The Grand Arena waited, the silence of the short break making the air feel heavy. Soon, the announcer's voice boomed, signaling the start of the quarter-finals.
The final eight.
"First match! Seraphina Vayne from Highcrest versus Elara Vance from Valemarch!"
Seraphina glided onto the platform. Her opponent, a determined-looking Apprentice Bishop, held her staff tightly, her face pale but resolute.
The gong sounded.
Elara acted first, chanting a defensive spell. A wall of solid earth, reinforced with her mana, erupted in front of her.
Seraphina simply raised a hand. The air around her grew visibly colder.
"Nine Winters Heart: First Verse, Frost Needle Cascade," she whispered, her voice too quiet for the crowd to hear.
But the next instance, the very air in front of her seemed to crystallize. Dozens, then hundreds, of razor-sharp ice needles formed from nothing, shimmering like deadly jewels.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent the cascade forward.
It wasn't a loud attack. It was a terrifyingly quiet one. The needles didn't shatter against the earth wall; they pierced it, riddling it with countless tiny holes as if it were soft clay. The wall crumbled into dust.
Elara stared in horror as the remaining needles stopped just inches from her face, hovering in the air, each one promising a swift end. She dropped her staff.
"I yield."
Seraphina lowered her hand, and the frost needles sublimated into mist. The crowd was silent for a moment, then erupted.
The next match was Orion. His opponent was Jade Korin, the defensive prodigy from his own academy.
The fight was grueling. Jade was a fortress. Every one of Orion's powerful slashes was met by her unyielding shield technique, Adamantine Guard.
His Gale Rend Slash was turned aside, his Quake Step barely seemed to affect her footing. He was getting tired, his attacks growing more desperate.
"It's over, Orion. You can't break my defense," Jade said, her voice steady, though sweat beaded on her brow.
Orion gritted his teeth, his breathing ragged. He looked like he was about to be pushed off the platform. Then, he closed his eyes for a second. The memory of his last fight, of Arthur catching him, flashed in his mind.
He roared, and this time, the light that enveloped his sword was different. It wasn't just a glow.
It condensed, taking the shape of a majestic, roaring lion's head.
"Lion's Roar Strike! True Majesty!"
He lunged forward, and as his sword swung, a physical, concussive roar exploded from the blade. It wasn't just sound; it was pure force.
Jade's Adamantine Guard shuddered violently, then shattered into a million pieces. The shockwave sent her stumbling back to the very edge of the platform, her shield arm numb and trembling.
She looked at Orion, at the glowing lion's head dissipating around his sword, and her eyes were wide.
His sword was just a few inches away from her neck, ready to push forward.
"I concede," her sword dropped down as she raised her hands.
Orion smiled as he slumped down onto his sword. Raising his hand, he looked up at the sky in victory, roaring with joy.
This wasn't a small victory. People would kill for an opportunity like this.
Then came Alaric's match.
Alaric didn't waste time. He drew his greatsword.
"Tyrant's Descent: First Stance, Gravity's Embrace," he said, his voice swift but cold.
He swung his sword. The blade itself wasn't what was terrifying. It was the air around it. As the greatsword came down, Darius felt an immense, crushing weight press down on him. His feet sank into the packed earth. His attempt to block felt like trying to lift a mountain.
Alaric's sword, moving with an unnatural weight and speed, simply pushed Darius's defenses aside and slammed into his shoulder guard, sending him flying from the stage. Another effortless victory.
Finally, it was Arthur's turn.
"Arthur Greymark from Everglen… versus Gregor, the Juggernaut, from Blackstone Academy!"
The moment Gregor's name was called, the whole crowd roared. Perhaps as loud as when Seraphina and Alaric were fighting.
It was clear who the favorite was.
Arthur stepped onto the platform, his plain sword in hand. Across from him, Gregor grinned, resting his giant, crude axe on his shoulder. The size difference was stark.
The gong sounded.
Gregor roared and charged. It wasn't a skillful rush; it was a human avalanche. The platform shook with his steps. He swung his axe in a wide, horizontal arc, aiming to cleave Arthur in two.
Arthur's body blurred. Phantom Step. He appeared a dozen feet to the left, the axe whistling through the air where he had been.
"Stand still and fight, little rat!" Gregor bellowed, changing direction with surprising speed. He brought his axe down in a vertical chop.
Crack! The platform floor split under the force of the blow. Arthur was already gone, having shifted to the other side of the stage.
This became the pattern of the fight. Gregor would attack with overwhelming, platform-shattering force. Arthur would use his Mirage Dance to evade, his figure flickering, leaving after-images that Gregor's axe would smash into nothingness. The crowd was on the edge of their seats. The dance of speed against pure, raw power was a spectacle.
But Arthur couldn't find an opening. Gregor's swings were brutal, but his defensive instincts were sharp. He kept his body guarded, never over-extending, even in his rage. Arthur tried a few quick lunges, but his sword just scraped harmlessly against Gregor's tough, mana-infused skin. Gregor's reddish aura flared each time Arthur got close, a sign of his bloodline activating, making him even tougher.
After another powerful swing that forced Arthur to leap back to the very edge of the stage, Gregor paused, panting, a frustrated scowl on his face. "You can't run forever!"
Arthur stood across from him, his breathing steady, but he knew this couldn't continue. Evasion was costing him mana, and he hadn't landed a single meaningful blow. He couldn't win like this.
"This isn't working. Damn it I really wanted to save this." Arthur took a deep breath, and his grip on his sword loosened as it dropped down.
It clattered onto the packed earth of the platform, the sound sharp and clear in the momentary lull.
A collective gasp went through the stadium. The Blackstone students started to jeer. Gregor looked confused, then a triumphant, mocking grin spread across his face.
"Giving up?" Gregor laughed. "I knew you didn't have the guts!"
Gregor started to stomp forward, ready to claim his victory.
Then, he stopped.
The crowd quieted.
From Arthur's clenched, empty fist, a tiny, brilliant blue spark suddenly crackled into existence. Then another. And another. The air around his hand began to smell of ozone, and the low, sharp crackle of raw, untamed lightning filled the silent arena.