Chapter 35 — Sylan Kyle Von Noctis vs Elias Vaughn, 4
The world stood still.
Right after Elias Vaughn's Radiant Severance got swallowed up by that black hole, the whole arena dropped into a silence so thick you could feel it in your chest. No one moved. No one even breathed too loud. That huge wave of holy light—the kind meant to slice through rocks, swords, and people like they were paper—had just... disappeared. Eaten alive by nothing. All that was left was a weird, shaky spot in the air where the attack had been, like the world itself was still catching its breath. Sylan Kyle Von Noctis stood there in the middle of it all, feet planted firm on the cracked stone floor, his sword still gripped tight in his hand, red eyes sharp and steady.
Then the dam broke. Gasps turned into whispers, whispers into shouts, and shouts crashed through the stands like a wave hitting the shore. People jumped up from their seats, pointing and yelling, the noise bouncing off the high marble walls.
"Impossible...!" "Did you see that? Elias's best shot—just gone!" "That's not normal. That's not even Noctis family magic!"
Down in the cheap seats, the everyday folks—farmers, shopkeepers, kids who'd saved up for months to watch—stared with mouths hanging open, some shaking, some cheering like they'd just seen a god walk among them. A few started chanting Sylvian's name, soft at first, then louder, like a fire catching dry grass. Up in the fancy boxes, the rich nobles gripped their chairs or leaned over the rails, faces pale or twisted in shock. Some looked mad, like he'd cheated the rules of their perfect little game. Others just watched, hooked, like they'd stumbled into a real fight instead of some show.
In the royal box—high up where the air felt heavier with all that power hanging around—Amanda Von Noctis sat frozen, not a hair out of place. Her golden hair shone under the lights, pulled back tight and perfect, but her eyes were like knives, cutting straight to her son down below. For the first time in forever, her cool mask slipped a little. Her lips twitched, just a tiny pull at the corner, and her gloved fingers drummed fast against the smooth marble arm of her seat, nails clicking like she was holding back a storm. Her boy—the one she'd always seen as weak, a nobody next to the empire's shiny stars—had just pulled off something no one saw coming. It wasn't joy on her face. It was something colder, sharper.
Amanda leaned forward a bit, her voice coming out low and icy, but sharp enough to carry through the quiet spots in the box. "...Good. Now don't you dare mess this up, Sylan. If you lose after that trick, after showing everyone what you can do, you'll drag our name through the mud worse than ever."
Her words dripped with poison, clear as day, but underneath it all hid something else. Something she wouldn't say out loud. Pride. Buried deep, twisted up with worry, but there all the same—like a thorn she couldn't pull out.
Then, from right next to her, a laugh exploded out, big and loud, shaking the whole box like thunder rolling in.
"THAT'S MY SON!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
Darius Von Noctis shot up from his chair, his huge frame filling the space like a wall coming alive. His laugh boomed across the arena, deep and wild, echoing off the stones. He slammed his fist down on the marble rail so hard it cracked right through, a sharp snap that made the nobles around him jump. But Darius didn't care. His dark eyes sparkled with pure fire, his wide chest puffing out as he yelled for anyone listening to hear.
"You see that, you blind fools?! That's Noctis blood running through him! That's MY blood! Hahahaha!"
The nobles nearby flinched, covering their ears or shooting him dirty looks, but down in the crowd, the regular people lost it. They roared back, caught up in his raw energy, pumping fists and stomping feet until the whole place shook. It was like Darius had lit a match in a room full of gunpowder—sudden, unstoppable joy.
Amanda's lips pressed into a thin line, her face souring like she'd bitten into something rotten. She shot Darius a side-eye, clearly annoyed at how he was stealing the show with his big, messy pride. But she kept quiet, her hands twisting in her lap.
Up in the royal box with them, the Emperor and his family stayed calm on the outside, but you could see the whispers passing between them like secrets in the wind. The Emperor's face was a blank slate, hard to read, his eyes stuck on the fighting ground below like he was weighing every move. The crown prince leaned in closer, his brow furrowed, watching Sylan like he was trying to figure out a puzzle with missing pieces.
And off to the side, in a spot that seemed to pull every eye without trying, Olivia Elana Monte Blanc stood up a little from her chair. She didn't say a word, didn't need to—her whole vibe glowed like sunlight on water. Her green eyes, sharp and alive like fresh-cut emeralds, locked right onto Sylan down in the dirt. For a quick second, that weird system pop-up flickered in Sylvian's head, like a glitch in his vision:
[Target of Interest: Olivia Elana Monte Blanc. Status: Variable.]
It winked out fast, gone before he could blink, but he caught it. His red eyes narrowed, a quick flash of warning in his gut. 'So even you... you're paying attention now. Watching every step.'
Down on the field, Elias Vaughn hadn't budged an inch. His chest rose and fell hard, sweat soaking his shirt, silver hair sticking to his forehead in wet strands. But his sword hung low and ready, the blade not scratched or bent. His eyes—gray and steady, full of that knightly fire—stayed clear, locked on Sylan like nothing had changed. No panic, no anger. Just respect, mixed with something hotter.
Slow and sure, Elias lifted his sword again, the metal catching the broken light from the arena lamps and the fading sun. His mouth pulled into a real smile—not fake, not showy, but the kind you earn after a hard fight.
"...Sylan Kyle Von Noctis." His voice came out calm, but it cut through the noise clear as a bell, making the crowd pipe down without even trying. "You've pushed me to pull out my real strength. You've made me swing with everything I've got. And look at you—still on your feet."
He slid one foot forward, settling into his fighting stance, his whole body humming with focus. His words turned serious, almost like a prayer. "This isn't training anymore. This is about honor."
Sylvian's mouth twitched into a small smirk, the corner of his lip pulling up just enough to show teeth. His heart beat steady and strong, that rush of battle pumping through him like hot blood—exciting, alive, the kind of feeling that made you forget everything else. 'Finally. You're all in now. Good. Let's see how far that knight's honor gets you before it breaks.'
He raised his sword into position, red eyes glued to Elias, not blinking. No fancy Crest power. No god-given tricks. Just him, the blade, his muscles, and the will to keep going.
The crowd felt it too—the air got thick, heavy, like a storm about to break. The arena, buzzing with shock just seconds ago, went quiet again, everyone leaning in, holding their breath as the two guys faced off. You could almost hear the tension humming, like a string pulled too tight.
CLANG!!!
Elias went first this time, his sword flashing out like lightning—silver steel mixed with that holy glow. No holding back now. The speed made the ground shake a little, the force behind each swing crackling the air like static before a storm.
Sylan twisted just in time, his body moving on pure instinct, years of soldier training kicking in like muscle memory. He met the hit head-on—not with some pretty noble spin, but straight-up, no frills, just solid block.
KRAANG! The swords screamed as they hit, sparks flying out like fireworks, the jolt running up Sylvian's arms and into his shoulders, making his teeth rattle.
Elias didn't let up. He pushed forward, swings coming like a downpour—heavy rain of steel. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG-CRASH!
Every hit was textbook knight stuff: clean lines, perfect form, strong enough to split a guy clean in two. But Sylan fought back with that rough soldier edge—no extra moves, no showy spins. Just block, push, strike back—simple, brutal, the way you survive when it's life or death. His body remembered it all, like he'd been here before, in some other war, some other mud-soaked field.
The floor cracked under their boots as they danced back and forth. Dust kicked up in clouds, bits of stone flying as their fight turned into a whirlwind of metal and sweat. The air filled with the sharp smell of hot steel and kicked-up dirt.
Up in the stands, the nobles were on their feet now, leaning so far over the rails it looked like they might fall. Whispers turned to yells.
"He's actually keeping up!" "No way—look! He's matching Vaughn hit for hit!" "This is crazy. The guy was a joke a month ago!"
Amanda's hands squeezed the arms of her chair so tight her knuckles went white, her stare cold as winter. "Don't just hang in there, Sylan," she muttered to herself, too quiet for most to hear. "Break him. Make it count."
Darius let out another huge laugh, slamming his fist down again—crack—the stone giving way under his hand. "Harder, boy! Don't let him catch his breath! Show 'em what you're made of!"
The Emperor's forehead creased a little, his eyes glued to the action like he was seeing something new. Olivia didn't move much, but her green eyes stayed right on Sylan, not wavering, like she was memorizing every swing.
Back in the dirt, Elias's hits got even quicker, sharper. His calm knight face cracked a bit, turning into something real—excitement, the thrill of a fair fight. He swung in a wild flurry, breathing hard between his teeth, his voice coming out almost like a growl. "You... you're not the weak kid they talked about. You're more. Way more."
SLAAM!!!
Sylan spun low, the blade whistling past his neck so close he felt the wind, sparks grazing his cheek like a hot kiss. He ducked under the next one, instincts firing on all cylinders, and kicked out hard—
THOOM!!!
His boot hit home, cracking the ground and shoving Elias back a step, making the knight stumble just enough to reset.
'He's tough. Tougher than anyone I've gone up against. But he's still fighting clean, like a knight in a storybook. Structured. Easy to read. That's his weak spot.'
Sylan dropped his stance lower, sword angled just right, ready for the next rush. He wasn't some fancy duelist with glowing tricks. He wasn't a born hero. He was a soldier. A survivor. And in a real fight, that beat everything else.
The crowd went nuts as the battle spilled across the arena floor. Stone shattered under their feet. Walls got dents from swings that missed by inches. Dust whipped up into a storm, choking the air with the raw smell of sweat and steel.
CLANG! BOOOM! CRAAASH!
Sylan knocked aside a big overhead swing, twisted quick, and stabbed back. Elias blocked it perfect, sparks blinding the front rows. They slammed together, swords grinding loud, faces so close Sylan could see the sweat beads on Elias's brow.
Elias's eyes burned with that knight fire, bright and unblinking. "You fight like a soldier. No mercy. No waste. It's... it's exciting!"
Sylvian's red eyes flashed, sweat running down his jaw in a tickle he ignored. His voice stayed low, even through the grind. "And you fight like a saint. Clean. Easy to guess. Let's see which one lasts."
They shoved off each other hard, dust exploding up around their boots, the air popping with the clash of their energy—like two storms bumping heads.
By now, half the nobles were yelling for Elias to finish it, the other half whispering Sylvian's name like it was a secret spell—half scared, half amazed. The build-up got thicker, the whole city holding its breath as these two kids fought like old gods come back to life.
Amanda leaned in more, teeth gritted so hard her jaw hurt. Darius's laughs turned to full-on roars, echoing wild and free. The Emperor's stare got even sharper, like he was rethinking everything. And Olivia's mouth opened just a touch, her green eyes stuck on Sylan like glue.
Then Elias changed it up. His swings slowed down—not tired, but on purpose, each one cleaner, more deadly. His breathing evened out. That glow around his sword started to build again, gold light simmering at the edge like it was waking up.
Sylan felt it coming before he saw it: the rhythm shifting, like a wave pulling back before it crashes.
Elias pulled his sword high, his voice ringing out clear over the noise:
"Sylan Kyle Von Noctis... this battle deserves my all."
The crowd went dead quiet, everyone frozen. His energy flared up big. He dropped low into his stance. His eyes lit with pure knight rage.
And then—
WHOOM!!!
The air snapped like a whip as Elias charged, unleashing a chain of hits faster than before—blurry, nonstop, like a machine built for war.
CLANG! CRASH! BOOOM!
Sylvian's arms shook bad, shoulders burning like fire as he blocked one, dodged another, parried the third, twisted away from a stab by a hair. Elias's sword was everywhere—left hook, right slash, overhead smash, quick thrust—coming down like heaven's hammer, no mercy.
The crowd screamed, dust kicking up into a full storm that blocked out the sun for a second.
'He's all out now.' Sylvian's teeth clenched tight. 'One wrong move, and it's over.'
They slammed together one more time, swords locking with a grind that sparked like fireworks, dust blasting out around them. Their eyes burned into each other's, neither giving an inch.
Both let out a roar—
And the chapter ended with the two surging forward for another head-on clash, their blades gleaming, the very air trembling with the weight of their wills.