CHAPTER 67: THE STRANGER

He stepped onto the field slow.

Measured.

Each step kissed the stone just light enough to not seem arrogant, but strong enough to leave a faint mark. A presence like a coiled storm pretending to be calm. The crowd didn’t know him. But they could feel it. Something ancient. Something not from here.

He didn’t wear anything flashy—just a dark coat, worn leather boots, gloves that hid the burns, and a quiet smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Inside, he was calculating.

Every movement Lucian had made in the last four fights. Every bit of mana that leaked from the boy’s skin. Every time he shifted his weight. How he didn’t blink when others flinched. How he sat, watched, and moved like the world already played on repeat in his head.

That’s the anomaly.

He didn’t need a scan to see it now.

He could taste it in the air. The mana wasn’t wild or pure. It was layered. Refined. Polished through experience no one this young should have.

His mission had been simple: find the source of the tear that almost exposed their buried bloodlines. He thought it was an object. A catalyst. A cursed relic left behind.

But it wasn’t.

It was a boy.

Lucian Black.

And now he was standing in front of him.

The dragon inside his flesh stirred. The blood wanted to rise, to roar, to test. But he shoved it down. Let his shoulders slump slightly, like he wasn’t impressed.

Couldn’t let them see what he was. Not yet.

The moment he crossed the halfway mark, Lucian stood.

Finally.

Two wolves recognizing each other.

"...You," Lucian muttered.

He answered with a smile. "Me."

Then they moved.

No ref.

No start.

Just instinct.

Their auras clashed in the middle—no theatrics, no screaming energy. But the moment they met, the world cracked.

Stone split under their feet. Air warped. Dust exploded from the impact.

Lucian launched forward first, hand crackling with blue mana, a feint strike toward the jaw—

But he read it.

Twisted sideways, redirected the blow, and slammed an open palm to Lucian’s ribs. The force pushed Lucian ten meters back.

The crowd gasped.

Lucian slid, flipped, landed low, grinning now.

His turn.

He blinked.

Appeared in front of him.

Elbow strike straight to the temple.

He blocked it with a reinforced guard, but the hit rang in his skull. Before he could counter, Lucian twisted mid-air and slammed a spinning heel into his side.

He flew back.

Hit the wall of the arena and cracked it.

He coughed once. Blood.

So that’s how strong you are.

The gloves tore slightly at the wrist. The burn marks glowed faintly beneath. Mana surged to seal the pain.

Lucian didn’t wait.

He came again.

But this time—faster.

The boy was reading him too.

They clashed mid-air.

Blows. Counters. Redirects. Every motion layered with intent. Lucian weaved spacetime into his steps, blinking between milliseconds, hitting from impossible angles.

He responded in kind.

He didn’t use dragon fire.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he channeled core pressure—raw density. Every step, every strike, compressed the air like a hammer. A single punch shook the stands.

Lucian caught his arm mid-swing and twisted him into the ground.

But he rolled. Came up swinging.

This time with both fists lit in crimson.

He feinted high, then drove his knee into Lucian’s gut, wrapped in an explosive burst seal.

Lucian grunted, stumbled—

Then vanished.

He reappeared behind him with a dimensional claw slashing through space.

The world split.

He barely raised a barrier in time, but the edge of the claw shredded the coat, cut his shoulder, and forced him back.

Blood splattered onto the stone.

He blinked.

Lucian was already above.

Descending.

Both fists glowing with celestial surge.

He raised his hands and roared—

Mana collided.

The field erupted.

A wave of pure force flattened half the arena.

People in the stands screamed, barriers flickered.

Judges scrambled.

But the two in the center didn’t stop.

They tore through smoke, through sound, through fear.

Lucian’s body shimmered—his aura syncing to every movement. His mana didn’t flare. It whispered. Like it didn’t need to shout.

His body twisted sideways to avoid a lariat.

Then he drove his palm into the dragon’s chest.

The pain was real.

He felt his ribs bend.

But he didn’t fall.

He let the energy slip behind him, then caught Lucian’s arm.

And smiled.

"Got you."

His veins pulsed.

Dragon blood ignited under the surface.

He drove his head forward.

Skull met skull.

Lucian staggered.

Blood flowed from both foreheads.

Neither dropped.

They smiled now. Both of them.

Warriors.

Monsters.

Lucian surged again.

Used Chrono Rewind.

His last three movements reversed, allowing him to slip behind the dragon’s back in a fraction.

Dimensional Anchor pulsed.

The area around them froze, locking their positions.

He aimed a strike at the back of the dragon’s neck.

But his opponent wasn’t human.

He growled.

Muscles tensed unnaturally.

He snapped the time-lock, twisted his waist, and unleashed a tail-sweep—except the tail was hidden. A pure-force spiral kick that blew Lucian away.

He didn’t stop there.

He launched upward, and mana gathered behind his back.

Wings flickered.

For a second.

Only Lucian saw it.

Then it vanished.

He descended with a strike wrapped in ancient pressure—something older than this generation, older than this world.

Lucian raised both arms.

Caught the hit.

And the arena shattered.

Cracks spidered across the floor like veins.

Chunks of stone exploded skyward.

Wind surged out in every direction, flipping debris into the stands.

Magical barriers collapsed.

People screamed.

Dust swallowed everything.

And in the middle of it—

The two figures clashed again.

Their fists locked together, arms trembling from force.

Lucian’s eyes glowed pale blue.

The dragon’s glowed molten gold.

Then—

Athena dropped.

From above.

No warning.

She hit the field between them like thunder.

The whole platform caved.

Her hand grabbed both their wrists mid-strike.

Time. Space. Mana. All halted.

Both froze.

Their bodies twitched under her grip.

She turned to each of them.

"You’ll tear it all apart," she said, voice low. Calm. But not kind.

Lucian exhaled.

His power faded.

The dragon prince did the same.

His claws retracted. The glow in his chest dimmed.

They both stepped back.

Still watching each other.

Still locked in thought.

Athena scanned the arena. The broken field. The wrecked stands. The people still trembling.

"No winner," she said.

Her voice carried through every broken speaker, every cracked rune.

"No rematch. Not here."

The crowd didn’t cheer.

They couldn’t.

Too much had happened.

Too fast.

Too real.

Lucian looked at the dragon one last time.

"...Next time?" he asked.

The man gave a quiet nod.

"Next time."

Then he walked off, vanishing into the crowd like nothing happened.

But inside?

The dragon was still shaken.

Not by the damage.

Not by the strength.

But by what he saw in Lucian’s eyes.

Not rage.

Not ambition.

But memory.

Too many lifetimes behind those eyes.

And that scared him more than anything.