---
The arena fell silent once more, but the anticipation now hung heavier than ever.
A thin layer of dust lingered from the last clash, still swirling as the proctor stepped forward, raising his hand high. His voice boomed like a gong across the stands:
"Next Match! Caelan Virelith versus Lysander Avalon! Prepare yourselves!"
Gasps and murmurs rippled across the crowd. Two hybrid-class prodigies, both with victory under their belts, and both carrying the weight of legacy on their shoulders.
Caelan exhaled slowly, his white hair stirring with the ambient mana in the air. His golden irises glinted with calm determination.
> "A spear forged for royalty… and a storm waiting to fall.
Let's see what I'm really made of."
He stepped onto the platform, boots ringing out against the mana-tempered stone.
Lysander Avalon was already waiting. His green eyes locked onto Caelan's as the wind coiled lightly around his figure. The emerald-and-gold ceremonial robe of the royal family shimmered under the light, the crest of a crown pierced by a sword gleaming on his left chest.
Caelan's formal robes had been replaced with a sleeveless combat tunic trimmed in crimson, the black and red of the Virelith Clan unmistakable. The sigil—a serpent coiled around a sword—rested proudly over his heart.
Seryn whispered from the sidelines. "This is going to be different."
Dorn, standing beside her, folded his arms. "Lysander's no joke. But neither is Caelan."
From above, the clan heads leaned forward.
King Ardan's expression remained unreadable. "This will show us if the next generation is truly ready."
Theron Virelith said nothing… but his fingers had curled into a tight fist on his lap.
---
Lysander's spear tilted upward, wind spiraling violently at its tip.
"I heard your blood sings like fire and lightning," he said coolly. "I wonder how it handles a tempest."
Caelan tilted his head. "Try me. I've already cut through lightning today."
Lysander smirked. "Then let's see if you can survive a storm forged by royalty."
With a roar, Lysander launched forward. His spear moved like a streak of light, each thrust accompanied by shrieking gales.
Caelan ducked, pivoted, then parried—but each clash pressed him harder.
> He's relentless… precise. Every strike is like a current meant to sweep me away.
Flames flared around Caelan's twin blades. He retaliated, combining speed and strength—but Lysander was faster than before, the wind at his back making him untouchable.
They exchanged blows mid-air, feet never still. Sparks flew, trails of flame and air crisscrossed the stage.
From the seats, Garruk Shieldbane murmured, "That Avalon boy is a living typhoon."
Theron, watching carefully, narrowed his eyes. His gaze flickered between the violent winds… and the shimmer of red lightning sparking subtly around his son's limbs.
---
Then, something shifted.
Lysander's stance stilled. He gripped his spear with both hands, raising it skyward.
The wind screamed.
Mana surged like a tidal wave.
The spear lifted him gently into the air, wind forming a cyclone around his body. Arcs of pressure crackled like thunderheads.
"Royal Arts—Skyfall Tempest!"
The entire arena shuddered.
The clan heads jolted upright.
"That's…" Velian Stormbrite gasped. "That's a high-tier Royal Art passed down only to direct heirs—!"
Caelan remained grounded. His brows knit together. He could feel it. That overwhelming mana pressure descending from the sky.
> "Damn… I can't block that head-on. And dodging won't buy me time.
If I want to win—I'll have to try it now."
> The technique I've been working on… combining blood with lightning. It's unstable… but if there was ever a time…
He clenched his fists. Crimson mana surged, flooding his limbs with warmth.
But then—he added something else.
Lightning.
Not external lightning, but the lightning within his blood.
The raw energy sparked violently as he forced the two to blend.
It hurt.
It burned.
And it worked.
Arcs of blood-colored lightning began to ripple across his skin, pulsing like veins of molten energy.
"Crimson Overdrive."
The name left his lips like a whisper—but the energy it unleashed screamed.
The crowd gasped.
His muscles bulged slightly under the weight of power. His breathing quickened, his body shaking from the effort.
> "Every cell… charged and pushed to its limit. Blood magic to stabilize, lightning to empower… This is more than enhancement."
> "This is elemental fusion."
The air between them trembled.
Lysander descended from the sky, his spear pointed down like a divine judgment.
Caelan crouched low, blades crackling red.
> This will decide it.
> All or nothing.
"COME!" they both roared.
They collided.
A blinding flash. Then thunder. Then silence.
A shockwave burst outward, shattering the stone beneath them and flinging gusts into the stands.
The protective dome rippled violently as gasps echoed across the arena.
When the dust settled—
Caelan stood still, knees slightly bent, blades lowered.
His body was trembling, steam rising from his shoulders. His hair clung to his face, and his breath came in shallow draws.
Lysander lay outside the ring, unconscious, his spear buried in the ground several feet away.
Silence.
Then—
"Winner: Caelan Virelith!"
The proctor's voice broke the quiet.
Thunderous applause erupted.
Theron Virelith didn't speak, but pride shimmered in his eyes like a blade drawn beneath sunlight.
Seryn blinked. "That wasn't just a clash… that was a storm and a wildfire colliding."
From above, King Ardan exhaled slowly.
"Not bad, Virelith… Not bad at all."
Caelan, still standing, gave a tired smile.
> "Crimson Overdrive… It actually worked."
And then—he collapsed to one knee, drained but victorious.
---