The pressure shifted.
High above us — the ridge cracked open with force. Mana slammed outward, colliding like thunder. Sharp. Heavy. Unrelenting.
Kali was moving again.
And this time she wasn't playing.
Her outline cut in sharp lines, fluid, focused, deadly. Her mana didn't just burn — it curled, precise, like a blade looking for a throat.
Across from her, brighter, wilder, danced Lumos.
He moved fast.
Faster than her.
Even I felt that.
Twin sparks traced his motion — his swords carving arcs in the dark. Lightning flared around him, not random, it was rhythmic. Intentional. His form wasn't brute force, it was discipline set on fire.
And even Kali paused.
"You're fast," she said. Her voice carried — calm, amused. "Faster than I expected."
She slid sideways. Her sword — a thin needle of mana. Shimmered sharp as intent. Made to pierce, not slice. A duelist's weapon. Clean. Elegant. Cruel.
"You're nearing Stage 0, aren't you?" she asked. "How strange. I didn't think a human could push that far."
Then she laughed — soft, delighted.
"Oh, this is going to be fun. I can already taste it."
A pause.
"I'll drain you dry. Your mana, your essence — all of it. I'll be so much stronger when you're gone."
Lumos didn't reply. His mana surged.
He struck. Twin blades blurring in arcs too fast to track. One high. One low.
Kali met him with grace. Twist, slide, counter — her sword flicking with bone-cutting speed.
They clashed.
Not a wild fight. Not even a brawl.
A dance. Precise. Technical. Savage.
Each strike echoed through the rocks. Lightning and shadow. Blade to blade. She pressed. He responded. She tried to corner. He slipped through the cracks.
And gods, i could feel he was smiling.
Lumos's mana pulsed with raw excitement — not arrogance. Not rage.
Joy.
A burning, hungry joy.
Like he was finally breathing right.
Finally free.
No distractions. No teammates to guard. No one to drag behind.
No Rōko.
She was gone from the fight now. Her outline stumbled down the slope — her mana signature rattled, limping. Her arm twisted at a bad angle. Her pressure was a wound more than a force.
I could feel the shame clinging to her, it was sour and hard. She'd been outmatched. Tossed aside.
She ran anyway — toward us. To the hollow.
Another presence followed her — a dimmer one, lighter, scattered.
William.
He dropped into the hollow, panting. "I saw you vanish — are you—?"
"Stay quiet," I whispered.
He fell still.
Rōko dropped beside me. Her voice was tight. "Here."
She fumbled at her belt and pressed something into my hand. A small glass vial. Warm.
"A school potion," she said. "Decent grade. Nothing fancy. But it'll stop the bleeding."
I uncorked it and pressed it gently to Salem's lips.
She drank. Barely. Her outline twitched as the potion settled.
It worked fast. Not perfectly. But enough.
Her wounds pulled in. The mana tears stitched. Her bleeding slowed — pressure stopped seeping.
But the scars would stay. I could feel them.
A reminder.
She exhaled. Still weak. Still half-conscious. But alive.
I held her tighter. Pressed my forehead to hers.
Then we all sat there.
Quiet.
Three of us breathing hard. One barely breathing at all.
Rōko sat with her arms around her knees. Her outline shuddered — every few breaths sharp.
She'd gone from the top of her class to near-death in minutes. She hadn't lost like this before. Not like that. Not even against me.
William rested with his back to the stone. His pressure was quiet. Nowhere strong enough for this. He didn't belong in this kind of fight.
And me?
I had nothing left to give.
But in the distance there were two fighters still moved like they hadn't even begun.
—
Lumos and Kali blurred again.
Her sword flashed lines of light that meant death. She struck for his ribs. His throat. His knees.
He bent beneath them. Slid under. Cut back — twin blades whipping out in a vicious spiral. Her outline leaned, twisted — the tip of one sword catching her shoulder filled with electricity.
Blood. Lighting.
She hissed — not in pain.
In delight.
"I will make sure die empty," she whispered. "And you'll make me beautiful after."
Lumos didn't flinch.
He surged forward. Not just fighting to kill.
Fighting to understand her.
To meet her speed. To break through it.
Kali laughed again, and this time it wasn't kind.
"I've eaten stronger men than you."
He grinned — lightning coating his hands.
"Then you've never met me."
They crashed again — louder this time. Sparks and shadows.
And all we could do — in that little hollow on the edge…was watch.
The world quaked again.
Not with sparks and shrieks like Lumos's fight.
This was lower.
Deeper.
Colder.
From across the slope on the other edge of the ridge — two outlines crashed again. I felt the impact in my bones.
Not light.
Weight.
The larger signature surged with brutal heat. A hammer of mana, like a sun swinging through armor. His aura licked out in jagged firebolts — heavy-footed, relentless. He fought like a battering ram made of lava and rage.
Zareth.
The fire commander.
I didn't need to see him to feel the difference. He moved with overwhelming power — fast, yes, but messy. Loud. The air bent around him like it was afraid.
His mana clawed outward. Angry. Radiant. Wild.
But the other outline — smaller, colder, sharper — didn't retreat.
Sir Myron Aethon.
I could feel his presence like a frozen river slicing through everything that touched it. Quiet mana. Sharp-edged. Steady as breath. When he moved, he didn't waste energy. There were no flares. No bursts.
Just cuts.
And somehow — he was winning.
Even from here, I could tell.
Zareth's blade roared, striking down like it meant to split the ridge in half.
But Aethon stepped once — then twice — and the edge missed him by inches. He didn't flinch. He didn't counter right away.
He waited.
Then struck once.
A thin outline of ice flickered — almost invisible — and I felt the commander recoil.
Another step. Another dodge. Another shallow cut.
Zareth thundered.
"You're just toying with me!" he roared. "You think this is enough to stop me?!"
His mana flared hotter and then he screamed "Crimson hellfire!" a shockwave of fire sweeping forward.
Aethon didn't speak.
Didn't grunt.
Didn't dodge.
He raised a single arm. And chanted so quietly even i barely heard it "Glacier veil" A wall of ice rose — thin, clear, humming with dense mana. The fire hit it — and stopped.
Not shattered. Not melted.
Stopped.
I felt the shift.
Zareth's outline stumbled, just for a breath. Off balance.
Aethon moved again — closer this time.
Another flicker of cold. Another cut.
He was slower. Weaker. Smaller.
But he didn't need to overpower.
He outpaced. His movement the most perfect i've ever heard, his footsteps were perfect, his breathing never changed.
Zareth screamed — full of anger now. His attacks turned erratic. Wider swings. Hotter bursts. More desperate.
"Coward! Stop dancing—!"
"You wield fire like a child wields a torch," Aethon finally said — quiet, even. "No restraint. No shape."
His mana surged, way sharper now. Thinner. A blade of pure cold. I felt it slip between the cracks in Zareth's aura — a clean strike through the chaos.
"You're not strong," Aethon said.
Another block. Another dodge. Another cut.
"You're just loud."
Zareth launched forward — his full pressure crashing into one burning punch aimed at Aethon's chest.
Too strong. Too fast.
But Aethon didn't move away.
He stepped into it — turned — redirected — and slammed his hand against Zareth's wrist.
"Frozen Vise"
Ice bloomed.
Fast. Sharp. Instant.
The fire attack twisted mid-air — off-course — detonating in the air like a volcano misfiring.
Zareth stumbled again — his footing broken. He roared — furious now.
"You think you've won?! I eat men like you—!"
"You've already lost," Aethon said, and this time I could hear the finality.
No anger.
Just fact.
Then he moved.
I followed his mana the entire time.
Four clean motions.
One: sidestep.
Two: disarm.
Three: backstep.
Four: blade through flame.
Chilled steel bit deep into the heart of Zareth's mana outline. It didn't tear. It froze. Mana locked. Movement killed.
Zareth dropped to his knees.
The fire didn't explode.
It hissed.
Then dimmed.
I felt the pressure lift.
Not all of it. But enough.
Silence swept the ridge edge — for just a moment.
A breath held still in the frozen dark.
And Aethon stood above him with his blade out, frost coiled around his boots, not a single pulse of his mana out of place.
He didn't gloat.
He didn't boast.
He just watched the body still, then turned.
And walked toward the next battle.
—
Down in the hollow, I held Salem tighter.
The ridge was still burning.
But something had shifted.
We weren't winning.
But maybe…
Just maybe…
We weren't losing either.
Sir Aethon took one down.
Now it was just the strongest left to go.