Acid Magic is one of the 20 common types of magic in the War Seas— a powerful one at that.
With the highest duration-to-damage ratio, and the ability to leave hazards across the battlefield, Acid Magic users are held in high regard when it comes to warriors.
The girl didn’t have to spend much time rowing before she understood what Alfarin had talked about. The water was turning a sickly shade of green, and her oars left the water looking worse for wear every push.
Thankfully Hun reached land before her boat was completely dissolved, though good news ended there. A few paces away from the dock, a bizarre-looking figure in heavy armor and a silly hat stood by a campfire, and even at a glance Hun could tell; He wasn’t a pushover like those pirates she’d been swatting away.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” A raspy voice echoed from the man as he rose to his feet, drawing a long, single-edged blade. As he turned toward her, his face was obscured by a demonic mask, leaving only glowing green eyes visible. The hermit dropped into a low combat stance, and the surrounding air instantly filled with pungent, biting fumes that stung her nose.
The warrior seemed to vanish behind a shroud of glowing green mist. Only now did the girl notice that everything around them—the ground, the rocks, the foliage—bore the same corrosive, melting scars as her boat. Not that she had time to dwell on it.
WOOSH! fizz hiss
Hun threw herself into a forward roll just as an acid-coated blade swept through the empty air where her neck had been. Green droplets fell from the steel, sizzling against the ground. Drawing her flintlock in one fluid motion, she fired straight into the warrior. He hadn’t fully recovered his footing from his lunge; the bullet slammed square into his gut, though his thick armor kept it from punching through.
She refused to give him room to breathe. A blast of shadow flew directly at the man’s face, and the slight blindness was only made worse as something cold stabbed into his gut; Hun’s dagger, covered in shadow magic.
The hermit countered blindly, slamming the hilt of his sword into her right shoulder. But the blow didn’t stop her; she whipped around with a vicious left hook that cracked against his ceramic mask, knocking it clean off. Capitalizing on his disorientation, she drove a side kick into his knee and followed up with an elbow to the chest. The swordsman only managed to snap out of his daze in time to block a devastating axe kick aimed straight down at his face.
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“Cough- COUGH!.. Damn animal…” Shura wheezed, straightening up. “I acknowledge your strength, young warrior. The name is Shura, wandering ronin. What has brought you here?”
Hun leaned heavily against a wooden post, clutching her stomach where a nasty chemical burn stung her skin—the lingering souvenir of Shura’s final desperate counter before he caught her leg and yelled for a halt. The ronin had already strapped his mask back on, though it did little to hide his swollen, bruised jaw beneath it.
“Your magic’s causing problems. The fish are dying and boats are melting.” She gestured toward the toxic green water ringing the small island, then taking a glance at Shura’s sword with a certain hunger behind her eyes.
“I… did not realize. using my Acid Magic over the ocean many times a day does not sound good for the environment, indeed.” Shura had a somewhat dumbfounded look to his eyes, as he stared down at his boots, seemingly hit by sudden shame.
Eager to pivot away from his ecological blunder, he quickly added, “Well, out of respect for your strength, I will leave this place.” He avoided meeting her gaze, clearing his throat. “I was planning to move on within the year anyway. Perhaps we will cross paths again when we are both much stronger.” He immediately turned toward his shed, ready to pack his belongings.
“Wait.” The girl grabbed his shoulder with uncharacteristic assertiveness. “That sword. I want it.”
“No.” Shura’s refusal was purely instinctual. The mere thought of a samurai parting with his blade was preposterous beyond consideration.
Pouting and squeezing her eyes shut in stubborn insistence, Hun pressed on. “I won. I deserve a prize.” Her expression turned mildly menacing—and given what she’d just put him through, Shura realized brushing her off as an annoying kid wasn’t an option anymore.
With a tired, thoroughly unamused sigh, the ronin relented. “Fine. But not this sword. I have a spare forged by the same smith; it isn’t quite as fine as mine, but it’s close.”
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Back at the docks of Redwood, Hun finally unsheathed her new acquisition, admiring the pristine, deadly edge that put her old rusty knife to shame.
“I guess meeting Alfarin wasn’t all bad…”