Seraphine's stance faltered for the briefest of moments, her breathing sharp and controlled as she regained her footing. The flickering shadows that had once danced around the battlefield began to fade, their hold on the arena weakening. Garrik's relentless offense had begun to unravel the web of deception she had carefully crafted.
The Iron Wall did not let up. He pressed forward, his shield raised and sword steady, his instincts honed to the truth beneath the illusions. No more guessing. No more hesitation. His eyes locked onto the real Seraphine, his mind casting aside the distractions she had used to control the battle until now.
Seraphine exhaled sharply, knowing she had only seconds to act. She had underestimated how fast Garrik could adapt. She had thought she could wear him down, but now, she was the one being cornered.
She moved.
Seraphine spun on her heel, her dagger flashing as she lunged low, attempting to slip past Garrik's defense. But he was ready. His shield came down like a hammer, slamming into her blade with bone-rattling force. The impact sent a shock through her arm, forcing her to retreat.
"Not this time," Garrik rumbled, his voice steady.
Seraphine gritted her teeth. He had figured it out.
Her illusions were no longer effective, and her misdirection was failing. She couldn't afford to let this battle drag on any further. If she did, she would lose.
Her mind raced. She still had one last trick, one last gambit—something no one had yet forced her to use in this tournament.
Stepping back, she flicked her wrist, releasing a small, nearly invisible silver thread into the air. The thread, laced with her mana, connected to one of the still-standing illusionary figures in the distance. Then, with a flicker of magic, the illusion became solid.
Garrik's instincts screamed at him as he saw two Seraphines now standing before him—both identical, both moving at the same time. One was real. One was an illusion made solid.
But which one?
The crowd, unaware of the finer details of her magic, roared in excitement. From the stands, it looked as though she had split into two separate bodies. The spectators had no way of knowing that only one Seraphine could truly strike, while the other was a phantom given temporary substance.
Garrik clenched his jaw. He could feel the blood pounding through his veins, every muscle tensed. He had no choice. He had to bet everything on his next move.
One chance. One strike.
Both Seraphines moved in unison, closing the gap between them and Garrik. Their daggers gleamed as they prepared to strike from opposite angles, forcing him to react.
For any other opponent, it would have been impossible to distinguish between them.
But Garrik had trained for years. He had fought enemies who wielded trickery before. And most importantly—he had learned from his mistakes.
As both Seraphines lunged at him, he didn't guess. He didn't hesitate.
He trusted his instincts.
With a sudden pivot, he ignored the Seraphine on his left and turned to strike at the one on his right.
His sword cut through the air in a brutal arc—
—and connected.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Seraphine's eyes widened in shock as the edge of Garrik's blade pressed against her throat, stopping just before breaking skin.
The real Seraphine.
The illusion on the left flickered, then shattered into wisps of mana before vanishing completely.
Silence filled the arena for a heartbeat.
Then, the announcer's voice rang out, echoing over the stunned crowd:
"Winner: Garrik 'The Iron Wall!'"
The arena exploded with cheers.
Garrik exhaled, stepping back and lowering his weapon. His body ached, but he had done it. He had won.
Seraphine let out a slow breath, then closed her eyes briefly before offering him a smirk. "Tch. So you figured it out in the end," she murmured, straightening.
"You nearly had me," Garrik admitted, his voice carrying no mockery. "But illusions don't win battles—conviction does."
Seraphine gave a quiet chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind." She stepped back, giving him a respectful nod before turning toward the exit. Though she had lost, she had pushed him to his limits. And in her mind, that was almost enough.
As Garrik turned to face the roaring crowd, he lifted his shield in triumph.
This battle was over. But the tournament was far from finished.