CHAPTER 146: THROUGH DUST AND STEEL.

For the audience, the combatants looked less like people and more like fleeting shadows—appearing and vanishing in the haze like restless ghosts.

Edwin staggered back a step, his chest rising and falling heavily. He coughed, his throat dry from the dust that hung in the arena.

With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat pouring down his brow, but it did little to clear his vision. His arm ached painfully, a dull throb that pulsed with every heartbeat.

Martis’s last greatsword strike had rattled his bones even through the blade he’d used to block.

Across from him, Elysia stood with her sword in hand, her figure steady but strained. Her breathing was sharp and uneven, each inhale and exhale cutting through the silence between clashes.

The constant pressure of spells had left its mark—her hands trembled slightly, fingers twitching as if reluctant to grip the weapon any longer.

Her robes clung to her with sweat and dust, and faint cuts lined her arm where shards of ice and flame had grazed her earlier.

Still, her eyes burned with focus.

The battle wasn’t over.

Around them, the arena looked like a battlefield after war. Cracks split the ground where Martis’s greatsword had landed, black scorch marks scarred the floor from Jenner’s fire and lightning, and the haze of dust made the fighters look like silhouettes moving in a storm.

The air itself felt heavy, pressing down on both sides. Every step, every swing, every spell took a toll.

And yet, none of them slowed.

Martis and Jenner wasted no time in pressing their advantage.

Martis charged forward first, his greatsword whistling through the air in a wide, brutal arc. The sheer force behind the swing sent a wave of dust rolling outward.

Edwin braced himself, but the power was too much to meet head-on. He was forced to step back, his boots scraping against the cracked stone floor as he narrowly avoided being cut down.

Before he could regain his footing, Jenner moved. The mage’s staff glowed with twisting currents of light as he finished a rapid incantation.

A spiraling wind spell erupted, a roaring vortex that rushed across the arena like a living storm.

The force caught Elysia just as she tried to shift into position, dragging her sideways against her will. Her hair whipped around her face as the gust pulled her straight into Martis’s attack range.

"Elysia!" Edwin shouted.

Without hesitation, he lunged forward. His blade rose just in time to intercept Martis’s greatsword, steel clashing against steel in a thunderous impact.

The collision rattled through his arms and shoulders, his bones vibrating from the shock. Pain surged up to his shoulder, but he clenched his jaw and refused to let go.

The ground beneath their feet cracked from the force of the clash. Dust billowed upward, and the spectators gasped at the sheer violence of it.

Edwin pushed back, sweat dripping into his eyes. His chest burned with every breath, his muscles screaming from the relentless pressure.

"We can’t keep this up much longer," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Elysia steadied herself, regaining her footing after breaking free of the wind’s pull. Her sword was still in her grip, her knuckles pale from how tightly she held it.

Her breathing was heavy, but her eyes—sharp and unyielding—never wavered from the two opponents before them.

She glanced briefly at Edwin, determination flickering across her expression.

"Then we don’t hold back," she said firmly, her voice calm despite the chaos.

Her words cut through the dust.

Edwin blinked, then gave a faint, tired grin. "Right. No holding back."

The air between the four fighters grew heavier. Mana flared, steel gleamed, and the crowd held their breath. The battle was about to escalate.

They moved in perfect sync, as if they had trained for this moment their whole lives.

Edwin lunged left, his sword cutting through the air with a sharp whistle, a feint meant only to steal Martis’s attention for a heartbeat.

The towering warrior reacted just as Edwin hoped, shifting his stance and raising his massive blade to counter.

At the same instant, Elysia’s staff glowed brilliantly, releasing a flash of searing white light that streaked across the battlefield like a bolt of lightning. It struck toward Jenner, the mage, exploding in his face.

Jenner flinched, his body jerking backward, eyes narrowing against the sudden brightness. He threw up his arms to shield himself, squinting through the burning light that forced its way past his guard.

Yet even while half-blinded, he refused to go down quietly. With sheer stubbornness, Jenner muttered a chant through clenched teeth and fired off one last desperate spell.

The spell detonated in the middle of the arena with a roar that shook the ground. A wave of deafening sound and crushing force erupted outward, ripping chunks of stone from the floor.

Dust and broken debris exploded into the air, creating a storm of dirt that swallowed the fighters from view.

The crowd cried out in shock, gasps and shouts mixing with the rumble of the explosion.

Dozens of spectators rose from their seats, straining to see through the thick gray haze. The entire arena held its breath.

Inside the dust cloud, the four figures staggered back into view one by one. The haze slowly thinned, revealing the battlefield once again.

All four were still standing.

Edwin coughed hard, his chest heaving, the plume of smoke making his lungs burn.

His armor was battered and broken in places, ugly dents hammered into the steel where Martis’s sword had struck with bone-shaking force. Burn marks and streaks of black covered his chest plate and shoulders from Jenner’s spell.

He gripped his sword tightly, but his arms trembled with the effort.

Beside him, Elysia stood, her robes dirtied and torn. Sweat clung to her pale face, strands of hair sticking to her cheeks.

Her staff, chipped near the tip, looked fragile in her grasp, but she still held it with fierce determination. Her breathing was ragged, each inhale sharp, like her lungs were on fire.

Blood from a shallow cut ran down her arm, staining the sleeve of her robe.

Across the field, Martis and Jenner emerged from the dust as though they had walked through little more than smoke.

Martis straightened, brushing dirt from his armor. His greatsword gleamed, untouched and deadly, while his expression remained calm and confident, as though the battle had only just begun.