The training ground of the Royal Knights Hall trembled as crimson lightning, violent and full of destructive intent, struck down with relentless fury. It wasn't just the earth that shook—it was the air itself that quivered under the overwhelming pressure. The red bolts converged at a single point, Ragnar's position, weaving a net of incandescent energy around him. Sparks cascaded like a storm of meteors, setting the training field ablaze with streaks of crimson light.
Ragnar's entire body was engulfed in the storm, but his eyes gleamed with a ferocity that surpassed the chaos surrounding him. The Voltra energy coursed through his veins, roaring like an awakened beast long confined. He gritted his teeth, feeling the surge rising higher, pushing against his limits, pushing against the restraint he had once willingly accepted. He thrust his arm forward, voice echoing like a war cry.
"I summon you—crimson sword of thunder authority!"
The practice sword in his grasp shuddered violently. Thin cracks, glowing with red light, spread along its length like veins. Then, with a deafening snap, the blade shattered into a thousand fragments. The pieces didn't fall; instead, they hovered, suspended in the air, dancing in the lightning storm like embers caught in the wind. Ragnar stood tall at the center, his aura erupting outward in pulsing waves.
The fragments began to converge. Each piece was enveloped by streams of crimson lightning, twisting and merging as if drawn by an invisible force. Slowly, they formed the shape of a new blade—sleek, long, and radiant. The finished sword gleamed with a menacing crimson hue. Along its body, red lightning ran like flowing blood, flickering in violent rhythm. The air around it cracked with unstable energy. This was Excalibolt—the Sword of Crimson Thunder Authority. A new weapon, a new identity. It wasn't simply forged; it was born from Ragnar's defiance of restraint, a crystallization of the ancient memory he had shared with the other elemental fragments, and the path he had chosen now.
All around him, knights who had been spectating felt their hearts skip a beat. Some instinctively stepped back. The aura emanating from Ragnar wasn't that of a trainee anymore—it was of something wild, untamed, and commanding. The red lightning slithered like serpents across the training ground, crackling around the armor of veteran knights, making even them tense involuntarily.
Ragnar took a step forward, the ground cracking beneath his heel. He tightened his grip on Excalibolt and shifted his stance, lowering his center of gravity. He brought the sword horizontally in front of his face, its sharp edge glinting like the fang of a beast, his gaze locked unflinchingly on Sir Lancelot. His breath became steady, controlled, but the power gathered at his sword hand was anything but calm. Crimson lightning spiraled into his arm, forming a swirling vortex that pulsed in sync with his heartbeat.
Sir Lancelot, standing on the opposite side of the training ground, did not flinch. The decorated knight, dressed in shining armor, radiated golden energy. His stance was elegant, refined, but beneath that grace was a raw battle-hardened sharpness. His eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of excitement surfacing—this was no longer a simple training match. This was a clash between two forces: tradition and rebellion, control and awakening.
The observers held their breath. No one dared speak. The sky above, which had been gloomy moments ago, seemed to sense the impending collision. The clouds thickened, swirling like a massive vortex, yet even their oppressive weight was overshadowed by the electric tension on the ground.
Ragnar moved first—or perhaps, they moved simultaneously.
"Thunder Thrust!"
"Cross Liner!"
Ragnar exploded forward, his entire body a crimson blur, Excalibolt pointed like a spear. The thrust was so fast that the air itself screamed in protest, splitting apart with a sharp, slicing sound. A streak of red lightning followed behind him, drawing a jagged path of destruction along the ground.
At the same time, Sir Lancelot's golden aura surged. He swung his sword in a clean diagonal cross, releasing two arcs of radiant energy that intertwined midair, forming a luminous X. The technique, Cross Liner, was famed for its ability to slice through even the thickest magical barriers.
The two forces met at the center of the field.
The collision wasn't just light meeting light—it was power against power, will against will. The crimson thrust pierced through the golden cross, while the golden arcs tried to carve through the lightning bolt. For a heartbeat, everything froze. Then, an explosion erupted.
The impact unleashed a shockwave so intense that it flattened the grass across the entire field and sent debris flying like shrapnel. Knight candidates were hurled backward, some rolling across the ground, others shielding their faces from the blinding light. Even veteran knights were forced to brace themselves, their boots digging into the cracked earth as the force slammed into their defenses.
The golden and red lights burst outward like colliding suns, intertwining in chaotic beauty. The blast was powerful enough to blow away the clouds above, creating a massive hole in the dark sky. Sunlight poured through the gap, illuminating the battlefield below in an eerie contrast—half crimson storm, half golden radiance.
At the epicenter, Ragnar and Sir Lancelot remained locked in their clash, blades grinding against each other, red lightning and golden aura flaring violently. Ragnar's eyes burned with ferocity, his teeth gritted as he pushed forward with raw determination. This was not just a test. This was a declaration.
And somewhere deep within Ragnar, the ancient memory of Boboiboy's words echoed once more—not as restraint this time, but as a foundation. "Hold each other back, so as not to hurt what I, and you, cherish." But Ragnar wasn't holding back anymore. He wasn't destroying the past either. He was rewriting it.
The crimson lightning around Excalibolt intensified, spiraling upward like a dragon ascending to the heavens. Sir Lancelot's golden aura responded, expanding like a radiant shield. The air between them vibrated at a frequency that made the entire Royal Knights Hall resonate like a massive bell struck by divine hands.
And then—