The arena trembled with anticipation as the next match was announced.
"Seraphine du Rozaire, The Phantom Duelist versus Velmar, The Crimson Spear!"
The spectators erupted in cheers and whispers, for this was a match between two very different kinds of warriors—one fought with guile and illusions, while the other relied on raw combat prowess and overwhelming force.
A battle between deception and relentless aggression.
Seraphine du Rozaire stepped onto the battlefield with practiced grace, her noble heritage evident in every fluid movement.
Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulder, partially tied back with an elegant silver clasp. Dressed in a sleek duelist's coat, deep navy with intricate gold embroidery, she exuded both nobility and lethality. A slender rapier hung at her side, its polished steel reflecting the arena lights.
Her deep violet eyes surveyed her opponent with keen intelligence, analyzing every detail, every possible weakness.
Velmar, in contrast, was a force of nature.
A towering figure clad in blood-red plate armor, he carried a long, wickedly curved spear with effortless confidence. His short, dark hair was unkempt, and his piercing amber eyes gleamed with the hunger of a warrior who lived for the thrill of battle.
His reputation was built on brutal efficiency—he had cut down his previous opponents with speed and precision, never drawing out a fight longer than necessary.
Seraphine smirked.
"A straightforward brute? This will be fun."
Velmar cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "A little noble fencer, huh?" He tapped his spear against the ground, his stance shifting into an aggressive guard. "Let's see if you're as slippery as they say."
"BEGIN!"
Velmar wasted no time.
He lunged.
His spear shot forward like a viper, the air whistling as the sharp tip pierced straight through Seraphine's chest—
Or rather, what should have been Seraphine's chest.
The image of her body shimmered and vanished like mist.
Velmar's eyes flickered with recognition, his instincts kicking in just in time to twist his body—
A cold whisper of steel kissed his cheek as the real Seraphine materialized behind him, rapier poised for a killing thrust.
CLANG!
Velmar spun, parrying her blade with the reinforced shaft of his spear. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal.
"Not bad," Velmar admitted, stepping back.
Seraphine didn't respond. She was already moving.
Her form blurred, multiple versions of herself flickering into existence across the battlefield.
Velmar's brows furrowed. Illusions.
Five—six—seven copies of Seraphine circled him, their footsteps soundless, their blades gleaming under the colosseum lights.
The audience gasped, unable to tell which was real.
Velmar exhaled sharply. "Tch. Annoying tricks."
Seraphine's voice drifted from the illusions, smooth and teasing.
"You're a big brute, Velmar, but even you can't hit what you can't see."
Velmar's grip on his spear tightened.
"Then I'll just hit everything."
He spun his spear in a tight arc—
And then—
WHOOSH!
A crimson wave of raw energy surged outward, cutting through the illusions like a blade through silk.
The false images shattered, dispersing like mist, leaving only the real Seraphine behind—directly in his range.
Velmar lunged.
Seraphine barely had time to twist away as the spear's tip sliced through the air, grazing her coat and drawing a thin line of red across her arm.
But she didn't panic.
Instead, she smirked.
Velmar's eyes narrowed.
"She wanted me to hit her?"
Then he felt it—his grip faltering.
The leather binding on his spear was coated in a slick, near-invisible oil.
Seraphine's blood.
And it was making his hold on his weapon unstable.
A trap.
Velmar's hesitation lasted only a second, but it was enough.
Seraphine moved.
One step. Two steps. A blur of motion.
Her rapier flicked forward like lightning, targeting the chinks in his armor—
A stab near his ribs.
A shallow cut at his wrist.
A graze along his thigh.
Small wounds—nothing fatal, but each one calculated, precise.
Velmar gritted his teeth. "Damn it!"
He gripped his spear tighter, ignoring the slippery feel of the oil.
"Fine. No more playing around."
Velmar planted his foot, twisting his body as his spear ignited in a deep red glow.
A surge of energy exploded outward.
Seraphine barely had time to leap back before the force sent a shockwave rippling through the arena floor.
Velmar's spear burned with crimson energy, the very air around him warping from the intensity.
"No more games," he growled.
Seraphine's smirk wavered for the first time.
Velmar charged.
Faster than before.
Stronger than before.
Seraphine's illusions shattered almost instantly.
Velmar wasn't reacting to sight anymore—he was following movement, sound, breath.
Seraphine backpedaled, barely dodging the deadly spear strikes aimed at her chest. She had underestimated him.
But she wasn't out yet.
One last trick.
As Velmar lunged for the final blow—
Seraphine dropped her rapier.
Velmar's eyes widened.
And then—
She caught his spear with her bare hand.
Velmar froze.
Her fingers wrapped around the shaft, gripping it tightly.
Blood dripped down her palm from the impact, but her eyes gleamed with triumph.
"You forgot something," she whispered.
And then—
The world tilted.
Velmar's body staggered.
His limbs suddenly felt heavy.
His breath—slow.
His vision—blurry.
"Poison? No—she didn't touch me. Then—"
Seraphine smiled.
"The oil wasn't just to make your grip slippery."
Velmar's eyes widened.
A slow-acting neurotoxin. Absorbed through the skin.
He had been fighting under its influence for minutes, and now—his body was failing him.
His spear trembled in his hands.
Seraphine leaned in, her voice a whisper against his ear.
"This is where you fall."
And with that—
She twisted his weapon, using his own momentum against him.
Velmar's world spun.
And then—
SLAM!
He crashed into the ground, his spear knocked from his grasp.
He tried to move, to push himself up—
But his body wouldn't respond.
The crowd erupted in a deafening roar.
Seraphine calmly picked up her rapier, flicking the blood from her fingers.
She turned to the referee, expression unreadable.
"Velmar is unable to continue! Winner—Seraphine du Rozaire!"
Velmar lay on the ground, breathing heavily. His mind was still racing, but his body… he had lost control.
Seraphine, victorious, offered him a hand.
"Not bad, Velmar. But next time, try to think a little more before charging in."
He let out a bitter chuckle, accepting her help.
The tournament moved forward.
Match 3: Winner – Seraphine du Rozaire!