WebNovels

Chapter 26 - Chapter 25: The Bronze Divide

The Colosseum never slept after a spectacle.

The night after our victory, the city buzzed like a living thing. Taverns sang our names, vendors printed our faces—well, our masks—on cheap parchment, and nobles sent quiet messengers to the Arena Council asking one question:

Who are the Iron Duo?

We'd expected attention. Not this much.

Kael and I kept to our routine—training before dawn, eating sparingly, and blending among the fighters in the lower courtyards. But the air had changed. Conversations halted when we passed. Eyes lingered.

Rumors spread faster than fire:

"They're mercenaries from the Northern Wastes."

"No, they're rogue disciples of the Ardent Empire."

"I heard the girl's got bloodline resonance—yellow core born from corruption itself."

Half-truths and guesses. But the officials weren't guessing.

Three days after the Iron Finals, I caught them watching us.

From the upper stands—a man in violet robes, an Arena Supervisor, and beside him a noble with the gold-stitched emblem of the House Arvendal. Their eyes never left our sparring ring.

Kael noticed too.

"They're hunting our story," she said quietly, stretching her arms.

"They won't find one," I replied.

"Still," she said with a faint smile, "let's give them a new legend to chase."

The Bronze brackets were different.

Iron matches were entertainment—quick bouts, loud, bloody, for the masses. Bronze matches were survival. The crowd smaller, the stakes higher. The opponents? Naturals. Not soldiers, not nobles, but battle-hardened gladiators called Wavers and Bearers—fighters who had tamed fragments of elemental resonance.

For us, the first solo matches had arrived.

No team synergy. No shared rhythm. Just the silence of the arena and the pulse of my own heartbeat.

The announcer's voice carried over the open roof:

"Next bout—Kane Vale, challenger from the Iron circuit, versus Harn of the Crimson Tide, mid-level yellow core Bearer!"

The crowd cheered, though less than before. Bronze-level spectators were seasoned. They didn't cheer for names—they waited for proof.

Harn was massive. His bare torso was a map of scars, his arms painted with crimson rune ink. He carried a halberd nearly his height, the metal darkened by constant flame.

When our eyes met, he grinned.

"New blood," he said. "Let's see if you bleed the same."

I rolled my shoulders, loosening my grip. "Only one way to find out."

The bell rang.

He moved first—no hesitation, no testing the waters. His halberd crashed downward with terrifying force. I sidestepped, sand exploding beneath my boots. The impact cracked stone.

He followed immediately, spinning the weapon in a sweeping arc. The reach was immense; I ducked low, barely dodging.

Flames trailed his weapon—thin, concentrated. His core pulsed in sync with every swing, feeding heat and weight into his strikes.

A classic Bearer technique—channeling elemental energy through physical momentum. It wasn't elegant, but devastating if unchecked.

I couldn't meet power with power. So I didn't.

Instead, I started drawing invisible circles with my steps, shifting rhythm. My breathing deepened—slow, steady, measured.

Each exhale spread my telekinetic field a little wider, not enough to reveal itself, just enough to feel the edges of his movement.

When he swung again, I was already moving.

One step forward, pivot, blade angled upward. The halberd's haft scraped along my sword, deflecting just wide enough for me to slide in under his guard.

A cut—not deep, but fast—grazed his ribs.

He grunted, eyes flashing.

"Lucky swing."

"Calculated," I said, and leapt back.

He roared, core flaring, and charged.

The ground shook. His aura rippled through the air like heatwaves. I used that pressure—those distortions—to read him. Each step, each swing, had rhythm and delay.

Predictable patterns kill warriors.

And I learned quickly.

On his fourth charge, I sidestepped at the perfect moment, angling my sword across the inner joint of his halberd.

The weapon snapped.

Before he could recover, I thrust forward, stopping the blade a breath away from his throat.

The crowd erupted.

The bell rang.

Harn stepped back, breathing hard, then laughed—a low, rough sound.

"Not bad, kid. You fight like someone with something to prove."

"Maybe I do," I said.

He clapped my shoulder, his palm still warm from channeling fire. "Bronze suits you. But watch your back—the nobles don't like mysteries."

He left before I could respond.

But I could feel the gaze from above—the same noble, the same supervisor. Watching. Measuring.

And somewhere deep down, I knew they wouldn't stop until they had answers.

Kael's solo match came three hours later.

The announcer's tone had changed—reverent, curious.

"Next, Lyra Windwell, Iron Champion, versus Sir Calen of Frostgate, high-level yellow core Waver!"

Even the air seemed colder.

Calen was lean, calm, his armor rimmed with silver frost. His core shimmered pale blue beneath his skin. A Waver—master of fluid resonance. He could turn life energy into kinetic momentum, bending his body like water.

Kael stood opposite him, her twin blades drawn. Her yellow core pulsed brighter than I'd ever seen.

The bell rang.

They clashed instantly.

Calen moved like liquid—each motion flowing into the next. His sword flicked out in impossible angles, redirecting Kael's strikes like water deflecting stone.

She countered with speed, her feet light, wind curling beneath her with every step.

But he adapted fast. His resonance allowed him to read tempo and adjust—each clash sharpening his movement.

Within minutes, Kael was on the defensive, breath harsh, shoulders tensing.

Calen smirked. "You're fast," he said. "But not fast enough."

He lunged, his blade tracing a spiral path. She blocked—barely—but the force sent her skidding backward.

The crowd murmured.

I clenched my fists from the observation deck, resisting the urge to intervene. This was her fight.

Kael's eyes glowed faintly. I saw it then—the edge. The place where strength breaks or transcends.

She was cornered, but not defeated.

Her breathing changed.

I knew that rhythm—it wasn't the old Hollow style. It was something she'd built from our notes, our experiments. Short bursts, controlled exhales, a pattern that resonated through her core instead of pushing against it.

The air trembled.

Calen frowned, sensing the shift.

Kael raised her blades, crossing them before her chest. The wind spiraled—not chaotic this time, but alive. Controlled. Resonant.

Then she vanished.

One heartbeat, she stood still. The next, she was everywhere.

Her strikes blurred, weaving through Calen's defenses like threads of lightning. He blocked once, twice—then she broke through, cutting a shallow line across his shoulder.

He gasped. The frost around his armor cracked.

She didn't stop.

Every step synchronized with her breathing, her core pulsing brighter and brighter—yellow deepening to a golden hue.

Calen tried to counter, sweeping his sword low to unbalance her stance. But she used the momentum—stepping on the flow of his attack, redirecting it with wind.

It wasn't brute force. It was resonance. Perfect harmony between motion and life energy.

Her next strike shattered his sword's edge. The following cut ended the duel.

Calen collapsed to one knee, frost melting around him. The bell echoed once.

Kael stood, chest heaving, core blazing bright.

Then, before the crowd's eyes, the glow expanded—her core color deepening into a vivid high-level yellow, energy rippling outward in waves.

The arena fell silent.

A breakthrough—in combat. Rare. Almost impossible.

The officials in the upper stands stood as one.

And I knew, in that instant, our anonymity had ended.

After the battle, Kael and I met in the corridor below the arena. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with life.

"You broke through," I said quietly.

She nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. "It felt… different this time. The energy wasn't just mine—it answered me."

"That's what resonance feels like," I said. "You didn't just reach it—you commanded it."

She smiled faintly. "Guess we're no longer the Iron Duo."

"Yeah," I said, glancing toward the sound of distant footsteps. "Now we're the hunted duo."

She followed my gaze.

Down the hall, the noble in violet robes approached, flanked by two guards. His expression was polite—but his eyes were sharp.

"Congratulations, Miss Windwell," he said smoothly. "And you, Mister Vale. The Council is… intrigued by your talents."

He paused, smile deepening. "We'd like to discuss your future in the Arena. Privately."

Kael looked at me, the faintest twitch of warning in her eyes.

I smiled back—calm, measured. "Of course," I said. "Lead the way."

But inside, I felt the quiet pulse of danger.

Because no matter how polite the invitation sounded—

we both knew what this was.

Not curiosity.

Interrogation.

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