The word was a physical shockwave in the charged air. Elara Voss moved with the explosive grace of her House's namesake, immediately creating a dozen paces of distance. Her S+ Archery talent was on full display as her longbow sang, unleashing a Mana Arrow Barrage. The air filled with whistling shafts of light, not aimed directly at Liam's heart, but designed to hem him in, to dictate his movements, to turn him into a predictable target for a more devastating shot.
Liam's world narrowed. He activated Dragonheart Vigor, a torrent of mana flooding into his Agility. His Dragon's Gaze (SSS) was a revelation; the battlefield became a tapestry of trajectories and intent. He saw the minute tensing of Elara's drawing arm, the subtle shift of her weight that telegraphed each shot before it was even loosed. Crimson Fang became an extension of his will, a crimson shield deflecting arrows with sharp tinks and thwacks, each parry precise and economical. He danced along the edge of the dueling circle, a silver-haired phantom weaving through a storm of light, his movements so fluid they seemed preternatural.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Sir Lucas, standing near the edge of the competitor's enclosure, nodded grimly, his hand unconsciously resting on his sword hilt. From the high balcony, Grandmaster Orin Oulbeck leaned forward almost imperceptibly, his gaze fixed.
She's trying to create a kill box, Liam thought, his mind racing. I can't win this at range. He needed to close the distance. Drawing on the deceptive footwork Orin had drilled into him, he feinted left, then exploded right, using a parried arrow's momentum to propel himself forward, trying to break Elara's rhythm.
But Elara was no static turret. Her S- Potential was evident in her adaptability. As Liam advanced, she activated Elusive Shadow, her form blurring as she repositioned with startling speed, her boots barely seeming to touch the ground.
Liam's Dragon's Gaze, however, pierced the illusion of effortless movement, picking up the faint traces of her Ranger's Guile – a nearly invisible tripwire here, a patch of ground subtly slicked with oil there. He leaped over the wire, sidestepped the oil patch by a hair's breadth, his advance relentless.
Seeing him close in, a flicker of something – respect, or perhaps frustration – crossed Elara's sharp features. She nocked a single, slender arrow, its tip glowing with a faint, sickly green light. "Let's see you dodge this, Lithian!" she hissed, loosing her Serpent's Sting Arrow. It flew with venomous speed, a green viper aimed at his sword arm, designed to paralyze and incapacitate.
There was no time for a full dodge. With a silent command, Liam channeled mana into his Draconic Manifestation. For a fraction of a second, a spectral, obsidian shimmer, visible only to his own enhanced senses and perhaps the keenest eyes in the stands, coated his left forearm.
Thwack!
To the crowd, it looked as if Liam had made an impossibly fast block with his bracer, the arrow shattering harmlessly. Some gasped at the sheer audacity and speed of the defense.
To Liam, he felt the sharp impact, the spectral scales absorbing the brunt of the force and, crucially, the paralytic toxin. A dull ache resonated up his arm, and a significant chunk of his mana vanished, but the numbing cold of the poison never took hold.
To Eldrin and Orin, high above, their eyes narrowed simultaneously. A minute, almost imperceptible ripple of draconic mana had flared around the boy, then vanished. Eldrin's impassive facade didn't change, but the air around him seemed to grow a fraction colder, his focus intensifying.
Liam didn't waste the opening Elara's momentary shock provided. He surged forward, covering the remaining distance in a heartbeat.
He was upon her. Elara, to her credit, didn't panic. Her D-Rank Swordsmanship wouldn't hold against Crimson Fang, but she used her longbow as a surprisingly effective quarterstaff, its sturdy wood deflecting Liam's initial probes, her movements quick and desperate. She fought with the tenacity of a cornered hawk, her agility allowing her to evade his deadliest strikes, always trying to create an inch of space, a moment to nock another arrow. She even managed a desperate, point-blank shot that Liam was forced to bat aside with a sharp clang of steel on steel.
Elara knew she was losing. He saw it in her eyes, the flicker of dawning resignation warring with her fierce pride. With a sharp cry, she attempted a risky disengage, spinning away, her hand already reaching for her quiver.
Not this time, Liam thought. He poured a sudden, massive surge of his remaining mana into his Agility, pushing his Dragonheart Vigor to its absolute limit. Fifty points. The world seemed to snap into slow motion for him.
To the stunned onlookers, Liam Lithian simply vanished. One moment he was pressing his attack, the next he was a silver-haired mirage, an almost intangible blur that flowed around Elara's desperate spin. Before she could even comprehend his movement, before her fingers could close around an arrow shaft, Crimson Fang was a whisper against her wrist. Not a cut, but a precise, undeniable pressure. Simultaneously, his other hand, moving with the same impossible speed, closed around her bow, his grip like iron.
Clatter. Her bow, prized and masterfully crafted, slipped from her nerveless fingers, landing with a dull thud on the dueling circle's pristine surface.
Elara froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. She hadn't even seen him move. One moment she was fighting for her life, the next she was disarmed, her opponent a blur of silver and crimson standing before her, his breathing a little ragged but his stance utterly dominant. The sheer, overwhelming superiority of that final burst of speed was absolute.
Silence descended upon the arena, a stunned, breathless quiet.
Liam slowly straightened, the spectral afterimages of his speed fading. He offered Elara a respectful nod, the tip of Crimson Fang lowered.
Elara Voss stared at her empty hands, then at Liam. The frustration was evident, but it was slowly being overtaken by a dawning awe, and a profound, unsettling respect. "You…" she began, then shook her head, seemingly lost for words. "You are… something else entirely, Lithian."
The herald, recovering from his own shock, finally found his voice. "Lady Voss is disarmed! The winner of the first duel… Lord Liam Lithian of House Lithia!"
A beat of silence, then the crowd erupted. It wasn't just polite applause; it was a roar of disbelief, excitement, and wonder at the display they had just witnessed. Young Lord Lithian wasn't just skilled; he was a phenomenon.
Sir Lucas was on his feet, a fierce grin splitting his weathered face, though his eyes quickly darted towards the high balconies, gauging the reactions of the true powers. Grandmaster Orin Oulbeck offered a single, curt nod, but a small, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of his lips.
Liam stood victorious, the cheers of the crowd a distant hum, his focus already turning inward. He was drained, his mana reserves dangerously low after that final, explosive burst. But he had won. And he had shown them, just a fraction, of the dragon that stirred within.