After three quick bouts, Vaeloria stood once again at the center of the ring, her breathing calm, blood-moon eyes steady as the barriers hummed back to life. The jade platform under her feet still carried faint scorch marks and traces of frost from earlier clashes, the air heavy with the lingering mix of blood, fire, and ozone.
The crowd's murmurs grew louder, billions watching from galleries that rose like endless mountains beneath the vast open sky.
Her fourth opponent materialized across from her.
A humanoid dragon—tall and imposing, scales of deep obsidian veined with molten gold, horns curving like ancient blades, tail lashing once behind him. He stood bare-handed, claws gleaming like natural weapons, Second Calamity aura radiating steady, controlled heat that warped the air around him. And he was unlike her previous foes.
There were no foolish words.
No taunts.
He had watched her previous fights—seen the precision, the silence, the way she ended opponents without waste.
Respect and caution gleamed in his draconic eyes.
The barriers sealed, and he charged without a hint of hesitation.
The Law of Dragon Flame blazed at ninety percent, wrapping him in golden-black fire that roared like a forge, his fists striking forward in bursts that scorched the ground.
Vaeloria, in one fluid motion, drew her Divine-ranked lunar sovereign sword as her wings spread wide.
She met him head-on, the Law of Darkness surging at full power—shadows swallowing the dragonfire, muting its roar to a low growl.
Silently, Nosferatu Moon Harvest awakened, lunar essence flooding her blade, drinking in the surrounding light and heat.
BOOM!!
Fist met sword.... as dragonfire burst against moonlight, the shockwave shattering the jade platform.
The dragon advanced, Law of Strength at 90% surging—every blow as heavy as falling mountains, driving Vaeloria back, her guard trembling.
She struck back with Law of Blood at full force—freezing the heat in his veins mid-swing, flames sputtering as his blood thickened under Nosferatu suppression.
He growled, Law of Scales at 40% fortifying his body—scales turning diamond-hard, shrugging off a slash that could have taken his arm.
The clash grew savage.
Golden fury burned in the dragonkin's eyes, blood trailing from the shallow wound Vaeloria had carved through his defenses. With a roar, his Second Calamity aura erupted like a furnace blast, heat twisting the air into rippling waves.
Then he unleashed his first Calamity Law.
|Edict of Draconic Supremacy|
The world seemed to bend around him, his domain stretching across continents as golden light blazed from his scales, turning his entire body into an unyielding fortress.
Every strike against him was dulled by draconic hierarchy—damage diminished by his sheer supremacy, wounds knitting shut as if lesser beings had no right to harm him. His mere presence pushed back Vaeloria's darkness, the moonlight trembling under the weight of his decree.
BOOM!
BOOOM!!!!
He lunged forward; fists wrapped in dragon fire and raw power.... with each blow shattering the jade platform, driving Vaeloria to dance between the onslaughts.
A glancing strike caught her—scales raking her side, tearing flesh despite her guard.
But her Calamity Law Edict of Eternal Night deepened, a starless void pushing back, silencing the supremacy edict's light as Nosferatu Moon Harvest drank the dragon's flame to fuel her blade.
She countered with silent, lethal arcs, but the dragon shrugged off two strikes, cracked scales knitting instantly under his edict.
Mid-dodge, he caught her wing—CRACK!—wrenching it hard, causing immense pain to flare.
Vaeloria's blood-moon eyes blazed.
She unleashed the Law of Blood at full power—his spilled essence froze mid-air, twisting into crimson chains.
The edict fought back, but Harvest pulled stronger.
The dragon roared, invoking his second Calamity Law: Blaze of Ancestral Fury.
Golden inferno erupted, burning away her darkness, forcing her back as heat scorched her wings black. The battle dragged—brutal, relentless. He advanced with supremacy and fury, fists like meteors.
She thrived in shifting shadows, Harvest draining, Eclipse silencing, her sword cutting with quiet precision.
Wounds piled on both—her bleeding heavily, him regenerating slower under the harvest.
Then, an opening. Vaeloria slipped through the flames, her sword piercing his chest—moonlight flooding in.
Harvest pulled.
The dragon fell to one knee, gasping, yielding.
Victory.
Bloodied, breath ragged, wings charred—but unbowed.
The barriers fell.
She stood over him, sword lowered, gaze cold as winter night.
The crowd erupted—shock, awe, cheers thundering across the galleries, billions of voices roaring over jade platforms.
Four wins.
Vaeloria stood at the center, blood-moon eyes steady, sword sheathed, breathing calm despite the blood trickling from half-healed wounds.
An elder's voice boomed from the high platform, echoing across the arena.
"No more trials are needed. A master has chosen to take you as a personal disciple."
The barriers sank away.
From the highest gallery, a figure descended with effortless grace—the Sword Saint, Kieran Vale.
His Ninth Calamity aura was muted to a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut through thought. White robes patterned with silver swords flowed like water, long black hair tied in a warrior's tail, eyes like tempered steel—ancient and unyielding, yet carrying quiet respect.
He landed before Vaeloria, inclining his head slightly.
"I am Kieran Vale, Sword Saint of Myriad Blade Peak," he said, his voice steady and resonant.
"Your sword in darkness is poetry—silent, inevitable, beautiful. Become my disciple. Everything I know of the blade, I will teach you. Guidance, resources, protection. In return, your growth will honor the path."
Vaeloria met his gaze, blood-moon eyes unwavering.
She bowed deeply. "I accept, Sir."
Kieran's brow arched, a faint smile playing at his lips.
"Shouldn't you call me Master now?"
Vaeloria shook her head, her voice calm and firm.
"No. There is only one person I will ever call my master."
Kieran studied her for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them—perhaps a recognition of unshakable loyalty. He gave a single nod.
"Very well. Come with me."
The crowd erupted, their cheers rolling like thunder through the vast galleries, billions of voices joining in a wave of awe and excitement.