The battle was done—but legends had only just begun.
Ravien bowed to the audience, both hands pressed together in a symbol of respect. He placed his axe beside its sheath, and as it began to shrink, so did he—returning to his original dwarf form. With the same steady steps, he walked out of the arena, no longer just a timid initiate, but a warrior who had earned their respect.
The win was clear. The referee had no need to reannounce it.
He walked steadily into the arena with his handbook, then raised his voice, which echoed with vibrant enthusiasm.
"Next up—Zane Halric versus Kia Oren!"
The arena fell silent. The air shifted. This was no longer just a match. It was a lesson… and a legend in the making.
An intense aura buzzed through the atmosphere as each match unveiled a new facet of frost-born power.
Two male figures made their way into the battlefield, standing opposite each other.
To the right stood a tall, dark-haired young man, silver-reflecting blade in hand. His cloak swirled and danced with the wind. His presence felt like the air itself—untouchable, yet dominant.
Zane.
Opposite him stood a silver-haired frost-wielder, tall and radiant. His stance was sharp, unwavering, like a sword on the verge of striking. A frost-blue blade rested along his forearm, glinting near his temple.
Kia.
The air grew thick. Silent. Heavy.
The referee leapt off the battlefield, his voice thundering:
"BEGIN!"
No hesitation.
No power-ups.
No pre-fight banter.
Zane and Kia charged—blades drawn, hearts pounding. Their weapons clashed mid-run, metal screaming against metal as their eyes locked. Zane leapt high, the wind pushing him like a longtime ally. He twisted midair, parried upward, and landed far behind.
They paused—then activated their blades.
Zane's voice rang out, steady and powerful:
"Whisper, Skyrime! Let the cold winds howl!"
A blazing tornado of wind surged around him. His eyes turned white, his hair rising in defiance of gravity. A spiraling wind-armor hovered around his blade like a dancing air spirit.
Kia's voice shattered the tension like a war drum:
"Enshroud them, Nebuliveil! Let mist become my veil and steam my blade!"
Water gushed from beneath him, evaporating in an instant into a rising mist. His blade shimmered—electricity-infused steam wreathing it with deadly elegance.
Humidity gripped the arena. Thunderclouds formed overhead, artificial rain beginning to pour. Lightning roared. Frost and storm clashed violently.
CLANG!
Their blades collided—not once, not twice—but again and again, each swing slowed by the sheer force of opposing auras.
Zane pressed forward, wind and blade as one, slicing through Kia's dense mist-defense. Kia caught an opening mid-charge and struck—not with his blade, but with a steam-coated fist to Zane's side. Blood sprayed. A clean hit to Zane's lower abdomen.
They pulled apart.
Zane murmured through clenched teeth:
"Wind ability—Glacier Gale!"
He slashed in a wide arc, sending a storm of cutting wind blades toward Kia.
Kia reacted instantly:
"Mist Technique—Veilguard Cyclone!"
A thick, rotating wall of mist surged up around him—a spinning barrier of vapor.
"Mist Technique—Mirage Fog."
The mist thickened. Sight became a distant memory. Inside the arena, vision was blurred. Outside, it was impenetrable.
From the noble stands, Aldrin frowned.
"There's no telling what's happening inside that cube of fog."
Gundrick simply nodded, his eyes never leaving the field.
Inside the mist, Zane stood still. Eyes scanning. Ears honed. His blade shimmered with wind.
Kia struck—appearing from the front. Zane countered, slicing through him like butter.
SQUELCH.
Blood dripped from Zane's shoulder. Another strike—this one from behind.
"An illusion…" he muttered.
More slashes. Blood trickled from his leg. The fog whispered with every move.
Then—a voice echoed in his head.
Zepharion's.
"He's using his domain. What's yours?"
An idea sparked. Hope flared. So did his resolve.
Zane raised his blade.
"Wind Technique—Tempest Spiral!"
A raging column of wind erupted around him, pulling the mist together—then violently blasting it outward. The arena cleared.
Five Kias charged at him.
Zane swung wide, unleashing a winter-sweeping wave of wind. Four vanished—illusions. The real Kia stood, eyes narrowing.
CLANG!
Blades met again, sparks flashing.
They retreated.
Zane only needed space… and the right moment.
Across from him, Kia stood wrapped in mist once again, his aura like a living storm. The fog rolled in, swallowing the battlefield whole.
Zane mocked, buying time:
"You think this fog can stop me, Kia? You're more lost in it than I am!"
Kia's voice echoed from the haze:
"You underestimate the power of concealment, Zane. This mist is my ally. You won't touch me."
Zane grinned.
"We'll see about that."
He raised his arms, calling to the wind. It answered. A vortex began to churn, pressing against the fog. It wasn't enough.
Kia scoffed:
"Nice try. But I control the mist."
He extended his arm. The fog surged like a tidal wave, crashing toward Zane.
Zane's eyes narrowed.
"You're not the only one who controls the air."
A powerful gust sliced through the mist. For a fleeting second, Kia was visible.
Kia snarled:
"You think you've won? You can't outrun my fog."
Zane smirked, eyes drifting upward.
He could feel it—the storm above, the crackling charge.
"That's where you're wrong."
He stretched his arms, calling every whisper of wind. The storm roared back. Clouds coiled into a spiraling vortex above.
Kia's eyes flickered.
"W-What are you doing?"
"I'm making the storm mine."
The wind howled. Pressure thickened. The sky trembled.
Kia reached for his mist instinctively, alarmed.
"What the—"
But it was too late.
Zane twisted his wrist—channeling the storm upward. A funnel formed, a direct path.
BOOM!
A lightning bolt tore from the sky, guided with unnatural precision. Kia tried to shield himself. The mist cracked, scattered—
The lightning struck.
A flash. An explosion. A silence.
Zane stood, bloodied but breathing. The storm above began to calm.
Kia lay sprawled on the arena floor, sparks still dancing across his body. His mist was gone. His domain shattered.
Zane spoke through his breath:
"You were so focused on hiding… you didn't see the storm. It wasn't your mist that was dangerous, Kia—it was mine."
"And the lightning I could call with it. Your mistake was relying solely on your ability."
The crowd erupted into a roar.
In the noble stands, the Frostblood Matriarch leaned forward, eyes shining.
"These initiates… they're incredible. Adapting mid-battle with instincts like that. That's true talent."
Zane staggered as his vision blurred. Blood loss caught up with him. Several initiates rushed to support him as he exited the battlefield.
A battle of unique abilities had just ended—
not won by power… but by adaptability.