The hall fell into an expectant hush as the formal ceremony of pointers gave way to the long-awaited dueling matches. The stage was set: on one side, Feng Tao—his silhouette shifting like a gust of wind—and on the other, Yinmo, whose determined gaze and humble aura belied the fierce storm raging within him.
At the sound of a sharp command from the clan leader, the duel erupted into chaos. Feng Tao wasted no time. In an instant, he unleashed a barrage of wind that blurred his form. His body moved fluidly—each gesture precise and incalculably fast. A cyclone of cutting gusts swirled about him as he darted forward, his voice barely audible over the rushing air.
In response, Yinmo's pulse quickened. Though his wood magic was known for its measured, nurturing growth—a stark contrast to the ferocity of Feng Tao's wind—it was all he had. With a steadying breath, Yinmo began his incantation, his baritone voice echoing in defiance:
"Lignum Excitare,
Vita Redintegro…"
Before he could complete his spell, Feng Tao's onslaught surged like a lightning bolt. A seething gust slammed into Yinmo's unfolding barrier. For a split second, the vivid green glow around his outstretched palms faltered. The crowd gasped as the rapid wind disintegrated the initial manifestation of his magic.
But Yinmo did not yield. With a roar of defiance, he drew upon every ounce of strength and focus. As the wind threatened to overwhelm him, he recalibrated his incantation. He extended his arms, channeling the inherent resilience of wood. Around his feet, the earth stirred—a thick vine shot upward, its rapid elongation a desperate bid to keep him from being swept off balance. The vine whipped outwards, entangling swirling eddies of air and temporarily halting a furious gust.
Feng Tao's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and cruel amusement. "You cannot hope to match the speed of the wind with such... slow magic," he taunted, accelerating his assault. His fists became tangible blades of compressed air, each strike delivered in streaks of blinding speed. The clang of wind crashing against the suddenly hardened vine echoed around the stage.
Yinmo's defense wavered as one particularly fierce gust shattered his vine shield. The splintered fragments of his magic shimmered like embers in the air. For a heartbeat, Yinmo staggered backwards, his focus splintered by the overwhelming force of Feng Tao's assault. Yet, even as pain and defeat pressed at the edges of his mind, a fire flared within him.
He roared—an anguished sound piercing the tumult—with a renewed burst of his incantation. "Evigilo!" he bellowed, finally completing the sequence. This time, his voice was not only a command for his wood spirit but a defiant challenge to fate itself.
At once, the arena responded. The very stage on which Yinmo stood seemed to live: thick, vibrant vines erupted from the cracks of the stone floor, and branches twisted upward in an aggressive attempt to counter the relentless wind. The newly grown wood formations, though still slower than the ephemeral gusts, struck back with a measured might. Their heavy, sinewy masses collided with Feng Tao's rapid currents in a series of explosive impacts that sent shockwaves through the arena.
Feng Tao adjusted fluidly, his wind surging, twisting, slicing through the expanding wood magic. The duel became a breathtaking ballet of contrasts—Feng Tao's ephemeral bursts of tempestuous wind dancing against the resolute, grinding power of Yinmo's growing natural barrier. Each collision sent tremors through the ground, and time itself seemed to slow for the onlookers as the elemental forces clashed.
Amid the raging spectacle, Yinmo found moments of clarity. Though his wood magic was inherently patient and deliberate, he managed to adapt. As Feng Tao lunged with a swiftness that blurred his form, Yinmo anticipated the angle of attack. With a careful thrust of his hand, he redirected a stout, twisting vine to intercept the incoming strike. The impact reverberated through him—a fusion of pain, shock, and unexpected triumph as the vine buckled under pressure but held its ground just long enough to grant him a precious second to recover.
Feng Tao sneered, his eyes glinting with both respect and scorn as he prepared another devastating storm. "Is that all you have?" he hissed, and with a focused burst, he generated a concentrated whirlwind aimed straight at Yinmo. The force was nearly insurmountable—nearly enough to pull Yinmo off his feet entirely.
Summoning every shred of willpower, Yinmo pressed on. His voice grew steadier as he recited the final words of his incantation, his palms glowing ever brighter. Thick tendrils of vibrant green energy exploded from his core and surged forth, intertwining with the emerging wood structures around him. For a fleeting moment, the clash reached its zenith: wind and wood—the fury of a storm against the determined embrace of nature. The collision of these forces created a shockwave that sent stunned ripples through the gathered crowd.
When the forces finally subsided, the arena lay charged with a trembling silence. Feng Tao hovered—his form dissipating back into a gentle flutter of air—as Yinmo stood, breath ragged, his body trembling with effort. The echoes of the elemental clash still hummed in the space between them. Although Yinmo's defenses had been compromised repeatedly, the duel had not ended in total defeat. In every wounded vine, every strained branch, there lay the promise of growth—a sign that his magic, though gentle and deliberate, was capable of withstanding the most violent tempests, even if only for a moment.
The clan elders, along with the wide-eyed audience, murmured in subdued awe. Yinmo's struggle had revealed not only the limitations of his wood magic but also the resolute spirit that refused to be extinguished. Every bruise and splintered vine spoke of both defeat and transformation—a promise that this was merely the beginning of his arduous journey toward mastery.