Nolan looked at Sela. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Sela nodded once without saying a word, then turned and walked back toward the stands. Nolan watched her for a moment, then sighed and went back to his seat.

"Where did you go, Master?" Linda asked.

"Well, I just went to check something over there. But I'm back now, right?" Nolan said with a faint smile.

"Master," Lyra said, leaning forward, "who do you think will win? Kyrion or Fenva? We've talked about this before—but pick one."

Nolan chuckled lightly. "Honestly? Like I said… Kyrion."

Sela looked toward the arena. "Then let's see if you're right."

The crowd suddenly erupted as the announcer's voice echoed through the arena.

"Everyone! It's time for the next match—Kyrion versus Fenva!"

The arena trembled with excitement.

Fenva was the first to appear. The heavy gate opened, and the massive figure stepped out. His body was enormous—nearly 250 kilograms of muscle, standing 6'9" tall. Each step made the floor vibrate. His eyes were closed, his expression calm and confident, as the crowd shouted his name.

"And now," the announcer continued, "the lightning of the tournament—the man whose speed rivals a thunder strike—Kyrion!"

Another gate slid open on the opposite side. Sparks of blue lightning burst across the floor as Kyrion stepped into the arena. His boots crackled with energy, arcs of electricity running up his legs and across his shoulders.

The two fighters met eyes at the center of the ring. The crowd slowly fell silent. The air grew heavy—charged with anticipation.

Kyrion's lightning flared.

Fenva's muscles tensed.

The emissary raised his hand high.

"Begin!"

Kyrion and Fenva locked eyes, the tension between them crackling like lightning in the air.

Kyrion raised his sword, energy humming along its edge, and burst forward with blinding speed.

Fenva's eyes snapped open—his instincts screamed danger. He's fast!

Kyrion swung his blade with full force, aiming straight for Fenva's arm. Fenva reacted, raising his massive forearm to block—

SHING!

A sharp sound split the air.

Fenva froze. His wrist hit the ground.

The entire arena went silent.

Even the wind seemed to stop.

Fenva stared at the severed wrist, disbelief flooding his face. Then he jumped—launching himself twenty-five feet backward into the air before landing hard, dust billowing beneath his feet.

What… what just happened? he thought, eyes wide. He didn't hold back. That was my full defense. My muscle—my skin—they're both stronger than steel. I should've been able to block that easily.

He clenched his teeth. Maybe I doubted my own strength too much… No. This guy—this guy's sword isn't normal. His speed, his precision—this is no ordinary fighter.

A grin crept across Fenva's face. For the first time, he smiled in battle—blood running down his arm. His teeth gleamed under the arena lights.

This… this is actually going to be fun, he thought, excitement burning in his eyes.

He tore a strip from his shirt, wrapping it tightly around the stump of his wrist with his teeth and right hand. Blood seeped through, but he didn't care.

"Well," he muttered, tightening the cloth, "I underestimated my opponent. That's what I get… But now I'm ready."

The crowd was still frozen in silence—unable to believe what they'd just seen.

The emissary finally broke it. "W-What just happened?! Kyrion—he… he cut off Fenva's wrist! His muscles are supposed to be harder than steel! His skin too! But Kyrion actually broke through!"

The crowd exploded into cheers.

Fenva was still smiling, blood dripping but his spirit unbroken.

Then he moved—fast. Faster than anyone expected.

Kyrion didn't hesitate either. He sprinted forward, sword flashing with lightning arcs.

They clashed again. Kyrion's blade came down in a fierce strike—but this time, Fenva twisted aside just in time, the edge grazing his shoulder instead of cutting through.

For the first time ever, Fenva had dodged.

He landed, exhaling sharply. If I didn't dodge that… I'd be dead.

Kyrion smirked. "Oh? After I cut off your arm, you've already learned fear?"

Fenva's eyes narrowed. "I don't talk much," he said, his voice calm but low, "but I'm actually glad you did that. It made me realize something."

He stepped forward, aura flaring. "After fighting Zevric, I learned my limits. But after fighting you… I learned what's beyond them."

His voice deepened. "So thank you, Kyrion. But I'm still going to win this match."

Kyrion grinned. "You wish."

Lightning sparked between them again as the crowd roared, the real battle about to begin.

Fenva moved again without hesitation. He raised his fist and lunged—full force—at Kyrion. Kyrion slammed his sword down to block, but Fenva twisted in close, grabbed the blade's haft, yanked the arm aside, and drove a crushing punch straight into Kyrion's head.

The impact detonated through Kyrion's body like a cannon blast. He flew backward like a missile, slammed into the arena wall, and the stone crunched around him. For a breathless moment the sand and crowd fell utterly silent.

Fenva watched, chest heaving. "Is he… dead?" murmured someone in the stands. The blow looked fatal—no one should have walked away from that.

Fenva didn't wait. He closed in, sure the fight was over. But then something impossible happened.

Kyrion's hand twitched. A sound rose from the crowd. Slowly, incredulously, Kyrion pushed his head out of the broken wall. He was covered in blood; one eye hung open. The sight froze everyone—this shouldn't be possible.

A grin split Kyrion's face as he laughed, breath ragged. "Ha—ha—your strength is something else. You're a monster." He sounded almost delighted.

Fenva, stunned, reached to grab Kyrion by the leg—but an instinct stopped him. Kyrion's wound began to move. The blood on the wall lifted, droplets trembling, then gathered and flowed—drawn back as if pulled by an invisible tide. Flesh knitted, bone sealed, the open wound closed. Within heartbeats the skull reformed; the bleeding stopped. Kyrion stood up as if nothing had happened.

The crowd erupted. "He used it—the same technique Cora used!" someone shouted. "Life-Consume… forbidden magic!" Gasps and whispers flooded the arena: that same taboo skill, the one nobody should learn.

Fenva's smile faltered into a snarl. "I thought I had you," he spat. Kyrion brushed sand from his clothes, blood still on his knuckles but his posture steady. "You made me bleed," he said, voice low. "Good. I learned a thing or two."

Fenva chuckled, trying to hide the tremor in his hands. "Does it matter?" he said. "I can't afford to lose."

Kyrion's eyes glittered. "Neither can I."

"this guy is something else," Fenva thought, jaw tight. "Even if I punch him again like I did, he might just fix himself like that. That was one of the strangest things I've ever seen. And now he won't make that mistake again—he won't hold back. He'll wait for me to overcommit, then slice me clean."

The realization sharpened Fenva's focus. Kyrion was no ordinary man.

Kyrion sprinted in like a shadow and raised his sword in a downward arc aimed at Fenva's leg. Fenva leapt backward and the blade whistled past. He rebounded off the sand and launched himself forward with everything he had, channeling all his power into speed.

Kyrion's blade came down—Fenva snatched the moment and drove his left leg up in a sudden, explosive sweep aimed at Kyrion's wrist. Kyrion's strike clipped the air as Fenva's foot slammed into his leg.

Kyrion spun from the force of Fenva's foot, momentum tearing him sideways—then Fenva slammed his hand down and drove Kyrion's head into the sand with brutal force. BOOM! The arena shuddered; cracks spidered across the floor and a chunk of the ground heaved up. Fenva's fist sank into the sand so deep the impact left a crater.

For a breathless second Kyrion lay still, his mouth hanging open, a ghostly silhouette against the dust. The crowd froze.

"Is he—dead?" someone yelled.

Then the impossible happened. The spilled blood trembled, rose, and flowed back toward Kyrion as if pulled by invisible hands. Sand and blood crawled along the broken stone, knitting flesh and sealing bone. The wound closed; the hole filled; the air stilled.

Kyrion pushed himself upright, coughing, blood slick on his jaw—but alive. Fenva staggered back, every muscle coiled in disbelief. What the hell is this? he thought. He should be finished.

Kyrion's eyes locked on Fenva—calm and cold. He flexed his hands slowly, as if sharpening a blade no one else could see. "Now I have to use my full force," he said, voice low. "You're done."

A murmur swelled through the crowd—fear, awe, and the sick thrill of witnessing something forbidden. The match had shifted: it wasn't just about strength anymore. It was about who could push beyond the line.

Fenva staggered back, eyes wide, voice raw with disbelief. "How are you doing this? How… you should have died from that attack. How are you still standing? You're something else — I'm sure you died just now and came back to life."

He drew a breath, then forced a cold smile. "Farewell."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.