Mr. Jaggers waited, his posture straight and his senses on high alert as he watched Socrates rush toward him at a blinding speed, the air splitting faintly around the boy's advancing form. The boy was weaponless, but still not to be underestimated.
The moment Socrates came into his range, he struck out with one of the axes—a vertical slash that threatened to split Socrates' head down to his torso. But the red-haired teenager dodged the attack by sidestepping with precision, the blade grazing past him, while also preparing a punch.
Mr. Jaggers, whose first attack had failed, raised his second axe as he blocked Socrates' fist.
CLANG!
The punch came crashing against the side of the blade, the impact ringing sharply and sending vibrations through the metal, causing Mr. Jaggers to take a step back.
'What the…' The middle-aged man was surprised at how much power Socrates' punch held, especially when he felt the air ripple again as another punch headed toward him.
The speed with which Socrates carried himself was overwhelming. The second punch landed squarely on his chest, sending him flying backward, both of his weapons slipping from his grip as they spun away across the stage.
Mr. Jaggers nearly crashed into the translucent glass wall before forcefully regaining his balance, his boots skidding slightly against the golden floor.
Socrates stared at his hands in surprise, flexing his fingers slightly. He hadn't expected such an effect. 'This must be the prowess of the magnetic gauntlet. I've never used it directly before, only with weapons… I never knew it was this powerful… and again, it was given to me by Senior.'
The thoughts clutched at his mind more than he could process, but he quickly dismissed them and charged forward once more, his expression hardening.
"Seems you've gotten a nice toy there, Boy… Then this old man won't hold back too."
Green energy, like violent waves, burst out of Mr. Jaggers' body as he folded both hands into fists. The green energy wrapped around them tightly, crackling faintly, as he moved out instantly.
The duo charged toward each other without hesitation. Socrates threw a punch with his left hand while Mr. Jaggers also threw his with his right.
The two fists collided, producing a loud, explosive sound as the air screamed violently, struggling to escape the pressure.
"Aaahh…"
"Heeeh…"
The two men cried out as they felt the pressure unfolding around them, muscles straining, veins tightening, as they retracted their hands and struck out again.
BANG…
Their muscles bore the brunt of the collision. Socrates' fist went numb for a few seconds, making him unable to strike a third time—but the same was not true for Mr. Jaggers, whose energy still surged smoothly and powerfully.
He struck out a third time. This time, the blow met no resistance as it headed straight toward Socrates' head, cutting through the air with force.
But Socrates had already seen it.
With his inhuman speed, he shifted his head leftward, narrowly dodging the punch as it brushed past his face, the force of it sending a sharp gust across his skin. Using that same motion, he launched his own punch without hesitation.
Mr. Jaggers was able to retract his extended fist quickly, his reflexes sharp, as he crossed his arms and blocked Socrates' punch with his elbow, the impact forcing him to take two steps back, his feet scraping against the golden surface.
The red-haired teenager followed up immediately with a kick, but Mr. Jaggers caught his leg with both hands, his grip firm and unyielding, and flipped him into the air in one smooth motion before turning his body and launching a powerful upward kick.
While Socrates was in the air, succumbing to the pull of gravity as he began to descend, the right foot of Mr. Jaggers—a Peak Apprentice—connected squarely with his back, the impact brutal and precise, sending him flying across the air before crashing heavily onto the ground.
BOOM.
Achoo… Achoo…
Socrates coughed out blood, his chest heaving violently as his vision blurred, his eyes rolling slightly as the pain surged through his body.
"Rise up, boy…"
Tap. Tap. Tap…
He heard Mr. Jaggers' voice, followed by his approaching footsteps, each step measured and heavy, the air around him rippling faintly with residual energy.
Socrates reacted instantly. He rolled to the left, barely escaping a crushing stomp that cracked the surface where his head had been moments before. Using the momentum, he rolled back up to his feet and turned around—only to be met with a punch driven straight into his chest.
The punch came too fast, but Socrates was just fast enough to react. He grabbed Mr. Jaggers' arm mid-strike, his fingers locking tightly around it, and as he was pushed backward by the force, he pulled hard on Mr. Jaggers' arm with both hands, using the momentum to draw him in before launching a knee jab toward Mr. Jaggers' face.
Unfortunately for him, the middle-aged man had another hand free. He raised it calmly and blocked the knee jab, stopping it dead in its tracks before immediately throwing his own punch—a straight, devastating strike that tore through the air toward Socrates' face.
Socrates didn't linger. He bent his body in a sharp, unnatural arc—a Chinese bending—his torso folding backward just enough for the punch to pass inches above his face, the wind from it brushing through his hair.
And as Mr. Jaggers retracted his fist, Socrates snapped his body back upright before jumping backward at once, creating distance between them.
Mr. Jaggers also took several steps back, both men instinctively giving each other space, their breaths steadying, their eyes locked.
With the corner of his eye, Socrates sighted his dagger lying on the floor just right behind Mr. Jaggers. The moment he noticed it, he charged forward again without hesitation.
The middle-aged man launched forward with an overhead punch, but Socrates ducked under it by rolling past his armpit, his body sliding through the narrow opening, as he grabbed the dagger mid-motion and flung it instantly toward Mr. Jaggers' direction.
The ear of the middle-aged man twitched. Reacting instantly, he flipped backward, the dagger slicing past where his chest had been, before flipping again… and then again, his movements fluid and controlled as he created distance.
It was on the third flip that Socrates noticed the middle-aged man had reached out toward one of his axes. He kicked it up from the ground and caught it firmly in his hand before turning his gaze toward the direction of the other.
Without hesitation, Socrates activated the magnetic pull of the gauntlet, pointing both hands toward the axe lying on the floor.
Before Mr. Jaggers could reach it, the axe rose from the ground and shot toward Socrates at a blinding speed, cutting through the air like a guided projectile.
Mr. Jaggers reacted instantly. He violently threw his own axe toward it.
Before the flying axe could reach Socrates' hand, the second axe intercepted it mid-air.
CLANG!
The two weapons collided violently, sparks bursting outward, before both were pulled toward Socrates under the influence of the magnetic force.
Socrates' eyes flashed sharply—
Then his expression changed.
Death gnawed at him once again.
The magnetic pull had failed. Instead of stabilizing, both axes now spun wildly as they rushed toward him with deadly intent, their blades angled unpredictably. If they struck, he would either lose half of his torso… or have his head split apart.
At that moment—when every nerve in his body screamed danger… when his joints stiffened and his muscles locked as if death itself had descended upon him—
Something changed.
His body burst with violent orange steam, energy erupting outward in a sudden surge.
He moved.
Instantly.
Faster than before—faster than thought—he slipped past both incoming axes, the blades narrowly missing him as he dashed through the deadly gap, the wind screaming in his wake, and launched a punch straight at Mr. Jaggers.
The punch landed squarely on the cheek of the middle-aged man.
CRACK!
The force sent Mr. Jaggers flying backward, his body hurtling across the stage before crashing hard into the translucent glass wall and dropping to the ground.
The two axes continued their momentum, slamming into the opposite side of the barrier before falling to the ground with a loud, metallic clatter.
Mr. Jaggers rose to his feet without hesitation, wiping the blood from the corner of his lips, his expression no longer relaxed. Green waves of energy tore out of his body, surging violently as they clashed against the steamy orange glow now enveloping Socrates.
"You've done so well, boy… I'm proud of you…" Mr. Jaggers said, his voice steady as he observed Socrates with keen interest.
Then—
All the smile on his face vanished.
"We both have our reasons why we want to live… but unfortunately, only one of us can leave this stage alive…"
Mr. Jaggers' voice carried a finality that cut through the air.
Socrates did not falter. He had long accepted this reality. There was no other option. One of them had to die.
"LET THE BEST MAN WIN." Mr. Jaggers declared, his teeth clenched, his aura flaring.
"LET THE BEST MAN WIN." Socrates replied, his voice matching that of his opponent for the first time since they met.
This was no longer the tone of a Senior and Junior…
It was the tone of equals.
Mr. Jaggers had acknowledged Socrates as his equal…
Now, the real battle had just begun.