The words cut deeper than his claws.

  Eliana’s vision blurred. The edges of her sight went black. Her ears rang.

  But somewhere inside her… something boiled.

  Rage.

  Pure, unfiltered rage.

  Her trembling hands gripped his arm—both of them—and her veins glowed gold.

  SSSZZZHHHHHH!

  Blinding light magic erupted from her palms, burning his flesh like molten iron.

  “AAAAARGHHHHHHHH!”

  Grufus screamed—a guttural, animalistic shriek—as smoke hissed off his sizzling arm.

  With a violent shove, he threw her away.

  Eliana crashed into the ground, skidding across the cracked stone, leaving streaks of blood in her wake.

  She lay there for a second, one hand clutching her gaping wound, coughing blood, her lungs struggling for air.

  No… she thought. I won’t die here. I can’t die here.

  Her fingers dug into the ground.

  She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached.

  And then—

  BOOM.

  She slammed her fist into the arena floor.

  The ground trembled.

  Then ruptured.

  ---

  The Guardian of Thorns

  From the earth behind her, a massive humanoid tree erupted—fifty meters tall, its bark pulsating with emerald light. Its face bore no features but two glowing eyes like green lanterns.

  Its chest glowed, a rune beating like a heart.

  Eliana stood beneath its shadow, vines wrapping around her arms, flowing into the guardian like an extension of herself.

  Her voice trembled, but her eyes blazed:

  “Protect me.”

  The guardian moved.

  Grufus turned his head just in time to see a colossal wooden foot hurtling toward him.

  CRAAASH!

  The impact was cataclysmic.

  The giant foot slammed into his side with such force that the air boomed like an explosion.

  Bones snapped. His arm shattered instantly. His ribs crunched like brittle twigs.

  Grufus didn’t scream words this time. Just raw, primal agony.

  His body was flung like a broken doll, soaring at Mach 40, until it collided with the side of a distant mountain.

  KRRRSHHH!

  Stone and dust erupted as his body tunneled 100 meters deep into the rock, vanishing inside like a thrown spear.

  ---

  Silence followed.

  Then only the faint sound of dripping blood.

  ---

  Victory

  Grufus’s body was unrecognizable, crumpled in a pool of his own blood. His breaths were shallow, each one weaker than the last.

  He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His golden eyes dimmed.

  Above the arena, glowing runes swirled in the air before forming a single word:

  > WINNER: ELIANA OF IGNIR.

  The crowd watching from the seer chambers erupted in noise—but here in the arena, there was only stillness.

  Inside the viewing hall, cloaked in marble and gold, the high-seated elite of Yilheim leaned forward in their thrones. The seer crystal before them still shimmered with the image of Eliana, bloodied but victorious, standing over Grufus’s broken body.

  One portly noble with a glistening bald head laughed, slapping his knee.

  “Ha! That Elf princess is quite good. Fierce, beautiful, and powerful. I’ll make her marry my son—Ignir blood would strengthen my house.”

  Another man—tall, with a scarred jaw and braided beard—snorted.

  “Nonsense. That girl belongs in my family. I’ll take her for my son. The Elvhein royalty owes no allegiance to yours.”

  Their voices rose, overlapping.

  “My house has the wealth to match her status—”

  “Wealth? She needs protection. Only my lands can keep her safe—”

  A third voice cut through the noise.

  A slim woman with hair like flowing silver sat cross-legged, swirling her wine with calm precision. Her gaze stayed fixed on the screen.

  “You fools. That’s no mere princess.”

  The men turned to her, frowning.

  She smirked.

  “You’re talking about breeding stock while she’s out there crushing veterans. Look closer. That girl is more than marriage material—she’s a weapon. And weapons aren’t owned. They’re feared.”

  The room went quiet.

  A younger noble at the back muttered under his breath, “Still… imagine her bearing heirs…”

  The others glanced back at the seer crystal, watching as Eliana collapsed to the ground, clutching her wound but still alive—still unbroken.

  For a moment, no one argued.

  She pressed her hands against her wound, blood spilling between her fingers.

  “D… damn it,” she hissed, breathing raggedly. Her vision was hazy, but she managed a faint smile.

  I did it.

  She fell to her side, staring up at the sky.

  The wind howled faintly across the obsidian tiles of the arena, but Ziraiah barely heard it. Her focus was fixed on the woman standing opposite her — ten feet of raw muscle and confidence.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Her opponent was a Pesterio: deep brown skin, two short iron horns curving backward, completely bald, with four arms — each one gripping a long, serrated sword. Her eyes locked on Ziraiah with a predator’s intent.

  “You’re one big girl, ain’t you?” the Pesterio said with a low, amused growl. “Aurellians don’t usually come this size.”

  Ziraiah tilted her head slightly, smiling faintly. Her towering frame cast a long shadow across the arena floor. “You talk too much.”

  The Pesterio’s grin widened. “What race are you, really?”

  “I don’t owe you any answers,” Ziraiah said coolly, her voice steady. “You’ll be unconscious soon anyway.”

  The Pesterio bristled. “Confident, huh? Or just arrogant?”

  Ziraiah extended her right hand, curling her index finger and gesturing for her to approach.

  “Come on,” she said softly, her smirk widening. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Ziraiah smirked, rolling her shoulders as she sank into her stance.

  Her smile sharpened as her knuckles flexed, the air around her seeming to grow heavier.

  Should I use magic? she thought, amused.

  Then she dismissed the idea with a quiet laugh.

  No… Mom's genes are more than enough.

  The Pesterio gritted her teeth. “Fine. You asked for it.”

  She surged forward.

  ---

  BOOM.

  The ground cracked under the Pesterio’s first step as she launched like a bullet, closing the gap in a heartbeat.

  All four blades swung at once — an overwhelming storm of steel.

  But Ziraiah was already moving.

  She tilted her head, stepped lightly to the left. One blade missed. She bent backward, letting another pass inches from her face. The next two came in wide arcs — she twisted between them with inhuman grace.

  She’s… dodging everything?! the Pesterio thought, disbelief tightening her jaw.

  Her strikes blurred, swords singing as they cut the air. But Ziraiah — towering, relaxed — slipped through the storm like she’d been born in it.

  Her faint smile didn’t falter.

  “Faster,” Ziraiah said, almost teasing.

  The Pesterio growled. “Don’t mock me!”

  ---

  The Pesterio planted her feet and unleashed a real barrage — dozens of strikes in a single breath. Her four arms became a whirlwind of slashing steel, each swing carving trenches in the ground.

  Ziraiah didn’t blink.

  Step. Sway. Twist. Duck.

  The ground beneath them broke apart under the pressure of the blows, but none of them touched her.

  No… The Pesterio’s heart pounded. She’s not using magic. Not even augmenting herself. She’s just… moving.

  Frustration flared in her chest. “Stand still!”

  Ziraiah tilted her head, her expression almost pitying. “Why would I do that?”

  ---

  The Pesterio snarled and put everything into one blow — her top right arm swung sidewayswith crushing force, aiming for Ziraiah’s ribs.

  Finally—

  CLANG.

  The blade connected.

  But instead of cutting… it stopped.

  Right against Ziraiah’s skin.

  The Pesterio blinked. “…What?”

  Ziraiah glanced at the sword resting harmlessly against her skin. There was a tear on her clothes. “Was that supposed to hurt?”

  The Pesterio’s stomach dropped.

  She swung again. Another arm. Then another. All four swords slammed into Ziraiah’s torso.

  CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

  Nothing. Not a scratch.

  Ziraiah didn’t even flinch.

  ---

  What… what is she?! The Pesterio’s thoughts raced, panic clawing at her confidence. Even with full augmentation—my blades can’t pierce her skin?! This isn’t possible. This can't be.

  Ziraiah’s smirk widened slightly. “You really thought you had me, didn’t you?”

  The Pesterio stepped back instinctively.

  Ziraiah mirrored her stance, crouching slightly — martial, relaxed, coiled like a predator.

  “Like my brother says…” Her eyes narrowed. “Shall we?”

  She disappeared.

  ---

  In the blink of an eye, Ziraiah was gone.

  The Pesterio’s eyes darted wildly. “Where—”

  BOOM.

  Ziraiah’s fist slammed into her side like a sledgehammer.

  The Pesterio screamed as she was hurled across the arena, her bones creaking under the impact. She bounced once, then rolled, skidding to a stop.

  She coughed, tasting blood.

  I couldn’t even see her move…

  And then Ziraiah’s shadow fell over her.

  The Pesterio froze.

  “You’ve got four arms,” Ziraiah said calmly, towering above her like a living wall. Her tone was casual — too casual for a fight like this. “Should I take two?”

  The woman stiffened.

  Then Ziraiah smirked faintly. “Just kidding.”

  She crouched low, her long frame folding like a predator ready to pounce. “Wanna give up? It’ll hurt more if you don’t.”

  The Pesterio’s jaw tightened. “Why are you holding back? I know you’re a Vitalist too. Are you a mage… or an Augmenter?”

  “Both, actually,” Ziraiah replied with a shrug. “You know, you’re only the second Pesterio I’ve ever seen.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “You’re a Combat Mage?”

  Ziraiah’s lips curled. “So… wanna continue?”

  The Pesterio’s response was a sharp, vicious kick aimed at Ziraiah’s head.

  CRACK.

  Ziraiah’s body slid across the arena floor, her heels carving a trench in the stone. She stopped in a crouch, one hand pressed against the ground for balance, her long hair falling over her face like a veil.

  And then she smiled.

  Still crouched, she slowly raised one hand, palm open, beckoning.

  The Pesterio lunged — only to feel her entire body yanked forward, as if gravity itself had betrayed her.

  In an instant, Ziraiah’s hand closed around her neck.

  The Pesterio choked, claws flailing as Ziraiah lifted her partially off the ground.

  The woman’s four hands clawed desperately at Ziraiah’s arm, two wrapping around her opponent’s neck in a desperate counter-squeeze. Mana burst from her body like a storm, cratering the ground beneath them.

  Ziraiah didn’t even blink.

  “I can go a long time without breathing, you know,” she said with unnerving calm. “Actually… I can breathe just fine right now. Sorry, but… you can’t beat me.”

  Her grip tightened.

  The Pesterio’s golden eyes went wide as she thrashed, pouring every ounce of strength into her strikes. Each blow hammered into Ziraiah’s ribs and shoulders, shaking the arena with every impact.

  But Ziraiah didn’t flinch.

  “Time to pass out now.” Her voice was almost… gentle.

  The Pesterio’s vision blurred. Her limbs grew heavy. She was seconds from unconsciousness when —

  FWOOM.

  Her pendant glowed.

  Ziraiah’s body jolted like she’d been struck by lightning.

  “—AGHHHHHH!”

  Her grip loosened. She stumbled back, screaming, hands clutching her skull as agony tore through her mind.

  The Pesterio collapsed to the floor, gasping desperately, clutching her throat. Slowly, shakily, she rose to her feet and looked down at Ziraiah, who was now kneeling with her forehead pressed to the ground, screaming into the dirt.

  The Pesterio smirked through her labored breaths.

  “The protection charm of my family,” she said hoarsely. “Hurts, doesn’t it? It’s been passed down for generations. We don’t even know what kind of magic it is… only that it works.”

  Ziraiah panted, gripping her head. The pain was unbearable — like nails were being driven into her skull.

  That’s when Yelleen’s voice rang in her mind.

  “Ziraiah — that’s ancient magic. A cursed item. It won’t stop… unless you destroy that pendant.”

  Ziraiah’s scream tore through the arena — low, guttural, like a beast in agony.

  Her massive frame trembled as the cursed magic chewed through her mind like molten claws. Her veins bulged, her vision swam, and every breath felt like knives scraping her lungs.

  The Pesterio grinned.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” she mocked. “Generations of my family have kept this charm for a reason.”

  Ziraiah snarled through clenched teeth, her forehead pressed against the cracked ground. “You… talk too much.”

  The Pesterio didn’t wait.

  FWOOOSH.

  A savage kick smashed against Ziraiah’s head.

  BOOOOM.

  The impact didn’t even bruise her — but it sent her body sliding across the arena, carving a trench through the stone.

  Ziraiah caught herself with one hand, spitting dirt from her mouth.

  “Pathetic,” the Pesterio sneered, blurring forward with terrifying speed.

  She leapt, four arms swinging in a whirlwind of steel, raining slashes and strikes against Ziraiah’s towering frame.

  SLASH. SLASH. SLASH.

  The blades skidded harmlessly across Ziraiah’s skin, sparks flying, each hit sounding like metal on stone. Not a single cut.

  “Ghhhhh—!” Ziraiah growled through the psychic pain, unmoving.

  The Pesterio’s strikes grew more furious. “Why won’t you just break?!”

  She roared, wrapping all four arms around Ziraiah’s torso, lifting her clean off the ground.

  Then—

  BOOOOM!

  She hurled the Elvhein like a wrecking ball, slamming her into the ground with monstrous force. The ground shattered but Ziraiah remained unbroken.

  The Pesterio wasn’t finished.

  She dashed, caught Ziraiah by the leg and leaped into the air, spun her in a violent arc, and slammed her into the ground like a hammer.

  BOOOOOM.

  The arena floor cratered beneath the impact.

  Still… no damage.

  “Unbelievable,” the Pesterio spat, chest heaving. “Even with this pain — even with my full strength — I can’t pierce your skin.”

  Ziraiah raised her head slightly, her eyes glinting through her curtain of hair. Despite the agony, her lips curled into a faint smirk.

  “Like I said,” she rasped, her voice cutting through the chaos, “you can’t beat me.”

  Her opponent scowled, gripping her pendant with one hand. “We’ll see about that. I’m sure there’s a limit to what you can take.”

  She ripped Ziraiah from the crater, slammed her back into the ground, and pressed her foot against her throat.

  The cursed magic flared brighter. Ziraiah’s vision darkened for a moment.

  This pain… she thought, every nerve on fire. Fine. If pain is all you have… I’ll outlast it.

  ---

  To Be Continued…