The announcer’s voice rang out across the arena.
"Our fifth duel! The valkyrie of fla, Erica, is matched against the champion of the rchant Republic of Eldoria—the radiant knight, Kaelen Veythorn!"
Erica stood frozen.
Her hands were shaking. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. The crowd’s roar felt distant, muffled, like she was underwater.
’What if I lose?’
The thought circled in her mind like a vulture. Lana had won.
After Talia’s defeat. After Jin’s horrifying loss.
Two to two.
Everything depended on the last two fights. Her fight. And Dante’s.
’What if I’m the one who fails? What if I’m the reason we lose everything?’
A hand touched her shoulder.
She turned. Dante was looking at her. His dark eyes steady, calm. Like the eye of a storm.
"You won’t lose," he said simply.
Not a command. Not a demand. Just... certainty.
"How do you know?" Her voice ca out small. Weak. She hated how it sounded.
"Because I believe in you," he said. "And you’ve never let down. Not once."
Sothing in his voice. In his eyes. It wasn’t the cold, calculating tyrant. It was sothing else. Sothing honest.
Erica felt warmth spread through her chest. Not fire. Not plasma. Sothing warr.
She nodded. Straightened her shoulders. Adjusted her grip on her weapon.
"I won’t lose," she repeated. This ti her voice was firm.
She walked toward the arena. Each step more confident than the last.
---
Kaelen Veythorn was already waiting.
He stood in the center of the sand like a statue carved from sunlight. His golden hair caught the light like a halo. His silver armor glead, polished to perfection. His longsword hung at his side, and even sheathed, it humd with holy energy.
He was beautiful. Radiant. Like an angel from ancient stories.
When he saw Erica approach, he smiled. Warm. Gentle.
"I look forward to our match," he said. His voice was kind. No mockery. No cruelty. "May we both fight with honor."
Erica didn’t respond. Her hands were already beginning to glow with contained heat.
"Begin!"
She moved first.
Fire erupted from her palms. Two massive pillars of fla that twisted together, forming a spiraling inferno aid directly at him.
Kaelen raised his hand. Didn’t even draw his sword.
"Radiant Shield."
A do of pure, golden light materialized around him. The fire crashed against it. The heat was imnse—sand turning to glass beneath the flas.
But the shield held. Easily.
When the fire faded, Kaelen stood untouched. The shield dissolved like morning mist.
Erica gritted her teeth. Changed tactics.
Plasma ford in her hands—superheated, ionized matter that burned hotter than any normal fla. She launched sphere after sphere, each one moving like a teor.
Kaelen drew his sword.
The blade sang as it left the scabbard. Pure white light.
He moved. Not fast like Arden’s wind-steps. Not brutal like Eryndor’s charges. Graceful. Elegant. Like he was dancing.
Each swing of his sword cut through her plasma attacks. Not blocked. Cut. The holy light slicing through elental energy like it was nothing.
She pressed harder. Fire whips. Plasma lances. Heat waves that distorted the air.
He parried them all. His movents were minimal, efficient. Like a master swordsman sparring with a student.
The crowd began to murmur.
"This is unfair..."
"A holy knight against a fire mage? The matchup is terrible for her."
"Light always defeats fire. It’s basic elental theory."
"They should have randomized it properly."
Erica heard them. Every word. Each one was a knife in her confidence.
She was trying everything. Every technique she’d learned in the trial. Every skill she’d refined in four weeks of brutal training.
Nothing worked.
Kaelen wasn’t even sweating.
’I’m not strong enough,’ she thought. The realization settled over her like a heavy blanket. ’I was never strong enough. I just... believed I was because Dante believed in .’
Her attacks slowed. Weakened.
Kaelen noticed. His expression beca almost sad.
"You fight well," he said gently. "But you’re exhausted. There’s no sha in—"
"Don’t," Erica cut him off. Her voice was sharp. "Don’t you dare pity ."
She launched herself forward. Close range. If magic wouldn’t work, maybe physical combat would.
She swung. Fist wreathed in fla.
He sidestepped. Gentle. Effortless.
She spun. Kicked.
He blocked with the flat of his blade. Didn’t even stagger.
She scread. Frustration. Desperation. Rage. All of it pouring out.
Her attacks beca wild. Uncontrolled. She was burning through her mana reserves at a reckless pace.
Kaelen simply defended. Never attacked. Never hurt her.
Just... waited.
’This is it,’ Erica thought. Her vision was blurring. From exhaustion or tears, she didn’t know. ’I’m going to lose. We’re going to lose. Because of .’
She stumbled. Fell to one knee.
The crowd was hissing now. Angry.
"This is taking too long!"
"We want to see Lucaris fight!"
"End this already!"
She looked up at Kaelen. He stood there, patient, his sword lowered. Not mocking. Pitying.
And sothing inside her snapped.
Not broke. Ignited.
She rembered Dante’s words. "I believe in you."
She rembered Jin’s stoic determination. Talia’s silent professionalism. Masha’s cold logic. Lana’s chaotic faith.
She rembered every person who’d died in the trial so she could be here.
’No.’
She stood up. Slowly. Her body screaming in protest.
’No. I won’t quit. I won’t let them down. I won’t let HIM down.’
Fire erupted around her. Different from before. Deeper. The flas were white-hot at the core, edged with blue.
Her plasma manipulation activated. But this ti, she didn’t throw it.
She compressed it. Condensed it. Pulled it inward.
Creating a core. A miniature star forming in her chest.
Kaelen’s eyes widened slightly. First sign of concern.
"What are you—"
She didn’t let him finish.
She’d realized sothing. Holy light was attracted to heat. To energy. It was why his shield and blade had so easily cut through her attacks—they were drawn to the power, neutralizing it on contact.
So she’d give him exactly what he wanted.
"Supernova Core!" she scread.
The star in her chest expanded. A sphere of pure, concentrated plasma and fla. Temperature climbing beyond anything she’d ever created.
His holy aura responded automatically. Drew toward it. Trying to purify it.
Exactly what she’d counted on.
She pulled him in. Not physically. Energetically. His own holy power beca a chain connecting them.
He tried to cut it. Slashed with his sword.
But you can’t cut attraction. Can’t sever gravity.
She detonated.
BOOM!
The explosion was blinding. White. Blue. Gold. All colors rging into pure light and heat.
The arena shook. The protective barriers around the crowd flared, straining under the pressure.
When the light faded, both fighters were still standing.
But now everything had changed.
Kaelen’s armor was scorched. His perfect golden hair was singed. He was breathing hard. His sword arm trembled.
Erica was burning. Literally. Fire wreathed around her like wings. Her eyes glowed white-hot.
She wasn’t defending anymore.
She was attacking. Relentless. Overwhelming.
Fire tsunami. Plasma rain. Heat so intense the sand beneath their feet turned molten.
Kaelen tried to defend. His Radiant Shield reford.
She shattered it. Punched straight through with a fist of condensed plasma.
He swung his holy blade.
She caught it. Bare handed. The heat of her grip making the tal glow red.
She looked him in the eyes. Saw shock. Fear. Respect.
"I. Won’t. Lose," she said.
Then headbutted him.
He staggered back. Dazed.
She didn’t give him ti to recover. Kicked him in the chest. Sent him flying.
He hit the ground hard. Tried to rise.
She was already there. Fist raised. Wreathed in so much fire and plasma it looked like she held the sun itself.
"Yield," she said.
He looked at her. At the impossible power she’d pulled from sowhere deep inside.
He smiled. Genuine. Proud.
"I yie—," he said quietly.
But he then saw her expressions, she was fading.
She brought her fist down anyway. Not on him. Beside him. Into the sand as her body had already given up.
The explosion cratered the ground. Heat and force washing over him.
When it cleared, he was unconscious.
And Erica...
Erica swayed. The fire around her flickered. Died.
She’d used everything. Burned through not just her mana, but her life force. Her very soul.
She looked toward the podium. Saw Dante watching.
She smiled. Tried to speak.
The world went dark.
She collapsed.
---
The dical teams rushed forward. Two stretchers. Two unconscious fighters.
The announcer’s voice was stunned.
"Both... both fighters are unable to continue! The fifth duel is ruled a... DRAW!"
The score didn’t change.
Champions: 2
Heroes: 2
Dante was waiting when they carried Erica past. He looked down at her unconscious face. Peaceful now. No more fear. No more doubt.
He reached out. Gently patted her hair.
"Well done girl," he whispered. "Rest now."
---
The announcer took a breath. Let the crowd settle.
"Everything cos down to our final match! The main event! The battle you’ve all been waiting for!"
The nervous student’s hands were shaking as he drew the final two scrolls. But everyone already knew what they’d say.
"The leader of the heroes, DANTE! He will face the champion of Lord Rowan and the Northern Kingdom of Thalric, the living legend, the hero of the 46th Trial—LUCARIS THALRIC!"
Dante stood. Looked at his team. Masha, wounded but standing. Lana, exhausted but smiling.
"Looks like it’s ti," he said quietly, "to show them who they have summoned."
He walked toward the arena.
Not rushed. Not slow. Each step asured. Confident.
The crowd fell silent as he erged onto the sand.
Then, from the opposite entrance, Lucaris appeared.
The old warrior’s entrance was sothing else entirely.
The ground shook with each step. Not from weight, but from presence. From sheer, overwhelming aura.
His white hair and beard seed to glow. His glacier-blue eyes were sharp, rciless, ancient.
He carried his massive warhamr like it weighed nothing.
The crowd roared. Screaming his na. Their legend. Their hero.
The two of them walked toward the center of the arena.
t in the middle.
Stood face to face.
They stood there. Neither moving. Neither backing down.
The entire arena held its breath.
Waiting.
Waiting for the signal that would start the final battle.
The battle that would decide everything.
But from Dante’s Pov the battle had already ended with Erica’s victory.
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