The arena floor became a blur of motion. Harlon was a master of the Shadow Meld, appearing and disappearing with a fluidity that made it seem like Grey was fighting a ghost.

Clang! Swish! Thud!

Grey stayed centered, his eyes darting to catch the slight distortions in the air. A dagger grazed his shoulder, drawing a thin line of red; a kick caught his ribs, sending a dull ache through his torso.

Every time Grey swung back, Harlon was already gone, melting back into the shade cast by the arena walls.

It was a battle of attrition. For several minutes, Grey was on the defensive, his breathing becoming heavy as he parried strike after strike.

From the stands, the silence was palpable. Legolas looked vindicated, while Thorgar's knuckles were white from gripping the railing.

"Tch. This is getting annoying," Grey thought, his patience finally snapping. He was tired of being the punching bag for an elven shadow play.

Harlon materialized directly behind Grey's blind spot, his daggers poised for a twin strike at the back of Grey's neck. "It ends here," the Harlon hissed.

"I don't think so," Grey muttered.

Instead of dodging, Grey planted his feet firmly into the stone.

He pulled his aurs inward for a split second, then forced it outward in a violent, unrefined explosion.

BOOM!

A massive burst of raw, pressurized aura erupted from Grey's body like a physical shockwave.

The force was so sudden and intense that the air itself seemed to ripple.

Harlon, caught mid-strike, was blasted backward. He lost his ethereal form, his boots skidding across the sand as he struggled to maintain his balance.

He finally came to a halt ten meters away, his hood blown back to reveal a face of sheer astonishment.

Grey stood in the center of the crater created by his own aura, his eyes glowing with a cold, irritated light. He rolled his neck, the joints popping loudly in the quiet arena.

"Can we stop playing hide and seek now?" Grey asked, his voice echoing with a new, dangerous edge. "If you want to test me, then come at me like you mean it."

Up in the stands, Armin sat up straight, a wide, predatory grin splitting his face. "Oh ho! Did you see that? That wasn't just aurs... that was raw instinct. The kid's got a temper."

Hamdal let out a low chuckle. "I told you. He doesn't just block."

Harlon stepped fully out of the shadows, his face a mask of cold resolve. "Fine, boy. If you want a direct confrontation, I shall grant it. But know that the Royal Shadows are fiercest when they stop hiding."

A thick, pitch-black shadowy aura began to pour from Harlon's pores, coating him in a shroud of darkness that seemed to swallow the light around him.

His obsidian daggers didn't just glow; they began to vibrate with a high-pitched, deadly hum.

Grey didn't flinch. He drew deep from his core, and a violent, red smoky aura erupted from his skin.

The energy was dense, swirling around his forearms until it solidified into translucent, jagged gauntlets of raw power.

"Now!" Harlon hissed.

In an instant, both combatants vanished. They didn't just move—they were erased from the perception of the weaker students in the stands.

BOOM! CRACK! SHHHIIING!

The training ground transformed into a zone of absolute destruction. Only blurs of black and red could be seen clashing across the arena.

Each collision sounded like a lightning strike. Hundreds of moves were exchanged in seconds: Harlon's daggers traced lethal arcs of shadow, while Grey's gauntlets shattered the air with every punch.

Stones and debris flew into the air as the ground gave way, deep craters forming wherever they traded blows.

The intensity was so fierce that a shockwave of wind buffeted the audience stands.

Up in the VIP box, Legolas had stood up, his hands gripping the railing. His eyes were wide with disbelief. He knew Harlon's strength—the man was a veteran of a hundred secret wars.

For a first-year student to be fighting him evenly, despite being at least two realms weaker in cultivation,as he thought, was a defiance of common sense.

Princess Erowen sat frozen, her usual haughty composure shattered. She watched Grey move, realizing that the "commoner" she had looked down upon was wielding a level of raw, instinctive power that even her royal tutors would envy.

"Look at that kid go!" Armin laughed, leaning over the edge of his seat. "He's a natural-born brawler!"

In the center of the storm, Grey's eyes were locked onto Harlon. His muscles screamed in protest, but the thrill of the fight was a drug.

Every time Harlon tried to slip past his guard, Grey's red aura flared, his gauntlets meeting the daggers with a sound of grinding metal.

The air in the arena seemed to thicken, vibrating with the sheer volume of aura being traded.

Grey's red aura suddenly constricted, pulling tight around his right arm until it glowed with a blinding, incandescent crimson light.

Harlon, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, crossed his daggers in a defensive 'X' formation, pouring every ounce of his shadowy mana into his blades. "You cannot break my resolve, boy!"

Grey didn't answer. He took a single, explosive step forward, the ground beneath his heel shattering into dust.

"One Punch Kill!"

The blow wasn't just a punch; it was a concentrated pillar of force. When Grey's fist connected with the vibrating obsidian daggers, the sound wasn't a clash of metal—it was the sound of a mountain cracking.

K-BOOM!

To the absolute horror of Harlon and the spectators, the "indestructible" Shadow Unit daggers disintegrated.

They didn't just snap; they exploded into thousands of jagged, black shards. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through Harlon's arms, throwing him backward as he tumbled across the arena floor, his primary weapons reduced to dust.

But the victory was bloody.

The explosion of the blades had sent the obsidian shards flying in every direction at terminal velocity. Several pieces had sliced through Grey's aura and pierced deep into his hand and forearm.

Grey stood panting, his right hand trembling as thick, crimson blood dripped from his fingertips, staining the white sand of the arena a dark, visceral red.

In the stands, Lenore jumped to her feet, her face pale with terror. "Grey!" she screamed, her voice cracking. She began to scramble over the railing, intent on rushing to his side, but a heavy hand caught her shoulder.

"Don't," Blaze said, his voice unusually stern. He didn't look at her; his eyes remained fixed on Grey.

"The duel has not ended. Harlon is still standing, and Grey hasn't conceded. Have faith in him, Lenore. He didn't come this far to be saved by us."

Lenore looked at Blaze, seeing the grim confidence in his eyes, and slowly sank back into her seat. Her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles turned white.

Across the field, Harlon slowly pushed himself up. He was disarmed, his chest heaving, looking at his empty, charred hands in disbelief.

He looked up at Grey, and for the first time, there was no arrogance in the Shadow Guard's eyes—only a deep, haunting respect.

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