Chapter 44: The Strongest Elite of Class S VS The Strongest Elite of Class A (3)
The air in the colosseum was heavy, so thick it felt like the whole place was holding its breath, waiting for something to break. Rubble shivered on the cracked marble floor, small stones rattling as the ground pulsed with leftover mana. The red sky above churned slow, clouds twisting like they were alive, casting a bloody glow over everything. The smell of dust, sweat, and burnt mana hung sharp, stinging the nose, the kind of air that made your skin itch and your heart beat faster.
Christopher Davenson stood square, facing Claire Manhattan across a stretch of broken ground, sweat shining on his forehead, his grin wide and wild even after minutes of throwing punches and taking hits. His muscles steamed with mana, his uniform ripped at the shoulders, showing scars and dirt. The brawler cracked his neck, his breathing steady, like he was just warming up. "Is that all? I thought this could get me more excited," he taunted, his voice loud and teasing, like he was poking a bear for fun. "I admit, our fight was great, but is that really all, Lady Claire? And here I thought you were far more than just a support mage."
The words hit Claire harder than any fist, her amber eyes narrowing to slits, her knuckles white around her staff. She felt her pride as a mage—her skill, her training—being laughed at by this guy who fought with nothing but raw muscle and guts. "This damn musclehead... how dare he!" she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice low, almost a growl.
Her mana surged, violent and wild, waves of it exploding out from her core like a bomb going off. The whole field shook, the air ripping with a sound like tearing cloth, cracks spidering out under her feet. "AHHHHHHH!!!" A scream—no, a roar—tore from her throat, echoing loud across the colosseum, bouncing off the broken pillars and empty tiers. Everyone—Lucian, Celestia, Johnathan, Amelia, even the instructors watching from outside the simulation—snapped their heads toward her, eyes wide.
A crimson-gold aura flared around Claire, bright and hot, spreading like a star exploding slow. Her ginger hair whipped in the wind, her amber eyes glowing like molten gold, fierce and sharp. Her face, once soft and delicate, was now hard—regal, divine, terrifying, like something out of a story nobody dared tell. Every inch of her screamed power, the kind that made your chest tight just looking at her.
Christopher threw an arm up, shielding his face as the pressure hit, his skin prickling, muscles tensing under the weight of it. His grin flickered, fading for the first time, his voice rough. "The hell is this?!" he barked, eyes narrowing against the light.
When the dust settled, Claire stood in the center of a glowing magic circle that stretched across half the arena, runes pulsing blue and gold under her feet, lighting up the cracked marble like a map of stars. Her presence filled the space, heavy and commanding, the air around her buzzing with mana so thick it was hard to breathe.
"This… this aura…!" Christopher muttered, half-stunned, his boots scraping as he steadied himself. "It's like… a goddess descended."
Claire raised her staff high, the tip glowing bright, ancient runes sparking to life across the floor, answering her like soldiers to a general. "You should've kept your mouth shut," she said, her voice calm but laced with fury, cold and sharp as a blade. "Because now, you'll regret making fun of a support mage like me!"
She swung her staff down hard, the air cracking like a whip. "Arcane Judgement: Celestial Torrent!"
Mana erupted—pure white beams shot down from the sky like spears thrown by gods, fast and relentless, each one hitting the ground with a boom that sent cracks racing out. Christopher barely dodged, rolling across the broken floor, his body steaming from the heat of near-misses, his uniform tearing at the seams, showing blood and sweat on his skin. The earth shattered under the attack, chunks of marble flying, but his grin crept back, slow and wild.
"Heh… Damnit," he laughed, pushing himself up, wiping blood from his lip with his thumb. "I thought that was all… but it seems you had more up your sleeve than you showed me."
He cracked his knuckles loud, eyes gleaming with that crazy thrill of a fight that's worth it. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Now this is what I wanted to see—a great fight!" He charged forward, fists swinging through falling debris, his battle aura flaring like a storm breaking loose. "Come at me then, Claire Manhattan! Show me how powerful—YOU ARE!!"
The clash of raw muscle and divine magic shook the whole colosseum, the ground trembling under their feet. Christopher punched through the air, sending mana shockwaves that cracked the stone, while Claire countered with dazzling sigils that glowed bright, blasting him back with pure force. Every punch he threw met a counterspell, every spell she cast was shattered by his strength. They were opposites—brute power against sharp precision—but their fight moved like a dance, each step matched, like they were made to collide.
—Meanwhile, across the arena—
Lucian Azrael Von Blackstar stood locked in his duel with Johnathan Almek Leonborne, his saber meeting the Lionborne's greatsword with easy, clean blocks, each one effortless, like he was swatting away flies. Johnathan's golden eyes burned with frustration, his teeth gritted, sweat dripping down his face. "How did you know, Lucian?! How do you know I'm a Chosen—!" he shouted, his voice cracking with anger, his swings wilder now, heavier.
Lucian didn't answer, his deep black eyes calm—cold, like a frozen lake. His movements were sharp, surgical, every block and counter less like a fight and more like a teacher fixing a kid's mistakes. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The sound of their blades rang out, echoing through the ruins like a bell tolling over and over, each hit sending sparks flying into the dust.
Lucian's thoughts drifted, sharp and clear even in the chaos. 'That's the Temporal Breakthrough…' he realized, his eyes flicking toward Claire for a split second, catching the glow of her aura. 'A unique skill you only awaken after surpassing your weaker self. It's supposed to be exclusive to the main protagonists—each of the four from their respective games in my second life.'
He blocked another wild swing from Johnathan with a lazy flick of his wrist, the force pushing the Lionborne back several meters, boots skidding on the marble. 'But Claire? She did the impossible and worse she's still only Sixth Class Level right now. Yet she's just unlocked the Temporal Breakthrough. That means… for a short time, she's either Eighth… or worse—Ninth Class Level.'
He glanced toward Christopher's fight, watching the brawler charge head-on into Claire's divine light, fists blazing, dust and stone exploding around him. 'Christopher is in danger… but—' Lucian paused, catching the look on Christopher's face—grinning, laughing, eyes lit up with pure, wild joy, like he was having the time of his life.
'—it seems he's enjoying every second of it.'
Lucian's grip tightened on his saber, the leather creaking in his hand. 'Then I won't interfere. He'd hate that. And besides… this is important for his growth.' A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he turned back to Johnathan, who was breathing hard, readying another swing.
'Go on then, Christopher. Have fun fighting Claire—the side heroine who was never supposed to unlock that skill. Hah! This world… is full of endless possibilities now unlike in the original game timeline and my second life,' he thought, his eyes narrowing, the smirk growing sharper.
As Lucian's blade met Johnathan's once more, the sky above the colosseum cracked with light and mana, bright streaks splitting the red clouds, signaling that the tide of the simulation exam had begun to shift in ways no one had ever predicted.