The arena was silent as the final match of the day began.
Tairen stood relaxed in the center, hands still in his pockets, his grin never fading. The arena lights cast long shadows behind him. His unkempt hair swayed gently as if even the air moved for him.
Kael Navarro stepped into the ring — silent, armed to the teeth.
A wooden staff in his hand.
A bow strapped across his back.
A sword sheathed at his side.
Twin daggers fastened at his legs.
And a whip coiled around his waist like a belt — the one weapon his fingers brushed slightly as he walked, almost like a promise.
No cheers this time.
Only tension.
Only eyes watching, holding their breath.
The buzzer rang.
And Kael moved.
He opened with the staff, its reach giving him room to test. Smooth strikes carved arcs through the air, not to wound — but to measure.
Tairen dodged without effort, weaving, tilting, always just out of range. He didn't even raise a hand — just smiled, eyes tracking Kael's form.
"You're clean," Tairen murmured. "Sharp."
Kael didn't respond.
His final strike swept low — a crackling spin meant to trip — but Tairen leapt effortlessly and landed behind Kael in a blink.
Kael whirled, but the flickering blur had vanished.
Kael shifted back, discarding the staff mid-move, and drew his bow in one practiced glide.
Three arrows fired. Then two more. His aim was mechanical — efficient.
Tairen darted through the hail, and for a moment, it seemed Kael had him cornered.
But then— another Tairen shimmered beside him.
And another.
And another.
Each figure bled emotion — panic, rage, grief.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Not speed…"
He dropped the bow and drew his sword with a metallic hiss, spinning in place as three versions of Tairen attacked at once.
Kael clashed with one — but the blade passed through.
Another strike came from the side — blocked just in time, only to reveal it was another illusion.
That's when it hit him:
These weren't afterimages.
They were emotional echoes — crafted illusions tied to something deeper.
Kael dashed back, twin daggers flashing into his grip. He slashed through the illusions — again and again.
But now the shadows fought dirty.
One flicker shifted into his mother, bloodied, reaching for him.
A shadow in the form of Levi, slumped and bleeding, appeared at the edge of the arena.
Flickers of Charlotte crying. Cyrhelle running. A bloodied David reaching out.
Even himself — frozen, small, during the Tondo Rift.
Kael's grip trembled.
You're seeing it now, aren't you?" Tairen whispered, twisting a hand. "The worst parts of yourself."
A whisper echoed: "This is how they all break."
Tairen's voice — soft, cruel, everywhere.
Kael's stance buckled for a second — illusions closing in.
Then—
Snap.
The daggers dropped. The whip came free in a single flick, curling around Kael's arm like a living thing.
He swung it once — crack — and it shredded through three illusions.
Another whip-snarl sent a ripple across the arena floor, disrupting the flickers' rhythm.
Still — Tairen's real body hadn't struck yet.
Then Kael heard it... footsteps at the edge of his awareness.
He turned—
Too late.
Tairen was real this time — fast, merciless, slamming toward him.
and then–
His eyes widened — not in fear, but in pure clarity.
He saw it: the real Tairen weaving through his illusions, the precise second he'd strike, the exact place he'd aim — and the fear illusion that would hit just before.
Kael moved.
Blocked the illusion swipe with his offhand.
Bent sideways.
Snapped the whip forward — caught Tairen's wrist.
Yanked.
Spun his body.
And drove the hilt of his sword — now drawn again — into Tairen's ribs.
The illusions scattered like smoke.
Tairen staggered.
Kael's voice was calm.
"Speed won't save you from someone who already saw the end."
The buzzer blared.
Tairen dropped to one knee, winded.
Kael stood tall, whip still in hand, breathing steady — but his eyes flicked once to the crowd.
He didn't smile.
Because deep down, he knew:
He only won by using more than Weapon Mastery.
And even that barely worked.