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BANG!
The sound of clashing metal rang out like thunder, echoing through the dome-protected arena as Lysander Avalon's spear slammed into Dorn Shieldbeam's shield for the hundredth time.
Dust scattered in gusts from the force of the impact, though Dorn remained unmoved. Feet planted firmly like ancient roots, the muscular heir of the Shieldbane Clan stood like an unshakable mountain. His tower shield glowed faintly with reinforcement glyphs, though a hairline crack had begun to crawl across its polished surface.
"Still standing," Dorn grunted, lifting his warhammer and steadying his posture. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."
From the opposite end, Lysander Avalon exhaled calmly, green eyes narrowed like sharpened jade. "And you're just as thick-headed as your clan's techniques."
Wind whipped around him in an elegant spiral, lifting his blond hair and fluttering his emerald robes. The spear in his hand pulsed with wind mana, the silver blade gleaming under the stadium's ethereal light.
Up in the spectator's gallery, tension rippled across the clan heads' pavilion as they observed the escalating duel.
Garruk Shieldbabe crossed his arms and chuckled, his silver eyes gleaming with pride. "The boy holds his ground well. No one breaks through a Shieldbane's defense unless we allow it."
"Yet that 'unbreakable' shield is beginning to crack," replied King Ardan Avalon, his tone calm but tinged with amusement. His green eyes remained locked on his son below. "One precise spear from my son can pierce even the thickest armor. Defense may endure—but only until the right weakness is found."
Theron Virelith watched in silence beside them, his thoughts drifting not toward Lysander or Dorn—but toward Caelan, who stood watching with focused eyes near the edge of the spectator platform.
> They're both formidable. And yet… Caelan's eyes haven't blinked once. He's studying them. Measuring himself against them. What an intriguing son you have given me Melissa..
Caelan's arms were folded, golden irises glinting like starlight as he watched the battle unfold.
> Their control… the weight of their strikes… they're both stronger than I expected. If I went all out, could I match this level? Or surpass it?
> Dorn's mana control is monstrous—his gravity magic isn't just defensive. It's reactive. And Lysander's wind control… damn, it's like watching a dance sharpened to a blade.
Seryn stood beside him, arms crossed loosely. "They're not holding back anymore."
"Guess I'll learn something before the day ends," Caelan replied, eyes still trained on the fight.
Back in the arena, Lysander circled, the wind under his feet lifting him lightly above the mana-infused stone platform. "Your defense is good, Dorn, but I hope that's not all you've got."
"You cracked my shield," Dorn said with a smirk, glancing at the fracture snaking through the surface. "That's more than most can claim. Guess it's only fair I stop playing around."
He slammed his warhammer into the ground. The arena trembled as gravity mana flooded through the floor, and a faint metallic shimmer climbed up his body like liquid armor. His warhammer glowed with dense gravity inscriptions, layered over the metal as if it weighed the world.
"Now we fight for real," Dorn growled.
Lysander raised an eyebrow. "About time."
Wind surged around him. The air thickened and coiled at his back like a roaring gale held on a leash. His robes flapped wildly, and mana bled from his skin as the ground beneath his feet cracked with the strain of his power.
> If I don't end this now, he'll anchor himself completely, and I'll lose my edge. Speed is everything. Control is everything.
Dorn hurled himself forward, his massive frame impossibly fast for his size. The warhammer came down like a meteor, warping the air with raw gravitational pressure.
CRACK!
Lysander blinked left—barely. The hammer exploded into the platform where he had just stood, sending shards of stone flying in every direction. He twisted mid-air and slashed with his spear—thin trails of wind magic tracing its path.
"You won't last long swinging that hammer like a barbarian," Lysander called, landing with ease. "You need to breathe between swings, you know."
Dorn turned, swinging again with unrelenting force. "I don't need to breathe if I end it with one hit!"
The warhammer struck again. And again. Each strike made the entire arena tremble, but Lysander was a blur, gliding through the storm with seamless agility.
"Your power is impressive," Lysander admitted, circling his spear again as wind curled tightly around his arms and weapon. "But I wasn't trained to outlast my opponent."
He raised his spear.
"I was trained to end them."
With a flick of his wrist, the wind exploded. outward—forming a spiraling gale that shot him toward Dorn like a divine spear.
The Shieldbane heir braced himself, shield raised—
BOOM!
Lysander's spear pierced directly through the fractured point, shattering the shield into shards of mana and steel.
Eyes wide, Dorn tried to counter, swinging upward—
But Lysander spun in mid-air, twisting his spear in a flurry of jabs too fast to see. The wind exploded with each strike, battering Dorn's armor and body until finally—
One last strike to the gut.
The gravity mana around Dorn broke. The hammer slipped from his fingers.
And then—thud.
The giant crashed to the ground, unconscious.
The crowd erupted into stunned silence, then thunderous applause.
Lysander stood panting, spear lowered. "Told you not to break the stage," he muttered.
Seryn blinked. "...He won?"
Caelan nodded slowly, a faint grin forming. "Yeah. Swift and clean."
Theron, above, narrowed his eyes, proud and contemplative.
> So this is the strength of the other heirs… Not bad. Not bad at all.
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