CHAPTER 64: THE FINAL DUEL BEGINS

The arena’s tension had only thickened after Lia’s sudden collapse. Whispers rippled through the audience, but the instructor’s voice cut firmly through them.

"Next match! Ron Volkov versus Lirael Elenros. Step forward!"

The crowd shifted its focus as Lirael gracefully ascended the stage, her silver-blonde hair shimmering faintly under the arena’s glow, jade-green eyes calm but sharp. On the opposite side, Ron strode in silence—spear in hand, fire dancing faintly along the shaft. His expression carried none of his usual levity; it was storm-dark and sharpened with anger.

Lirael’s lips parted softly. "...How’s Lia’s condition?"

Ron stopped at the center, his grip tightening. His voice was low, heavy.

"She’s asleep. Mana backflow... the healers say."

Lirael’s eyes widened slightly. "Mana backflow...? That’s serious."

Ron’s gaze narrowed, the heat in his chest almost rising to his spear’s flame. "Before we fight... let me give you a warning."

Lirael tilted her head, wary but steady. "A warning?"

"You should give up. You know who I want to fight." His voice was edged steel, every word burning with conviction.

Lirael closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head. "I know... but I can’t just give up, Ron."

His jaw tightened. A breath of fire left him as he lowered into stance.

"Have it your way then."

The instructor’s hand sliced the air.

"Begin!"

---

Ron surged forward instantly, a blur of flame and spear. His sheer speed made the air tremble.

Lirael’s hands moved in a practiced flourish.

"Fourth Circle: Celestial Beacon!"

Light flared around her like a star-burst, sharpening her senses, allowing her eyes to trace Ron’s movements where normal vision would fail.

Still, his charge came at her like a thunderclap. Lirael’s heart pounded, breath clipped as she cast again—

"Fourth Circle: Aurora Veil!"

A shimmering curtain enveloped her form, and when Ron’s spear lunged, part of it phased harmlessly through her body, grazing only illusion. She slid aside, the veil saving her from a fatal strike.

But Ron didn’t slow. His momentum carried his spear into the ground. Using it as an axis, he twisted, flame bursting from his heel. His boot slammed into Lirael’s Radiant Shield, which cracked and shattered under the explosive strike. She staggered back, teeth clenched—but her lips whispered the next incantation.

"Fourth Circle: Radiant Beam!"

From her outstretched palm erupted a searing white lance of light, cutting through the arena in blinding brilliance.

Ron lowered his stance, spear spinning with frightening precision.

"Inferno Spear—Fifth Technique: Ember Guard!"

A vortex of blistering heat roared to life, scattering the beam into fractured rays. The blinding brilliance clashed with blazing flame, light splintering around his defense. Sweat glistened on Lirael’s brow as her mana drained rapidly from sustaining the spell.

Through the storm of scattered light, Ron broke forward. His spear thrust with merciless speed.

"Inferno Spear—Third Technique: Cinder Lance!"

A trail of embers licked through the air as the spear grazed her defenses. The exam’s barrier flared, protecting her from being pierced—but the follow-up kick to her gut was real. The impact knocked the wind from her chest and hurled her out of the stage’s boundary.

She fell to one knee, coughing sharply, when a shadow extended a hand to her.

Ron.

His face was calmer now, the anger eased by respect. "...Sorry for that, Ms. Lirael."

She gave a small, nervous chuckle, taking his hand. "It’s my fault. I’m weak... But—" she glanced toward the medical wing, where Lia had been taken, "—I’m going to check on Lia."

Her eyes then shifted toward Arin in the waiting seats, her tone soft but firm. "You beat the crap out of that guy."

Ron’s gaze followed hers, and the fire in his eyes reignited.

He nodded once. "I will."

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, the stage trembling with the clash still echoing in their minds. The semifinals had found its second victor.

The instructor’s voice rang out across the arena.

"The final match—Ron Volkov versus Arin Blake!"

Both contenders stepped onto the stage. Ron’s eyes locked firmly onto Arin’s, his expression stern and unwavering. Arin, however, wore his usual calm, almost casual look.

"Begin!"

Neither of them moved at first. Ron stood tall, his aura flaring. Crimson flames wrapped around him, but within seconds, the heat surged—his red flames seared hotter, shifting into a blazing blue fire. The ground sizzled under the heat as his aura erupted, pressure surging like a storm ready to consume.His hair began to flow upward in a flame-like motion, as if his very body was a torch blazing with fury.

Arin smirked.

"No warm-up, huh?" he said, his voice steady. "Fine. Let me show you too."

Sparks danced around his body, crackling with energy. His golden lightning shimmered before twisting into a bluish-green arc, electricity snaking through the air. His aura intensified, his pressure rising sharply—matching Ron’s escalating might,while his hair stood rigid and spiked upward, crackling with electricity as if molded by the storm itself.

For a split second, Ron’s eyes widened in surprise, though his face quickly returned to its serious focus.

"Let’s go," Arin declared, his grin widening.

In the next instant, both shot forward at astonishing speed, their powers colliding in a blinding clash of flame and thunder.

Off in the stands, Zane’s eyes narrowed.

Hm... so this is his partial Thunder Mode. Similar to Ron’s heightened state...

Ron and Arin stood across from each other, spears raised, their auras tearing at the air.

Blue flames roared off Ron’s body, warping the ground in heat; his hair whipped upward like a living blaze. Opposite him, Arin’s bluish-green lightning hissed and cracked, his hair spiked like jagged thunderbolts, every strand buzzing with static.

Neither blinked. Neither breathed.

Then—Ron moved.

He shot forward like a meteor, blue fire exploding with each step. His spear came down in a blazing arc, the arena floor hissing where his boots struck.

Arin was already there. Lightning streaked beneath him, his body moving faster than eyes could follow. Their spears collided—BOOM! The shockwave rattled the arena, flame and thunder biting at each other in the clash.

Ron pressed harder, spear twisting in his grip, sweeping wide with enough force to scorch the air. Arin ducked low, sliding beneath the swing in a trail of sparks, spear flicking up just in time to deflect. The recoil cracked like thunder.

Ron spun, his movements fluid and heavy, flames trailing behind every strike like a burning cyclone. Arin vaulted up, lightning crackling across his frame as he flipped over the sweep, landing light on his feet and countering with a stabbing thrust.

The duel turned into a blur.

Ron’s jabs came fast and merciless, blue fire snapping outward with each strike. Arin weaved through them, sparks bursting from the ground as he darted side to side, slipping past the pressure to return sharp, snapping thrusts of his own.

The crowd leaned forward, eyes wide. They couldn’t follow everything—only flashes of blue fire clashing with streaks of lightning, every collision blasting shockwaves across the ring.

Ron advanced with a flying kick, flames roaring around him. Arin blocked with the shaft of his spear, sliding back across the stone as sparks burned trails in his wake. He twisted mid-slide, launched forward again, and the two collided once more—fire against thunder, force against speed.

The arena trembled. The duel was no longer about technique or spellwork. This was raw strength, raw willpower. Every strike tested the other. Neither backed away, neither faltered.

And as the storm of flame and lightning raged across the stage, one truth became clear to everyone watching—

These two weren’t just fighting. They were trying to crush each other.

Ron lunged, spear blazing.

"Inferno Spear—Cinder Lance!"

Blue fire shot forward in a straight, lethal thrust. The heat warped the air, aimed dead at Arin’s chest.

Arin twisted, sparks flashing as the strike grazed past. His spear spun in reply, lightning bursting outward.

"Arclance Tempestra—Tempest Spiral!"

A storm of bolts slashed the ground, tearing through stone and forcing Ron to leap back, embers scattering around his boots.

Ron didn’t stop. He slid sideways, aura flaring hotter, and feinted forward—before whipping around.

"Inferno Spear—Scorching Coil!"

Flames curled like a serpent, looping in a burning spiral. Arin burst upward in a streak of bluish-green light, soaring high above the coil. He landed behind Ron, lightning coiling along his spear.

"Arclance Tempestra—Boltpiercer Drive!"

The thrust cracked like thunder, stabbing toward Ron’s exposed side.

Ron threw himself into a roll, the bolt exploding where he’d just been. He came up in a spin, teeth bared.

"Inferno Spear—Hellfire Barrage!"

Strike after strike poured from his spear, rapid jabs spitting trails of fire, a relentless cascade of heat.

Arin met each blow head-on, his parries sparking like storms colliding, his feet sliding back across the floor in trails of static. Every clash rattled like cannon fire.

Then—he ducked. Lightning flared.

"Arclance Tempestra—Stormbound Step!"

Thunder cracked. Arin vanished, reappearing mid-spin behind Ron, spear sweeping in a devastating arc.

Ron spun instinctively, his spear blurring as he invoked:

"Inferno Spear—Ember Guard!"

Flames roared into a spinning shield, sparks bursting as lightning crashed against it.

Arin pressed forward, testing the barrier with sharp feints, each strike humming with contained power. Ron’s eyes narrowed, heat flaring brighter as he baited, waiting, drawing him in.

Then both moved at once—Ron vaulting sideways in a burst of fire, Arin surging forward in a crackle of lightning. Their figures blurred, spears clashing in midair, shockwaves bursting outward as the elements screamed against each other.

Flame and thunder tore across the stage.

Dodges blurred into counters.

Counters blurred into trades.

Every move was instinct, every strike a gamble.

The crowd was on their feet, unable to follow. To them, it was only blinding flashes—fire and lightning colliding again and again, each impact shaking the ring.

This wasn’t a duel anymore.

It was a storm.