Two battlers stared at each other down, eyes scanning the bruises and scars etched into their bodies, trying to decipher one another's fighting style. As the bell rang to signal the start of the match, both ignited their shattered veils in unison, like twin serpents poised to strike, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Sometimes, the one who strikes first is the one who lacks confidence in their skills, relying instead on the element of surprise to overwhelm the opponent.
Neither made the first move. Both waited, calculating. But when Grimspine concluded that Levi had no intention of attacking and was simply defending, he suddenly closed the distance like a gust of wind. His entire body moved with such deceptive fluidity that it became nearly impossible to predict whether he would strike with a fist, a kick, or a hidden dagger.
Yet Levi didn't wait for the attack. He swept into motion, forming a scythe-like arc aimed at his leg, an attempt to disrupt his balance. But midway through the strike, he abruptly retracted. At that exact moment, a jagged short blade slashed through the space where his leg had been, missing by inches.
Embersteel Shard.
If he hadn't pulled back at the last moment, suspicious that his attack had come too easily, he would have lost his leg. Up in the Ultimate Guest's box, Veylan shot to his feet in anger. "What is this bullshit?" he shouted. "I'm calling off this match, this is too much! First a Chronomancer, and now a Blade Enchanter? Do they have no shame? Are they really willing to take his leg over a damned Echo Memory?"
With a single glance, Veylan saw the truth: this opponent was far beyond Levi's league.
That first strike, though wrapped in layers of subtle feints, looked like a simple move to the untrained eye. But to him, it was clear, it was a strike meant to end the fight. A winning strike.
Dorain, seated nearby, furrowed his brows, tension tightening his features. Doubt flickered in his eyes. "Can he really handle this?" he muttered. "Even as a Sovereign… this feels beyond all of us."
But then, as if a thread had begun to weave itself in his mind, he started piecing things together, from his journey through the Dream Realm to everything he had faced up to this moment. Levi being chosen as a Sovereign, his uncanny knack for constellation formation, and Dorian, who despite publicly failing the trial, still wields power as an Echo—all because of Levi… It's starting to feel less like a story of fate and more like a scripted play, where they've cast themselves as the protagonists destined to unravel the mysteries of the Senthora world.
As Veylan stormed toward the exit, ready to cancel the match, Dorain rose quickly shaking off the wandering thoughts and called out, "Wait."
Veylan halted mid-step, turning with disbelief and fury in his eyes.
"Wait? What do you mean wait?" he snapped. "They're trying to kill him in there, for some mind-reading, Echo Memory bullshit! And what even is that thing in the first place?"
His voice was laced with anger, but underneath it, there was fear for Levi, and for what this fight might really mean.
"If I have told you before this day that a boy of my age, without an Echo Memory, without a Domain Artifact, could kill an Honorable Chronomancer, would you have believed me?" Dorain said quickly, his voice chasing after Veylan as he reached the door.
"Absolutely not," Veylan snapped without hesitation. But after a moment's pause, he turned back with a frown and said, "Speak clearly. Don't twist your words, kid."
Dorain looked toward the arena, his eyes fixed on the figure of Levi, still just a boy, yet standing against a fully awakened Echo, fighting back with nothing but raw aura and instinct.
"I don't know," Dorain murmured, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I just don't know this Levi anymore. The Levi I grew up with… he didn't smile, didn't speak much, wanted nothing to do with the world. But now…" He paused, watching the battle unfold.
"Now he's someone you can rely on. Someone who sees no difference between an Order Three Echo and a commoner. Someone who looks at the world like he's already seen it all… and there's nothing left in it that can scare him."
Veylan stood in silence, Dorain's words still echoing in his mind. The events of the day weighed heavily on him, how could someone change so drastically in just a few days? It disturbed him. "I hope you both have a damn good reason," he finally said, voice low and seething. "Because if anything happens to him, I swear—I'll burn this entire arena to the ground." And he meant it. As a Veilborn Echo, Veylan had the power to back his words. If he chose to make a move, who would dare stand in his way?
Their concern was for Levi also not misplaced. Embersteel Shard, wielded by Order 7 Echoes of the Blade enchanter path, wasn't a ceremonial weapon. It could slice through solid metal like warm butter. The fact that it was being used against Levi was no accident. It was malicious intent, plain and simple. They weren't just trying to defeat him. They wanted him dead. Killing Levi would bury the secret of his Echo Memory, the one rumored to read minds before it could spread. They would spin it as an unfortunate accident in a sanctioned match. A tragic end for a promising young fighter.
But Veylan and Dorain were no fools.
Meanwhile in the arena, Levi didn't have the luxury of contemplation, his aura flared, crackling around him like lightning drawn to war. His reflexes sharpened as the Blade Enchanter's slash came, a horizontal cleave meant to bisect him cleanly. He ducked just in time, feeling the wind of the Embersteel blade tear through the space behind his head.
But the danger wasn't over.
A flaming fist crashed into his left torso, too fast, too close. The impact thundered through his body with a sickening crack. Two, maybe three ribs fractured on the spot, and the sheer force hurled him sideways across the arena floor.
"Hmph. Dual Echo Memory," Levi muttered under his breath, grimacing as he staggered to his feet.
His opponent wasn't just a Blade Enchanter.
He was also a Flamewright.
And he wasn't giving Levi a moment to breathe. The attacks came relentless, each strike layered with deception. Misdirections in every swing, some real, some false. One moment it was the blade, the next, a flame-wreathed fist aimed for his face, forcing Levi to read beyond the movement, to see through the chaos, or be consumed by it.
They clashed.
Steel cracked. Fire met aura. Crimson bled into orange. For the first minute, it was even — Levi's footwork precise, his aura shielding him from searing burns, his eyes cold and calculating.
But the tide shifted.
The Flamewright grinned, pushing forward, blade slicing through aura defenses, heat warping the air. Levi's knees dipped, just a little slower now. Blood trailed from a shallow cut on his side. His fifth fight. His body screamed.
And the opponent? Fresh. Hungry. Dangerous.
Each overhead chop came down with crushing force, enough to split stone. Levi let one graze past, the blade slicing air inches from his shoulder, then pivoted in close, his aura lashing out like a viper's strike. Not to kill.To gather data.
This opponent couldn't be beaten by relying on the usual insights an Echo Memory provided. Not this time. Levi had to analyze the fighter's technique, break down the rhythm of his movements, and exploit the smallest flaw in his style. It would take time and that he didn't have.
The flames were already searing his skin, licking across his arms and chest, leaving scorched trails where the aura shield failed to hold. But he didn't flinch and scream from the pain. His focus was absolute, locked onto every twitch of muscle, every shift in stance, hunting for the opening that would turn the tide.
The jagged knife was lethal up close, but its reach was short. Levi knew it. He kept his distance, forcing the Flamewright to lunge, to overextend. Every desperate swipe opened windows, exposed ribs, a flaring elbow, the jerk of a shoulder pulling too wide.
Levi circled, patient, letting the Flamewright's own flames become his cage. The closer he pressed, the thicker the heat, the harder he gasped for air. And the slower he got.
Two echo memories weighed the Flamewright down, turning his attacks into sluggish, telegraphed arcs. A twitch of the right shoulder. A lift of the wrist. Levi didn't just react, he anticipated, slipping past strikes before the blade even finished its path.
The crowd roared. The Flamewright smirked, drunk on the spectacle. Levi used that too.He feigned pain, let panic flicker across his face, just enough to bait the man's arrogance. When the cheers surged, the Flamewright turned, half a degree too slow, his focus split between the fight and the adoration.
And just when the Flamewright believed he had Levi cornered... the trap was already closing.
He noticed that Levi still hadn't drawn an artifact. No shield. No weapon. His confidence swelled, offense over defense, aggression over caution. He pressed forward, slashing in a flurry, but Levi dodged. Once. Twice. On the third strike, he pivoted and on the fourth, he struck. His aura sharpened like shattered glass, slicing deep into the Flamewright's thigh. Every flame burst had its rhythm. A flicker of normalcy between surges. Levi counted them.
One. Feint.
Two, circle and three, strike. Always the left ribs. The right side was armored with muscle, but the left? First hit: pain. Second: bruises blooming under the skin. Third? Something cracked. The Flamewright rolled right, his good side. His left was clumsy, unbalanced. Levi herded him toward the perimeter, feinted high, and forced the dodge. The man stumbled and Levi, struck again.
Grimspine launched forward in a final arc of flame and steel, laughing, "You're finished!" Levi didn't move. He invited the slash. Then stepped inward. The blade grazed his shoulder, red streaked down but he didn't stop. His palm glowed crimson. Aura spiked. The strike landed. A direct blow into the already weakened rib due to his continues attacks at one spot, aura focused to fracture, not pierce.
The Flamewright gasped. Stumbled. Dropped the blade which Levi caught it mid-fall. Turned it in his hand. "Your fire's beautiful,"He whispered. Then he struck once, flat of the stolen blade to the his right ribs, knocking the man unconscious.
The crowd? Silent. Then thunderous.
The crimson aura faded. Levi stood wounded, breathless, victorious. Strength didn't win battles. Insight did, the kind hidden in the quiet between strikes. It was about seeing what others missed. Levi saw it, the subtle truth behind the flurry of attacks. His opponent didn't guard against body blows. He didn't respect Levi's fists. Every time Levi struck his ribs, the man barely reacted, confident they held no threat against his hardened frame and that was his mistake.
Levi pressed the advantage, hammering relentless punches into the same spot—again and again, until, with all the remaining aura in his body focused into his fingers, he drove his hand into the man's side, crashing through skin and muscle.His fingers closed around something vital. An organ.
At that same moment, the Embersteel blade pierced through Levi's left arm,but it stopped there, frozen mid-motion. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he used his other hand to rip free from the blade's grip and delivered a crushing blow to the Flamewright's unguarded flank.
Two devastating wounds in the span of seconds. And then… darkness. The world tilted. Blood loss overwhelmed him. His body collapsed forward, falling onto his opponent, turning the man into an unwilling cushion as they both hit the arena floor.
Both were unconscious.