Match 117.
A windcaller with tempest wings rode a cyclone, striking from every angle. Rhys answered with a Moonlit Slash that carved through the gale itself. One silver arc, and silence.
Match 130.
Twin sisters—illusionists—who fought as one, warping the arena with mirror doubles. The crowd gasped as dozens of Rhyses stood against dozens of phantoms. Only one held the real sword. He struck both illusions true in a heartbeat, and the spell shattered like glass.
Match 149.
A necromancer clad in bone, hissing prayers as a tide of skeletons rose. The audience held their breath as the arena filled with rattling claws and shrieking skulls. But Rhys walked through them like mist, each step measured, each swing a clean execution. At the end, only the necromancer remained—staring at the glowing edge of Rhys' blade before collapsing.
Match 173.
