The heat of the Colosseum had barely faded when the third match was called.
Elara of Kozto City vs Arven of Voltryn
The crowd roared again, this time mixed with awe and curiosity. On one side — the girl known for her light and healing magic. On the other — a thunder-wielding prodigy raised in the highlands of Voltryn.
The two figures walked toward the center of the arena.
Arven moved with a cocky gait. Short silver hair sparked with residual electricity, and his leather battle jacket bore Voltryn's jagged crest. Sparks danced at his fingertips before he even cast a spell.
Elara, by contrast, glided with a calm grace. She wore a flowing white robe marked with simple light runes, her long black hair tied neatly down her back. Her expression was unreadable.
From the audience, Brant whistled low, finishing his bread. "Third match already, huh."
Sylveras, beside him, didn't respond. Her eyes stayed fixed on Elara, lips parted slightly.
"Begin!" the announcer shouted.
Thunder Flash
Arven vanished in an instant.
"Arc Step."
A crack of thunder echoed, and he appeared directly in front of Elara, thrusting a lightning-coated fist at her chest.
"Thunder Strike!"
The punch struck — but not her.
A translucent shield of light flared out just in time. The impact was redirected, curving outward in a flash of white and gold.
A ripple of distorted heat shimmered in the air.
In the contestant's platform, Rossie narrowed her eyes. Zephyra whispered from her shoulder, "That wasn't just a barrier… it absorbed and warped the heat."
The Memory of Training
High in the noble stands, Sylveras leaned forward, blinking.
That light field…
She remembered the secluded training on the mountain — Elara bent over a pool of lava, experimenting with how light and heat refracted in different mediums. Back then, her light magic failed to heal burns.
So she changed the principle entirely…
"She's using heat redirection," Sylveras murmured, almost in disbelief.
Brant tilted his head. "You okay there?"
"I'm fine," she replied quickly, gaze fixed.
A Duel of Tempo
Arven didn't let up. With speed-enhancing enchantments, he blitzed left and right — throwing bolts, charging with fists, leaping over pillars of lightning.
Elara responded with minimal movement.
Her shields shimmered like petals of refracted light. She never moved far, but each motion was precise — bending Arven's attacks, redirecting energy to the ground or empty air.
But Arven changed rhythm.
"Shock Drive!"
His body pulsed with violet sparks, and he closed the gap instantly, this time swinging low — a feint.
Elara stepped back — too slow.
A knee jab hit her ribs. The crowd gasped.
Tactical Shift
Arven grinned. "I've got your timing."
But Elara didn't stumble. Her fingers danced in the air.
"Halo Refraction: Backstep Pulse."
A ring of light exploded outward, knocking Arven back — not hard, but enough to break his momentum.
"She's calculating more than just defense…" muttered a council mage. "She's shaping enemy positioning with light recoil."
Down in the arena, Arven gritted his teeth.
"Let's see you block this!"
He pulled mana hard — lightning crackled from his core.
"Lightning Cross!"
Two arcs of lightning formed an X, launched toward Elara at blinding speed.
Elara didn't raise her hands. Instead, she stepped to the side, and at the same moment, a spinning mirror of light flared behind her, catching the X-shaped bolt and ricocheting it skyward.
"Diverted," Brant muttered. "Completely controlled."
End of the Storm
Breathing heavily, Arven narrowed his eyes. He switched to close-range again, rushing in.
But Elara was already ready.
She channeled light into her palms and stepped directly into Arven's path.
"Pulse Cage."
A flash.
Arven's movement stopped — not from impact, but from a sudden collapse of light around his limbs, trapping him in a spiral of pressure that didn't burn — it paralyzed.
He gasped.
"Damn—!"
A gong rang.
"Match over! Elara of Kozto — winner!"
The arena erupted in cheers.
Aftermath
Elara released the light gently. Arven stumbled back, sweat on his brow.
He looked at her and muttered, "You could've finished me harder."
"I don't need to hurt you," Elara replied softly. "I just need to outmaneuver you."
Rossie smirked from the side. "Damn. She's scary when she talks like that."
Sylveras remained quiet.
Brant leaned back. "So? Think she can beat Noah?"
Sylveras glanced at him. "She hasn't even shown her ace yet."
Watching from the Shadows
Up in the shaded balcony, a man in noble garb sat motionless, a glass of wine in hand.
He had not clapped. Had not blinked.
Beneath his elegant robes, a crystal pulsed faintly on his wrist.
He whispered, without moving his lips.
"Subject: Elara. Mana control exceptional. Observation ongoing."
He was no noble.
He was a spy.
And the report — already transmitted to Numrath.