After Levi's match, two more battles unfolded, blood and roars soaking into the sands of the arena. Then, once again, the summoning bells tolled for him. An announcement echoed across the arena, cutting through the murmurs and tension like a blade:
"Shadow Slayer vs Night Stalker!"
Levi stepped onto the platform with the same calm he always carried, but this time, something had shifted. A tidal wave of cheers erupted, not for him. "Night Stalker! Night Stalker!" The name rolled through the crowd like thunder, shaking the very walls. Almost 95% of the bets were placed on Night Stalker.
And Levi knew why.
The crowd's trust in him had crumbled. He hadn't just lost a previous match, he had shattered their certainty. They had bet on Shadow Slayer, not out of chance, but out of conviction. They had believed the outcome was already written. Now, that belief had betrayed them. Their frustration twisted into hate, not toward the ultimate guests who manipulated expectations, but toward Levi himself. He had become the scapegoat for their losses, the vessel of their disappointment.
If they had chosen him of their own will, the loss might have stung less. But they were convinced they had made a guaranteed bet, and that illusion being broken hurt more than any coin could measure.
"Bow!" The word rang out like a slap. A wave of mocking voices followed, laced with jeers and venom. Some raised their thumbs downward in contempt. Others hurled despicable curses toward the Shadow Slayer.
Levi didn't flinch. He didn't look at them instead his eyes were fixed on the man standing across the platform. Night Stalker. A young man, wiry but coiled with power, his long black hair cascading past his shoulders like ink in water. Black markings snaked across his arms and face, some looked tribal, others like scars that had been inked by darkness itself.
He hadn't moved. Neither had Levi. The tension simmered, and then Night Stalker parted his thin, blackened lips. "I saw your last match," he said, his voice sharp, like the whisper of a blade being unsheathed.
"I saw how ruthless you were." He tilted his head slightly. "I won't underestimate you… like he did." A flicker of respect? Or calculation?
Levi gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
That was what he appreciated most about the Iron Ring Arena. It wasn't a place for mindless brutes or blood-hungry savages. Those types belonged in the Crimson Pits or the Blood Spire where fights were just carnage, and the crowd cheered only for gore.
But here?
Here, fighters came with purpose. Echo organization operatives refining their combat instincts. Scholars from the Grand Archives of Zul'vharra testing the theories they'd only read about. Noble youths seeking prestige.
Masters sharpening their edge. Alumni trying to feel their aura pulse mid-battle for the first time. This arena didn't reward rage. It rewarded intent. And he respected that.
They began to circle each other, step by measured step. Their crimsy auras flared first Levi's, cool and focused like a sharpened edge; then Night Stalker's, shadowy and volatile, pulsing with a rhythm.
Night Stalker moved first. A blur of darkness surged forward his fist came screaming through the air. Levi twisted mid-air, catching the strike on his forearm. A concussive shockwave burst from the impact, sending dust and echoes scattering across the platform. He retaliated with a low, sweeping kick aimed at the ribs but Night Stalker was already gone.
"Hmmm...Duskwaltz Memory, a Shadow duelist Echo" Levi's eyes narrowed.
Without hesitation, he shifted his position, gliding away from the center toward the outer edge of the arena. It was a calculated move by pressing against the perimeter, he reduced his vulnerable angles. Now, he only had to guard three sides.
His back was against the sand, figuratively and literally. And that's exactly how he wanted it. But a question gnawed at him: Was his opponent an Honourable Echo or just a memory user? If it was the first… Night Stalker could vanish for a few moments, relying on skill and discipline to capitalize on timing. But if it was the second…Only Echo memory not any artifact tied to it, then he could phase into invisibility, just for a second.
Night Stalker clicked his tongue the moment he saw Levi shift toward the outer edge.
"Damn it… this bastard," he muttered under his breath. He recognized the tactic instantly, Levi had taken away his biggest advantage.
Shadow Duelists relied on the element of surprise. Once they activated their Echo Memory, they vanished into thin air, reappearing behind their opponent to strike where they couldn't be seen, where no warrior could defend properly. The back. But Levi had repositioned with precision. As if he already knew. How?
Most challengers in the Iron Ring weren't this composed. They panicked when faced with a Shadow Duelist. Some activated their own Echo memories in counter attack. Others forfeited outright, admitting defeat before the blade ever touched them.
But Levi didn't even hesitate. Night Stalker's frustration boiled beneath his skin. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. He was the favored fighter, the crowd's chosen. And yet here was this quiet, unreadable bastard—ruining it with calm footwork and tactical patience.
He clenched his fists, crimson aura flickering around them. Then again, they clashed. Levi's fist met empty air as the opponent vanished again. Dust swirled where the man had stood, but Levi didn't pause. He pivoted, lashing a kick backward into the void. A grunt rang out. The duelist flickered into sight, stumbling, before dissolving once more.
One second. Always one second.
Levi feinted left, baiting a counterstrike. The duelist took it, blade-hand slicing toward Levi's neck and vanished mid-swing. Levi dropped, rolling sideways as a gust of air hissed where his throat had been. He lunged upward, elbow jabbing blindly… and connected. The duelist reappeared, choking, as Levi's follow-up knee smashed into his gut.
The crowd roared. Levi didn't hear them.
Both crossed blows, fists clashing, legs sweeping, elbows striking in rapid exchange. Each move was calculated, precise, brutal. Yet no matter how sharp or swift Night Stalker's attacks were, Levi always countered.
A knee rose, Levi deflected it with his forearm. A spinning backfist followed, he weaved beneath it, pivoting smoothly to launch a counter-strike. Every time their limbs collided, it was Levi who dictated the rhythm, parrying with fluid grace, answering with punishing retaliation.
It wasn't just a battle of bodies. It was a duel of minds. Night Stalker fought with ferocity; Levi fought with foresight. One attacked to overwhelm. The other moved like he'd seen the fight a dozen times before.
He pressed, driving the duelist toward the arena's muddy edge. The man vanished once more, but Levi's boot hooked forward, tripping nothingness. A silhouette crumpled into the muck, visible only by the footprints suddenly cratering the filth. Levi stomped down. A howl. A spatter of blood on invisible flesh. And said, "I can see you"
Levi with the weight of a hundred lives behind him, knew everything there was to know shadow duelists. Most of them rely on invisibility at key moments (e.g., right before striking). An experienced batter like him notices when it's coming. He sometimes feint an attack to force him to waste his invisibility, then strike when he reappear. He moved with perfect timing, predicting each phase of invincibility. If an enemy vanishes mid-fight, a wide slash or thrust where they should be can catch them as they reappear. Footwork traps: step into his likely path. Even unseen, he couldn't pass through him. These two moves exploiting his one-second limit. Up to this point Levi know that the opponent was not a honourable Echo. So he can only be remain invisible for one second in mid air.
And more importantly, momentary invisibility didn't silence movement. Levi watch for disturbance dust, or mud reveals footprints even if the enemy is unseen. Even feeling air movement. A brief gust from a swinging weapon or dodging body gives away position. He even taunt him of his mistake saying I can still see you!" even if you can't which make the enemy hesitate. Panicking helps beacuse a disciplined fighter trusts their instincts. He even used a psychology warfare beacuse he came here to bury the name 'Shadow Slayer', not wear it.
Just as the rhythm of the duel settled into its deadly dance, Levi suddenly staggered. A mouthful of blood erupted from his lips—thick, dark, and heavy. He had been holding it in the whole time, hiding the internal damage, waiting for the right moment. He looked up, eyes calm. Then, without a word, he dropped to one knee, pressed his palm to the ground, and surrendered.
The sand swallowed his presence as the arena announced his forfeit.
Defeat.
For a heartbeat, the crowd was frozen, silent, and confused. They had seen him dominate. They had seen him adapt, defend, and even corner the infamous Night Stalker. By all appearances, Shadow Slayer had the upper hand.
And then, just like that, he gave up Murmurs rippled through the stands like cracks in glass. But then came the flood of cheers, loud and overwhelming. Night Stalker had won.That's all they cared about. Their bets were safe. Their coins secured. Whatever Levi was planning whatever the truth was behind that blood none of it mattered to them. In the end, they only remembered the name called at victory.
The Duelist stood still in the center of the arena, his jaw clenched tight. He didn't raise his hands in victory. He didn't bask in the crowd's praise. He simply stood there, heart unsettled. He'd never felt this exposed. Levi had known every move. Every weakness. Every pattern he relied on to dominate his opponents. It hadn't just been a counter, it was a dissection.
"He must have an Echo Memory that lets him read minds," Night Stalker muttered under his breath, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.
It was easier than accepting the truth. That Levi had studied him, predicted him and played with him. The idea brought some comfort, enough for him to turn and leave the arena. But his face told the real story, blank, bitter and defeated. He hadn't won. Not really.
He stepped into the resting chambers, where two other arena battlers were lounging, eyes lighting up as he entered. "Ten exchanges?" one of them asked, grinning. "What happened? You usually finish it in half that."
Night Stalker's voice was flat as he held out his hand. "Five Solari." The others exchanged a glance, surprised but silent. One of them dug out the coins and placed them in his palm.
A pause. Then, the more curious of the two leaned forward, and asked "What Echo Memory does he have?"
Night Stalker stood silent for a moment, gazing at the five Solari gleaming in his palm. The coins felt heavier than usual, not from weight, but from the outcome of the match.
He finally spoke, "I think he has an Echo Memory that can read minds… or maybe something that lets him perfectly counter an opponent's attacks."
The others exchanged glances. One of them frowned, skepticism creeping into his tone. "You sure? I've never heard of an Echo like that before." He paused, then added with hesitation, "Besides… if he could really read minds, then why didn't he counter Stormfang's temporal dagger? He looked genuinely surprised when it hit him."
The second warrior nodded, arms crossed.
"Yeah. I remember that too. Stormfang said he learned something valuable from the boy… That's not something you say about someone just lucky or reckless."
He looked toward the arena's entrance where Levi had once stood, now empty.
"How can a boy, barely past his blooding, move like that? Even with a memory, it's like he's been fighting for decades." Their curiosity stirred into something more, a quiet unease. The kind that came when you realized you were watching the rise of something you couldn't explain.
As the battle ended, a sharp, irritated voice echoed from one of the upper viewing chambers reserved for the Ultimate Guests.
"This idiot lost again! How many times do I have to tell him, end it in one blow! Don't drag the fight like some performer!"
The outburst drew several glances from the nearby guests, but it didn't end there. Another voice followed, calmer and older, clearly belonging to a servant. "Young Master… with respect, perhaps we shouldn't push for another match. His condition is deteriorating. He's not—"
"No." The youth cut him off, his voice firm with the tone of someone used to being obeyed.
"He will fight again. He has to win." The absurdity of their open squabble didn't go unnoticed. In the lower levels, the crowd burst into laughter, shaking their heads with mocking smiles. "Look at him, yelling at his own servant in public. What a mess."
"More gold than brains," someone snorted.
"To think he's pouring Solari on Shadow Slayer like that," another said with a cackle.
The consensus grew: this noble youth wasn't supporting Levi out of insight or strategy. No, he was just another rich fool, blinded by his pride, stubbornly gambling to chase his losses. And with that belief took root, the crowd had decided: the longer this foolish noble burned his wealth, the sweeter it would be to win it back. All it would take was one victory against the odds and every coin they'd lost would double, triple, cascade. Greed drowned reason. And in that moment, the arena didn't just smell of blood and sweat. It reeked of desperation, deception, and gold.
Levi returned to the resting chamber, his breath shallow but steady. This time, his condition was better than after the previous match, though his body remained drained, unresponsive in ways that frustrated even his seasoned mind. If not for his aura's healing properties, he might've collapsed long before reaching the bed. The Crimson aura known for more than just brute strength, was sustaining him. It pulsed faintly through his veins, feeding not only energy but also a sliver of healing with every heartbeat.
The door opened with a quiet click, and Vaylen stepped inside. He approached without a word, uncorking a small glass vial of pain-relief potion and passing it to Levi. No instruction. No questions. Just respect. It had been growing with each battle.
Vaylen An Order 5 Echo himself, had seen hundreds of fighters killers, prodigies, manipulators. But Levi... Levi was something else which he can't understand.
As he watched him drink the potion, his thoughts wandered. "Is this really the same boy I protected for five years?"
He remembered Levi as quiet. Observant. Reserved. Not weak, but certainly not a fighter. Back then, the boy had never once left the city, never once shown an ounce of bloodlust. "When did he learn such refined tactics? These aren't skills born from training. They come from war. From pain. From walking the edge of life and death over and over again."
It didn't add up, unless...Vaylen's eyes narrowed slightly. A thought he hadn't dared voice before surfaced again. "Perhaps the Veryathis bloodline runs deeper than they let on." That was the only explanation he could accept. Levi's family had clearly given him something. A hidden inheritance. A forbidden Echo Memory. Some buried legacy meant only for heirs.