The sun beat down on the arena. The stone floor ward beneath Jon’s feet, but he didn’t care. He was euphoric. In just one week, he had made gains that far surpassed the six years he’d spent in Riverwood.
Ahead of him, his opponent readied himself. A beastkin—green-haired, tall, and muscular. His aggressive stance betrayed his feral nature.
Jon raised his sword. The blade was wrapped in incandescent flas that danced like hungry serpents. The heat was so intense it felt like it seared his own hand, yet he kept full control. The tip of the sword leveled at the opponent’s chest.
"Ready?" The instructor’s voice echoed.
Ding! The bell rang, starting the duel.
At that instant, Jon’s eyes glead. A magic matrix ford in his iris, slowly rotating.
Mystic Eyes — Active.
Imdiately, he saw the beastkin’s mana channels glow in bluish tones. The lines vibrated like rivers of energy, revealing each movent before it happened.
The beastkin charged with a roar. "Haaaaah!"
Thump! Thump! The ground trembled under his steps. Jon had already seen the mana concentrating in the legs. Moving with ease, he sidestepped, leaving only an illusory afterimage in his place.
"What?!" The beastkin’s eyes widened as his axe cleaved only air. For a mont, he could swear he’d seen two Jons—one to the left, another to the right.
Shhhk! Jon’s flaming blade grazed his arm, leaving a bright red line and the sll of singed flesh.
"Arghhh!"
He’s too fast! the beastkin thought, stumbling back.
Jon didn’t press imdiately. He observed. Every mana flow running through the opponent’s body was a window to the future. Every strike, every guard, every footwork—he saw them break into milliseconds before they ca.
The opponent snarled and rushed again, channeling mana into his arms. A powerful cut ca toward Jon’s face.
Whoooosh!
Jon had already anticipated it. An illusory afterimage flickered half a step forward, throwing the beastkin’s aim off, and Jon tilted his head by a hair’s breadth.
Clang! The incandescent sword dropped in a counter, smashing into the opponent’s shoulder and forcing him to his knees.
"Khhaaahhh!" The cry of pain echoed through the arena.
I can’t keep up... it’s like he sees before I move!
The crowd murmured—so disbelieving the disparity in skill.
Jon’s gaze stayed calm. He’s around level 17. He has no chance against . Still... he’ll be good seasoning for this new style.
The beastkin gathered mana in his mouth. Jon watched the flow center in the throat.
A spell... he won’t make it in ti.
With a quick step—tap!—Jon closed the gap. His flaming blade blazed brighter as it rose.
"Fwoooshhh!"
The strike tore the air and slamd into the opponent’s leg, breaking the cast. The gathered mana fizzled out in blue static.
Desperate, the beastkin tried to retreat, but every step was read in advance. Jon seed to dance around him—always one move ahead.
"Arghhh! This is impossible! What kind of monster are you?!"
Jon didn’t answer. He simply advanced.
Clang! Slash! Thummp!
Steel, fla, and rending flesh resounded through the arena. Each ti the beastkin attacked, he hit only phantoms. Each ti Jon countered, a new burning scar was left behind.
Panting, the opponent could barely stand. Despair was plain in his eyes. Now he understood—he was outclassed in every way.
Jon raised his sword again, the flas pulsing hot. His eyes burned; a faint blur bled into his vision. He ignored it.
With a firm step, he brought the blade to the neck of the defeated opponent.
Shhhk! A dry sound—no cut—just the blade biting the floor, a hair from the beastkin’s skin.
Silence.
The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts of surprise.
Jon breathed heavily, but a smile tugged at his lips. This is the true power of the Mystic Eyes.
The audience was still talking about the first victory when Jon refused to rest. Even with the sting in his eyes and pressure pulsing in his head, he walked to the arena altar and registered for the next fight.
A ripple ran through the stands. It was common for fighters to request back-to-back matches, but everyone knew a pause was essential—water, breath, at least five minutes of rest. Jon, however, seed indifferent.
I don’t have ti. I need to test myself now.
The announcent for the second fight echoed. His next opponent was an agile archer with an enchanted longbow. The crowd buzzed—archer vs. archer always made a show.
Jon drew a deep breath and lifted his bow. His hand slid along the quiver, plucking a simple arrow. The mont he set it to the string, his gaze sharpened.
Mystic Eyes — Active.
The enemy’s mana channels lit in his view. Energy gathered in the arms, preparation in the legs, the subconscious calculation of where he’d move—everything painted clear as day for Jon.
The opponent loosed first. Twang! The arrow sliced the air.
Jon had already read the motion. An illusory echo of himself flickered half a step forward, throwing off the enemy’s aim. With a quick twist, he slipped past the arrow by centiters.
In reply, he channeled mana into his own shot. Fire coiled around the tip, the flas snarling like a miniature beast.
Fwooooshhh!
The arrow ripped forward like lightning. The enemy leapt aside—but Jon’s eyes had foreseen the dodge. A second shot, this ti wrapped in slicing wind, tracked exactly where the opponent would be.
Shhhhk!
A dry sound—the arrow punctured the opponent’s shoulder, ripping a muffled cry.
"Arghhh!"
The stands went wild. To them, Jon seed to predict the future, shooting at impossible lines. To Jon, each mana flow was a clear clue, and his eyes guided him as if the world ran in slow motion.
Three more arrows followed in sequence: one of ice, freezing the ground beneath the foe’s feet; another of fire, bursting on impact; and a final arrow of wind, shoving the opponent back until he toppled.
The fight ended without suspense. Wounded and humiliated, the archer couldn’t rise.
Jon breathed hard, eyes burning. Even so, he turned back to the altar without hesitation. "Register again."
The crowd exploded—few kept such a relentless pace.
In the third match, Jon abandoned weapons. His fingers ford mana seals, and the field filled with his magical presence.
The opponent was a mage, but Jon wanted more—to test raw magic, sharpened by elental theory and his newly forged core.
"Let’s see how far I can go."
The enemy cast first—a swift fireball.
Boom!
Jon raised his hand. Bands of wind ford into translucent shields. Whooosh! The fire smashed into the barrier and scattered.
In reply, Jon stretched out his arm. Lightning gathered into sharp blades and flew like projectiles.
Crack-crack-zzzt!
The enemy tried to counter, but the Mystic Eyes had already shown the mana clumping in his hand. Jon rose another wind barrier before the spell even launched.
Booom! The blast thudded against the shield, harmless.
"This can’t be..." the opponent muttered, disbelief in his eyes.
Jon closed his fist, gathering mana in his palm. A fla sphere swelled, heat flooding the arena.
Fwooommm!
With a sharp gesture, he hurled the fireball. The enemy tried to evade, but once more Jon’s illusory afterimage misled him. By the ti he realized, it was too late.
The explosion rolled heat and dust. When the smoke cleared, the opponent lay on the ground—defeated.
The arena shook with applause, shouts, and awe. Three wins in a row, each in a different style: sword, bow, and magic.
Jon, panting, wiped sweat from his brow. His eyes stung, his vision beginning to waver. But the smile on his lips left no doubt.
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