Rourke's punch came fast, a straight and powerful strike, but Kalem was already moving.
The sectioned staff twisted in his grip, its bladed end shooting forward like a stinger.
A perfectly timed counter—
But Rourke simply shifted his weight, weaving sideways.
His movements were fluid, almost too smooth, as if he had seen the attack before it had even happened.
His other hand snapped forward, aiming for Kalem's ribs.
Kalem reacted instantly.
In his free hand, a straight sword materialized—not summoned, but launched from his crate's internal mechanisms.
The steel met Rourke's strike mid-motion, intercepting the blow.
A clash of force. A moment of resistance.
Then—
Rourke suddenly moved back, his expression shifting.
His gaze dropped to his palm, where a thin layer of frost had begun to spread across his skin.
"Frost magic."
His voice held neither shock nor irritation. Just a mild curiosity.
Kalem didn't respond.
Instead, he pulled out another straight sword from his crate, raising it high. The moment his blade descended, a wave of searing fire erupted from its edge.
A sudden, blistering contrast—ice and flame, cold and heat.
The flames raced toward Rourke, their heat distorting the air around them.
But—
Rourke simply exhaled.
His palm struck forward, and in a single, precise movement—
The frost on his hand shattered.
The fire wave dissipated.
The sheer force of his strike had been enough to disrupt both elements.
He flexed his fingers, testing them, before looking up at Kalem.
"Since when did you have elemental magic?"
His eyes narrowed, studying the way the mana shifted.
The elemental energy wasn't coming from Kalem himself.
It was coming from the swords.
Kalem was merely channeling raw energy into them.
Rourke's lips curled slightly.
"Don't explain. Just fight."
Kalem smirked.
Fine.
He lunged forward, blades flashing.
Rourke met him head-on, fists clenched.
The two clashed in rapid, brutal exchanges.
Ice and fire. Steel and flesh. Precision against raw mastery.
Kalem's frost blade slashed forward, aiming to bind and slow.
Rourke's palm intercepted the flat of the sword, striking just enough to throw it off-course before his other hand lashed out.
Kalem barely had time to cross both blades in defense.
A shockwave rippled through his body.
Rourke's strength was monstrous. Even without magic, without weapons, his strikes hit like a battering ram.
Kalem dug his feet into the ground, sliding back a few inches.
His mind raced. I can't keep blocking head-on. I need to change the rhythm.
His response came in the form of a feint.
He flicked his fire sword upward, faking a slash toward Rourke's chest.
Rourke shifted, about to evade—
But at the last second, Kalem reversed the angle, dragging the blade down and twisting his wrist.
The motion redirected the strike, aiming low instead.
For a split second, Rourke's stance opened up.
Kalem exploited it instantly.
His frost sword shot forward, aiming for the gap.
A clean, decisive strike—
Except—
Rourke grinned.
He hadn't just anticipated the attack.
He had baited it.
Before Kalem could react, Rourke's hand shot forward, not to block—
But to grab Kalem's wrist.
A solid grip. Unyielding.
Kalem tried to pull away.
Rourke yanked forward instead.
In the blink of an eye, Kalem's balance was broken—his body pulled off-center.
Rourke's knee rose. Fast.
Kalem twisted midair, barely avoiding the full impact—but even the grazing force sent a jolt through his armor.
He landed in a crouch, rolling back to reset.
Rourke flexed his fingers, shaking off the remnants of frost.
"You're adapting."
Kalem exhaled, standing up straight.
"And you're holding back."
Rourke chuckled.
"Not for long."
The real fight was about to begin.
Rourke increased the pace of his punches, his movements growing sharper, faster, more aggressive.
Kalem met every strike with an elemental slash, weaving his fire and frost swords in a constant defensive pattern.
But—
The pressure mounted.
Rourke's blows began drilling through his guard, forcing Kalem on the back foot.
A punch slipped through—brushing his shoulder. Another cracked against his gauntlet.
A third hammered into his side, forcing him to skid backward.
Kalem gritted his teeth. He was getting overwhelmed.
Without hesitation, he reached into his arsenal—a shield launched into his grasp.
Reinforced metal. A reflective core embedded within.
Rourke threw a punch.
The impact landed—
But instead of absorbing the force, the shield reflected it back.
The energy rebounded, snapping into Rourke's own arm with enough power to jolt him back a step.
For the first time in the match, he frowned.
"Hoh... Interesting trick."
Then—
He took a stance.
A single punch. Controlled. Calculated. Devastating.
The moment his fist collided with the shield, the air shook.
Metal crumpled.
The shield shattered into warped fragments.
Kalem barely had time to process before—
The strike continued through.
A fist slammed into his chest plate.
Metal buckled.
Air rushed from Kalem's lungs.
He was sent flying backward, crashing onto the ground.
Dust settled.
For a moment—nothing.
Then—
Kalem sat up, groaning.
He held up a hand.
"I throw in the match."
Rourke blinked.
"Why forfeit? I know you can go more."
Kalem exhaled.
"Sir, my defense is all busted. I'd rather not."
A pause.
Then—
Rourke grinned.
"Smart call, kid."