Galvora Arena – The Eve of the Duels
At the top of the enchanted stands, among the golden court members, July Simon leaned slightly toward Sofia Kalter, seated beside her father, El Dourado.
— "It seems that that young man named Diaz Enker showed more than just interest in you," she said, with a mischievous smile, without taking her eyes off the arena.
Sofia blushed and looked away.
— "Stop that, July," she murmured, trying to hide the tension in her hands as she gripped the necklace at her neck.
But inside, Sofia's mind was a whirlwind.
"Why did I feel like I already knew him… in that exchange of looks?"
At the base of the arena, Diaz Enker sat among the twenty survivors of the sea trial. His body still throbbed from the battles, but it was the inner confusion that made him restless.
"That girl… Sofia… she is so much like Liah."
The face, the eyes, even the tone of the smile — everything evoked the only woman he had been engaged to… and lost.
"This shouldn't shake me. But for some damned reason, it bothers me…"
Diaz closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
— "Let's stop with the nonsense. Focus, Diaz," he murmured to himself.
Inside his chest, his primordial core pulsed like a second heart. It vibrated with increasing frequency, as if sensing that something greater was coming.
"Thanks to that legendary ring being the matrix‑core of my force, magical power isn't lacking. That puts me ahead of everyone here."
He remembered the ability he'd created at the cusp of survival:
Position Swap.
"I can only swap with anything within my field of vision. It's not unlimited, but it's devastating when used right. Fortunately I watched Aron… that bastard knows how to wield power surgically."
Above, El Dourado's voice echoed authoritatively:
— "It seems you've rested enough to restore your strength. Now begins the phase everyone's been waiting for: the duels!"
The runes over the arena lit up, splitting the twenty finalists into two groups of ten. Diaz, having arrived first, was placed at the far opposite, in Arena "A" alongside Alkan Vir. Aron Vermelion, who had come second, was placed in Arena "B", along with Vlad Vince. It was clear: they would not face each other… until the final.
Elimination Rounds – Initial Duels
The first clash erupted with brutal force. A mage with fire abilities tried to hit Diaz with blazing spheres, but he vanished — reappearing above the opponent's head, his sword falling in a vertical strike that ended it in three seconds.
Aron dominated his stage with terrifying precision. His Primordial Force Blood summoned rune‑creatures of formidable scale — like the Scarlet Wolf, which shredded three adversaries in succession. Every movement was to impress… and intimidate.
Alkan Vir, wielding the Gray Force, became smoke, living dust. He passed through blows, materialized inside bodies, and exploded his enemies from the inside — without mercy. Yet his gaze always searched for Diaz.
— "We'll still fight, Diaz," he murmured among the corpses.
Vlad Vince fought with fury and wounded pride. His latent wind power devastated the field, and with his water glove, he created whirlpools of liquid blades sweeping the other competitors. But each strike left him more exhausted. He felt it.
— "Aron… looks like I'll crush you before Diaz."
The fights continued like artistic carnage — lightning shots of power, screams, magic exploding in all directions. The audience roared. But Sofia's eyes were fixed on only one combatant.
Diaz.
Final Combats – Semifinals Defined
The sound of runes stabilizing echoed like muffled thunder. The magical mist receded, revealing the four survivors — the strongest among hundreds.
Arena B
Aron Vermelion stood motionless at the center, surrounded by pulsating runes. Around him, invocations of winged serpents made of crystallized blood floated in spiral, each with rune‑eyes glowing in deep red. His gaze was cold, almost bored. But his power… screamed.
Facing him, Vlad Vince panted with rage and wounded pride. His arms bore cuts from magic and the ancestral glove still steamed, emitting bluish vapor. But his eyes blazed — like lightning about to break through clouds.
Arena A
Alkan Vir, cloaked in a gray mist that moved like living smoke, remained in complete silence. His body oscillated between matter and vapor, his half‑closed eyes hiding a threat dancing with deadly calm. He seemed… waiting.
In front of him, Diaz Enker stood firm, sword in hand, runes orbiting his arm like unstable satellites. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but his eyes were livelier than ever. Between him and Alkan, the air seemed to bend under tension.
High in the stands, El Dourado rose with imposing stature. The enchanted sun reflected on his armor as if the sky itself revered him. His voice resonated over the arena like the roar of a god:
— "HAAA HAAA...!" — his laughter tore through the silence, and all eyes turned to him. — "It seems... we already have our four semifinalists!"
A murmur rippled through the stands like a magical wave.
Then... El Dourado shifted his gaze to Sofia, seated beside him.
— "Now the time has come for everyone to learn the truth," he said, his voice now grave, laden with a weight never before heard.
— "This tournament isn't merely to crown the greatest young mage of our generation with my daughter." He paused. — "It carries an ancient legacy... and a far deeper purpose."
Silence fell like fog over the arena.
— "In the seas of Marlen, over a hundred years ago, my father — the former El Dourado — discovered a legendary relic. An ancestral structure sealed by magics so ancient that not even the most learned sorcerers could fully decipher it."
The crowd leaned forward. The nobles exchanged incredulous looks. The legend... was real?
— "He never managed to activate it. Records said that only the blood of a promising mage born in this generation could awaken its full energy. My father died without achieving it... but left me a request."
His voice faltered for a moment.
— "That I organize this tournament. Open. Fair. Where the most powerful would be chosen... and become the link between Marlen and the Gods of the Sea. Through marriage to my daughter," he added, looking back at Sofia, "this chosen one would unite his line with ours... and the ritual could finally be completed."
The world stood still.
Sofia's eyes widened. The necklace in her hand slipped, hanging loosely at her neck. Her mouth half-open, seeking an answer that did not exist.
— "Father..." she whispered, as if begging for explanation. July, beside her, gently touched her shoulder — but her eyes were dark with worry.
El Dourado concluded:
— "I did all this for you, my daughter. So that your lineage is never erased. So that Marlen is reborn... with the blood of the chosen."
Reactions were mixed. Some nobles applauded. Others murmured under their breath. But the people — carried by pomp, legend, spectacle — burst into applause.
With a snap of his fingers, El Dourado's voice thundered:
— "Begin the duels! FIRST SEMIFINAL: ARON VERMELION VS VLAD VINCE!"
In the Vince box, Klaud leaned toward the arena, eyes fixed on his son.
— "Shine, Vlad. Don't disappoint House Vince."
But on Klaud's face... there was more than pride.
There was hunger. Ambition.
As if this fight... was only the first step of his true plan.
Aron Vermelion vs Vlad Vince
The arena floor trembles.
The crowd holds its breath. The floating runes glow golden. The magical bells cease. Absolute silence.
At the center of the circular arena, Aron Vermelion and Vlad Vince face each other.
On one side, Aron, silent, eyes half-closed, arms lowered. No unnecessary movement. Behind him, traces of crystallized blood float like shapeless serpents, waiting for command.
On the other, Vlad, chin raised, proud posture. The metallic glove on his right hand gleams — articulated plates with gray runes and dark blue lines. The Vince family symbol is engraved on the wrist. He rolls his shoulders, confident.
— So it's you... the bastard of the Vermelion. — Vlad spits with disdain.
— And you... the noble brat who needs a magic glove to have courage. — Aron replies, dry, almost emotionless.
— Begin!
Aron raises a hand.
A blood serpent shoots like an arrow.
Vlad spins with the wind, dodging. His glove absorbs the moisture from the air and, with a quick gesture, fires a spear of condensed water.
Aron snaps his fingers.
A shield of crystallized blood appears and blocks the attack — red shards fly like magical glass.
The crowd splits. Half cheer for Vlad. The other... only observe Aron with silent reverence. The pressure he exudes is imperial.
— MANIFESTATION: ABYSSAL TRIDENT!
Vlad's glove releases three water spikes spinning like drills. He charges like a possessed man.
All the blood around Aron converges. A crystallized blood armor covers his body with vitreous sounds.
They collide.
Hand-to-hand.
Straight punch from Vlad.
Aron dodges with his shoulder, spins, lands an elbow strike.
Vlad steps back, blocks, counters with a spinning kick.
The dry sound of impact echoes.
Aron drags his feet through the dust. Smiles. Cold.
— That's it, Vince?
Vlad growls. Charges again — faster.
Punch. Punch. Elbow. Knee strike.
Aron blocks, ducks, twists his torso and lands an uppercut.
Vlad's jaw cracks.
He stumbles, but retaliates with a straight punch to the stomach.
Aron steps back twice. Spits blood.
The atmosphere vibrates.
A thread of blood rises from the ground — SUBTLE MANIFESTATION: RUNIC WHIP.
Vlad activates a rune. A liquid shield wraps around his forearm.
BOOM!
The impact creates a shockwave.
They stare at each other through the dust.
— This kid... knows how to fight with his body. — Vlad thinks.
Two small winged creatures appear in the air, like runic doves.
Vlad smiles. Spins and activates another rune:
— TIDAL SHIELD!
A barrier of water spins like a hurricane around him, blocking the projectiles.
Aron appears above.
Riding a winged serpent made of hardened blood.
He raises his hand.
Flashback:
Aron, a child. Stones flying. Blood flowing.
— "Son of murderers! The Vermelion name should be erased!"
Back to the present:
— You have everything, Vlad. I had nothing. No teacher. No book. No damn roof.
— MANIFESTATION: REVERSED BLOOD LANCE!
Flashback:
Vlad, a child. Before Klaud Vince.
— "With this, you'll never lose. You are a Vince."
Arena:
Floating lances made of hardened blood are launched.
Vlad swings his arm. The water forms a whip.
— MANIFESTATION: SUPPRESSING TORRENT!
The techniques collide. Steam covers the arena.
In the mist, Aron jumps from above.
His leg covered in coagulated blood.
DESCENDING KICK.
CRACK!
Vlad blocks with his arm — but the impact slams him into the ground.
— This guy... doesn't get tired?! — Vlad grits his teeth. — Damn... I'm running out of magic power!
Words sharper than spells:
— You want to prove I'm inferior... but I am what you're afraid to become. — Aron whispers.
— Inferior?! I'm a Vince! You're a mistake that should've stayed in the gutter! — Vlad roars.
Vlad activates the glove's final rune.
It shines with absurd intensity.
— SUPREME MANIFESTATION: ABYSSAL TRIDENT!
The three spikes appear again — larger, spinning like living drills.
He charges. A primal scream.
Aron closes his eyes.
The blood on the ground pulses. Red runes ignite.
— FINAL MANIFESTATION: BLOOD JUDGE!
The ground explodes.
A three-meter-tall blood figure rises — a battle entity. It wields a double-bladed sword.
It strikes.
BOOOOOOM!
Red and blue light mix.
Explosion. Steam. Dust.
Aftershock.
Silence.
The dust clears.
Vlad is on his knees.
The glove has lost its glow. He trembles. His face is bruised. His body, burned. His breath... faltering.
— I... can't... lose...
— You lost, Vince. — Aron turns his back, the final ability drained a lot of magic power. — Go back to your golden world. In mine, no one holds my crown.
From above, El Dourado raises his voice:
— WINNER: ARON VERMELION!
The crowd hesitates...
Then erupts in tense applause.
The nobles exchange glances. Rigid.
Klaud Vince rises. His gaze darkens.
— This won't be forgotten... What a disgrace.
El Dourado applauds with a calculated smile.
Asla, eyes fixed on Aron, thinks:
— "This boy... is a monster. Like Diaz."