The coliseum trembled beneath the weight of their silence.
Julian wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His armor hissed, steam rising as his crimson mana reheated the frozen metal. "Let's finish this," he muttered.
Veylan gave a quiet nod. His sword hung at his side, trailing faint frost. Small arcs of wind coiled around his boots, and his breath misted the air.
Then they moved.
Julian charged first, spear dragging a line of crimson behind him as he pushed his speed with a footwork technique laced in raw mana. His movements weren't graceful—they were fierce, calculated, and aimed for the throat.
Veylan danced around him, bending wind around his steps.
Julian stabbed—Veylan leaned.
Julian swept low—Veylan jumped, twisting in midair with a gust of air to redirect.
Then Veylan countered.
An ice-infused arc swept toward Julian's legs, a thin crescent of blue light. Julian parried with his spear, but the cold edge nipped at his thigh, leaving frostbite in its wake.
Julian retaliated by slamming his palm on the ground, channeling crimson mana outward like a ripple.
B-Rank Skill: Ember Chain.
Chains of fire burst from the arena floor, lashing toward Veylan like serpents.
Veylan raised both hands, his sword held in reverse grip. A thin, transparent barrier of pressurized air surrounded him.
Air Compression Guard.
The chains hissed, striking the barrier and breaking apart with a roar—but the heat got through. His coat caught fire.
Veylan dropped and rolled, extinguishing the flame, and sprang back to his feet. His eyes had changed—frost-blue, glowing faintly.
Then he whispered, "You're forcing my hand."
With a flick of his wrist, the mist around him coalesced again.
A-Rank Skill: Ice Step Mirage – Final Sequence.
This time, he split into three identical mirages—each real for a moment, each swinging simultaneously.
Julian reacted fast, jumping into the air, flipping to spot the real one—but all three Veylans moved together, timed perfectly.
Julian narrowed his eyes, holding his breath, waiting—
And then he spun mid-air, channeling fire around him.
A-Rank Skill: Crimson Vortex.
A blazing cyclone erupted from his body, vaporizing one Veylan, then the second.
But the third—
—was the real one.
Julian twisted too late.
Veylan appeared above him, blade humming with ice mana. He slashed downward, slicing through Julian's shoulder guard, cutting deep before Julian kicked off the air and tumbled away, crashing into the ground and skidding across the stone.
Blood painted the floor. Steam and frost filled the air.
Julian lay there for a second, chest rising and falling in short bursts. He tried to push himself up—but his arm trembled, useless for the moment.
Veylan panted hard too, placing one hand on his thigh. His knees were shaking.
The crowd still didn't breathe.
Julian growled. "Still not… done." He slammed his good fist into the ground, drawing a final reserve of mana.
The arena trembled beneath the clashing pressure of two prodigies.
Julian's crimson eyes blazed with heat, his spear burning like a meteor, while Veylan stood across from him, breathing heavily, mist curling around him as the air grew colder with every breath.
Their battle had gone beyond anything the spectators had witnessed. Ice daggers, wind blades, bursts of crimson spear strikes, and arcane footwork had shaken the coliseum for minutes without end. Yet neither faltered. Both had shed blood. Both had tasted pain. And neither was willing to lose.
Julian slammed his spear into the ground, panting, his crimson mana pulsating like a heartbeat.
"I didn't want to use this," he muttered, voice low, "but you're forcing it out of me, Veylan Drakmore."
Veylan, who stood with his blade pointed down, his feet sliding slightly over frost-covered tiles, tilted his head. "Then stop talking," he replied coolly, ice mist forming around his face. "Do it."
Julian raised his hand. The crimson mana flickered. Then dimmed.
In its place—darkness.
It wasn't empty. It wasn't void. It was heatless fire, jet black with streaks of violet-red, licking up his arms.
"Legendary Skill: Dark Flame," Julian whispered, his voice trembling not with fear, but reverence. "My master gifted this to me—told me to use it only if I met someone who could force me to evolve."
Dark fire swirled around him, devouring the air, distorting space. The battlefield warped from the sheer heatless intensity, burning through even the ambient mana. The arena's protective barriers groaned, sparks of runes igniting to hold it all in.
Veylan's expression hardened.
He had not wanted to use it—not yet.
But now…
He shifted his stance, sliding one foot back and raising his blade. His body shook—mana surged from within.
"Extreme Yin Sword Physique—Activate."
A cold wind exploded from Veylan's body. No longer simply air and ice; this was the essence of absolute frost. The aura shifted—no longer that of a prodigy. This was the energy of an old world, of something ancient. His skin paled further, lips bluish, and veins glowed like frozen rivers.
Ice and wind crystallized around him—forming serrated armor over his arms and shoulders. His sword gleamed like a shard of ancient glaciers. Veylan's breath turned into clouds of frost, and every step he took crackled with the scream of ice conquering stone.
The entire stadium stilled.
Two opposing forces.
Dark Flame vs. Extreme Frost.
Life and death collided in their gazes.
And then, they moved.
Julian burst forth, a spear of obsidian flame in his hands, faster than any mortal eye could track.
Veylan vanished into the mist, reappearing only to strike, sword cutting through space itself like a silent phantom.
Each strike was devastating.
Where Julian's spear landed, the air ignited with silent black flame that melted even light.
Where Veylan's sword moved, space froze, distorting with sharp crystalline echoes.
"Dark Flame—Judgment Arc!" Julian roared.
A serpent of black fire erupted from his spear, a wave of destructive essence roaring across the arena.
Veylan met it head-on, not with a skill—but his own blood and will. "Ice Step Mirage—Final Form!"
He danced through the wave, vanishing and reappearing in flickers of cold air, each step leaving a trail of cracked frost behind. He twirled mid-air and launched his second A-Rank skill:
"Frozen Crescent Blade!"
A storm of ice arcs cut through the flame-serpent, the two attacks colliding in a blinding explosion of fire and frost. The center of the arena vanished under the force—only howling wind and rising steam remained.
And from it—both emerged.
Burned. Cut. Bleeding. Barely standing.
Their eyes met again. The crowd had fallen silent. No one could cheer. No one could breathe.
Veylan's breath rattled. "You're… a monster."
Julian smiled bitterly. "Likewise."
Julian raised his spear, dark flame spiraling to its apex. "Let's end this."
Veylan's blade was coated in a vortex of wind and frost, spiraling tighter than ever before. "Agreed."
Their final clash didn't echo.
It silenced everything.
Two blurs. One moment.
And then…
The explosion was not loud. It was pure white light—consuming everything.
When it cleared, the center of the arena was gone. Just a crater.
Two bodies lay at opposite ends.
Julian, his spear embedded in the ground beside him, unmoving, dark flame finally snuffed out.
Veylan, pale, his blade frozen in mid-air even as it slowly turned to shards.
He was smiling faintly.
Both hearts had stopped.
Both eyes closed.
The healers rushed in.
They tried. And tried.
But…
It was over.
Julian Reinhart and Veylan Drakmore — both were dead.
They had burned, frozen, and bled every ounce of their will. And in the end—they had fallen together.
A draw.
The crowd rose to their feet—not to cheer, but to honor.
The match was over.
And it would be remembered for generations.
Two warriors. Neither backing down. Neither giving up.
The Flame and The Frost — the battle with no victor.