The arena was silent for a moment, the tension thick enough to choke the air.
Kalem's raised hand shimmered with runic light, the call of his weapon echoing through the mana-infused battlefield.
The audience leaned forward, breath held—waiting for something new.
Waiting for the weapon Kalem had hidden until now.
Instead—
Twin flashes of silver materialized in his hands.
Two familiar, slender, deadly blades—the very same ones he had wielded against Lucian Valehart.
The shift in the crowd's reaction was immediate. Gasps. Murmurs. Excitement.
His twin swords were no legendary artifact, no groundbreaking experiment—but they were proven.
Tested in fire. Forged in battle.
And as Kalem twirled them with a practiced ease, his smile sharp as the steel he wielded, one thing became clear.
He wasn't done playing yet.
A Change in the Fight
Isolde narrowed her eyes. "Not your new toy?"
Kalem shrugged. "Didn't seem necessary."
Garrik scoffed, rolling his massive shoulders. "Cocky bastard."
Without another word, he charged.
Kalem braced himself, crossing his blades.
Garrik's punch was like a hammer, swinging with the force to crush bone and armor alike.
Clang!
Kalem met the strike with both swords, the impact sending a sharp vibration up his arms. He slid back several feet, boots skidding against the stone.
Tch. Still a monster.
Before Kalem could recover, Isolde appeared from his flank.
A flash of blue.
A blade of frost-coated steel came slashing down, the very air freezing in its wake.
Kalem twisted—just in time.
His right blade caught hers.
His left slashed at her side.
She pivoted—barely dodging the strike.
The frost magic lashed out at him in retaliation, but he weaved between the icy bursts like water slipping through cracks.
Garrik wasn't far behind.
A single step from the towering brawler sent a deep crack through the already-battered stone. He lunged with an overhead strike, aiming to flatten Kalem.
Kalem exhaled.
Time to move.
His footwork became a blur.
Kalem wasn't just dodging—he was controlling space.
Each step, each twist, each slight movement—it forced Garrik and Isolde to adjust.
If they committed too hard, they'd hit each other.
If they hesitated, Kalem would cut.
Twin silver arcs sliced through the air.
Kalem danced through the assault, deflecting blows with one sword while lashing out with the other.
Garrik was powerful.
Isolde was relentless.
But Kalem?
Kalem was everywhere.
A Tactical Shift
The battle raged on, steel clashing against steel, magic clashing against raw might.
But something was shifting.
Isolde was starting to adapt.
She was watching him now, waiting for patterns.
And Garrik?
Garrik was getting annoyed.
"You're fast, I'll give you that," he growled, wiping frost from his gauntlets. "But let's see if you're fast enough."
He pulled something from his belt.
A small flask.
Kalem's eyes flickered.
Ah. So he's finally using it.
The strength-enhancing potion.
Isolde clicked her tongue. She hadn't used her full power either.
Kalem tilted his head, lips curling.
This was getting interesting.
The moment Garrik uncorked the strength-enhancing potion, the battlefield shifted.
The thick, viscous liquid glowed a deep crimson, its surface swirling with raw energy. The moment it touched his tongue, his veins pulsed, thick cords of muscle tightening across his arms.
The ground beneath him cracked as he clenched his fists.
Kalem exhaled sharply. That's going to be a problem.
On the other side, Isolde wasn't standing still either.
She let out a slow, steady breath, her glacial greatsword humming with new intensity. Frost spread from her feet, anchoring her stance, the air around her dropping to a sharp, biting chill.
She was stabilizing her connection with the weapon, refining her power.
Kalem rotated his wrists, spinning his twin blades in a lazy arc.
Alright then. Let's see what happens.
Garrik moved first.
He didn't just run—he tore through the arena.
Each step a crater. Each movement a shockwave.
Kalem barely had a second before a fist the size of a boulder came straight for his skull.
He leaned back, narrowly avoiding the strike as it demolished the stone behind him.
Fast. Too fast.
The potion had pushed Garrik's already monstrous strength to an absurd level.
And he wasn't stopping.
Garrik lunged again, closing the distance instantly. This time, he wasn't punching—he was grabbing.
Kalem twisted, sliding between Garrik's arm and countering with a clean slice across his ribs.
The blade bit deep.
But—
Tch.
No blood.
Kalem's eyes narrowed. Mana reinforcement.
Garrik's body was like reinforced steel, his skin absorbing the blow without even a scratch.
Garrik grinned, his massive hand snapping towards Kalem's wrist like a bear trap.
Kalem barely managed to slip away, but before he could reposition—
Ice.
A burst of frost exploded beneath his feet, freezing the ground solid.
Kalem's boots slid—momentum breaking.
And then—she was there.
Isolde, eyes cold as the storm itself, her greatsword already descending in a clean, merciless arc.
Kalem reacted on instinct.
He crossed his twin blades, bracing against the impact.
Clang!
A deep shockwave blasted from the collision, sending shards of ice flying.
Her strength had increased.
Not physically—but through her sword's connection.
Kalem felt the pressure pushing down, threatening to break his stance.
One misstep, and she'd crush him.
But Kalem wasn't one to break so easily.
He shifted his footing, sliding along the ice instead of resisting it.
Isolde's downward force carried her sword too far forward—just enough of an opening.
Kalem struck.
His left blade whipped out, aiming straight for her exposed flank.
But—
Another burst of frost.
She twisted mid-motion, a wall of ice erupting between them to intercept his strike.
Kalem clicked his tongue, hopping back to avoid the backlash.
Meanwhile, Garrik had finished powering up.
And now?
He was charging straight at both of them.
Kalem exhaled.
Alright.
Speed vs. Strength vs. Power.
Isolde controlled space through ice and precision.Garrik dominated through brute force and endurance.And Kalem?
Kalem was the wild card.
His eyes flickered between his opponents, reading their movements, their breath, their stance.
The fight had truly begun.
And it was only going to get worse.