CHAPTER 87: THAT’S ENOUGH

The sun shone brightly high in the sky, sending its golden rays down to the earth, creating shadows with strange shapes on the ground.

On the combat platform, Michel, in his rather simple battle suit, yawned lazily as he looked at his opponent with boredom.

Let’s get this over with so I can go to bed.

At that moment, the announcer began to speak, his voice booming throughout the excited arena:

[And now, the moment everyone has been waiting for! In the first quarterfinal match, we have Michel Abraham, who has crushed all his opponents with devastating force. But today, the big question arises: will he repeat his absolute dominance against Avery Boleoti, or are we in for a surprise?]

"Begin!" announced the referee.

Avery held his spear firmly. A golden aura began to envelop the weapon, vibrating intensely. He moved it quickly, cutting through the air and generating small gusts of wind.

Without warning, she lunged forward.

The distance between them vanished in seconds. Just a few meters away, she took a huge leap and descended with a brutal vertical attack, aiming directly at Michel.

He showed no emotion. He watched the attack as if it were irrelevant. He calculated the trajectory and took four precise steps back.

But Avery didn’t stop there.

While she was still in the air, she lowered her hand down the spear shaft, lengthening the reach of the blow.

"You didn’t expect that, Michel!" she shouted intensely.

CLANG!

The metallic sound echoed throughout the coliseum, followed by a gust that kicked up dust and shook the spectators.

Michel had blocked the attack with a thin, elegantly designed sword. The impact was direct, but his expression did not change.

"Wow... that was unexpected."

With a quick twist of his arm, he deflected Avery’s gun, forcing her to take three steps back. Her face showed surprise, but also excitement.

Michel wasted no time.

He charged toward her with astonishing speed, gliding across the platform with clean, controlled steps. His sword cut through the air with precision, delivering lunges and side cuts without pause.

Avery could barely keep up. She deflected attacks with the shaft of her spear, but Michel didn’t slow down.

He constantly changed angles: a downward slash, then a thrust to the abdomen, then a low sweep with his foot.

She leaped backward, spun in the air, and lunged diagonally. Michel ducked, avoiding the blade by inches, and counterattacked with a kick to the abdomen.

Avery took the blow and slid several feet across the platform.

That speed and strength were a product of his rank. Upon reaching rank 7, the body underwent a qualitative change that increased reflexes, strength, and endurance.

And Michel demonstrated this with every move.

Avery didn’t give up. He changed his stance and swung his spear with both hands, charging energy into the weapon. He took a step forward, then another, and launched a series of rapid horizontal attacks. The weapon whistled as it cut through the air.

Michel deflected one, dodged the next, and blocked the third. Then he took a side step and counterattacked with a direct thrust to the shoulder.

She spun around and used the tip of her spear to deflect the blow. Then she spun completely around, driving forward with a sweeping motion that forced Michel to retreat.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Then they charged again.

Spear and sword clashed relentlessly. Sparks flew with every contact. Michel moved efficiently, without unnecessary movements. Avery was more aggressive, seeking to break his defense with speed and changes of pace.

The two combatants spun, jumped, retreated, and attacked. The floor of the platform began to show marks from the collisions, and the wind generated by their movements shook the edges of the coliseum.

Finally, the two separated.

"Did you think you could beat me so easily, Michel?" Avery spoke between controlled breaths as he surveyed his sea of mana.

Having chosen the path of the Aura, her expenditure was minimal. But even so, she knew it well: if Michel used his mana essence, she would have no way to resist.

Lyra Medici was the only one who could face him as an equal, but she did not participate. So this tournament belonged to the Abraham family.

"You surprised me quite a bit," Michel said in his usual indifferent tone. "I didn’t expect you to be so good."

The only person who sparked his interest was still in the tournament. They hadn’t faced each other yet, but he wasn’t worried. They would cross paths eventually, in the final or before.

Then the fight resumed.

Michel was the first to move. He closed the distance in an instant, aiming straight for the vital points. Clean, fast blows, without pause.

Avery blocked them by inches, but she wasn’t the same anymore. The strength she lost in the first exchange was taking its toll. Her arms trembled with every clash. Still, her eyes showed no fear, only determination.

She hadn’t come this far to give up.

She spun on her right leg and, with a sideways sweep of her spear, she destabilized Michel. It was a small space. A breather. But not enough to even the odds.

Michel stood firm and twisted his wrist. His sword slashed diagonally. Avery lowered his spear to deflect the blade, but Michel had already moved: a short, quick twist that changed the direction of the attack.

The blade grazed her left arm.

She stepped back, gritted her teeth, and attacked with a direct thrust, using all her speed. A series of quick, controlled stabs. The last one aimed for the neck.

Michel raised his sword and blocked it sideways with one hand. His other hand glowed for the first time.

"That’s enough."

He used his mana essence.

A black aura covered his body and sword at the same time. In a single movement, he disappeared from view.

Avery barely saw the shadow before the impact sent her flying backward.

BANG!

Her body hit the platform and rolled across the floor. The spear flew out of her hands.

The coliseum fell silent.

Avery tried to get up, but her arm wouldn’t respond. She looked up. Michel was standing in front of her, no trace of mockery or contempt.

Only indifference.

Avery clenched her teeth in frustration.

She had lost.

Michel simply turned around and left the combat platform with the same indifference and boredom with which he had climbed onto it. And his gaze fixed on one name in particular before leaving the place completely.