CHAPTER 149: DOWNLOOK ON JENNER!

The Jenner family’s estate was unusually quiet right after Jenner was defeated, the kind of silence that felt thick and suffocating, as if the very air was weighed down by shame.

Normally, their halls buzzed with chatter, servants moving briskly, and nobles coming and going.

But after the battle, all of that energy had vanished.

At the side of the crowded arena sat Jenner’s father. His composure was shattered. His face was tight with rage, his knuckles white as his hands gripped the armrests of his chair.

His eyes—usually sharp and calculating—burned with humiliation. His jaw clenched so hard that the faint grinding of his teeth was audible to those nearest to him.

For some years, the Jenner family name had stood as the representative of the Council of Clan.

They were known for their influence, their mastery of magic, and above all, their unmatched pride.

Yet, Jenner got defeated.

To Jenner’s father , it was more than just a battle lost. It was an open insult.

The memory of the crowd’s cheers for Elysia, the whispers about Jenner’s shame, echoed in his mind like poison.

"You... you let her humiliate you!" Jenner’s father spat. "Do you understand what this means? Our reputation is now gone. Our honor—shattered in front of the entire families!"

Jenner himself stood silently at the edge of the arena, his head bowed. His usual composure was gone.

The smirk that once marked his confidence was replaced by shame, a bitter taste he could not wash away.

He wanted to speak, to defend himself, but no words came that could justify the loss.

"You idiot!" Martis finally burst out, his voice echoing sharply against the stone walls. He spun around to face Jenner, his expression twisted with fury.

His face was red, his jaw clenched, and veins bulged at his temples from the sheer force of his anger.

"Do you even realize what you’ve done? You had the upper hand! You had everything—your magic, your spells, your training—and you let her... her... slice through it all as if it were nothing!"

Jenner’s body stiffened at the outburst. His chest rose and fell unevenly, but no words left his lips. He couldn’t defend himself.

Martis’ words were like knives, sharper than any family scolding, because they rang with undeniable truth.

Jenner had faltered. He hesitated. In that crucial moment, he had underestimated Elysia, treating her as just another swordswoman.

The air grew heavier as Jenner’s father patience snapped. His hand slammed down with force. The sound cracked through the silence like thunder. His face was a mask of seething fury, eyes narrowing with disappointment and rage.

"You see this, Martis?" Jenner’s father said, pointing a trembling finger at his son. "You see the shame I see? My own son—humbled, humiliated—by a girl! Do you even begin to understand the disgrace this drags upon our name? The whispers will spread across the city, across every noble house. They will not speak of our strength, but of our shame. This defeat will be remembered for generations—and when they recall the Jenners, it will not be with respect, but with mockery!"

Martis’ fists tightened at his sides, his knuckles turning pale. His own pride as Jenner’s comrade burned with humiliation, and his voice came out low and cold, each word sharp enough to cut the air.

"Do you realize what she did, Jenner? She didn’t just beat you. She stripped you bare before everyone. Every flaw, every weakness in your technique—she revealed them all. And you... you stood there and let it happen." He shook his head, his eyes filled with both anger and disbelief.

"I’ve fought beside you more times than I can count. I’ve seen you hold firm against enemies far stronger than her. But today..." his words cracked with bitterness, "today you faltered in front of everyone."

"Shut the hell up. Let’s see what you can do." Jenner shouted towards Martis.

His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms until his skin nearly broke. His voice, strained but defiant, finally pushed out:

(I... I miscalculated. She was faster, sharper—stronger than I expected._

(I will get back onto you. Elysia)

Silence fell again. Jenner’s father sank into his chair again, his hands covering his face as he tried to collect himself, but the tension did not ease.

The crowd erupted again. The cheers this time were deafening, shaking the very air. Many of them screamed her name, nobles applauded reluctantly, and even the Celestial nodded in acknowledgment.

Elysia did not bask in the glory. She simply stood tall, her figure framed by the fading dust of battle, her expression calm and composed.

She looked not like a victor seeking praise—but like a swordswoman who had proven, beyond all doubt, that resolve could cut through even the mightiest of spells.

And in that moment, her name was etched into every heart watching.

"Don’t get lost", Edwin said to Martis.

A roar erupted from the crowd..

CLANG!

Martis struck first, his blade sweeping forward with the precision of a hawk diving for prey.

The strike was fast—too fast for most eyes to follow—but Edwin caught it with a single, effortless parry. Sparks burst where the blades met, scattering like fireworks.

Martis did not relent. He pressed forward with an unbroken rhythm, his sword moving like a raging storm.

Each strike was heavy, relentless, a blow that could shatter lesser opponents. His boots scraped against the arena floor, each step driving his momentum further, his body moving with the ease of practiced instinct.

But Edwin... was calm. Almost too calm.

His eyes tracked every movement with unshakable clarity. His wrist twisted at just the right moments, his blade meeting Martis’ storm with an elegance that seemed almost casual.

His body shifted just enough to deflect, never overexerting, never faltering.

The crowd leaned forward, breaths caught in their throats. Each strike rang out like thunder.

"Martis is fast!" one noble gasped.

"No, look closer—Edwin hasn’t moved an inch out of rhythm!" another whispered.

The two warriors separated with a sudden clash that sent a ripple of force across the floor.