random123456

Chapter 246: Quarter-finals

In the stands and lounges, murmurs grew louder.

"This can't be a coincidence," a spectator said, his tone skeptical. "The Silver Flame Sect keeps drawing the toughest matchups. First, they fight each other, and now this?"

"Look at Lucavion," another chimed in, pointing to the swordsman preparing in the corner. "He's been tearing through opponents like it's nothing, and now they pit him against Joel? That's practically sabotage."

"The Monk against Varen is just as bad," someone else added. "Varen's all fire and aggression, and The Monk thrives against that kind of style. It's like they're trying to stack the odds."

Meanwhile, the elders of both sects were notably tense. Elder Kael of the Silver Flame Sect sat with a tight-lipped expression, his eyes narrowing as he reviewed the matchups. "This is no coincidence," he muttered under his breath. "Someone's interfering."

Elder Xue of the Cloud Heavens Sect, while outwardly calm, seemed equally suspicious. Though her disciples' matchups were challenging, they were not as egregiously skewed as the Silver Flame's. Still, she knew better than to dismiss the possibility of manipulation. "If this is deliberate," she murmured to herself, "then the question is, who benefits?"

Marquis Ventor, seated in his private lounge, watched the arena below with an amused expression, his sharp eyes glinting as he observed the reactions. The matchups were indeed intriguing, but whether they were the result of chance or design, he gave no indication of his thoughts. To him, the controversy only added to the spectacle.

In the fighters' preparation chambers, the tension was equally palpable. Each combatant focused on their respective battles.

Among them, Varen Drakov sat with an air of quiet confidence, his fiery presence tempered by a calm resolve. His opponent, The Monk, stood not far from him, his posture serene, exuding an unshakable composure that mirrored his disciplined fighting style.

Varen glanced briefly at The Monk, his expression unreadable but his voice steady when he finally spoke. "The opponent doesn't matter," he said, his words more to himself than anyone else. "If I rise by defeating weaker opponents, it means nothing. The finals will expose me to who I am. If I'm good, I'm good. If not…" He shrugged slightly, his tone even. "That's the end."

The Monk turned his head toward Varen, his calm eyes studying the Silver Flame Sect disciple. After a moment of silence, he nodded respectfully. "You carry yourself with honesty," he said, his voice measured. "For that, I respect you. To acknowledge strength and weakness alike without delusion… it is the mark of a true martial artist."

Varen regarded him for a moment, a flicker of surprise in his sharp gaze before he offered a slight nod. "Respect goes both ways," he said simply. "Your reputation precedes you. I'll fight you as I would anyone else—nothing less, nothing more."

The Monk allowed a faint smile to cross his lips, his hands folding in front of him in a gesture of quiet acknowledgment. "Then let us test our convictions in the ring."

******

Across the room, Lira Vaelan and Zerah sat together, their gazes fixed on the opposite side of the preparation area, where Lucavion and Valeria were seated. Lira's expression was calm, but the faint narrowing of her eyes betrayed her irritation as she watched the unaffiliated pair. On the other hand, Zerah's glare lingered on Lucavion as he sat across the room, his relaxed posture and ever-present smirk only fueling her simmering anger. The memory of his open insults to her and Elder Xue played like a loop in her mind, each instance another blow to the pride of the Cloud Heavens Sect. Her jaw tightened as she clenched her fists, struggling to maintain the composure expected of a senior disciple. But it was slipping—she could feel it.

He's too arrogant,

she thought, her nails digging into her palm.

But not for long. Elder Xue has made it clear—his days are numbered.

Her lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk as the thought settled in her mind. Knowing that Elder Xue was taking matters into her own hands, Zerah allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Lucavion's antics would be short-lived, and she would relish seeing the smugness wiped from his face.

Beside her, Lira Vaelan glanced at her, her sharp eyes catching the change in Zerah's demeanor. "You seem… amused," Lira said quietly, her voice calm but curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Senior Sister." Zerah's smirk widened slightly as she straightened in her seat, her earlier frustration melting into something closer to anticipation. "Just thinking about how temporary his confidence is," she replied, her tone laced with quiet malice. "Lucavion's arrogance has only one outcome, and it won't be favorable for him."

Lira Vaelan's calm gaze remained fixed on Lucavion for a moment longer before she turned to Zerah, her expression cool but laced with quiet authority. "I understand your frustration," Lira said evenly, her voice a careful balance of understanding and admonishment. "I don't like him either. But your focus should be elsewhere—on Valeria. She's not an opponent to take lightly."

Zerah's smirk faltered slightly as Lira's words settled in. She turned her head toward her senior sister, her jaw tightening at the subtle rebuke. Zerah didn't like being corrected, especially not by Lira who is the person that destroyed the relationship between the two sects, but she knew better than to openly challenge her. Lira's position as the senior disciple was unshakable, and her reputation as the Silent Thunder wasn't just for show.

Lowering her head slightly, Zerah forced herself to respond with deference. "Understood, Senior Sister," she said, her tone careful but restrained. "I will focus on my fight."

Lira studied her for a moment, her sharp gaze catching the flicker of resentment in Zerah's posture.

Though Zerah masked it well, Lira knew this younger disciple resented her authority.

It wasn't uncommon; many in the sect viewed Lira's calm façade as stifling, a stark contrast to the fiery pride that burned in others like Zerah. But Lira didn't care about their opinions.

'When I get the matriarch position, then you will all be kneeling before me.'

That was why, she didn't care.

"Good," Lira said simply, her voice firm but measured. "Valeria Olarion is skilled, and her determination is commendable. Don't underestimate her, or you'll regret it."

Zerah clenched her fists at her sides, swallowing the retort that rose to her lips. She hated being lectured, especially by Lira, but she couldn't deny the truth in her words. Valeria was strong—stronger than most of the opponents Zerah had faced so far. If she let her focus waver, even for a moment, the Olarion heir could easily turn the fight against her.

"I won't," Zerah said, lifting her head to meet Lira's gaze with a forced calm. "Thank you for the reminder, Senior Sister."

And with everything settled, they focused on their fights anyway. At the end of the day, things like these were common after all.

On the other hand, Maelis, the other girl was staying silent and watching her two fellow disciples talking.

Since she was clearly the weakest out of the two, her fate was already decided. And she didn't win her matches by her own effort either. That was why she had no say in this matter.

*******

In their corner of the preparation chamber, Lucavion and Valeria sat in relative quiet, a contrast to the tense murmur of other fighters. The low hum of conversation echoed faintly against the stone walls, broken occasionally by the sound of footsteps or the clinking of weapons being prepared. The air was thick with anticipation.

Valeria closed her eyes, her fingers resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. Her breathing was steady, deliberate, as she worked to center herself. The matches were progressing quickly, and with her bout following Varen's clash with The Monk, she had little time to waste on distractions.

Lucavion, meanwhile, lounged on the bench beside her, one leg crossed over the other, his arms stretched along the backrest. His ever-present smirk danced on his lips, as though he found the entire situation amusing. Despite the undercurrent of tension in the room, he radiated an aura of unshakable calm, his posture as relaxed as if he were about to watch a play rather than enter a deadly contest.

"You're awfully quiet," Lucavion said, tilting his head toward Valeria. His voice was light, teasing as always. "A bit nervous, perhaps?"

Valeria opened her eyes, casting him a sidelong glance. "Focused," she corrected sharply. "Something you should try sometime."

Lucavion chuckled, the sound low and easy. "What makes you think that I am not?"

"….."

She rolled her eyes but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she straightened in her seat, her hands folding neatly in her lap as she let out a slow exhale. "The Monk and Varen are first," she said, as much to herself as to him. "That gives me some time."

Lucavion's smirk widened. "True. Enough time to overthink every possible outcome of your match. Very productive."

Valeria shot him a glare, but her annoyance quickly gave way to a small sigh. "You have a gift, you know," she muttered, shaking her head.

"For irritating you?" he quipped. "Why, thank you."

"No," she replied, her tone softer now, though still tinged with exasperation. "For acting like nothing ever gets to you. Not the stakes, not the pressure, not even Elder Xue."

"Why let it? All of my actions have consequences and as long as I know that, there shouldn't be any problem with that no?"

Valeria frowned, her gaze dropping to the floor as she mulled over his words. "It's not that simple," she said quietly.

"Sure it is," he replied, leaning back again with a lazy shrug. "You're strong, Valeria. Just don't let anyone convince you otherwise."

"I will not."

She looked up at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For a fleeting moment, her irritation faded, replaced by something she couldn't quite place. Gratitude, perhaps? Or maybe just an odd sense of reassurance.

Before she could respond, the sound of a bell echoed through the chamber, signaling the start of Varen's match against The Monk. The fighters rose to their feet, the tension in the room shifting as the focus turned toward the arena.

"Looks like the show's starting," Lucavion said, his grin returning as he stood. "Come on, let's watch the fireworks."

And just like that, the quarter-finals started.

Chapter 247: Quarter-finals (2)

The arena was silent, the crowd holding its breath as

Varen Drakov

and

The Monk

stepped into the ring. Their auras clashed the moment they faced one another—a fierce, fiery intensity against an unshakable calm. Varen's silvery-red robe rippled in the wind, his presence radiating strength and confidence, while The Monk's simple brown attire and tranquil demeanor exuded an air of profound discipline.

SWOOSH!

Varen rolled his shoulders, his blade resting lightly in his hand. His fiery mana flickered to life around him, casting a faint glow on the arena floor. He could feel the weight of the crowd's anticipation, their eyes fixed on the two combatants.

'The Monk,'

he thought, his gaze narrowing as he assessed his opponent.

'Unaffiliated but no less dangerous. His style thrives against mine—adaptive, and controlled. He'll wait for me to make a mistake. I can't give him that opening.'

Across the ring, The Monk stood with his hands clasped together, his staff resting against his back. His breathing was steady, his expression serene. When he opened his eyes, they held a clarity that seemed to pierce through the tension.

DING! DING!

The bell rang, and the match began.

BOOM!

Varen wasted no time, launching forward with a burst of speed that left a faint trail of flame in his wake. His sword arced downward in a powerful slash, his mana flaring like a wildfire. But The Monk sidestepped with fluid precision, his movements economical and effortless.

CLANG!

The clash of metal versus raw aura rang out as The Monk's knuckles met Varen's blade, deflecting the strike with a calculated parry. Varen didn't hesitate, pressing the attack with a flurry of strikes, each one faster and more forceful than the last.

SHING! SWOOSH! CRACK!

'He's good,'

Varen noted, his strikes met with perfectly timed counters.

'But he's playing defensive. He's waiting for me to overcommit. Not happening.'

The Monk shifted his stance, his movements deliberate as he evaded another slash. With a sharp pivot, he brought his body around in a sweeping arc, aiming for Varen's ribs.

WHOOSH!

Varen twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the blow, and retaliated with a low, fiery slash aimed at The Monk's legs.

The arena buzzed with anticipation as the fight between

Varen Drakov

and

The Monk

reached a fever pitch. Their movements were a blur of speed and precision, a deadly dance of fire and calm. Each clash of mana sent ripples through the air, their sheer power leaving visible scorch marks and cracks across the stage.

SWISH! ROAR!

Varen lunged forward, his blade blazing with a silvery-red glow. He unleashed one of the

Silver Flame Sect's

core techniques,

"Flame Serpent Spiral,"

a skill that channeled his mana into a coiling, serpent-like energy trail that sought to ensnare and overwhelm his opponent. The fiery serpent darted toward The Monk with a hiss, forcing him to leap high into the air.

'Predictable,'

Varen thought as he followed with a vertical slash, his blade cutting through the air toward The Monk's descending form.

CRASH!

But The Monk twisted mid-air, landing with grace as his knuckles met the ground. His body erupted in an earthen aura, grounding him as he struck forward with

"Mountain Breaker Palm,"

a powerful strike that shattered the ground beneath him and sent a shockwave racing toward Varen.

BOOM! RUMBLE!

Varen barely had time to brace himself. He crossed his blade in front of him, his fiery mana acting as a barrier to absorb the shockwave. The force sent him skidding backward, his boots digging grooves into the arena floor.

'He's relentless,'

Varen acknowledged, his muscles tightening with focus.

'He doesn't rely on weapons, but his body is a weapon in itself.'

THUD! WHAM!

The Monk was already upon him, his movements seamless as he unleashed a barrage of strikes. Each blow targeted Varen's core, aiming to disrupt his balance and rhythm. Varen's sword flashed in response, his strikes meeting The Monk's fists in a symphony of power and precision.

CLANG! BANG! CRACK!

"Impressive," The Monk said, his voice calm even as sweat dripped down his brow. "You adapt quickly, Varen Drakov."

Varen smirked, his fiery mana flaring as he stepped back and took a stance. "You're not bad yourself, for someone unaffiliated."

He unleashed his second skill,

"Inferno Cascade,"

a series of rapid-fire slashes that sent waves of concentrated fire mana cascading toward The Monk.

WHOOSH! BOOM! SWOOSH!

The Monk dodged the first two waves but couldn't avoid the third, which clipped his shoulder and left a singed mark on his robe. He responded with

"Steel Body Requiem,"

an advanced technique that hardened his body like tempered steel, allowing him to absorb and deflect the flames.

DING! DING! DING!

The crowd erupted in cheers as the two fighters pushed each other to the edge. Every strike, every counter, every exchange left the arena more battered and the audience more enthralled.

Varen's breath came heavier now, but his eyes burned with determination. He had one final skill to unleash, but he needed the right moment. Meanwhile, The Monk advanced again, his movements fluid and unyielding as he struck forward with

"Heaven's Descending Strike,"

a leaping attack aimed directly at Varen's head.

THUMP! SWISH! CLANG!

Varen stepped back just in time, his sword narrowly deflecting the attack.

'This is a good opportunity to end this,'

he thought, steeling himself for the risk he was about to take.

He began a sequence of feints, his blade moving unpredictably, forcing The Monk to split his attention between defense and countering.

Then came the decisive moment.

SWOOSH! THUD! CRACK!

Varen feinted a low slash, drawing The Monk's guard downward. In the split-second opening, he stepped into The Monk's range, deliberately leaving his right arm exposed as a sacrifice. The Monk's fist crashed into Varen's forearm with bone-shattering force, eliciting a sharp gasp from the crowd.

'Pain is nothing,'

Varen gritted his teeth against the agony. Using the momentum from the strike, he pivoted and brought his blade around in a sweeping arc, his fiery mana igniting into a roaring flame. This was his final move—

"Eruption Slash."

BOOOOOM!

The blade struck true, landing squarely on The Monk's chest and sending him hurtling backward. He tumbled across the arena floor, finally coming to a stop near the edge. For a moment, silence reigned as everyone waited to see if The Monk would rise.

He didn't.

DING! DING! DING!

The bell rang, and the announcer's voice boomed over the arena.

"The winner—Varen Drakov of the Silver Flame Sect!"

Varen staggered back, his right arm hanging limp at his side, the pain radiating through his body. But his grip on his blade remained firm, his head held high as he faced the roaring crowd. He turned to The Monk, who was being helped to his feet by medics, and offered him a nod of respect.

"You were formidable," Varen said quietly, his voice steady despite his exhaustion.

The Monk returned the nod, his calm expression betraying a hint of admiration. "And you were resolute. A worthy victory, Varen Drakov."

As Varen left the arena, his steps faltered slightly, but his resolve remained unshaken.

'A small price to pay,'

he thought, glancing at his injured arm.

'If I am to prove myself, sacrifice is necessary.'

With the crowd's cheers echoing in his ears, he prepared himself for the next challenge, knowing full well that the tournament was far from over.

******

As Valeria stepped out into the stone corridor leading toward the arena, the sound of her boots echoed in the otherwise hushed space.

The faint hum of the crowd beyond the walls was a constant reminder of the stage she was about to walk onto. Despite the cheering for Varen's earlier victory still faintly lingering in the air, Valeria's thoughts were not on him or even her own nervous anticipation. Her mind turned to Zerah.

She pictured the senior disciple of the Cloud Heavens Sect clearly in her mind: sharp, disciplined, yet brimming with an aggressive edge that had made her infamous among her peers.

Zerah was not just skilled but relentless, her style characterized by precision that rarely gave her opponents room to breathe.

She had a way of capitalizing on the smallest mistake, exploiting weaknesses with a cold, calculated efficiency.

Valeria inhaled deeply, calming herself.

Zerah thrives on intimidation and control. That's her battlefield as much as the physical one.

The words that were spoken by Lucavion.

'That guy….Regardless of the opponent….when he say things like that, it is mostly correct.'

That was why she was grateful. To be frank, while it was true that she came up to this moment thanks to her own efforts, Lucavion's help was also there.

That was why she didn't want to be ungrateful.

'But at the end, on the arena…it is me and my opponent.'

She calmed herself and then went forward.

As the light of the arena grew brighter ahead, Valeria considered her options.

Patience would be my best ally. Counter her control with precision of my own. It's a battle of wills as much as swords.

Being a knight, that was how she had seen it.

The arena welcomed Valeria with a deafening roar, the crowd's excitement reverberating through the very stones beneath her feet.

"PINK KNIGHT!"

"PINK KNIGHT!"

"PINK KNIGHT!"

Seeing the crowd cheering, how could she not be happy?

'It really worked….'

And she wanted to prove herself to the crowd as well.

Chapter 248: Quarter-finals (3)

"PINK KNIGHT!"

"PINK KNIGHT!"

"PINK KNIGHT!"

As her boots touched the sandy floor, Valeria raised her chin high, meeting the mixture of voices with the silent strength of her gaze. This was her moment, and she would not falter.

Across the expanse of the arena stood Zerah, poised and composed. She wore the flowing, pale blue robes of the Cloud Heavens Sect, their edges embroidered with intricate patterns of white clouds. Her expression was calm on the surface, but Valeria could see past the mask. Zerah's hostility radiated off her in waves, a cold, sharp presence that seemed to slice through the warmth of the sunlight.

Valeria took a measured breath, steadying herself. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her sword briefly—a grounding motion more than anything.

Focus. Breathe. She thrives on control. Don't let her have it.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Zerah. The other woman was utterly still, like a predator lying in wait, but Valeria didn't miss the way her eyes gleamed with barely concealed disdain. It wasn't just the rivalry of the match fueling that gaze. No, there was something more personal here. Something deeper.

Valeria knew why.

Zerah had been the first to approach her when she'd arrived in Andelheim, extending an invitation to join the Cloud Heavens Sect. At the time, it had seemed flattering, even tempting. The sect's reputation was as grand as its reach, and Zerah's confidence had been persuasive. But that confidence had quickly turned to arrogance, and her persistence had begun to grate.

Lucavion had been the turning point. When Zerah's disdain for him became clear—along with her sect members' repeated attempts to undermine him—Valeria found herself firmly on his side. Lucavion's sharp, unflappable nature and his incisive words had not only made her think but also reminded her of her own independence.

Choosing to remain unaffiliated wasn't just a rejection of Zerah's offer; it was a statement of her own agency. And Zerah had not forgiven her for it.

'This isn't just a duel for her. She wants to prove something—to me, to her sect, to herself. And she'll use that anger to fuel her attacks.'

The referee stepped forward, his voice booming to command the crowd's attention. "For our second match of the quarter-finals, we have Valeria Olarion, a rising star, and unaffiliated swordswoman, against Zerah of the Cloud Heavens Sect, the sect's formidable senior disciple."

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Valeria barely heard them. Her focus was entirely on Zerah, who finally moved, taking a single step forward. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her weapon, a curved blade that caught the sunlight in sharp flashes.

"Miss Valeria," Zerah said, her voice carrying just enough warmth to sound civil, but the edge was unmistakable. "It seems that it is the fate that brought us here."

"It is-"

"You who hides behind a man, and us who wants to stand above anyone else."

Hearing that, Valeria raised an eyebrow but didn't reply immediately. She knew better than to be drawn into Zerah's games. Instead, she let the silence hang between them, her calm, steady gaze meeting Zerah's.

'Every word is a hook. She wants a reaction. Don't give it to her.'

The other woman's smirk faltered ever so slightly, and Valeria finally spoke, her voice even. "The arena is no place for speeches. Save your words for after the match—if you have any left."

Zerah's smirk returned, colder now, and she unsheathed her sword with a smooth, practiced motion. "Bold. Let's see if your sword speaks as confidently as your tongue."

Valeria mirrored the motion, her blade sliding free with a soft metallic hiss. She shifted into her stance, her grip firm but relaxed. The crowd hushed as the referee raised his hand, preparing to start the match.

For a brief moment, Valeria's thoughts flickered back to Lucavion's words, a faint echo in her mind.

'Zerah thrives on intimidation and control.'

Her lips tightened into a faint, determined line.

'Not today.'

******

"START!"

The moment the referee's hand dropped, Zerah launched forward, a blur of motion that left a trail of shimmering wind in her wake. The crowd gasped at her speed, the sheer burst of energy propelling her across the arena in an instant.

Valeria barely had time to adjust. Her instincts took over, her body reacting as her Zweihander came up in a sharp, defensive arc.

CLANG!

Zerah's saber struck against her blade with a crackling force, the impact rippling through Valeria's arms. She gritted her teeth, sliding back a step but holding her ground. The saber hummed with a faint, high-pitched sound, wind swirling around it as Zerah pulled back for another strike.

'Fast. Too fast,' Valeria thought, her eyes narrowing as she tracked Zerah's movements. The other woman was already on the move again, her speed amplified by gusts of wind swirling at her feet.

"You're too slow!" Zerah taunted, her voice sharp and cutting as she spun to Valeria's side, her saber slashing in a wide arc.

Valeria turned her body with a snap, her Zweihander meeting the attack just in time. Sparks flew as the weapons clashed again, the sound echoing in the hushed arena.

'She's pushing her speed, burning through her mana,' Valeria noted, feeling the sharp fluctuations in Zerah's aura. 'She can't maintain this pace forever.'

Zerah darted back, a smirk tugging at her lips. With a flick of her wrist, she slashed her saber horizontally, sending a sharp blade of wind hurtling toward Valeria.

SWOOSH!

The wind blade howled as it streaked through the air. Valeria sidestepped, the attack slicing past her shoulder and dissipating against the arena wall in a sharp burst.

'She's not just fast—she's relentless,' Valeria thought, shifting her stance.

Zerah lunged again, her saber a whirlwind of strikes, each one accompanied by bursts of wind that enhanced her reach and speed. Valeria parried and dodged, her Zweihander carving smooth arcs through the air as she countered each attack.

But Zerah wasn't just fast—she was precise. Her strikes targeted Valeria's weak points: her sides, her legs, her blind spots. Each attack came faster than the last, leaving Valeria with little room to retaliate.

"Is that all, Pink Knight?" Zerah sneered, her saber flashing in another sharp strike.

Valeria blocked, her blade catching the saber in a jarring clash of steel.

Their blades locked for a moment sparks flying as their auras clashed. Zerah's eyes gleamed with superiority, wind swirling around her in a chaotic dance.

But Valeria didn't falter. She held her ground, her grip on her Zweihander steady. 'She's overconfident,' she realized. 'She thinks her speed is enough to overwhelm me.'

As Zerah broke away, she twisted her saber in a flourish, sending another wind blade hurtling toward Valeria. This time, Valeria didn't dodge. Instead, she channeled her mana into her sword, the blade glowing faintly as she swung it in a powerful arc.

BOOM!

The wind blade shattered against her mana-infused strike, dissipating into harmless gusts.

Zerah's smirk wavered for a fraction of a second. "Hmph. You can block a few tricks, but can you keep up with this?"

Her aura flared, the wind around her intensifying. She dashed forward again, her saber moving so quickly it seemed to blur into multiple strikes.

Valeria gritted her teeth, her body moving on instinct as she parried the onslaught. Her arms burned from the effort, each impact sending shockwaves through her muscles.

But she wasn't just defending. She was watching. Studying.

Zerah's movements, while fast, had a rhythm—a pattern. Her strikes came in bursts, each one slightly slower after a surge of speed.

'She's burning through her mana too quickly,' Valeria thought. 'If I can hold out long enough, I can turn this around.'

She adjusted her stance, letting Zerah push her back toward the edge of the arena. The crowd gasped as it seemed Valeria was losing ground, her defenses barely holding against the relentless assault.

But Valeria's mind was calm. Focused. She wasn't retreating—she was baiting.

As Zerah rushed in again, her saber flashing toward Valeria's side, Valeria suddenly stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her Zweihander swung in a wide, deliberate arc, her mana surging through the blade.

"Sword of Olarion: Knight's Arc!"

The glowing arc of energy streaked through the air, colliding with Zerah's saber. The impact sent a shockwave rippling across the arena, forcing Zerah back several paces.

She staggered, her breathing heavy, her aura flickering with the strain of her overexertion.

Valeria took a steadying breath, her gaze locked on Zerah.

Zerah's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her saber. "You're not fast enough to catch me."

But Valeria didn't need to be fast. She needed to be precise.

'Remember how he did it…'

It visualized in her mind.

'Use that…..this is your change….'

Lucavion might be a genius when it came to the sword, but was everything about the sword?

It was indeed true that she was not as good as Lucavion when it came to swinging weapons, but does that mean she was supposed to be weaker than him?

'If I can't be as good, then I will try another way.'

As Zerah lunged again, Valeria held her ground, her Zweihander raised and ready. She waited, her focus narrowing until everything else faded away.

–[Sword of Olarion. Knight's Resolve.]

If she was not as good now, she would be as good in the future.

That was the resolve that a knight was supposed to have.

Chapter 249: Quarter-finals (4)

As Zerah lunged forward, Valeria's body stilled completely. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath, the crowd's cheers faltering as silence descended like a veil.

Valeria didn't shift, didn't flinch, her Zweihander held steady but unmoving. Her eyes closed, her breathing even, as if she were in a state of immense concentration. To some, it looked like surrender—a knight resigning to her fate. To others, it was something else entirely.

"She's giving up?" a spectator murmured, uncertainty rippling through the stands.

"No," another countered, their voice tinged with awe. "Look at her… she's preparing."

Zerah's gaze sharpened as she closed the distance, her saber igniting with a fierce, howling wind. She pushed her body to its limit, her mana roaring from her core in waves, empowering her final, desperate strike.

"This ends now!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the stunned silence. The air around her swirled violently as she activated her strongest technique.

—

"Cloudpiercer Blade: Soaring Gale."

The saber in her hand became a tempest of mana and wind, glowing with blinding intensity as she slashed toward Valeria with everything she had left. The strike carried the full weight of her cultivation and resolve, aiming to cleave through Valeria's defenses and end the match decisively.

But Valeria didn't move.

Her eyes opened at the last moment, gleaming with an unshakable calm. Her body radiated a faint, golden light as her mana surged—not outward like Zerah's chaotic storm, but inward, forming a protective shell that enveloped her entirely.

"[Sword of Olarion: Knight's Resolve],"

she whispered, the words carrying a weight that resonated through the arena.

As Zerah's strike descended, Valeria didn't meet it with a block. Instead, she stepped forward into the attack, her Zweihander lowering slightly. The crowd gasped in shock, their voices rising in a cacophony of disbelief.

"What is she doing?!"

The saber slashed into her body, the wind howling as it struck true. Zerah's blade tore into Valeria's armor, cutting deep into her side. Blood spattered onto the sandy arena floor.

But then, the blade stopped.

It didn't pierce through completely.

Zerah's eyes widened in disbelief as her saber met an invisible barrier just beyond Valeria's skin—a shimmering line of mana that refused to yield. Her strongest strike, her

Soaring Gale

, had been halted not by a parry, but by sheer resolve.

"Impossible…" Zerah whispered, her voice trembling.

Valeria's body trembled slightly from the impact, but her gaze remained firm, her expression unyielding. "A knight's strength isn't just in her blade," she said quietly, her voice cutting through the storm of mana around them. "It's in her resolve."

It was as if she was having an enlightenment.

Zerah's arms shook as she pushed harder, trying to force her saber through the barrier. But it was no use. The energy around Valeria was unshakable, a manifestation of her will made solid through her mana.

With a surge of movement, Valeria twisted her body, stepping forward into Zerah's space. Her Zweihander rose, the blade shimmering with renewed energy as she swung in a controlled, deliberate arc.

CLANG!

The strike didn't aim to harm—it disarmed. Zerah's saber was wrenched from her hands, spinning through the air before clattering to the ground several feet away.

Zerah staggered back, her body trembling, her mana spent. Her wide, disbelieving eyes met Valeria's calm, steady gaze.

"I didn't need to match your speed," Valeria said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her triumph. "I needed to endure."

The arena erupted into cheers, the crowd roaring with excitement and awe.

Valeria took a single step back, lowering her Zweihander and standing tall despite the blood seeping from her side. Her breathing was steady, her presence commanding.

Zerah fell to her knees, her body collapsing under the weight of her exhaustion. For a moment, she simply stared at the ground, her expression a mixture of disbelief and reluctant respect.

"You…" she began, her voice barely audible. "You really… stood through it."

As the roar of the crowd faded into the background, Valeria stood in the center of the arena, her bloodied armor glinting faintly under the sunlight. Her Zweihander was heavy in her hand, but it wasn't exhaustion that gripped her—it was something far more profound.

Her gaze softened, falling to Zerah's trembling form, but her mind was elsewhere. A realization began to crystallize within her, like a long-forgotten truth rising from the depths of her soul.

'A knight's strength isn't just in their blade,' she repeated to herself, the words echoing in her mind. Her breath slowed, her heartbeat steadying as clarity washed over her. 'It's in their resolve. It's not just about winning, not just about honor or skill. It's about why I fight…'

For so long, she had struggled to define her purpose. Was it for her family's honor? For her name? For the expectations placed upon her as an Olarion? None of those reasons had ever felt complete. They had driven her forward, yes, but they had never filled the void she felt in her heart.

'What is a knight?'

The question burned in her mind, sharper than any blade she had faced. And now, as she stood in the wake of her victory, it all became clear.

A knight wasn't just a swordsman, wielding skill and technique to defeat their enemies. A knight wasn't just a symbol of honor, bound to the weight of tradition.

A knight was a protector. A pillar of strength in the face of despair. Someone who stood unyielding, not for their own sake, but for others. Their strength came from their resolve, and their unwavering belief in what they fought for.

Her father's teachings, her family's techniques—they had always emphasized this truth. She had been blind to it before, focused on the mechanics of the sword, on perfecting her stance and swings. But now, she understood. The Olarion way wasn't just about power or precision. It was about purpose.

At that moment, Valeria felt a shift deep within her core.

The air around her seemed to still, the weight of the revelation settling into her very being. Her mana, which had always felt like a steady current, began to swell. It surged through her body, filling every corner with warmth and energy.

A faint, golden light enveloped her, shimmering softly as if responding to her thoughts. Her breathing deepened, her senses sharpening as the truth of her resolve resonated within her.

This was it.

The bottleneck that had held her back for so long—the uncertainty, the hesitation—it all dissolved in an instant. Her mana surged, breaking free of its previous limits as she felt the barrier shatter.

The crowd, still caught in their celebration, began to notice the change. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the arena as they watched Valeria's figure, glowing faintly with golden mana, standing tall and unwavering.

"What… what is this?" Zerah whispered, her eyes wide as she felt the sheer force of Valeria's presence.

Valeria closed her eyes, letting the moment sink in. Her family's teachings, her father's lessons—they all aligned in her mind, their meaning finally clear.

She wasn't just fighting for honor, or pride, or recognition. She was fighting to be the kind of knight her family had always envisioned. A protector, a symbol of strength and hope.

When her eyes opened again, they shone with a renewed determination. Her lips curved into a faint, calm smile, not of triumph, but of peace.

"I understand now," she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of her enlightenment. "This is what it means to be a knight. To stand for something greater than myself. To endure, to protect, to fight with purpose."

The golden light around her flared for a moment, and the crowd erupted into cheers once more, realizing what had just occurred.

"She...she had found an enlightenment!"

The arena's atmosphere swelled with jubilation as the realization dawned on the crowd: Valeria Olarion, the steadfast knight, had achieved enlightenment. Cheers erupted, the spectators' voices merging into a thunderous roar of admiration. The announcer, his voice almost lost amidst the cacophony, bellowed the declaration.

"Valeria Olarion wins! The match is over!"

The words echoed across the arena, cementing Valeria's triumph. Zerah, still on her knees, cast a lingering gaze of both respect and disbelief at Valeria's retreating form.

Valeria sheathed her bloodied Zweihander, her movements deliberate despite the wound on her side. She turned and strode toward the arena's exit, her face resolute, yet her golden aura flickered subtly with her newfound clarity. As she crossed the threshold of the gate, leaving the deafening cheers behind, the noise of the crowd faded, replaced by the subdued sounds of the preparation room.

And there he was.

Lucavion leaned against the stone wall just beyond the arena's entryway, his arms crossed casually, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips. The golden light reflecting from Valeria's presence cast shadows over his face, giving his features an air of mystery. His gaze met hers, holding it effortlessly as she approached.

"Congratulations….for finally breaking through your bottleneck…."

And as expected, he was aware.