The clash between fire and ice had only just begun.
As the mist from the melted spear faded, Lucas took a step forward, his boots pressing against the frostbitten stone of the dueling platform. Across from him, Princess Nyx's eyes gleamed with a wild, electric spark—not anger, not surprise… but excitement.
She raised her hand again, and this time, not one but three ice spears formed in midair, rotating slowly in a deadly arc above her. The temperature around the platform dipped even further, thin cracks of frost spreading along the ground beneath her feet. Lucas could feel it biting at his skin.
But he didn't back down.
He clenched his fists, and the flames around his arms grew fiercer, hotter. They flared like twin dragons dancing with rage, wrapping around his forearms and shoulders. Yet, strangely, they did not burn his robes or skin. The fire was alive—tamed, precise, honed to respond to his intent.
Princess Nyx launched the spears—one after the other, in quick succession.
Lucas dodged the first, ducking low as it shattered behind him with a sharp crack. He spun to the side as the second whizzed past, its icy tail slicing a clean line across the stone. The third came straight for his chest—he raised his palm just in time, forming a condensed fireball and throwing it forward. The two forces collided in a dazzling explosion of steam and sparks.
The students watching leaned forward, murmuring in surprise.
"How the hell is he keeping up with the princess?"
Some sneered, shaking their heads. "Tch. She's just toying with him. No way she's serious."
But deep down, they were all watching more closely now.
Lucas exhaled and wiped the back of his hand across his brow. The princess was fast, and her control over Ice Qi was dangerously refined. Still, he could feel the adrenaline singing in his blood, his cultivation responding to every move, every shift in energy. This was what he needed—real combat.
"Still standing?" Nyx called out, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
"I thought you'd be stronger," Lucas replied with a teasing grin.
Nyx narrowed her eyes. "You'll regret that."
She darted forward this time, faster than before—closing the distance in a blink. Lucas parried her ice blade with a fiery arm, the two clashing with a violent hiss. Sparks and mist burst around them. She twisted mid-swing, aiming a frost-covered kick at his side, but Lucas blocked with a braced arm, the fire around him flaring like a shield.
Back and forth they went, trading strikes. Ice against fire. Finesse against precision. Each time Nyx seemed to have the upper hand, Lucas countered with just enough power and cleverness to break even.
To the students watching, it was a spectacle.
"He's actually fighting her toe-to-toe...?"
"This is insane... I thought he was a cripple just weeks ago!"
"No... the Princess is holding back. She has to be... right?"
Meanwhile, on the platform, Lucas was feeling the strain—but also the thrill. His muscles burned, his Qi pulsed in his veins, and despite the cold trying to sink into his bones, the fire within him blazed hotter. His combat experience, were all kicking in.
He ducked under another slash of ice, swept her legs from under her, and leapt back before she hit the ground. Nyx rolled, flipping onto her feet like a cat, a surprised smirk curling on her lips.
"Okay," she said softly, "now I'm interested."
Lucas adjusted his stance, grinning despite the ache in his limbs. "Took you long enough."
And as the two prepared to clash again, the murmurs from the crowd turned to stunned silence. Whatever this duel was, it had become clear:
Lucas was not someone to be taken lightly.
What truly stunned Princess Nyx as their duel progressed wasn't just Lucas' speed or his control over flame—it was the cultivation rank he still remained at.
He's still only at the Adept rank, she realized, her eyes narrowing as they circled each other again. How the hell is he keeping up with me?
She had confirmed it herself. His aura wasn't masked or disguised. There was no hidden suppression or cloaking technique. He really was at the peak of the Adept rank, while she stood tall at the First Stage of the Expert realm—a leap most couldn't hope to cross in a year, much less contest in a battle.
She could feel the sting of pressure rising in her chest—not from exhaustion, but from something she rarely ever felt during spars: genuine challenge.
So she stepped it up.
Nyx formed another ice spear in her hand, this one much denser and sharper than the ones she had used earlier. The air around it shimmered with a frosty aura, light bending slightly as the temperature dropped further.
Without warning, she moved in.
The crowd barely caught the blur of her motion before she was already up in Lucas' face, her spear whistling through the air as she swung it with expert precision.
But Lucas wasn't slow either.
He had anticipated the shift in tempo. The moment she stepped forward, his body moved instinctively. He ducked under the first horizontal sweep, leaned back just enough to let the second stab pass in front of his eyes, then pivoted on his foot to evade a third strike that would have caught his ribs.
The heat around his body surged, forming thin trails of flame that danced like spirits in the wind, swirling around his arms. He didn't lash out. He didn't strike. He simply defended—gracefully, and with composure.
The students were dead silent now, eyes wide and glued to the fight.
"He's still dodging her strikes…"
"No way… isn't she in the Expert rank?"
"He's not even panting…"
"Is he human?"
As Nyx pressed in, her strikes growing sharper, faster, and more calculated, Lucas kept deflecting—sometimes with his forearm wrapped in flame, sometimes with quick shifts in his footwork that let her spear cut through air.
A few times, her spear grazed his robe, slicing through fabric—but he remained unflinching. He didn't falter. He didn't panic.
And that's what unnerved her the most.
This wasn't some brute force Adept throwing wild punches. No—Lucas moved like someone who had danced with death countless times. Like someone who had faced stronger, faster, and more lethal opponents and survived.
She realized it in the middle of a feint: He's fighting me without even trying to win.
And she was right.
Lucas had seen it. Multiple times. Openings. Gaps in her defense. Chances to counter, to strike, to maybe even overwhelm her with a direct burst of flame. He saw them all with the eyes of a seasoned warrior.
But he didn't take them.
He didn't want to bruise her pride—not publicly, not here. He understood the weight of a royal's ego, especially a princess as proud and confident as Nyx. One wrong strike could embarrass her. One clean hit might make her feel disrespected.
And if Lucas wanted to build connections, not enemies, this wasn't the time to win. It was the time to show enough.
So he let the dance continue—elegantly, respectfully—until Nyx slowed down, her spear lowered just slightly, her breathing heavier than before.
She hadn't landed a solid hit.
He hadn't even tried to.
And the crowd? They had gone from mocking to stunned silence.
Whispers were brewing again, but now it wasn't doubt or mockery. It was awe. Curiosity. Confusion.