The ground cracked beneath Garrik's feet as he lunged at Kalem, his massive gauntlets swinging with enough force to crater the stone upon impact.
Kalem, however, was already moving.
With a light hop, he vaulted off the ice-coated ground, using the frozen surface to propel himself into a fluid spin midair. The heavy gauntlet slammed into empty space where his chest had been moments ago, and Kalem landed with a lazy roll, already grinning.
"Too slow."
Garrik scowled, pivoting in a half-crouch before launching himself forward again.
Boom.
The sheer force of his movements cracked the stone beneath his boots, but Kalem sidestepped effortlessly.
The crowd roared as the game of cat and mouse continued.
From the other side of the arena, Isolde traced a rune in the air. The temperature plummeted, and Kalem felt frost creeping up his boots. He clicked his tongue.
"And you," he called over to her. "You're still trying that?"
A flicker of irritation crossed Isolde's face. The momentary break in her composure was enough.
Kalem pushed off the ground, twisting his body mid-leap as Garrik's fist crashed into the ice where he had stood, shattering the frozen terrain into jagged shards.
He landed smoothly, only for Isolde to lash out with her glacial greatsword, sending a concentrated burst of frost magic straight at him.
Kalem's eyes flicked to the attack. He shifted his weight—
And let it pass.
The wave of ice whipped past his cheek, missing by a mere fraction of an inch. The air itself chilled at the proximity, a few strands of his hair freezing at the edges.
Isolde frowned. He hadn't dodged out of necessity.
Kalem was testing her magic.
Still, she refused to be rattled. Her grip tightened on her sword, her posture shifting.
Kalem was always like this. He never fought head-on unless he was sure he understood his opponent. And that was the problem.
Garrik seemed to realize the same thing at that moment. His scowl deepened.
"You're just watching us," Garrik growled, flexing his arms. "Analyzing. Studying. I hate it when people don't take a fight seriously."
"I am taking it seriously," Kalem replied, grinning. "I'm learning."
Isolde exhaled, her breath visible in the freezing air. "Then let's see how well you learn while you're under pressure."
Garrik and Isolde exchanged a single glance. Then they both rushed him at the same time.
Kalem barely had time to react before the full force of their combined assault was upon him.
The Hunter Becomes the Hunted
Garrik charged from the front, his fists raised in a brutal overhead strike. The raw power behind the attack made the very ground tremble.
At the same time, Isolde swung her greatsword in a wide arc, aiming to catch Kalem's side and lock him in place with her frost.
A pincer attack.
Kalem's grin widened.
For the first time, he felt a sliver of danger.
The air hummed with frost. The tremors of Garrik's raw might shook the battlefield.
And Kalem—
—stepped forward.
Instead of retreating, he moved into the attack.
Garrik's fist swung down.
At the very last second, Kalem twisted his body, letting the attack graze past him. The sheer force still sent a gust of wind crashing into his shoulder, but it didn't break his momentum.
At the same time, Isolde's greatsword cut through the air, frost trailing in its wake.
Kalem ducked under the sweeping blade, spinning on his heel as he barely avoided the chilling edge.
In a single motion, he slipped between them, using their own momentum against them.
Garrik's punch slammed into the ground—sending another shockwave of force outward.
Isolde's ice followed, coating the debris midair, freezing shattered stone in place.
The arena became chaos.
But in that chaos—
Kalem moved like a shadow, weaving between both fighters, his form untouched.
The crowd gasped.
His opponents gritted their teeth.
And Kalem—
—laughed.
"Alright, You Two…"
Kalem landed a few meters away, dusting off his coat as if nothing had happened.
Garrik rolled his shoulders, his patience visibly thinning.
Isolde's grip on her sword tightened.
Kalem, ever the instigator, simply grinned.
"Alright, you two." He stretched his arms. "I get it. You don't like me watching."
Garrik turned, his scowl deepening. "You think this is a joke, Steel-Master?"
Isolde's ice-blue eyes glowed slightly. "If you keep running, you'll be frozen in place soon enough."
Kalem sighed dramatically. Then his voice dropped into something more playful—
"Do you think you can?"
The taunt hit home.
Garrik stomped forward, veins bulging in his arms. "Try me."
Isolde flicked her blade, sending a gust of frost into the air. "We will."
Kalem tilted his head.
And then—
He raised his hand.
A flicker of magic shimmered in the air.
The ruins on his gauntlet faintly pulsed.
The crowd leaned forward.
Garrik and Isolde stiffened.
Kalem's new weapon—**the one he had yet to reveal—**was about to be called.
And for the first time, the air in the arena felt charged with something different.
Something new.
Something dangerous.
Kalem smiled.
Time to stop watching.
Time to start fighting.