The world seemed painted in fire.
Kael's spear blazed in a vicious arc, Phoenix Wing Sweep tearing through the air with a scream of heat. The ground hissed where the strike passed, stone tiles glowing faintly red. Spectators leaned forward, eyes wide — this was a Peak Stage technique, executed with the precision of a veteran.
Edran didn't retreat.
A faint shift in his stance, almost imperceptible, disrupted Kael's sense of distance. The heat licked at his cheek, but his eyes were cold, unflinching. In that frozen heartbeat, his qi surged — heavy, steady, earthen — and the tiles beneath his feet trembled.
Shifting Pebble Step.
His body tilted just outside the spear's killing edge, the stone beneath Kael's forward foot subtly rising in a jagged slant. Kael's balance faltered for half a breath — no more, but enough.
Edran's left hand shot out, palm locking onto the spear shaft. The crowd gasped. Grabbing a weapon mid-technique was madness. Kael snarled, twisting to wrench it free, but that's when it hit him — the crushing weight.
Stoneflow Guard wasn't just a wall. It could flow, harden, and cling. Edran had wrapped his qi around the spear like molten rock cooling in an instant.
"Too slow," Edran murmured.
His right hand drove forward, fingers curling into a fist. Qi condensed around his knuckles, faintly humming — not blazing like Kael's, not dazzling, but dense, like the slow pressure of a mountain shifting.
Silent Pulse Strike.
It wasn't flashy. It didn't send a shockwave or scorch the air. It simply landed — right in Kael's ribs, just beneath his arm where his guard had opened.
Thud.
For a heartbeat, Kael thought nothing had happened. Then the pain flared, white-hot. His breath caught; his grip weakened. The crowd saw him stumble — the first stumble of the fight — and then a thin, unmistakable line of blood slid from the corner of his mouth.
The arena erupted.
"Did he just—?"
"He's only Mid Stage! How—"
"That strike—did you feel the ripple?"
Kael staggered back, spear clutched in both hands now, eyes narrowing into slits. The fire around his weapon dimmed for the briefest moment as he caught his breath. The bruise forming beneath his ribs already ached with every inhale.
"You think a lucky hit will save you?" His voice was low, but it carried over the crowd.
Edran didn't reply. His gaze was unreadable, a calm, cold mask. That silence was worse than taunting; it suggested calculation, as though he'd already weighed Kael's next ten moves.
Kael's grip tightened. Flames roared back to life along the spear's shaft. "Fine. You want to bleed me? Let's see if you can keep standing."
He lunged.
The spear came in a blur — Vermillion Fang Strike, faster than before, its point aimed straight for Edran's throat. Edran's shield of earthen qi flared up in time, but the impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through it.
Edran slid back a step, boots grinding against stone. His guard held, but barely. Kael was pressing harder now, each thrust a rapid-fire barrage of steel and flame. The Scorching Step footwork lit the ground in streaks of molten red, forcing Edran into constant motion.
Still, his eyes never left Kael's.
Strike. Parry. Sweep. Counter. Every move from Kael was sharper than the last, but Edran absorbed them, his own qi circulating with a measured rhythm. Where Kael's energy surged like wildfire, Edran's flowed like a deep underground river — slow, unyielding, patient.
And patient rivers could carve through mountains.
Kael swept low, aiming to take Edran's legs. Edran shifted again, the terrain beneath Kael subtly buckling — a near-invisible trickle of earthen qi reshaping the battlefield. Kael's step hit uneven ground, his knee dipping a fraction.
That was all Edran needed.
He stepped in, his fist flashing forward once more, Silent Pulse Strike blooming at the moment of contact. Kael twisted his torso to avoid a repeat blow to the ribs, but Edran's knuckles clipped his side, just above the hip. The qi burst seeped inward, numbing the leg.
Kael hissed, stumbling back, his movements just a fraction slower now.
The crowd roared again, sensing the tide shifting.
From the VIP platform above, instructors and elders leaned forward, their expressions a mixture of intrigue and wariness. "He's not just defending… he's dismantling Kael's rhythm," one muttered.
Kael spat a thin spray of blood on the arena floor, his grin returning despite the pain. "Not bad, Mid Stage. But don't think you're the only one who can adapt."
Flames surged higher than before, licking at the air with a crimson hunger. The temperature in the arena spiked, forcing some spectators to shield their faces from the heat.
Edran's expression didn't change. His stance tightened, qi settling like stone before a storm.
This fight was far from over.