Bab 416: A Dance of Dragons and Swords
Alice Nightingale sat in the grandstand of the colossal stadium, her lips pressed into a thin line. The Sovereign's Tournament had always been a spectacle, a stage where the finest talents of Mythos Academy showcased their strength. But this year, there was something different. Something unprecedented.
The battle royale that traditionally served as a selection process for the tournament had been skipped entirely for the fourth years of Class 4-A. No need for preliminaries. No need to prove themselves. These students were already legends.
Instead, the tournament bracket had been determined by their rank within Class 4-A:
Rank 1: Arthur Nightingale.
Rank 2: Lucifer Windward.
Rank 3: Ren Kagu.
Rank 4: Rachel Creighton.
Rank 5: Seraphina Zenith.
Rank 6: Cecilia Slatemark.
Rank 7: Jin Ashbluff.
Rank 8: Ian Viserion.
The reason for this special treatment was simple: this generation of Class A students was unlike any before. All eight had scaled the Wall and reached Ascendant-rank, each shattering the record previously set by Sun Zenith. They were a collective phenomenon that the media had dubbed The Golden Age of Humanity.
Alice shifted in her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the cushioned armrests. She and Douglas, her husband, hadn't been able to spend much time with Arthur lately. His schedule had kept him away from Mythos Academy as much as possible, leaving her longing for the days when they could simply talk as mother and son. But now, here they were, among the roaring crowd, to witness him in his element.
And what a match it would be.
The first battle of the tournament had been announced: Rank 1 Arthur Nightingale versus Rank 8 Ian Viserion. The excitement was palpable. Ian Viserion, the prince of the Southern Continent, stood as a symbol of fiery resilience. With his brilliant red hair and piercing crimson eyes, he held a spear that radiated power. His recent breakthrough into Ascendant-rank had cemented his place as the eighth youngest to ever achieve it.
But it was the second name that electrified the crowd.
Arthur Nightingale. The man who, alongside Princess Cecilia, had taken down an Immortal-rank threat in Avalon. The man who had achieved the impossible again and again, carving his legacy into the annals of history with unmatched determination and skill.
Alice glanced at Douglas, whose expression was unreadable as he observed the combatants stepping onto the stage. "Can you tell who's stronger?" she asked quietly.
Douglas's brow furrowed as he shook his head. "Both of them are far beyond me now."
Alice nodded, though her heart sank a little. She had expected this answer, but hearing it aloud only reinforced the distance that separated them from their son. She returned her gaze to the stage as the announcer's voice boomed across the stadium, declaring the start of the match.
The combatants took their positions. Ian planted his spear into the ground, taking a low, disciplined stance, his eyes burning with intensity. Arthur, by contrast, appeared almost casual, spinning his sword in lazy circles as if testing its weight. The crowd fell silent, their collective anticipation building like a storm.
"Begin!"
Ian didn't hesitate. He surged forward, fire astral energy flaring around him as his spear thrust forward in a deadly strike. The flames roared to life, spiraling toward Arthur with devastating force.
But Arthur didn't move.
With a flick of his wrist, his sword cut through the fire as if it were nothing more than smoke. The flames dissipated, leaving only the faintest trace of embers in the air. Ian faltered, his grip tightening on his spear as confusion flitted across his face.
In the stands, Alice's heart clenched. She adjusted the goggles provided to the audience, advanced technology that slowed the match's movements to a pace comprehensible for ordinary eyes. What she saw was both beautiful and unnerving.
Ian's next strike came faster, his spear shifting into a series of precise, controlled thrusts. His fire astral energy surged again, forming a dragon-shaped aura that coiled around him.
"Second movement of Legend of Prominence: Dragon Dive," murmured Douglas, recognizing the high-level technique.
Ian launched himself into the air, his spear leading the charge as the dragon aura roared toward Arthur, its maw open wide.
Arthur, however, remained still, his gaze calm and unyielding.
Then, as the attack bore down on him, his stance shifted. His sword drew back, layers of astral energy swirling around it. Alice squinted at the display, noticing two distinct layers of radiant light flanking drops of inky darkness—a signature unique to Arthur's technique.
"Second movement," she heard him mutter, his voice barely audible through the amplified feed. "Hollow Eclipse."
Arthur's blade moved in a single, devastating arc. The dragon astral energy shattered on impact, disintegrating into flickering motes of light. Ian's spear met the strike head-on, but the overwhelming power behind Hollow Eclipse sent him hurtling backward, his boots carving trenches into the arena floor as he struggled to regain his footing.
Alice's breath caught as she watched Ian stagger, his chest heaving. In the middle of the arena, Arthur stood untouched, his sword gleaming faintly under the stadium lights.
Ian gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on his spear. He couldn't comprehend the sheer gap in power between them. He had pushed himself to his limits, trained under his father, his uncle, and even Tiamat himself. He had awakened his draconification abilities and scaled the Wall. And yet, here he was—reduced to a desperate fighter struggling to keep up.
But Ian wasn't one to give up.
He steadied himself, his fire astral energy flaring again as he prepared his next move. The crowd roared their support, but Alice's focus remained on Arthur. She didn't need the goggles to see the difference in their power. It wasn't just the precision of Arthur's techniques or the overwhelming energy he exuded—it was the ease with which he fought, as though this battle were simply another step in a larger plan.
As Ian charged once more, Alice found herself gripping Douglas's arm. "He's not even trying, is he?"
Douglas shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not yet."
Arthur's sword began to shift, its singular edge multiplying in a mesmerizing dance of light and steel. One blade became a dozen. A dozen became a hundred. They hovered around him like spectral echoes, moving in sync with his intent. The air shimmered under the weight of his astral energy, the oppressive aura of his presence growing palpable.
Ian's expression hardened, his focus unbroken. He brought his spear up, fire astral energy swirling around him in a molten cascade. With a sharp motion, he shifted into the first movement of Legend of Prominence: Nether Cage. Flames twisted into intricate, lattice-like patterns, forming a blazing cage that sought to trap Arthur within its fiery confines.
Arthur didn't falter. Instead, a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, his confidence unshaken. The hundred spectral blades moved as one, striking with relentless precision. Each blow found its mark, meeting Ian's spear and the forming cage in an unending clash of raw power. Sparks and embers filled the air as Ian pushed to close the trap.
For a moment, it seemed as though Ian might succeed. The Nether Cage solidified, tightening its fiery grip around Arthur.
But Arthur's astral energy swelled, ballooning to an intensity that made the very ground beneath their feet quake. The cage trembled, then shattered, its fiery remnants scattering like broken glass. The crowd gasped, the brilliance of the explosion reflected in their wide eyes.
Ian gritted his teeth, his frustration evident. He stepped back, his gaze calculating. Then, in a move born of desperation and cunning, he shed his spear entirely, reinforcing his body with the shimmering scales of his draconification. Fire and astral energy rippled over his crimson scales, amplifying his strength. Without warning, he lunged forward, closing the gap between them.
A headbutt.
The move caught even the most seasoned spectators off guard, and for a split second, it seemed as though Ian's unorthodox tactic had worked.
But Arthur, ever the strategist, anticipated the maneuver. He pulled his head back just in time, and with a movement as quick as it was brutal, delivered a devastating headbutt of his own. The impact rang out like a thunderclap, and Ian staggered, his footing faltering under the sheer force of the blow.
Before Ian could recover, Arthur's kick was already in motion, a blur of motion aimed squarely at Ian's head. Ian raised his arms, their draconified scales reinforced with fire astral energy. The kick connected with an explosive force.
The dragon scales cracked.
Then they shattered entirely.
Ian was sent flying, his body slamming into the arena floor with enough force to carve out a shallow crater. Dust and fragments of stone filled the air, obscuring him from view.
Arthur landed gracefully, shaking out his leg with a faint wince. "Tough scales," he muttered, his tone half-admiring, half-dismissive. With a flick of his wrist, his sword returned to his grasp, guided by a subtle pulse of gravity magic.
Ian, battered but unbroken, rose to his feet. His breathing was labored, his crimson scales now duller and cracked in places. But his eyes burned with a relentless determination. Despite the pain coursing through his body, he steadied himself, refusing to yield.
Arthur didn't give him time to regain his bearings. His figure blurred as he surged forward, closing the distance with terrifying speed. His blade gleamed, encased in layered astral energy, ready to deliver the final blow.
Ian's lips curled into a defiant grin as he braced himself.
Ian gritted his teeth, his battered form trembling as he raised his spear once more. Fire flared to life around him, blazing with the intensity of a star on the verge of collapse. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his resolve burned brighter than ever. With a final surge of strength, he shifted into the third movement of Legend of Prominence: Dragon's Embrace.
The air rippled with heat as the movement took form. A brilliant cocoon of fire and astral energy enveloped Ian, coiling around him like the protective wings of a great dragon. The crowd watched in awe as the radiant shield pulsed with life, a shimmering fortress of flame and fury.
Arthur's gaze narrowed. His sword glowed with the ominous radiance of Hollow Eclipse, the twin layers of astral energy swirling like a cosmic storm around its edge. With measured precision, he struck. The blade descended in an arc that seemed to carve the very air itself, its power reverberating through the arena like a distant roar of thunder.
The two forces collided.
The clash was cataclysmic. Fire met astral energy, each pushing against the other in a battle of pure will. The ground beneath them cracked and splintered, the force of their struggle sending shockwaves that rippled through the stadium. The protective flames of Dragon's Embrace flared violently, straining against Arthur's relentless assault.
Ian let out a pained grunt, his knees buckling as he poured everything he had into holding his ground. The fire shield began to falter, flickering as cracks formed in its radiant surface. Sweat poured down his face as his body screamed for relief, but he held on, his determination unyielding.
Arthur's attack pressed forward, inexorable and overwhelming. Hollow Eclipse cut through the final layers of flame with a searing brilliance, forcing Ian's defensive movement to collapse entirely.
But Ian had bought himself a moment. A single, fleeting moment.
Arthur's blade, now unobstructed, glinted with deadly intent as it descended. But before the strike could land, Ian twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the full brunt of the attack. His battered spear, a testament to his indomitable will, rose in a desperate attempt to counter.
Arthur moved faster.
With a fluid motion, he pivoted, his foot lashing out in a perfectly executed kick. The blow struck Ian square in the chest, the force of it sending him hurtling backward like a comet streaking through the sky.
The stadium fell silent as Ian's body soared through the air. Time seemed to slow as he neared the edge of the arena, his expression a mix of determination and resignation. His feet scraped against the ground in a final, futile attempt to stop himself, but it wasn't enough.
Ian landed outside the boundary, the impact sending up a cloud of dust and debris.
The professor, who had been watching intently from the sidelines, raised her hand. Her voice rang out clearly, cutting through the charged atmosphere of the stadium. "Ian Viserion is out of bounds! The winner is Arthur Nightingale!"
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone