*****
"Let the match begin!"
Alicia's voice rang through the air, its clarity cutting through the quiet battlefield.
Lyrium barely reacted, his expression calm and indifferent as he made his way down the staircase.
His hands remained tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed, as if he were rely descending for a routine walk rather than stepping into a duel with a world-class sage.
Step—!
The weight of the mont was undeniable, yet he moved with an air of nonchalance, his every step asured, almost lazy.
Step—!
The stone steps echoed beneath his feet, each sound resonating through the empty arena.
Though there was no audience aside from Alicia, the gravity of the battle ahead lood over him like an unseen force.
The closer he got to the field, the more the atmosphere seed to shift—a faint pressure settling in, as if the arena itself recognized the significance of this fight.
Upon reaching the battlefield, Lyrium finally ca to a halt.
His gaze lifted, staring straight ahead with an unreadable expression.
There was no tension in his body, no visible sign of nerves or hesitation.
He stood tall, his stance relaxed yet unwavering, like a lone figure awaiting an inevitable storm.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Now, all that remained was for his opponent to arrive.
Although his outward appearance remained calm, neutral, and composed, internally,
Lyrium was struggling to maintain his composure.
His face betrayed nothing—his hands remained tucked in his pockets, his posture relaxed—but beneath that carefully crafted exterior, emotions churned like an untad storm.
Excitent.
That much was undeniable.
The thrill of testing his strength, of standing on the battlefield against a world-class sage, sent an electrifying rush through his veins.
This was an opportunity few could ever dream of—a chance to face off against one of the strongest characters in Path of the Elental Sage.
But mixed within that excitent was a faint but persistent nervousness.
No matter how confident he was in his abilities, no matter how much he had trained and prepared, he wasn't delusional.
His opponent wasn't just an ordinary professor.
Eugene was a sage—a true master of the arcane arts, a force that could bend the elents to his will with frightening ease.
Lyrium exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
His gaze remained locked forward, unwavering, as if staring down fate itself.
He didn't flinch, didn't allow a single crack to show.
Because right now, whether he was ready or not didn't matter.
Yeah, he had improved—there was no doubt about that.
Since the day he had co into this world, his skills had sharpened, his mana had evolved, and his attributes had risen beyond what they once were.
But that was it.
His physical arts—his body—remained stagnant.
No matter how much his mana advanced, no matter how much he pushed himself, he could feel the difference.
His movents weren't as refined as a true warrior's, his strikes lacked the efficiency of those who had trained their bodies to perfection.
Compared to them, he was still incomplete.
Lyrium exhaled slowly, clenching his fist as a quiet thought surfaced in his mind.
"A sword can be sharpened a thousand tis, but if the steel is weak, it will still break."
He flexed his fingers, feeling the sa hands that had wielded magic, fought battles, and survived in this world.
Yet they weren't strong enough—not yet.
"I've been relying on my magic to cover my weaknesses... but in front of a monster like Eugene, there's no hiding them."
His gaze remained steady, but inside, the weight of realization pressed on him.
He had co far, but this battle—this mont—would remind him of just how much farther he had to go.
"If I want to survive in this world, I can't just be a mage."
"I need to beco a warrior too."
Yeah, he had realized it long ago.
Mana alone wasn't enough.
Power wasn't just about attributes, skills, or how much mana one could wield—it was about the vessel that carried that power.
And his vessel was lacking.
His body was still weak compared to those who had trained their entire lives, honing their physical prowess to perfection.
But knowing the problem didn't an he could fix it on his own.
To beco a warrior—to refine his physical arts—he needed sothing more. He needed soone.
A guide.
A ntor.
A teacher.
Because in this world, self-teaching was nothing but a joke.
No matter how much he trained alone, no matter how many tis he pushed his body past its limits, it would never compare to the experience and techniques passed down by a true master.
"A man who walks blindly may still move forward, but he will never outrun the one who follows a path."
He had seen it happen.
Countless tis, those who believed they could forge their own way without guidance fell to those who had learned from the best.
And no matter how much he hated to admit it, he wasn't an exception.
"If I want to stand at the peak, I need more than just talent. I need to be taught."
And so, the real question wasn't whether he wanted to train his body.
It was who could teach him.
For a few minutes, an eerie silence blanketed the field.
Not a whisper of wind, not a single movent—just the weight of anticipation hanging in the air.
Then—
Whoosh—!
A thick black fog swirled into existence, rolling across the battlefield like a living entity.
It wasn't ordinary smoke—it carried weight, an unnatural density that coiled and twisted in the air, distorting the very space around it.
The ground trembled subtly as the mist expanded, a slow, suffocating force that devoured the field in an instant.
And from within that abyssal haze, a figure erged.
Step—! Step—!
His footsteps were asured, unhurried, each one echoing like a countdown to sothing inevitable.
The fog parted around him, revealing his form piece by piece—broad shoulders draped in a long black leather coat, its hem cascading down to his knees.
His stance was relaxed, effortless, yet it carried a presence heavy enough to crush the unprepared.
His silver-white hair fell past his shoulders, framing a rugged, middle-aged face lined with battle-worn experience.
A thick, half-burnt cigarette rested between his lips, the ember glowing faintly in the dim atmosphere.
But it wasn't his stature, his clothing, or even his presence that made Lyrium's breath hitch.
It was his eyes.
Deep blue—like the abyss of the ocean, like sothing unfathomable, unknowable.
They bore into him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine, a silent reminder that the man standing before him wasn't just anyone.
Yeah, that was him.
Eugene Darcyroix.
The master of the arcane arts.
One of the world's top-ranking sages.
A living legend.
And, more importantly—one of the strongest characters in Path of the Elental Sage.
A man whose power stood toe-to-toe with the peak of Silas Kingslay, the main protagonist himself.
He had arrived.
And he was here to face him.
[Quest: Survive Eugene Darcyroix]
[Starts]
*****
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I always forgot the Attributes of Silas and Lyrium damn it.. that's why I didn't show the system regularly.
Next Chapter will be peak..
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