The Dragoon roared, his blind eyes glowing faintly as he launched forward, Bravo power coursing through his veins. His strikes were no longer calculated — they were wild, furious, desperate.
Eryndor tilted his head slightly, watching the onslaught as though observing a child’s tantrum. He raised one arm lazily, deflecting blow after blow with effortless grace, his other hand still tucked behind his back.
“How utterly fascinating,” he mused aloud, his voice as tranquil as still water. “The intricacies of the body are, in truth, far less inscrutable than most presume.”
The Dragoon’s teeth bared, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he swung harder, faster, driven by a rage that didn’t feel entirely his own.
Eryndor smiled faintly, leaning in as his opponent’s fist swept harmlessly past his cheek.
“A modest manipulation of the adrenal glands,” he said softly, his tone that of an instructor delivering a lecture. “A subtle suppression of serotonin… a gentle excitation of the amygdala. And thus—behold.”
Eryndor gestured toward the Dragoon’s trembling, frenzied form with almost theatrical poise.
“Rage,” he observed, his voice smooth and disdainfully calm. “Pure, untempered, unrestrained. How very… predictable.”
The Dragoon screamed, swinging with everything he had.
Eryndor exhaled lightly, catching the fist mid-strike with effortless precision.
“Your body,” he murmured, voice low and assured, “dances to my tune… and you remain blissfully unaware.”
The Dragoon’s head smashed into Eryndor’s face with the force of a battering ram.
BOOOOOOM.
Eryndor’s tall frame was sent flying, his body carving through the ground like a thrown spear. The shockwave that followed was apocalyptic — a roaring pulse of destruction that shattered the earth and snuffed out dozens of challengers in the surrounding arenas. They died instantly, erased by the collateral fury of two titans colliding.
Eryndor came to a stop, boots grinding into the shattered earth, his sleeves torn but his skin unbroken. He brushed a speck of dust from his cheek with two fingers, utterly composed — as if the devastation had barely touched him.
Balling was loving it.
> “OOOOOOH!” his voice boomed across every arena, shrill and gleeful. “Ladies! Gentlemen! Carnivorous audience members of refined taste! ARE YOU WATCHING THIS?! Because if you’re not, I’m judging you.”
The Dragoon was already upon him.
The Dragoon’s attacks came in a blinding flurry — punches, elbows, slashes.
Eryndor’s arms moved with fluid grace, deflecting blow after blow, his expression calm, even as the battlefield collapsed around them.
“Oh,” Eryndor remarked between effortless parries, his tone measured and almost academic. “Even deprived of sight — and in this heightened, wrathful state — your perceptive faculties remain remarkably keen.”
The Dragoon snarled, swinging his blade in a vicious arc.
“Perhaps Bravo,” Eryndor continued, his voice carrying the cadence of a lecturer addressing an attentive hall, “bestows upon its wielder an augmented faculty of perception.”
---
The Dragoon roared, drawing his long sword from his side. He swung.
SHHHHRRRAAAAAAACKKK!
Bravo energy exploded outward like a crimson typhoon.
Eryndor did not dodge.
The blast swallowed him whole.
BOOOOOMMMMM.
The force of the swing carved a forteen-kilometer-long trench into the ground, rock and molten stone erupting in its wake. Eryndor’s body skidded backward until the destructive wave dissipated.
He looked down.
A shallow cut traced across his chest, blood seeping lightly from the surface — more an insult than a true injury.
He touched it lightly, almost with scholarly curiosity. “It would seem,” he observed, his tone calm and analytical, “that Bravo manifests with a nature far more violent and intrinsically destructive than that of mana.”
> “YEEEESSSSSSSSSS!” Balling shrieked like a fan at a rock concert. “LOOK AT THAT PRETTY LITTLE CANYON HE JUST MADE! He’s landscaping! He’s making the Crucible beautiful! Someone give that blind hunk a gardening award!”
> “Ooooh, and Rocky McHandsome just tanked that like it was NOTHING! DID YOU SEE THAT? Did you FEEL that?! Ohhhh, if I had a hundred eyes, I’d stare at him with ALL of them. YUM.”
---
The Dragoon didn’t give him time to reflect.
With a single leap, he soared high into the sky, sword glowing with condensed Bravo energy.
It grew.
One kilometer. Two.
Three.
By the time he swung it downward, the energy blade stretched nearly five kilometers long, a weapon of apocalyptic scale.
Eryndor’s emerald eyes narrowed.
He couldn’t see Bravo as one sees light — but he felt the shift in the air. The distortion in space itself.
From kilometers away, he saw the Dragoon’s descending silhouette.
Then—
BOOOOM.
Something unseen — yet undeniable — slammed down on him.
The five-kilometer Bravo blade split the land like divine judgment, cleaving a canyon ten kilometers deep into the earth.
> “WOOOOO! YESSSSSS! I'll be watching this again tomorrow because THIS—THIS IS THE STUFF BALLING LIVES FOR!”
---
At the bottom of that canyon, Eryndor stood, blood running down his shoulder from a fresh, deep cut.
His expression did not falter.
If I permit this exchange to persist, he thought with chilling clarity, I may very well court defeat. It appears… I have reached the outermost bounds of my innate durability.
---
A shadow fell over him.
The Dragoon dove at blinding speed, faster than before, faster than Eryndor had anticipated.
Eryndor’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and precise. “His celerity has increased.”
The Dragoon swung his colossal blade downward with devastating force.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Eryndor crossed his arms over his head.
The impact was titanic.
BOOOOOOOOOOOM.
The ground beneath them collapsed another ten kilometers deeper, the canyon stretching fifteen kilometers longer as the sheer force of the blow tore the land asunder.
The Bravo blade bit deep into Eryndor’s flesh and reached his bone— and still he did not fall.
Then—
CRRRRRAAAAASSSHHHH.
The Dragoon’s fist slammed into Eryndor’s side.
The ground detonated, a crater eight kilometers wide exploding outward.
Eryndor was hurled through the very earth, tumbling violently as the impact triggered earthquakes that rippled through the entire Crucible.
---
Beneath the shattered land, Eryndor came to rest several kilometers deep, bleeding from his side.
It would appear… this surge of adrenaline has markedly augmented his capabilities, he thought, his inner voice unnervingly composed.
---
Through the dust and rubble, the Dragoon charged with relentless speed, his blade poised for the kill.
Eryndor stood, wiping blood from his chin.
“Indomitable Defense.”
The words left his lips like a verdict.
The Dragoon thrust.
Eryndor extended his palm.
CRRRRAAAACKKK.
The blade shattered on contact, splintering like glass.
Eryndor’s hand clamped onto the Dragoon’s face, dangling the massive warrior like a ragdoll.
> “OOOOH, HE GRABBED HIM BY THE FACE! YESSSS! You don’t just GRAB a Bravo wielder’s face unless you’re about to do something deliciously rude!”
---
“I am merely appropriating a technique,” Eryndor said smoothly, “one my brother so habitually employs upon our dear sister.”
His index finger extended.
“Gentle poke.”
He stabbed the Dragoon’s chest with his finger.
---
The Dragoon roared, thrashing violently — but Eryndor’s grip on his face tightened like iron.
Eryndor withdrew his hand.
“Consecutive gentle poke.”
His arm blurred — a flurry of finger strikes, so fast they became a storm. In an instant, the Dragoon’s torso was punctured with dozens of holes, blood spraying in a crimson mist.
“I would entreat you to concede,” Eryndor said with composed poise, “yet it is evident you are presently not in possession of your faculties.”
He inclined his head ever so slightly. “My apologies for trespassing upon your system — intellectual indulgence often supersedes propriety.”
---
Eryndor’s other hand seized the Dragoon’s neck.
“Muscle augmentation,” he whispered.
Then he raised his free hand in front of the Dragoon’s face.
---
The world shifted.
Every person within forty kilometers began to rise into the air — challengers, even Valerius and his opponent.
The battlefield became weightless.
> “OHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HE’S DOING THE THING! HE’S LIFTING EVERYONE! HE'S A MAGE. A MAGE KICKING A BRAVO USERS BUTT, YOU DONT SEE THAT EVERYDAY.”
---
Eryndor cocked his index finger.
“My augmented form renders me severalfold stronger — a considerable amplification of my natural strength.”
He flicked the Dragoon’s forehead.
---
It was no ordinary flick.
It was annihilation.
The shockwave collapsed nearly thirty kilometers of land, obliterating everything above in a single catastrophic pulse. The Crucible screamed as stone and magic shattered, dozens of nearby challengers erased by the collateral destruction.
Though Eryndor tried to contain the damage, it was too late.
For the first time in his life —
He had unintentionally killed.
And the casualties were many.
The shockwave raced outward, unstoppable.
Balling went silent. For three full seconds.
Then, in an almost bewildered murmur, he said to someone off-mic:
> “Hey… can a mage even be that powerful?”
There was some muffled chatter in the background. Balling hummed thoughtfully, tapping something like a desk.
> “Seriously? …Hmm. He kinda looks like that pretty girl from earlier. What was his name? …Look him up. I want his name.”
---
Above the shattered battlefield, the glowing runes shimmered and swirled until they solidified into a single line:
> WINNER: ERYNDOR
Balling’s voice returned, this time softer, almost intrigued.
> “So… that’s his name.”
---
Across the World
This wasn’t just another duel.
The fight had been broadcast to every seer. And now, all across Yilheim, millions were watching Eryndor’s battle stood out so his fight was given priority broadcast.
Eryndor’s battle — his devastating clash with the Dragoon — had become the centerpiece of the Convergence Trials.
The cameras focused on him as he stood in the canyon, blood-streaked but composed, the coat rack still floating serenely above him like an absurd crown of refinement.
---
Zitry — The Royal Palace
In the grand marble hall of Zitry’s palace, King Juval sat forward on his throne, his casual smirk replaced by something sharper — interest.
Queen Zeliona, ever composed, leaned slightly closer to the seer crystal, her eyes narrowing as she studied Eryndor’s face.
“My goodness,” she murmured. “He’s become that powerful? And still… to this day, we don’t even know what his attribute is.”
She glanced at Juval. “Do you think he could match Gozay’s Spellbounds?”
Juval stroked his chin, his casual tone masking the weight of his words. “Apart from Number One? Yes. Definitely. Number One is a monster.”
Andrea, standing silently at their side, clenched her fists. She said nothing — but her expression told a story of awe, and a spark of something more.
---
Festitude Academy — Hostels
In the buzzing hostels of Festitude Academy, the dormitories erupted with noise.
Dozens of students huddled around the glowing seers, their faces lit with disbelief.
One boy whistled low. “How can people be so powerful? That wasn’t even a fight — that was a cataclysm.”
Another frowned. “What’s this Bravo he mentioned? I’ve never even heard of that.”
“No idea,” a third replied, shaking his head. “But whatever it is… I don’t want to be on the wrong end of it.”
---
Girls’ Dorm
In the girls’ dorm, the energy was different. Shock mixed with curiosity.
“I swear I saw Ziraiah for a moment,” one girl said, leaning forward with wide eyes.
“Wait… what? Ziraiah is there too?” another asked, incredulous.
A third girl muttered under her breath, “Those Delindors… where the hell did they even come from? Monsters… both of them.”
---
Tertiary Boys’ Dorm
In the tertiary dorms, the reaction was even louder.
Nine seers on the walls, each at different places of the dormitory, and every boy in the dorm seemed crammed in front of them.
“Holy shit,” Alvin yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s Eryndor!”
“I knew he was powerful,” another said, voice trembling with a mix of fear and admiration. “But this? This is insane.”
“Unreal,” someone else muttered. “He’s not aurellian. He can’t be. He's a catastrophe ”
---
Elsewhere
In a quiet chamber filled with humming technology and floating seers, a shirtless man with piercing green eyes sat cross-legged. He smirked faintly as Eryndor’s image filled the screen.
“You’ve gotten stronger,” he said to no one in particular. “Good. Too bad you didn’t learn Bravo… I’ll be seeing you soon.”
---
Pungence
On the Mother Waver, Pungence stood in front of a massive seer, arms crossed, his massive frame casting a long shadow.
“He really did it,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “He circulated his mana like Bravo.”
The bold woman sitting beside him, her sharp features twisting with disbelief, shook her head. “What? That’s only possible in theory.”
“Not anymore,” Pungence replied simply. “Those children are the most talented I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s a shame I couldn’t find the other.”
---
The Forbidden Place
Somewhere sacred. Somewhere hidden. A place where no one was allowed to look.
A single figure sat before a lone seer.
The glass they held slipped from their fingers, shattering against the floor.
“That face…” their voice shook. “Why am I seeing that face?”
They gripped the edges of the seer, their knuckles white.
“WHY DOES THAT FACE LOOK LIKE HIM?”
---
The Old One
In a distant, forgotten place, an old woman with flowing gray hair and glowing green eyes stared into her seer.
Her voice was quiet, reverent. “I know every rare breed in existence… and yet I’ve never seen him.”
Her eyes widened, tears forming at the edges. “Don’t tell me… it happened in my lifetime?”
---
The Young Watcher
Elsewhere, a young woman with long black hair and sharp green eyes sat alone, leaning forward in her chair as she watched the broadcast in silence.
---
Back in the Crucible
Eryndor stood over the broken Dragoon.
The man’s head was cracked, his neck twisted unnaturally, his once-imposing presence reduced to a heap of broken scale and flesh.
With a flick of his wrist, a small bottle of elixir appeared between Eryndor’s fingers.
He crouched, tilting the Dragoon’s head up with surprising gentleness, and poured the glowing liquid into his mouth.
“That,” Eryndor said with serene composure, “should, at the very least, suffice to preserve your life.”
He rose again, his emerald eyes glancing upward, his face unreadable as the seers captured every moment.
The world was watching.
Eryndor had revealed himself to the world.
---
To Be Continued...
