The sky above Caelora Grand Colosseum shimmered gold as two figures stepped into the center of the arena. The white sand glittered under magical protection, and the crowd of tens of thousands held their breath as names appeared on the magical screen:
Lurk of the Kingdom of Sisilia vs Kael of the City of Kozto.
Thunderous cheers erupted.
In one of the stands, Brant bit into his bread and muttered, "This one's gonna be intense."
Sylveras nodded. "Both are offensive types. But their personalities… completely different."
Lurk moved first — his messy gray-black hair danced in the wind, his eyes cold and sharp like finely-honed steel. He wore lightweight dark armor adorned with the symbol of the Kingdom of Sisilia: three interlinked shields forming a trade seal — a symbol of peace, now worn by a youth filled with ambition.
From the opposite side, Kael walked in calmly. His dark brown hair was slicked back, and his face was clean, composed, and focused. Beneath the clay-colored robes of Kozto, the pulse of earth magic rippled gently with every step.
"Second duel… begins now!" the announcer cried. The magical gong echoed.
Lurk didn't wait.
His hand rose — and in the air, weapons began to form from raw magical energy. A spear, three short blades, and a long chain with a sickle-shaped end.
"Forge Arsenal."
"He… forged weapons directly from magic?!" some spectators gasped.
Kael's expression remained stoic. He touched the ground. "Earth Shell."
A massive stone wall rose before him — but before it could fully form, Lurk's spear shot through it, piercing the first layer and shattering part of the wall.
"So fast!" Elara exclaimed from the special seating area.
Rossie whispered to Zephyra on her shoulder, "Lurk's going all out from the start."
Zephyra narrowed her tiny eyes. "That boy… craves victory."
Meanwhile, Kael raised a hand and slammed his palm to the ground. "Granite Lance!"
A stone pillar surged from the earth, aiming to strike Lurk from below — but the young man leapt acrobatically away.
In midair, he flicked his wrist — the short blades spun like boomerangs, flying toward Kael from three directions.
Kael raised a stone barrier — two blades were blocked, but one sliced across his shoulder.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"He's not just fast… he's tactical," one of the Council commentators remarked.
Backstage, some candidates began to realize: this isn't just a duel. This is pride versus discipline.
Lurk landed with a crooked grin. "You're slow, Kael."
Kael didn't respond. He raised both hands and formed a massive stone ball, condensing it like a cannonball.
"Boulder Slam!"
He hurled it with immense force. Lurk spun midair, summoned the chain-sickle from behind, and hooked it onto the boulder — using its momentum to sling himself forward.
"Is he… riding the boulder?!"
With a spinning acrobatic motion, Lurk leapt forward and swung the sickle, now charged with extra magic.
"Sundering Slash!"
Kael barely had time to raise his hand — the strike hit hard, sending him flying back in a cloud of dust.
The crowd stood. The tension rose.
Kael rose slowly. Blood trickled from his temple, but his eyes remained sharp.
"You're fast," he said. "But raw power alone won't bring me down."
He stretched out his arms. A subtle tremor shook the ground — then a suit of stone armor began forming around his body.
"Gaia Form."
"Full magic armor…" Brant murmured. "Kael's done playing nice."
Lurk just laughed. "Good. Then I can be serious too."
He opened his palm — and for the first time, a magical emblem of Sisilia appeared in the air. Not the kingdom's crest, but his personal sigil: a metallic circle with three weapon shapes surrounding a red crystal.
"Forge Field."
Around Lurk, dozens of weapons materialized — axes, spears, arrows, scythes — all rotating around him like a deadly halo.
"Gods of magic… is he summoning an entire arsenal?!"
Then, they clashed.
Stone and steel, magic and mastery — colliding in the heart of the arena like two armies. Lurk attacked from every direction — his weapons danced like a rain of death. Kael defended, deflecting blows, raising walls and pillars to block the storm of spells.
Strike after strike shook the arena. The protective mages outside began reinforcing the barrier.
Lurk dove, hurling three weapons at once. Kael destroyed two with a wall — but one sickle struck his left leg. He fell to one knee.
Lurk didn't waste the moment.
With a roar of determination, he combined two short blades into a massive sword made of pure magic — then leapt, bringing it down with a crushing arc.
"Final Edge!"
Kael raised one last wall, but Lurk's blade shattered it — slamming into Kael and sending him sprawling.
The gong rang out.
"Match over! Lurk of Sisilia — winner!"
The arena erupted with deafening applause.
Lurk stood at the center, panting, but his eyes remained sharp. He looked at Kael, who sat dazed, still conscious, though clearly exhausted.
Kael met his gaze. "You won… with your own strength. My respect."
Lurk didn't reply. He simply turned away and walked out of the arena — the emblem of Sisilia on his chest seeming to shine brighter beneath the afternoon sun.
Among the stands, several intrigued eyes followed his movements. One of them… from a hooded figure in the shadows of the northern pillar.
He scribbled something into a thin journal.
"Subject: Lurk. Potential… extremely high."
But he didn't move yet.
Not yet.