The buzz in the arena was different today. After Jonah’s clever win against Kaelen, the crowd was no longer just hungry for a brawl; they were very curious. Whispers followed him as he walked onto the arena floor. "What will he do this ti?" "Is he even going to move?" "I heard he hypnotized Kaelen!"
The announcer’s voice bood, cutting through the whispers. "In the south corner, the mystery of the tournant, the strategist who wins without fighting, Senior Fellow JONAH!"
The applause was a strange mix of cheers and confusion. Jonah took his place, his face calm, but his mind was already calculating.
"And his opponent in the north corner!" the announcer continued. "A warrior whose faith is his shield and whose rage is his sword! A chosen mber of the Holy Church’s own honor guard, the fist of the faithful, Brother CASSIAN!"
Brother Cassian was the complete opposite of Kaelen’s raw strength. He was lean and tough, his movents filled with a zealous energy. He wore the simple silver armor of the Temple Knights, and in his hand, he held a longsword that pulsed with a faint, golden light.
He gave Jonah a short nod, his expression grim. "May the light find you worthy, Saint Jonah." It wasn’t a greeting; it was a warning.
The starting gong rang.
GOOOONG!
Cassian did not wait. He shot into motion.
"For the faith!" he roared, and his entire body was covered in a bright golden fire.
He charged across the arena, his sword held high, leaving a trail of glowing behind him.
Jonah reacted on pure instinct. He couldn’t use Maul. He couldn’t risk another high-mana illusion. He summoned Nyx in a flash and dove to the side.
WHOOSH!
The fiery sword cut through the air where he had been standing, hitting the floor with a loud CLANG and sending a shower of hot sparks into the air. Nyx released a cloud of disorienting dust, montarily confusing Cassian.
It was enough. Jonah used the split second to put distance between them, his mind racing.
This wasn’t a normal fight. Cassian’s strength was fed by his holy rage. He was relentless, attacking again and again, each swing of his sword sending arcs of golden fire across the arena.
Jonah was pushed back, forced to dodge and weave, using Nyx’s illusions as montary distractions. He was on the defensive, and the crowd could see it.
"Fight back, boy!" a voice yelled from the stands.
"Summon the monster!" another scread.
He could. He could feel Maul pacing in his Beast Space, begging to be unleashed. One command, and the brute would appear and likely smash Brother Cassian into a fine paste.
But as he dodged another fiery slash, his eyes t the Headmaster’s in the VIP box. The old man’s face was unreadable, but his ssage was clear:
Think.
In the middle of the fight, Jonah’s thoughts beca clear. What would happen if the Living Saint unleashed a terrifying monster and brutally crushed a holy warrior from the Church?
It would be a political disaster.
The Church already feared his power. This would give them all the proof they needed. They’d call him a heretic, an evil disguised as good. The fragile truce between the Academy and the Church would shatter. All the goodwill he had earned at the Withered Scar would turn to ash.
This wasn’t a battle to be won with force. It was a test. Another test.
He was the Saint of the Scar. It was ti he started acting like one.
Brother Cassian saw his opponent weakening. He gathered all his power for a final, crushing blow. The golden fire around him flared brightly. He raised his sword for a devastating downward strike. "Face your judgnt!"
In that mont, Jonah stopped dodging. He stood his ground, his expression calm. He dismissed Nyx, leaving himself completely open.
And he summoned Sylva.
A wave of gentle peace washed over the entire arena.
Sylva arrived, not with a blast of fire, but a soft, golden-green glow. The Verdant Guardian appeared, its crystal hooves making no sound. The flowers in its antlers gently pulsed with calm energy.
The roar of the crowd died in an instant. The aggressive atmosphere of the battle vanished as if it had never been there. The very air felt cool, clean, and calm.
Brother Cassian was frozen mid-strike, his sword held high above his head. A mont ago, he was full of angry fire. Now, he was just a man with a sword, looking confused.
Sylva’s Aura of Serenity expanded, not as an attack, but as an irresistible invitation to peace. It didn’t put out Cassian’s holy fire; it... soothed it. The anger that fueled his power, his belief that his enemy must be destroyed, simply vanished.
He still had his faith, but his anger was gone. Without that anger, his power had nothing to drive it.
The golden flas around his body faded and died. The holy light in his sword dimd, becoming nothing more than a simple, steel blade.
He stared at Sylva, his mouth slightly open. He didn’t see a monster or a tool, but a creature of amazing grace and peace. He tried to get his anger back, to feel his conviction again, but couldn’t. It was like trying to light a fire in the rain. How could righteous anger exist against such deep peace?
He looked at Jonah, who was just standing there, his expression calm and almost sad. He wasn’t a heretic to be judged. He was just a boy.
With a shaky breath, Brother Cassian lowered his sword. His arm felt impossibly heavy. He looked at the blade in his hand and then back at the creature of life before him.
The sword slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.
"I... I can’t fight this," he whispered. His voice held deep awe, not sha. "I surrender."
The referee stared, confused. Then, he slowly rang the bell. The match was done.
The arena fell silent. Jonah bowed respectfully to his defeated opponent. He had won again. Not with strength or tricks, but with a power no one, not even the Holy Church, truly understood. He had won with rcy.
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