The atmosphere in the arena was electric, the air thick with the heat of anticipation. Every seat was taken, and even the elders leaned forward in their chairs, eyes fixed on the battle stage.
The announcer's voice boomed across the grounds.
"First match — Rank 5, Cale Dunver, versus Rank 6, Jenil Sharrow!"
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Cale stepped forward, his frame taut with contained energy. His movements were deliberate, his calm expression masking the sharp focus in his eyes. From the moment his boots touched the platform, the temperature around him shifted — faint waves of searing heat rippled from his core. The fire essence clung to his aura like a second skin.
Opposite him, Jenil Sharrow twirled his spear with casual precision. Lightning danced faintly along its length, snapping in sharp bursts as if impatient for release. His gaze was cold, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips told the crowd he thrived in these moments.
The referee gave the signal.
In an instant, Cale swept his arm forward, launching a surge of fire across the arena floor. Jenil moved like a flash of silver, spear striking the flames and splitting them apart — but the heat still licked at his arms. He retaliated, lunging forward with a burst of lightning so bright it momentarily blinded the spectators.
The exchange was fast, fierce, and unrelenting — flame clashing with lightning, heat meeting speed in a violent dance. Sparks rained from every clash, and the sound of their strikes cracked like thunder.
Finally, with a feint to the left, Cale drew Jenil in — then blasted a wave of heat point-blank. Jenil staggered, the lightning flickering, before the referee's voice cut in.
"Winner — Rank 5, Cale Dunver!"
The crowd roared again, some cheering Cale's composure, others lamenting Jenil's loss.
But there was no time to rest.
"Second match — Rank 3, Daron Hellsong, versus Rank 4, Mira Elenith!"
Daron strode into the arena with the unshakable bearing of someone who had tasted victory countless times before. His dark hair whipped behind him, and the heavy greatsword in his hands seemed an extension of his body. As he stood, faint tremors rippled through the ground, as though the earth itself responded to his presence.
Mira Elenith entered from the opposite side, her posture upright, her twin blades glinting like streams of moonlight. She radiated poise — every step calculated, every breath measured. A faint frost crept from her boots as she moved, the temperature dipping enough to raise goosebumps among the front-row spectators.
The match began with no hesitation. Daron's first step cracked the stone beneath him, his greatsword swinging in a wide arc that would have cleaved through a lesser opponent instantly. Mira ducked under it, her blades tracing lines of frost in the air before lashing out in a counterattack.
The two fought like opposing forces of nature — Daron's raw strength and unshakable defense against Mira's fluid speed and relentless precision. Sparks flew as steel met steel, frost and stone colliding in bursts of white mist and debris.
In the end, a mist-shrouded feint from Mira earned her an opening, one blade pressing against Daron's throat before he could recover.
"Winner — Rank 4, Mira Elenith!"
The crowd erupted again, half cheering, half stunned at the upset.
The announcer's voice rose above the noise.
"That concludes today's matches! The next round will be announced tomorrow!"
The arena slowly emptied, but the tension lingered in the air — the knowledge that each clash brought the tournament closer to the final confrontation.
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