The air trembled with war.While Team 26 and Team 28 clashed in a storm of steel and fire at the far end of the arena, the other half of the battlefield was caught in a different storm — quieter, sharper, more deliberate. The dust hadn't even settled from the last impact when Team 25 and Team 27 charged at one another, two fronts of energy colliding like colliding waves.

Sand scattered under their boots. The sound of their sprint was thunder muffled beneath a thousand screams from the stands. Above them, sunlight poured through gaps in the coliseum walls, bright enough to make the air shimmer — it turned every motion into something unreal, like gold moving over glass.

The Princess was the only one who didn't move. She stood at the rear, staff raised, her expression solemn. Rings of silver light spiraled slowly around her wrists, drifting upward like smoke. Each pulse of mana she released rippled through the ground in faint silver circles — protective magic meant to follow her team.

Everyone else surged forward.

Team 27 came like a stampede of metal and fury. Their knight's armor gleamed white; the archer's crossbow glowed a deep blue; the faceless cloaked figure bled darkness from his boots as he ran. Behind them, the blue-haired god-folk walked calmly, his movements measured, serene, as if all of this was a scene he'd already foreseen.

Avin ran with his team, but slower, his grip tightening around his sword's hilt. Henry and the Prince broke ahead of him, their footsteps loud and confident. Theo blurred, teleporting into the fray with faint flashes of gold.

Avin let them go.He was the hidden blade, the unspoken piece.

When both teams met, the ground cracked. The first clash sounded like thunder rolling through hollow bones.

Metal struck metal. Sparks flared. Sand jumped beneath their feet.

Avin slowed to a halt a few steps back, scanning for a gap, a blind spot — and then the earth beneath him moved.

It was like stepping into water. A black ripple expanded from under his boots, spreading outward in perfect silence. Something was swimming through it — thin, tall, almost human. His eyes widened.

"What the—"

The shape erupted from the sand, rising straight up like a splash frozen midair. Avin swung his sword reflexively, his blade hissing through the air. The strike should've cut clean through the thing's chest — but the body scattered into dark mist before he could connect. The sword met nothing.

Smoke brushed past his cheek, cold as ice.

"Not this type again."

He slammed his foot down hard. The sand pulsed, dust flaring up in concentric circles. His breathing slowed. The world around him blurred as mana coursed into his eyes — everything gaining an unnatural clarity.

The heat shimmer of the battlefield became lines and trails. He saw the vibrations of sound, the faint afterglow of motion. And there — pooled on the ground ahead of him — a blot of shadow, its edges quivering like spilled ink trying to climb back together.

Avin's grip tightened. He lifted his sword, mana bleeding into the metal until it glowed a deep, golden hue. Light curled around its edge in rings, forming halos that hummed faintly with divine frequency.

He drove the blade down.

The shadow twisted violently, contorting as if it had a will of its own. The sword hit the sand, sparks leaping from where gold met black. The figure melted sideways, reforming behind him — then under him.

A flicker in his vision.

A transparent after-image appeared below his feet — the same translucent silhouette he'd seen before, predicting his enemy's motion by seconds.

Avin's breath caught. He forced mana into the ground beneath him, and the earth exploded. The blast launched him skyward. Wind screamed past his ears. Below, the dark figure surged upward like a spear, its arm elongating into a blade of ink — but Avin's heel met its jaw first. The sound was like bone shattering underwater.

He twisted midair, sword tip down, body folding into the strike.

He fell like lightning.

Then—whoosh!

A whistle cut the air. He jerked his body backward on reflex, spine arching painfully. An arrow screamed past his face, slicing a strand of hair. He landed in a crouch, boots carving lines in the sand.

The shadow was gone.

He turned toward the direction of the shot.

There — high on a mound of broken earth — stood the crossbowman, one knee bent, eyes locked on Avin. His armor caught the sunlight in jagged flashes.

Another arrow launched, fast enough to hum.

Avin raised his sword to block, but stopped when the arrow froze midair, trapped in a sphere of trembling water.

He glanced over his shoulder. The Princess, staff raised, silver eyes glowing.

She nodded once.

He smiled faintly and nodded back, then sprinted toward the archer.

Each arrow came faster than the last. The air filled with sharp whines and streaks of light. Avin didn't look at them; he listened. The stretch of the string, the flick before release, the direction of wind. His ears mapped the rhythm. Every movement became a sound, every sound a signal.

Whip—step left. Whip—duck. Whip—roll forward.

The final arrow grazed his shoulder guard, sparking harmlessly away.

He was close enough now to see the sweat running down the archer's temple.

Avin swung — but the strike met something solid. A clang rang out, followed by a hiss of smoke. The cloaked figure had reappeared, twin knives catching Avin's sword mid-arc. Its body rippled like oil in water.

Avin slid backward from the force, sand grinding beneath his boots. The archer nocked another arrow, his face twisting into a grin.

"You should've stayed behind your prince."

The bowstring sang.

Avin spun his body sideways, letting the arrow slam into the sheath on his back with a dull thud.

His mouth curved into a grin.

"Perfect."

He struck the sheath's tip with his hilt. The sword inside shot upward in a streak of gold. Avin caught it mid-air, spun, and brought both blades down at once — one at the cloaked figure, one thrown straight at the archer.

The shadow dissolved again, vaporizing into smoke.

The archer laughed, sidestepping the thrown sword easily.

"Bad mistake," he taunted.

Avin turned his wrist slightly, fingers twitching.

"Was it?"

The sword snapped midair, curving like a returning bird. It spun in a perfect arc and slammed into the back of the archer's skull with a heavy crack. The man's smile vanished as he stumbled forward, crossbow slipping from his hands.

Avin caught the returning weapon as it sailed back to him, fingers closing around the hilt with a metallic snap. He stepped forward, raising both blades.

He was already bringing them down when the cloaked figure burst up from the ground again, intercepting the strike. The clash sent vibrations up Avin's arms.

He smirked.

His left sword turned, spinning in his palm, then darted forward toward the shadow's chest. The thing dissolved once more into mist — but the blade didn't stop.

It drove straight through the archer's ribs.

The man gasped, eyes wide, air catching in his throat.

"Get better friends."

Avin yanked the blade out, twisting slightly. The archer collapsed, a faint blue aura wrapping around him before he disintegrated into a cloud of shimmering dust.

Silence reigned for a heartbeat.

Avin's hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. The taste of iron lingered in the back of his mouth.

He turned slowly, both swords glowing faintly in the haze. The air was thick — heavy with the smell of scorched mana, blood, and sand baked under sun.

He could feel it. The cloaked figure wasn't gone.

His pulse slowed.

He inhaled deeply, focusing mana back into his arms, letting it hum beneath his skin. The gold and red of his twin swords flickered, their glow mixing in the air like fire and dawnlight.

A shadow twitched on his right — gone the next second.

"Shit."

He slammed both blades together. The contact burst in a golden flash, a shockwave rippling outward, scattering the sand in a perfect circle around him. The heat distorted the light, bending it into wavering lines.

A grunt sounded behind him — human, strained.

He spun.

The cloaked figure tumbled across the dirt, smoke spilling from its body like escaping breath. Avin lunged.

Each step was punctuated by a flicker of light — his boots hitting the sand, leaving molten prints that faded instantly. He swung. The figure parried with its knives, but every clash sent it sliding backward.

The sound of steel on steel became a rhythm, fast, relentless — clash, hiss, clash, crack. Sparks scattered like fireflies.

He could barely see its face; the blur distorted, almost liquid, eyes glowing faintly beneath the hood.

He feinted high, slashed low. Missed. The figure weaved around him, knife arcing for his throat. He ducked, pivoted, his blade cutting upward. Their weapons collided mid-air, both shaking under the strain.

Then the figure broke apart again, melting into smoke.

Avin didn't chase. He let mana flare behind his eyes.

The world slowed.

There — to his right, a faint translucent silhouette rising from the ground, half a second into the future.

He stabbed without hesitation.

The sword met resistance. Flesh.

A shrill, distorted cry. The shadow solidified briefly — humanoid, its face half-formed, mouth open in shock.

"H—how?"

Avin's eyes glowed like burning glass.

"I'm a chrono."

The words came out quiet, almost reverent.

He twisted the sword. The figure's body crumbled, disintegrating into blue light that scattered upward, flickering like dying stars.

The dust faded. The world regained color.

Avin exhaled slowly, lowering his weapons. The golden halos around the blades dimmed, fading into faint warmth.

Around him, the battlefield roared — Henry's laughter echoing in the distance, the Prince's voice cutting commands through chaos, the Princess's mana crackling like a heartbeat behind him.

But Avin's world had gone quiet. The noise was muffled, as if he stood under deep water.

His swords dripped golden light instead of blood. The sand beneath him still rippled from the shockwave, small eddies of dust circling his boots.

He stared at the last fading embers of the enemy he'd slain, the air still shimmering where the body had vanished.

He tightened his grip, feeling the heat of mana still pulsing through the steel.

"One less shadow," he murmured.

And then he turned, stepping back into the war of gods and mortals as the sunlight burned white above, the dust rising once again to swallow the field whole.

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