A few days earlier...

  The elf sat across from a woman in a quiet chamber, the air heavy with tension. She reclined on a velvet couch, one leg draped elegantly over the other, her gaze sharp and calculating.

  “We can’t allow those artifacts to fall into the hands of criminals,” she said firmly.

  The elf’s blue eyes narrowed. His long braided hair gleamed faintly in the candlelight. “Then why did you permit this competition in the first place?”

  The woman exhaled softly, almost like a sigh, though her tone remained edged with steel. “Because the Kottors were involved. Most of them, in fact.”

  His expression darkened. “You should have informed the Judge.”

  “And what then?” she countered, voice rising slightly. “Send thousands of my men to their deaths? The Kottors thrive on bloodbaths. Do you think that would change anything?” She leaned forward. “Besides, the competition is being broadcast to the world. And that Dragoon’s takeover of the Seers? You think the higher-ups didn’t see it? If they’ve stayed silent… it means they don’t want to interfere.”

  She smiled faintly now, cold and deliberate. “That’s where you come in. Enter the competition. Secure the artifacts.”

  The elf tilted his head, lips curling. “There will be powerful combatants there. Many.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you doubt yourself? Don’t. I chose you precisely because I trust you.” She smirked, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “But you won’t be going as a representative. No uniforms. No insignias.”

  The elf rose from his seat, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. “Sugar-coat it all you like,” he said over his shoulder. “What you really want is He?estrik’s Armor.”

  Her lips curved. “Was it that obvious?”

  “You forget,” he replied with a small smile, “I know you too well.”

  “Then don’t make me look bad,” she quipped. “If you lose in there, it’ll reflect poorly on me.”

  He chuckled, his voice deep and certain.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t lose to anyone.”

  ---

  Back to the present...

  The battlefield quaked under silence.

  Eryndor’s breath came slow, his veins trembling. Across from him, the elf still stood, unshaken, his cushion shielding having just blocked Eryndor’s strongest attack.

  Ziraiah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That… that was his maximum…”

  Above, Eliana hovered, her light burning like a second sun. Sweat beaded her brow, her chest heaving. To think he even blocked that… After only three years, Eryndor’s strength has grown terrifying. Yet even so… he couldn’t pierce him.

  Pungence’s warning echoed in Eryndor’s skull:

  > “They are bad news, very bad news. Be cautious.”

  The elf’s voice cut through, calm and composed. “I underestimated you. Impressive. Rare-breeds are always dangerous… even without Bravo.”

  He exhaled softly. Then, with a sudden flex, he tore apart the binds of Ziraiah’s diamond-and-wind grip and Eliana’s vines.

  “Damn it!” Eliana cursed, wings of light propelling her forward. Ziraiah surged from the opposite side, lightning gathering in her palms.

  The elf’s blue eyes flicked between them, left and right. His thoughts were cool, almost regretful. I’m sorry, Gozay. I’ll need to strike your daughter a little harder than I wished.

  Eliana roared, clapping her hands. Behind her, her three radiant Guardians fused together, their bodies merging into a towering colossus thrice their original size. Its blade gleamed like a sun forged into steel.

  “I’ll give him everything I have!” Eliana cried, blood trickling from her nose.

  From another realm, her contracted spirit smiled faintly, watching her resolve.

  The Guardian lunged, its blade raised high. The earth itself shook as it brought the sword down in a cataclysmic roar.

  “ROOOAAAR!”

  BOOOOM.

  The strike split the island from its heart to its edges, a single cleaving blow of divine magnitude.

  But when the smoke cleared—the elf was still standing.

  His hand was raised. His palm, shimmering with Fortis, held the Guardian’s blade in place.

  Behind him, a trench stretched endlessly, a scar ripped into the land by the sheer aftershock. Eliana’s face drained of color.

  The elf’s eyes gleamed. There are levels to Fortis. I thought the basic would suffice. It seems I was mistaken. Intermediate it is.

  Ziraiah’s cry split the air. “RAAAAH!” A bolt of lightning ripped from her hand, tearing toward him.

  This time, he didn’t even bother with Cushion. He took it head-on, his scarlet aura flaring.

  She gathered more, calling the blackened clouds above. Lightning surged into her, her body glowing as she unleashed it all in one colossal beam.

  The elf appeared before her in a blink.

  SLAP.

  His hand cracked across her face, fortified with monstrous force. Blood and teeth burst from her mouth as she was hurled down, cratering the earth thirty-four kilometers wide.

  Her scream rattled the heavens.

  The elf landed upon her stomach, crushing her body further into the pit. She coughed blood, writhing in agony as her ribs buckled. Then, with a single leap, he shot upward—toward Eryndor.

  Eryndor’s shields bloomed, Sectam magic layering in glowing walls. But the elf’s descending strike shattered them like glass. His fortified hand slammed down, shearing through Eryndor’s ice arm, gouging deep into his shoulder.

  The ground cratered for kilometers.

  Eryndor screamed, his body trembling under the weight of the elf’s palm. His bones cracked, his body dropping to one knee.

  The elf’s voice was calm, pitiless.

  “I gave you mercy. You refused. Now… bear the consequences.”

  His hand pressed deeper into the wound. Blood poured.

  The elf reached toward Eryndor’s pocket, fingers grasping for the flag—

  —but Eryndor released his grip on the wound and seized the intruder’s wrist with his other hand.

  “You…” his voice was ragged, yet unbroken, “…will not have it.”

  The elf’s eyes narrowed, his strength pressing harder.

  Eryndor’s entire body shook violently, his hand trembling as he fought to keep that scarlet palm from closing around the flag.

  The elf’s voice was calm, almost pitying, even as his scarlet Fortis hand dug deeper into Eryndor’s shoulder.

  “Will you not give up? It is not worth trading your life for.”

  Eryndor’s breath came ragged, his veins bulging, ice arm trembling. And yet—his grip did not falter.

  A memory surfaced.

  He and Valerius, standing together in the castle not long ago. The flag rested between them.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Valerius’s voice was quiet, yet sharp. “You better not lose that flag. I can’t afford to lose.”

  Eryndor had met his brother’s gaze, his tone absolute. “I shall not forfeit it. You have my word, inviolate.”

  Back to the present.

  Eryndor’s emerald eyes blazed as his teeth ground together. He pulled the elf’s arm away from his pocket with every ounce of will, blood dripping from his nose from mana strain. His voice cracked the silence:

  “I gave… my word. I WILL NOT LOSE IT!”

  He roared, veins surging across his body, muscles splitting under the strain.

  The elf’s eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing across his perfect features.

  “My goodness… such willpower. You would have made a magnificent Bravo user.”

  The two locked in stalemate, foreheads inches apart, breath hot, blood spattering the floor.

  The elf’s expression darkened. His other hand, still buried in Eryndor’s wounded shoulder, slid up to his throat. His fingers tightened, scarlet Fortis coating them as they pierced into flesh.

  “RAAAAHHH!” Eryndor screamed, blood bursting from his mouth, but his grip did not yield.

  The elf’s voice rose, edged with thunder.

  “Stop this! If you persist, you will die! DO YOU WISH FOR ME TO TEAR YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR SHOULDERS?!”

  Eryndor’s vision blurred, his lungs gasped for air. Still he glared back, defiant, blood dripping down his chin.

  “I gave… my word… and my word… is my dignity.”

  The elf’s eyes hardened. “Foolish boy.”

  Suddenly, a colossal light shadow descended. Eliana’s fused Guardian swung its titanic sword downward, roaring with her will.

  The elf released Eryndor’s throat and twisted. His fist struck sideways—

  BOOOOM.

  The punch detonated against the air itself, Cushion rippling outward like an invisible quake. The Guardian’s torso blew apart in a single instant, its body collapsing into radiant fragments. The shockwave slammed into Eliana herself.

  She screamed as blood burst from her nose, her eyes, her ears. The force hurled her like a broken doll, her Guardian crashing to the earth beside her.

  The elf turned back, cocking his arm. His palm glowed red, scarlet Fortis surging. He raised it high, aiming to crush Eryndor’s skull.

  “Last chance, boy.” His voice was cold, final. “Yield—or perish.”

  Eryndor’s vision swam. His body trembled, bones cracking under the pressure. His mind screamed: No… I cannot perish here. Yet neither can I sunder my vow. Should I fall, I abandon Ziraiah and Valerius to face this accursed world bereft of me. Yet should I yield, I profane my own word. What path remains to me?!

  Desperation clawed at him. And then—

  A voice. Smooth. Resonant. Inside his mind.

  Yelleen.

  “Repeat after me.”

  Eryndor’s lips quivered. Yelleen…?

  “Say it. Iik, enahan.”

  Eryndor clenched his teeth, his last fragments of faith binding him to the voice. He whispered hoarsely:

  “Iik… enahan.”

  The elf froze, brows knitting.

  Yelleen’s voice pressed on, ancient syllables ringing in Eryndor’s skull.

  “Presto sik ain.”

  “Presto… sik ain,” Eryndor echoed, his voice rising, strength surging faintly through his trembling frame.

  The elf’s eyes sharpened. “What are you saying? What language is that?”

  Yelleen’s voice grew louder now, commanding.

  “Givelu an vel aak.”

  Eryndor screamed it aloud, his voice raw, shaking the air:

  “GIVELU AN VEL AAK!”

  The elf’s eyes narrowed, his hand still locked against Eryndor’s throat.

  “…Impossible. Where did you learn that?”

  The elf’s grip on Eryndor faltered. His calm, piercing gaze fractured—replaced with raw agony.

  “AAAAAAAHHHHH!”

  He staggered back, clutching his skull, his braids whipping wildly as his scream shook the ground. His knees buckled, crashing into the ground.

  Yelleen’s voice, cold and unyielding, rang inside Eryndor’s mind.

  “Veneri.”

  Eryndor forced the word past bloodied lips, echoing it into the world.

  “Veneri!”

  The effect was instant.

  The elf convulsed, howling louder. His eyes burst red, blood streaming down his nose, his ears, his mouth. His fists hammered against his own temples, each blow detonating like a bomb.

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  Every strike cratered the earth beneath him. The ground quaked, spiderweb fissures racing outward for kilometers. His nails raked across his own face, tearing flesh, as though trying to rip out whatever was devouring him from within.

  Finally, both knees slammed into the ground—

  KRA-KOOM.

  The ground itself collapsed inward, a crater spanning several kilometers wide.

  Eryndor fell to his butt across from him, chest heaving, throat raw.

  “Yelleen… what is transpiring within him?!”

  Yelleen’s voice reverberated through his skull, ancient and merciless.

  “That is the one spell Bravo users have no defense against. Spirit magic. It unravels them from the inside. It burns what they cannot shield—the soul itself.”

  The elf’s screams rose to a fever pitch, his voice shredding into a guttural wail. Blood streamed in rivers from his eyes and nose as his forehead slammed against the earth again and again, each blow blasting shockwaves outward.

  And then—

  BOOOOOM.

  "YOU FUCKER!"

  The world shook as a fist, glowing green and vibrating with impossible force, slammed into the elf’s jaw.

  Valerius had arrived.

  His face was twisted with fury, black hair whipping around his head. His hand glowed with Bravo, veins lit like emerald lightning, the vibration of compressed energy shrieking against the air.

  The impact was cataclysmic.

  Eryndor was hurled backward, skidding across the ground as the sheer force of the shockwave blasted him away. The ground split apart, a crater one hundred kilometers wide opening where Valerius’s fist had landed.

  The elf was launched like a meteor, his massive body tearing through the horizon at Mach 4000. Mountains ruptured as he smashed through them one after another, shattering stone like glass. Valleys buckled. Rivers vaporized.

  Until at last—

  CRASH.

  He slammed against the far shore.

  And there, waiting, stood Bumble.

  The man caught his broken body mid-flight, earth groaning under the weight of the impact.

  Smoke and dust rose in titanic plumes across the landscape. The island trembled like it was holding its breath.

  ---

  To Be Continued...