The air itself seemed to tremble as the two warriors faced each other, their auras igniting in unison, twin flares of crimson energy that pulsed like beating hearts. There was no hesitation, no taunting words. Only the silent understanding that this battle would be decided by strength alone.
The scarred man moved like a lightning bolt, his body blurring as he closed the distance in an instant. His right fist shot forward, a straightforward punch aimed at Levi's jaw but it was a feint. Midway through the motion, his muscles coiled, and with a whip-like pivot, his leg snapped upward instead, his foot sheathed in a dense, swirling aura. The kick was a scything arc, aimed straight for Levi's ribs with enough force to shatter bone.
Levi saw it coming. His aura flared, condensing into a hardened barrier just as the kick connected. A shockwave erupted on impact, the ground beneath them cracking like thin ice. The force sent Levi skidding backward, his boots carving trenches in the earth, but his stance never broke.
The scarred man didn't let up. The moment Levi steadied himself, he was on him again, a whirlwind of brutal efficiency. A left hook, a right knee, each strike carrying enough power to crumple steel. Levi weaved between them, his movements fluid, his own aura flaring defensively at each near-hit. But he wasn't just blocking, he was learning.
At first, his aura didn't react fast enough to the scarred man's strikes. Sometimes, the blows landed before his defensive energy could focus on the impacted area, leaving behind bruises and raw marks. Yet, he adapted quickly awakening his intuition and imaginative senses in perfect sync with his body's movements and instincts.
Each time he was reborn in the dream realm, he returned to the iron ring arena without hesitation. His mind had grown accustomed to the cycle, and his reflexes sharpened with every iteration. But despite his progress, his situation remained dire. Sweat slicked his skin, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his body trembled under the strain. Still, he pushed forward, forcing his weakened body to its absolute limits.
Then, he saw it. A microsecond opening, the scarred man's overextension after a particularly vicious roundhouse.
In a burst of speed, Levi ducked low, his own crimson aura flaring as he retaliated with a devastating uppercut. The scarred man barely twisted in time, taking the blow on his shoulder instead of his chin but the force still sent him reeling. He grinned, wiping blood from his lip.
"Good."
Now the battle truly began. The two clashed again, fists and feet moving in a deadly rhythm, each strike sending shockwaves through the air. Their auras collided in bursts of red lightning, the ground beneath them fracturing with every exchange. Neither gained ground; neither yielded.
The scarred man feinted left, then swept Levi's legs, but Levi flipped mid-air, landing in a crouch before launching forward with a palm strike. The scarred man caught his wrist, but Levi twisted free, driving a knee toward his gut. A glancing blow, but enough to make him grunt.
Panting, they circled each other again, their auras burning brighter than ever. The scarred man's grin widened, his fingers twitching toward his belt. Levi barely registered the movement until the glint of steel flashed in the dim light.
A curved dagger, its edge shimmering unnaturally, as if flickering between solid and liquid.
Temporal Dagger.
Levi lunged forward, but it was too late. The blade lashed out, not in a killing strike, but a cruel, shallow slash across his leftarm. The cut burned, but worse was the unnatural pulse that followed. A sickening distortion rippled through his veins.
Time itself twisted around the wound.
His muscles suddenly felt like lead. His reflexes, once razor-sharp, now dragged as if submerged in tar. His body movements slowed down. The scarred man didn't rush. He sauntered, savoring the moment as Levi staggered, his crimson aura sputtering like a dying flame.
A fist crashed into Levi's ribs, crack. He couldn't dodge. Not fully. Instead of shielding himself, he simply clutched his left arm with his right in a tight grip.The dagger's strike left him sluggish, his body heavy and unresponsive. Something sinister moved within him, venom, perhaps seeping through his flesh, dulling his reflexes with every passing second. The next strike came slower, deliberate: a backhanded slash across his chest, the Temporal Fang leaving a searing line of fire. Another wave of temporal poison seeped into him, slowing his breath, his heartbeat.
"You see it now, don't you?"The scarred man's voice was a low growl. "How the seconds stretch when you're helpless."
Levi's vision blurred. His body screamed at him to move, but his limbs responded in sluggish, disjointed jerks. The scarred man circled him like a wolf around wounded prey. A kick to the knee, Levi crumpled, catching himself on one hand. A boot smashed into his ribs again, flipping him onto his back.
Blood pooled in his mouth. His aura flickered weakly, no longer a shield, just embers.
The dagger flashed again, this time across his collarbone. Levi gritted his teeth, but a choked gasp escaped as the temporal venom amplified the pain, stretching each second of agony into an eternity. Yet, he kept his left arm locked in his right hand's grasp. The scarred man leaned down, gripping Levi's hair to yank his head up.
"I could kill you now," he murmured, dragging the blade's flat edge down Levi's cheek in a mockery of a caress."But where's the art in that?"
Levi's right hand, still gripping his wounded left arm, suddenly shot forward, seizing the scarred man's wrist just as the temporal dagger hovered between them. With a brutal twist, he wrenched the blade back toward the man's own chest.
The scarred man's eyes widened in shock. "You bastard, how the hell did you use your hand?!"
Levi bared his bloodstained teeth in a grotesque smile."Boy, he hissed, you need more practice." Before the man could react, Levi kicked off the ground, his body twisting into a fluid backroll. In a blink, he vanished into the swirling sand surrounding the dueling platform, an unspoken declaration of defeat.
Levi lost the fight.
The crowd roared in surprise, but the implication was clear: he had forfeited. No Echo below Honour would dare face a Honourable Chronomancer of such caliber, not when the man wielded the Memory of the Echoed Hour, and worse, an Order 7 artifact forged in the Domain of Shattered veil. The temporal dagger gleamed like liquid glass, its blade constantly shifting, warping between moments, neither fully solid nor fully present. With each cut, it bent time's flow, slowing or hastening the victim's perception. One wound might feel like a second. Three would feel like drowning in syrup. Seven? Eternal torment.
And that was exactly what the Chronomancer intended.
He didn't kill quickly. He performed.
Every slice would be deliberate. Each spasm of his opponent, every gasp, every stumble, part of the show. The more Levi resisted, the more entertaining it became. And with every drop of blood spilled beneath the dagger's fractured rhythm, the bets in the audience would swell in next match.
Levi didn't endure torment for a crowd's amusement. The moment the scarred man's blade sliced through his left arm, he seized it with his right hand, halting the blood, and more importantly, the poison seeping from the dagger. He needed his right hand, if only for one final move.
He had fought Chronomancers like this more times than he could count. Tricks? He had plenty. But tricks alone never won a match.
The crowd erupted in fury Shadow Slayer, their unbeatable champion, had lost. Coins, bottles, and curses rained down on him as the spectators screamed in betrayal, their shattered bets fueling their rage. "Traitor!","Fraud!" their roars drowning the arena . A rotten tomato splattered against his chest, then a rock struck his shoulder 'thud' but he laid there, unflinching, blood trickling from his split lip.
For the first time, the scarred man tasted his own dagger's venom meant to slow his enemy moments, yet it seemed to have little effect on him. A few moments later, he shook off the lingering effect and lunged straight at Levi. He landed hard, breathing heavy, he muttered through clenched teeth, "I never liked your face… but I have to admit it. You taught me something today."
He paused, eyes burning with realization. "Those who rely solely on the strength of a weapon… die first in a life-and-death match."
The crowd hadn't caught the full exchange, their roars drowning out the quiet confession. But the scarred man understood one thing clearly, if this had been a real fight, he'd be lying dead on the platform. Levi's blade had sunk into his chest, but it could've just as easily pierced his throat.
That choice wasn't mercy, it was respect for the rules. In the Iron Ring Arena, death was forbidden. This wasn't a battlefield. It was a proving ground. Here, warriors sharpened their instincts. As their tier rose, so did their skill and their betting price.
A group of arena attendants, clad in their stark uniforms, approached Levi, their movements efficient. One of them stepped forward, gripping Levi's arm with impersonal firmness.
He eyed them warily, his body aching from the last fight. His breaths came shallow, his knuckles bruised and split. Still, he managed to rasp out, "Am I getting a rest room this time? Or am I back on the bench until the next fight?"
The lead attendant glanced him over, his gaze lingering on Levi's battered form, the bloodied lip, the way he favored his left side. A flicker of something almost like pity crossed his face before he replied, "You'll get your rest. But you're still scheduled for the next round."
and without another word, they escorted him back to the dim, sterile confines of the resting room, a brief reprieve before the arena called for blood once more.
After the battle's end, a strange rumor began to spread through the crowd, whispered at first, then growing louder. They said the mysterious untimate guest who had bet so heavily on the Shadow Slayer was nothing more than a spoiled noble youth, squandering his family's fortune on reckless wagers.
No one knew who first fueled these whispers, but they slithered into every ear in the arena, twisting perceptions. The crowd, still simmering with outrage, now erupted in cruel laughter. Jokes coiled around the noble's name. It all made sense, didn't it? The Shadow Slayer wasn't some rising champion, he was just a servant, a blade forced into the arena to line his master's pockets.
Here, victory wasn't just about skill, it was about reputation, the weight of a name earned through countless fights. Newcomers were nothing but fresh meat for the arena's grinding gears, their pain just another spectacle for the roaring masses.
The roar of the crowd faded as the heavy door sealed behind Levi. He slumped onto a cot, muscles screaming, when Dorian and Veylan slipped inside. Dorian tilted his head, curiosity and concern flickering in his eyes.
"Are you well enough for the next fight?" he asked, his voice low but insistent.
Levi exhaled sharply, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Though who would've thought I'd be facing a Chronomancer Echo? And not just any Echo, an Honorable one."
Dorian studied him for a moment before nodding. "Well… if you say so." His tone was careful, masking his unease
Then With the dramatic flair of a bard who just failed his performance check, he clutched his chest, gasped like a goblin who sat on his own dagger, and said in a voice dripping with mock awe: "AHEM! Sooo… how was the taste of the Chronomancer's dagger? Did your life flash before your eyes or did time just go 'NOPE' and leave you hanging like a wizard mid-teleport? Did you feel… eternal , or just really, really annoyed that you forgot to dodge?!"
He then paused, squinted, and added: "Wait, can you even answer? Are you stuck in a dramatic pause right now? Blink twice if you need me to fetch a time-wizard… or at least a healer who does refunds.."
His bullshit died in his throat the moment he felt it, the same unnatural heat against his back, the same prickle of danger he'd sensed hours ago at Jonas's house. Realization struck like a lightning bolt. "Damn it."
Without another word, he bolted from the room, throwing over his shoulder, "Forget what I just said. See you at the next battle."
The moment he vanished, Veylan traced the remnants of his aura, a slow smirk curling his lips before he turned to Levi. There was something new in his eyes, respect, sharp and unfeigned.
He said, voice low with admiration, "I'll admit, I'm impressed. You've already won this fight, and you didn't even need an Echo Memory." He paused, weighing his next words. "I'm not one for flattery, but it must be said, you've surpassed your brothers in battle tactics at this age. A rare feat."
He tilted his head, studying Levi. "Shall i continue to speak? Or do you need to rest?"
Levi didn't hesitate and said. "Continue."He also sought to sharpen his reactions with this Veilborn Echo, his ever-watchful servant, who concealed his ambitions behind an inscrutable mask.
Veylan continued, "The moment the dagger grazed your left arm, you knew, your next opponent was a Chromancer Echo. Yet instead of shielding yourself from the slashes, from the pain, you focused on the poison. You weren't just dodging; you were playing the long game. Sacrificing short-term survival for the final blow, one last chance."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You even fed his confidence, letting him believe he'd already won. The desperation in your eyes, the pleading, all an act. In a life-or-death match, you would have walked away the victor." His tone darkened with curiosity. "But I want to know… where did you learn such ruthlessness? Such willingness to gamble with your own suffering?You fight like a man who's danced with death before. Where'd you learn that? What if you had failed?"
Levi's lips curled into a knowing smile, acknowledging Veylan's sharp analysis. "You'll have your proper chance with this ruthless young master soon enough… on the battlefield."
Veylan's cold eyes ignited with sudden intensity, mirroring Levi's own predatory gleam, master and servant, cut from the same ruthless cloth. His voice was a mix of curiosity, excitement, and the barest hint of doubt. "Are we joining the fight for the Shattered Veil Key?"
Levi answered with a single nod, his eyes sliding shut, a silent confirmation, a dismissal.
Without another word, Veylan moved swiftly, retrieving pain-relief potions from his hidden stash. He never traveled unprepared.