The atmosphere inside the massive arena
was electric, vibrating with the sharp scent of ozone and a heavy, suffocating pressure
that forced thousands of spectators to hold their breath.
This was the pinnacle of the tournament, the final chapter that would decide everything.
The moment of truth had finally arrived—the twenty-fifth match—the ultimate showdown.
"Ray versus Archion!" the referee bellowed.
As their names echoed through the coliseum, both Ray and Archion rose from their seats.
They stepped toward the center of the ring with a confident, heavy grace that mirrored apex predators in the heat of a hunt.
Archion stood on the left, his azure hair catching the harsh stadium floodlights; his eyes were cold, calculating, and clear as a winter sky.
Opposite him, Ray stood like a monolith of shadow.
His jet-black hair fell over eyes that seemed to possess no bottom.
When he looked at you, it felt as though the very fabric of reality was being peeled back to reveal a yawning, infinite abyss.
Even some of the students in the front rows felt a cold shiver crawl up their
spines; this was not merely a contest of skill—it was a meeting of two different worlds.
"Begin!" the referee shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the sudden, absolute hush of the crowd.
Archion did not waste a single second. He drew his blade in one fluid motion,
instantly shrouding the steel in a volatile duality of Lightning and Light.
Ray, unperturbed and terrifyingly calm, manifested a blade of pure, concentrated Crimson Lightning that hissed in the air.
In a heartbeat, the two blurs of motion vanished from their starting points,
meeting in a violent collision at the center of the stage.
Clang!
The sound of steel striking lightning rang out like a bell of war.
Ray unleashed a relentless flurry of strikes, his footwork so precise it seemed orchestrated by death itself.
Archion dodged with effortless grace, narrowly avoiding a blade-sweep that
would have severed his throat, then pivoted his body to counter-strike at Ray’s heart.
Ray retreated, but then surged forward again, shifting the tempo with dizzying speed.
He hurled his lightning-blade at Archion, only to rush forward and unleash a fist wreathed in crimson electricity.
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Archion parried the blade, but his eyes widened at the incoming fist.
He dodged the blow, but Ray fanned his fingers, firing a crescent-shaped blade of
lightning that sliced the air, nearly clipping Archion’s shoulder.
Archion reacted with high-level reflexes, manifesting a golden lightning-needle to intercept the crimson projectile.
The duel intensified into a blur of color and sound.
Ray enhanced his muscles with lightning, moving with predatory speed to throw a punch—but it was a feint.
A low, sweeping kick followed in a heartbeat.
Sensing the trap, Archion braced himself, but Ray’s other hand shot out, weaving
chains of crimson electricity that bound Archion’s wrists.
Drawing upon the tactical wisdom of his past life, Archion flooded his own limbs
with opposing lightning energy, shattering the chains in a blinding display of sparks.
He parried Ray’s blade just as it hovered inches from his neck, his breath hitched.
Archion’s face hardened. He was no longer playing at being a rival. The speed of his strikes doubled.
He feigned a retreat, drawing Ray into a false sense of security, and then lunged with a crushing, heavy-set kick.
The impact connected perfectly, sending Ray flying across the arena, smashing into
the shimmering magical barriers, and tumbling to the stone floor.
Ray stood up, his jaw set, his eyes burning with a wild, crimson light that seemed to
flicker like a dying sun. He whispered only two words:
"Crimson State."
The power surged through his marrow, amplifying his speed and strength until the air around him began to distort.
He set his resolve to end the match here and now.
"Tyrant’s Art," Ray declared, his voice echoing with the weight of ancient, forgotten authority.
"First Form: Lightning Stride."
In the blink of an eye, he was standing directly before Archion.
"Second Form: Tyrant’s Lightning Fist!"
The strike was catastrophic. Archion blocked with his sword, but the sheer, raw
force sent him flying backward, his boots skidding against the arena’s magical runes.
Ray did not pause; he manifested a new, razor-sharp blade of condensed crimson
energy, significantly more potent than the last.
Archion frantically summoned a shield of lightning, reinforced by an extra layer of holy light.
I am clearly not the only one who has been hiding their true strength, Archion thought,
gritting his teeth as the crimson light burned against his defense.
High in the spectators' stands, Valerian watched, his heart heavy with a sense of crushing inadequacy.
He had been the prodigy of his generation, the one destined to rule, yet here he was,
witnessing a battle that transcended everything he understood about power.
He had fought Ray before and suffered a humiliating defeat, even while giving his all.
Seeing Ray now, playing with such ferocity while holding back power that made his
own efforts look like child's play, left Valerian feeling entirely hollow.
Archion decided to drop the pretense of caution.
He flooded his core with lightning, matching Ray’s intensity.
They lunged at one another, a terrifying collision of red and gold.
Ray swung his crimson sword in a brutal horizontal arc; Archion countered with a sharp, downward lateral strike.
The blades locked, sending showers of sparks raining onto the stage like molten gold.
Five seconds left, Ray calculated.
Ray suddenly retreated, spinning back to gather the ambient mana into his weapon.
"Crimson Slash!"
He unleashed a stroke of such terrifying beauty and raw power that the entire stadium went silent.
Even the instructors, hardened by decades of war and combat, were left breathless—all, that is, except for Laibos and Ariadne.
"Those bastards," Laibos muttered, his voice cold.
"When they were sparring against me, they were holding back their trump cards the entire time."
Ariadne merely glanced at him, her expression unreadable.
"It is the mark of a true master to keep one's hidden hand concealed until the
moment of victory," she replied sharply.
Laibos fell silent, refusing to argue with her, though his frustration was palpable.
Archion sighed internally. I didn't want to reveal this so soon.
He shifted his stance, his sword vibrating with an unnatural, divine hum that resonated throughout the coliseum.
The atmosphere seemed to bend toward him as he shouted, "Sword Saint Art: Sword of Light!"
A blinding flash erupted, so radiant it temporarily blinded the spectators in the lower rows.
The two ultimate techniques collided in the center of the arena.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold
its breath as the crimson fury and golden light merged into a singular, devastating
singularity of power that threatened to consume the very space between them.