Arthur vs Elias
The moment the referee's hand dropped, Elias moved first.
A blur of motion—
No hesitation. No words.
He shot forward, blade unsheathed in a streak of silver-blue mana. His footwork was sharp, honed by hundreds of matches, his aura flaring to life like a jagged halo.
Arthur drew Ashbreaker.
A clean motion, one hand to the hilt, the blade sliding free with a soft ring that echoed like distant thunder. The sword shimmered gold—glowing faintly with his sword aura.
Elias came in fast. Ten strikes in five seconds.
Each one aimed with surgical precision, his footwork weaving unpredictably. He darted left, feinted right, slashed high, cut low—blades screamed through the air as he assaulted Arthur from every direction like a wolf testing a wall.
But Arthur didn't move back.
His blade turned at perfect angles, parrying every strike with barely a shift in his stance.
His gold-hued aura pulsed at each contact—soft, clean, measured.
He wasn't just blocking.
He knew.
Where every strike would land.
Like he'd seen it all before.
Elias gritted his teeth and jumped high, spinning—bringing his heel down in a brutal overhead kick laced with momentum.
Arthur raised his sword with one hand and met the kick midair.
Clang!
A metallic shockwave echoed through the arena as foot met blade. Elias flipped back, landing lightly.
He clicked his tongue. "Still calm, huh?"
Fine. Let's raise the stakes.
He swept his hand, and the air around him rippled.
Wind responded.
A gust swirled around him, lifting his coat and hissing like a beast unchained. Without chanting, without drawing a spell circle—he summoned a surge of his partially controlled element.
Not a skill.
Just pure affinity.
Raw talent.
Then—
He activated the next attack. "Razor Vortex!"
The air whirled violently, blades of wind forming into a spiraling tornado of sharpened force—B+ rank spell, augmented by his elemental control.
The vortex roared forward, tearing into the ground as it chased Arthur.
Arthur didn't flinch.
No spell. No skill name. Just his sword.
His golden aura flared, coating Ashbreaker like sunlight made solid. He dashed forward—not away—and cut straight through the base of the vortex, the eye of the storm shattered by a single, precise slash.
The crowd gasped.
He spun, dancing between the tail-end blades that lashed around him, boots tapping like a rhythm on stone—his footwork fluid, minimal, perfect.
Elias's brow furrowed. "He's still holding back?"
No matter.
He snapped his fingers.
Lightning crackled in the sky above the arena—five bolts dancing into being.
"D-rank spell: Thunder Lance!"
Each bolt slammed into the space where Arthur was about to land, lightning exploding with a blinding flash.
Smoke burst upward. Dust clouded the platform.
Elias appeared in the smoke, blade flashing downward. One clean strike—meant to finish it if the lightning didn't.
But—
Clang.
His sword met gold again.
Arthur stepped from the smoke, blade raised, the edge glowing with calm fury. Not a single burn on his coat. Not a tremble in his fingers.
Elias leapt back, creating distance, his breath growing sharper now.
He circled his mana again, combining his blade and spells in a rapid flurry—wind slashes laced into sword strikes, feints paired with flickers of elemental burst, mixing his limited air control with mana-efficient spells to wear Arthur down.
But each time—
Arthur was there.
Parry. Deflect. Step.
Every spell predicted. Every strike answered.
Not once had Arthur used a single named skill.
Not once had his golden aura wavered.
Elias's smirk began to crack.
"He's… reading me."
His plan was simple. Let Arthur waste his powerful skills. Force him to drain his mana. But so far…
Arthur had used nothing except his base swordsmanship and aura.
Not a single skill.
Not even a B-rank.
Not even an A-rank.
And somehow—
He was winning the tempo.
Elias's grip tightened. His lungs pulled heavier now.
He'd used several spells, burst-type footwork, and summoned elemental wind.
Mana drain was starting to sting.
He glanced toward the Emperor's balcony.
Was his father watching?
No.
He already knew the answer.
So he clenched his jaw, and thought:
Fine. If he won't use his skills, then I'll make him.
"I'll force your hand, Arthur Valerian."
And Arthur?
He simply raised his sword again, tip leveled, aura shining brighter now.
But still—
Silent.
Waiting.
The chill in the air was sudden.
Elias stepped back, raising his hand. A magic circle spiraled open mid-air, glowing a pale frost-blue.
His lips moved with quiet control—
"Frost Spear Volley."
The air shimmered.
Six sharp ice spears formed instantly, suspended in the sky like jagged daggers of winter's wrath.
Whoosh—
They fired in a flurry.
Arthur didn't flinch. His golden aura glowed brighter around his blade.
He stepped—angled—cut—spun.
Each spear he blocked with minimal movement, the tip of Ashbreaker tracing thin lines through the air. His footwork flowed like water around the ice storm—calculated, fluid, unfazed.
Elias narrowed his eyes. Still blocking everything?
No time to pause. His hand swept again—another magic circle flared, this one colder, deeper, spiked like thorns.
"Glacial Chains."
Long, coiling chains of ice surged from the circle, snaking toward Arthur like winter serpents. They clinked and clattered against the ground as they sought to bind him.
Arthur let out a soft hum—just enough sound to break his silence.
Then—
He slammed Ashbreaker into the ground.
CRACK!
A pulse of mana erupted, freezing the very earth beneath him.
"Frozen Ring."
A circular burst of jagged frost shot outward from the impact point. The ice chains shattered as they entered the ring's radius, snapped apart by the expanding wave of freezing force.
The crowd gasped again.
Arthur stood calm inside the shattered circle, mist rising around him. His aura hadn't dimmed—if anything, it pulsed warmer in contrast to the chill.
But Elias wasn't finished.
Electricity crackled around him now—his entire body veiled in snapping arcs of lightning.
"Lightning Jab."
Boom.
His foot hit the ground and he shot forward like a thunderbolt, closing the gap in a blink. His blade wasn't the weapon now—his fist was.
He struck.
A single, concentrated jab—right into the edge of the still-forming Frozen Ring.
BOOM!
The ring shattered from the impact, chunks of frost blown apart in all directions. The force echoed like an explosion. Elias skidded back, landing with a short laugh and a confident smirk.
"Heh."
He jumped, flipping mid-air. Another circle flared—
Thicker. Brighter. A-Rank.
He roared: "Javelin Bolt!"
A massive spear of crackling lightning formed above his hand. Not thrown, but dropped like divine wrath.
The javelin crashed downward, the arena lit in white-hot arcs.
The sound was deafening.
But—
Arthur was gone.
Elias's eyes widened.
From the shadows behind him, a whisper of movement.
Arthur stepped out of darkness like a ghost, his eyes calm, sword lowered. He had used a B-rank dark element footwork skill—Shadow Veer—to vanish and reappear in Elias's shadow mid-cast.
Too late.
Arthur's foot hit Elias's chest—
Straight kick.
WHAM.
Elias was launched backward, flipping through the air. His body slammed against the far edge of the dueling platform, the impact kicking dust into the air.
He coughed once—blood trickled from his nose.
For a moment, he was silent. Then—
He stood.
Planted his sword into the stone floor and pulled himself up.
He wiped the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes weren't mocking anymore.
They were burning.
With anger.
With realization.
With the taste of a fight that wasn't going his way.
"You—"
He exhaled.
"You're not just some noble brat."
Across from him, Arthur didn't reply.