The scandalous wagers hung in the air, transforming the atmosphere of the Grand Dueling Arena from one of competitive spirit to one of immense, historical weight. The very fabric of fate seemed to be twisting around the outcomes of the next two matches. The Elders, realizing the gravity of the situation, adjusted the schedule. The semi-final between Prince Valerius and Princess Fenghua would proceed as planned, a clash of titans in its own right. Amrit's opponent, however, was changed.
Vikramaditya, as the Son of Destiny, was seen as a final boss, a true climatic encounter. To test the anomaly that was Amrit, the Elders made a substitution, pulling a name from the quarter-finalists who had been defeated. They chose the one whom Amrit had faced but not truly fought: Kai of the Tidal Blade Sect.
The runic screen updated, reflecting the new semi-final matchup.
Semi-Final 2: Amrit (Kshirapura) vs. Kai (Tidal Blade Sect)
The crowd murmured in confusion, then understanding. They were being given a true duel, a chance to see Amrit in a proper sword fight against a recognized prodigy before the final, epic confrontation.
Kai himself was stunned. He had already forfeited to Amrit once, out of a rational understanding of the gap between them. Now, he was being thrust back into the spotlight, honor-bound by the Elders' decree to fight. His face was a mask of grim resolve. To forfeit a second time would be an unforgivable dishonor to his sect. He had to fight, even if it meant a crushing defeat.
He strode onto the obsidian platform, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, a beautiful, wave-patterned blade that seemed to hum with the energy of the ocean. He was a master of the Tidal Blade style, a fluid, powerful, and relentless sword art that mimicked the ebb and flow of the sea. He was considered the finest pure swordsman among the new disciples.
Amrit walked onto the platform opposite him. The arena fell silent. This was what many had been waiting for: not a psychological victory, not a one-sided demolition of a brute, but a genuine duel of swords.
"Student Kai," Amrit said, giving a respectful nod. "I did not expect to face you."
"Nor I you," Kai replied, his voice tight. He drew his blade, the Sea-Tamer, with a whisper of steel. "I know the gap between us is vast. But my sect's honor demands I do not yield without drawing my sword. I ask only for a true duel of skill."
"You shall have it," Amrit promised.
He reached for Soul-Sunder. But then he paused. To use his soulbound, reality-cutting blade against a fine swordsman like Kai felt… inappropriate. It would be like using a cannon to hunt a sparrow.
Instead, he turned to the weapon rack at the edge of the platform, a standard feature for all duels, and selected a simple, unadorned steel longsword. It was a well-made but mundane weapon, with no special properties.
This act sent another ripple through the crowd. He was choosing to face the sword prodigy on equal footing, with a common blade. It was a gesture of immense respect, and also of supreme, unshakeable confidence.
Kai's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of gratitude in them. He gave a sharp, formal bow. "I am honored."
The official signaled for the duel to begin.
Kai did not charge. He began to move, his footwork a fluid, circular dance. The air around him grew heavy and humid, and the faint sound of crashing waves echoed in the arena. This was the opening stance of the Tidal Blade style, 'The Gathering Tide.' He was building momentum, his Prana and sword intent flowing and swelling like the ocean before a great wave. It was a beautiful and powerful display.
Amrit stood still, holding the plain longsword in a simple, relaxed grip. He did not assume a stance. He did not gather his Prana. He simply watched, his Spirit Sea a perfectly calm mirror, reflecting his opponent's every move.
Kai's momentum reached its peak. With a shout, he unleashed his first attack: "Crashing Wave Strike." He flowed forward, his blade tracing a complex, looping arc that was both a slash and a thrust, designed to overwhelm and disorient. The attack was relentless, meant to be followed by a dozen more, giving the opponent no time to breathe, just like the ceaseless waves of the ocean.
Amrit moved.
He did not use a Ghost-Flash Step. He took a single, precise step forward, flowing into Kai's attack range. His own blade came up to meet the Sea-Tamer.
But he did not block. He did not parry in the conventional sense.
He performed the simplest, most fundamental action of swordsmanship: a beat, a gentle tap of his blade against Kai's. But guided by his perfect understanding from One Sword, the tap was placed at the absolute, conceptual weak point of Kai's fluid technique.
Ting.
The sound was as clear and pure as a single bell chime.
The effect was instantaneous. Kai's Crashing Wave Strike, a technique of immense, flowing power, simply… fell apart. The fluid energy dissipated. The momentum vanished. The perfect arc of his blade faltered, leaving him overextended and momentarily off-balance. It felt to him as if the entire ocean had suddenly stilled.
Kai's eyes widened in shock. He had poured all his focus into that opening move, and it had been neutralized with a single, almost lazy-looking tap.
He recovered quickly, his pride and training kicking in. He transitioned into a different form, "Riptide Slash," a deceptive, spiraling attack from a low angle.
Amrit met it with another, equally simple and precise beat.
Ting.
Again, the technique unraveled. The spiraling energy was stilled. The attack was nullified.
The duel fell into a surreal rhythm. Kai, the sword prodigy, would unleash the beautiful, complex, and powerful techniques of the Tidal Blade Sect, one after another. The "Ceaseless Torrent." The "Whirlpool Cut." The "Tsunami Cleave." Each one was a masterpiece of fluid swordsmanship.
And Amrit would meet each one with a single, perfectly timed, and maddeningly simple ting of his blade. He was not fighting. He was deconstructing. He was a master editor, striking out the superfluous words of his opponent's prose, leaving only empty space. He took no more than a single step in any direction, his economy of motion an art form in itself.
The massive crowd in the arena watched in absolute silence. They were witnessing a lesson, a dissection of a high-level sword art by a being who seemed to understand its every flaw. They were not just seeing a swordsman; they were seeing the very idea of swordsmanship made manifest.
On the high platform, Sword Master Jian, who had returned to watch the finals, felt tears welling in his single eye. This was the truth he had glimpsed. This was the Way of the Sword he now sought.
Kai was pouring sweat, his Prana reserves draining, his breathing ragged. But it was his spirit that was taking the real damage. His every belief about his art was being systematically dismantled. The techniques he had spent a decade mastering were being proven, blow by blow, to be nothing more than flawed, inefficient movements.
Finally, after his grandest technique, the "Dragon of the Deeps," was undone by another infuriatingly simple ting, Kai's spirit broke. He stumbled back, his sword arm trembling, his face a mask of exhausted despair.
He looked at his beautiful, wave-patterned sword, then at Amrit's plain, common steel blade. He had lost. He had lost so completely, so fundamentally, that he didn't even know how to begin to understand it.
He lowered the Sea-Tamer, its tip touching the obsidian floor.
"I… concede," he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
Amrit lowered his own sword and gave a respectful nod. "You are a fine swordsman, Student Kai. Your dedication to your art is admirable."
The words were spoken with genuine sincerity, but they only deepened Kai's despair. To be praised by the very being who had so effortlessly proven his life's work to be flawed was a unique and terrible form of torture.
The official announced Amrit's victory. The crowd was silent for a moment, then erupted into a strange, subdued applause—an applause not of excitement, but of profound, unadulterated awe.
Amrit placed his borrowed sword back in the rack. He had won his semi-final. He had done it without using his true power, without using his real sword, without using any of his signature techniques. He had won using pure, conceptual skill.
He had given Kai, and the entire Academy, a lesson in humility.
Now, only one match remained. He looked across the arena to the other platform, where the battle between Prince Valerius and Princess Fenghua was just concluding in a massive explosion of fire and draconic power, with Valerius emerging as the victor.
Valerius stood, panting slightly, his silver robes singed. He looked over at Amrit, his eyes burning with a furious, obsessive light. He had won his battle. Now he would face his true enemy.
The stage was set for the final confrontation. The Anomaly versus the Dragon Prince. The wager of servitude, of destiny, hung in the balance. The final of the Entrance Tournament was about to begin.