, come with me for a bit," her father said.

She followed him, having no choice in the matter really. She had no special expectations, but what transpired in their solitary father-daughter chat was even more shocking than she'd expected.

After ensuring they were alone, her father looked down at her. He frowned. Then, before she could fathom what he was thinking, the palm of his hand was on her cheek and it stung, and she was spent sprawling.

Unbidden, tears formed in her eyes, blurring her vision. She tried to blink them away, tried to focus on the man standing over her, looking down impassively at his downed daughter.

"Why is she still alive?" he growled.

"I was—" she tried.

"Don't make excuses, girl. You're proving to be useless to my goals. In any case, once you return from the festival, you are going to kill her, are you not?"

Filoria had been tasked with killing the youngest princess of Primus, the one with the purest sea blue hair. But recently she found out killing wasn't something she liked to do. She regretted almost killing a boy of another race, for crying out loud. Still, what else could she do but nod?

Her father looked down at her with another scowl. Then he fiddled with his ring. A potion bottle appeared in his hands. He threw it down at her. The chosen's reputation could not be tarnished because of the likes of his daughter.

"And that boy," her father said before he left the tent. "I want him for my collection."

Filoria felt the dread settle in her stomach like a leaden weight. She did not want that. She would not do that. If her father had stayed even a second longer, she would have told him he could not have Rafael. Because…

"He is mine."

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