The capital's stadium, still buzzing with adrenaline from the monumental battle between Aeron Vale and Riven Skorn, now hummed with a different kind of anticipation. The next match was about to begin, and the atmosphere shifted into something more curious—an eagerness mixed with skepticism.
"Zenya Lune versus Jaxon Pyre!" the announcer called out, his voice echoing across the arena.
Both fighters stepped into the ring to thunderous applause. Zenya, the pride of Arvellen, walked with her usual poise, golden eyes glowing faintly as the sunlight hit her. Dressed in radiant silver robes that shimmered like starlight, she looked every part the light-wielding champion she was known to be.
Jaxon, on the other hand, was the epitome of calm. Clad in simple black-and-steel armor, he carried the legendary Windcleaver strapped to his back. His expression betrayed no excitement, no malice—just certainty. His long silver hair danced with the wind, and his pale blue eyes remained fixed on Zenya with detached focus.
Cassian leaned toward Kenneth. "This should be good. Zenya's light manipulation is second only to her speed. She's not going down easily."
Kenneth didn't answer. He was still recovering from the last match. But something about Jaxon Pyre unnerved him. That sword—Windcleaver—nullified abilities. It wasn't just a weapon; it was an equalizer.
The bell rang.
Zenya acted first, as expected. She vanished in a flash of light, appearing behind Jaxon in an instant, her palm glowing with compressed solar energy.
But Jaxon didn't flinch. In a motion too swift to follow, Windcleaver was out, parrying the attack with a gust of wind so sharp it dispersed her light.
The crowd gasped.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Light attacks have no effect. That sword isn't just nullifying her power; it's absorbing the kinetic field."
Zenya tried again, leaping back and launching a barrage of dazzling light projectiles from above. But each one dissipated inches from Jaxon, sucked into the void of Windcleaver's presence.
"What?!" Zenya hissed. "Why isn't anything working?!"
Jaxon gave no answer. He advanced with calm precision, not attacking, just walking forward, forcing her to retreat. Then he dashed—a blur of wind-enhanced movement—and struck.
Zenya barely dodged the first slash, but the second grazed her arm, tearing through her defense like paper. She cried out, blinking back in a flash of light to regain distance. But her attacks were futile. The sword negated her strength.
Cassian sat forward, uneasy. "She can't even hurt him. He hasn't even started trying."
"This isn't just a mismatch," Zenya's teammate muttered from Arvellen's bench. "He's dismantling her."
Zenya grit her teeth, focusing. She created a dome of concentrated light around her—a move that had blinded enemies in the past. The entire stadium shimmered, and everyone shielded their eyes.
Everyone except Jaxon.
With one clean swing, Windcleaver sent a gust of wind so fierce it ripped the dome apart. The light shattered like fragile glass.
Zenya gasped, her energy draining. She fell to one knee.
Jaxon appeared beside her instantly, the flat of his blade striking her shoulder. She rolled, coughing, trying to get up, but he was already on her.
Another strike. Another dodge. Another parry. But it was like fighting a hurricane with a candle.
Kenneth watched silently. He felt sorry for her.
Zenya summoned every last ounce of energy and launched a final, desperate beam—a condensed pillar of divine light, her ultimate technique.
Windcleaver cut through it with ease.
The beam dissipated into nothing.
The arena fell dead silent.
Zenya collapsed to the ground, breathless, bruised, humiliated. Jaxon stood over her, sword lowered, his tone calm.
"Yield."
She looked up at him with disbelief, her voice cracking. "Why... why can't I touch you?"
"Because you're trying to blind the wind," Jaxon replied.
The referee stepped in, raising his hand. "Match over. Victory goes to Velmora's Jaxon Pyre!"
The crowd exploded, half in awe, half in shock.
"That wasn't even a fight!" someone shouted. "Jaxon made her look like she wasn't trained!"
"Is that really Arvellen's number one?"
"She couldn't even land a hit."
Zenya remained on the ground, staring blankly. Her pride shattered more than her body. She wasn't just defeated—she had been dismantled.
In the stands, even the Arvellen instructors looked unsettled.
Kael turned to Kenneth. "I believe we've found the most dangerous combatant in the tournament."
Kenneth nodded slowly. "He's terrifying. And he knows it."
Cassian muttered, "The way he toyed with her... That wasn't just winning. That was making a statement."
Zenya's teammates rushed to her side, helping her off the field as she avoided eye contact with everyone. Tears shimmered in her eyes, though none fell. Her aura—once proud and radiant—was dimmed.
Back on the Velmora side, Jaxon simply returned to his seat, calm and unbothered.
No cheers. No smugness.
Just silence.
Kenneth watched him closely, thoughts racing. First the imposter Kiro nearly killed Zarek. Now Jaxon dismantled Zenya without breaking a sweat.
The tournament was no longer just a competition.
It was a battlefield.