The private booth buzzed with lively chatter, a symphony of voices and laughter undercut by the roaring crowd outside.
Mathias stood by the glass panel, his posture as rigid as a blade, his arms crossed. "The last match was a decent warm-up," he remarked, his voice low and deliberate. He tilted his head toward the live holographic stats projection. "But now, we're about to witness something extraordinary."
Ryker tore his gaze from the crowd below, raising a curious brow. "And what would that be, oh great oracle?" He smirked, sipping his mana-infused tea with mock elegance.
Mathias's lips curved into a rare, knowing smile. "Li Shenlong versus Dorian Skyscraper."
Ryker's goblet froze mid-air, his interest now piqued. "Li Shenlong? Is he really as remarkable as you people point him out to be?"
"Remarkable?" Mathias let out a low chuckle.
"The boy's a prodigy, and that's putting it lightly. Unawakened or not, he can challenge fighters many leagues above his level. It's not just skill—it's calculation, precision, and something most others lack: composure."
A snort came from the executive lounging nearby, swirling a drink lazily in his hand. "Prodigy or not, what's strategy against raw power? Let's not pretend. Dorian Skyscraper is a force of nature. A peak novice awakened fighter with decades of experience? No amount of genius is going to save a kid in a match like this."
Mathias's gaze sharpened as he shifted to face the executive. "That's where you misunderstand the noble clans," he countered. "Their strength isn't just physical. It's in their training, resources, and legacies passed down through generations. Never underestimate the unshakable confidence of someone from a lineage like that."
Before the executive could retort, the announcer's booming voice echoed across the arena, silencing the booth.
"Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves!" the announcer thundered, dragging out his words like a seasoned showman. "Tonight, we present a battle for the ages! On this side: undefeated, unyielding, unstoppable—Dorian Skyscraper!"
A wave of deafening cheers washed over the arena as Dorian strode out from the shadows. Towering, powerful, and commanding, he moved like a lion surveying its domain. His armor was battered yet formidable, and the greatsword resting on his shoulder gleamed under the mana lights. A faint smirk played on his lips as he gazed at the audience, basking in their adoration.
"And his challenger," the announcer continued, drawing out the anticipation, "a name whispered in awe, the prodigy of the Tiantu clan—a child of brilliance destined for greatness—Li Shenlong!"
A hush blanketed the crowd as every head turned toward the opposite entrance. Stepping into the light, Li Shenlong appeared—a slender boy, no more than eight years old, clad in exquisite armor that shimmered with intricate mana patterns. The glaive in his hand radiated faint energy, its inscribed runes humming with latent power. His emerald-green eyes were unflinching, his expression as still as the earth itself.
"He's a child," Ryker whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the murmurs of disbelief.
"Never underestimate opponents from the seven great clans," Mathias said simply, his gaze unwavering. "Remember that."
The gong resounded, its deep tone shaking the very foundations of the arena. Dorian sprang forward like a hurricane unleashed, his greatsword carving through the air with deadly intent. The ground cracked beneath his feet as his sheer momentum tore the battlefield apart.
But Li Shenlong moved with eerie precision, sidestepping the strike at the last possible moment. His glaive rose in a fluid arc, deflecting the colossal blade with a subtle twist. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, forcing Li Shenlong back a few paces—but his balance remained unbroken, his expression unreadable.
"Did you see that?" Ryker gasped, gripping the edge of his seat. "He deflected it!"
Mathias allowed himself a faint smile. "He redirected it. There's a difference. Li Shenlong isn't relying on brute strength—he's using Dorian's force against him."
Down below, Dorian roared with frustration, his swings becoming faster, heavier, and more relentless. The ground trembled beneath his onslaught, debris flying in all directions as each strike missed its mark. Yet Li Shenlong seemed to dance around him, his movements fluid and calculated. Every step, every parry was deliberate—an intricate game of chess played out on the battlefield.
The executive shook his head, his expression one of skepticism. "He's delaying the inevitable. The gap in their abilities is too wide. Dorian's speed, strength, and reflexes are on a completely different level."
"You assume speed and strength are all that matter," Mathias said without looking away. "But Li Shenlong is reading Dorian like an open book. Watch closely—he's not just defending. He's studying."
Sure enough, Li Shenlong began to strike back—not with reckless aggression, but with precise, targeted blows. His glaive sliced through the air, aiming for the weak points in Dorian's armor. The crowd erupted into gasps as a faint crack appeared in one of Dorian's shoulder plates.
"He's actually breaking through…" Ryker whispered, his awe unmistakable.
"This is where it gets interesting," Mathias murmured, his voice low. "Li Shenlong isn't just fighting to survive—he's fighting to win."
The arena quaked under the weight of tension, every spectator on the edge of their seat as Dorian and Li Shenlong prepared for their ultimate exchange. The air was thick with mana, charged and crackling like a brewing storm.
Dorian's greatsword gleamed with fiery energy, the sheer heat of his aura bending the air around him. With a guttural roar, he launched forward, his blade carving a fiery arc through the space between them. His speed was blistering, his movements nearly imperceptible. To the crowd, he was an unstoppable force—a tempest of raw power.
Li Shenlong stood his ground, his young frame exuding an unshakable calm that defied logic. As Dorian closed the gap, Li Shenlong's glaive began to glow, the runes along its shaft igniting with a brilliant blue light. The energy surrounding him coalesced, pulling mana from the very air into the weapon. It vibrated with an intensity that resonated through the arena.
The moment Dorian's blade descended; Li Shenlong moved with near-perfect timing. His glaive spun in a precise arc, deflecting the strike just enough to avoid the full brunt of its devastating power. The sound of metal clashing against mana-infused steel reverberated like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves through the arena.
Li Shenlong's counterattack was swift and surgical. He darted forward, his glaive aiming for the cracks in Dorian's armor. Each strike was deliberate, calculated, targeting weak points that even the most formidable defense couldn't fully protect. Yet Dorian's movements were relentless. He countered with lightning-quick adjustments, meeting each of Li Shenlong's strikes with brute force.
The arena was a blur of motion, the combatants moving at a pace that left the spectators gasping. Dust and debris filled the air as their clashes tore apart the ground beneath them, transforming the arena into a battlefield of shattered stone and glowing embers.
Ryker leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his seat. "How is he keeping up with that? Li Shenlong's movements—he's reading Dorian like a book!"
Mathias's expression was unreadable, though his eyes glinted with a rare spark of admiration. "It's not just skill. It's instinct, discipline, and an unyielding will. Li Shenlong isn't just fighting—he's adapting. Learning."
As the battle raged on, Dorian unleashed a massive overhead strike, his greatsword glowing brighter than ever as he poured every ounce of his awakened strength into the attack. The ground beneath him buckled, cracks spidering outward as the force of his mana shook the arena.
Li Shenlong didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped into the strike, his glaive spinning in an intricate pattern that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Just as Dorian's blade descended, Li Shenlong released his glaive mid-spin, hurling it toward Dorian's exposed shoulder. The weapon flew like a streak of blue lightning, its runes flaring brighter with each passing moment.
But it wasn't the glaive that was Li Shenlong's true attack. As the crowd focused on the flying weapon, Li Shenlong moved with startling speed, closing the gap between them. His small hand clenched into a fist, glowing faintly with golden energy. His hand carried with it the steadiness and weight of the earth. He seemed to move in slow motion, but in reality, it was a lightning-fast attack.
Dorian reacted instinctively, hardening his torso with a surge of mana. His muscles tensed, his aura flaring as he prepared to counter. But it was too late. Li Shenlong's punch connected squarely with Dorian's chest, a devastating force that sent ripples of energy exploding outward.
What Dorian did not know was that the punch coming at him was not an ordinary punch but one of the secret techniques of the Tiantu clan. It carried within it a strange force that galvanized the surrounding mana—this attack essentially rendered Dorian's defenses useless. Dorian's hardened torso gave way, the energy collapse throwing him off balance. At the same moment, Li Shenlong's glaive struck its mark, shattering the remaining armor on Dorian's shoulder.
Dorian, refusing to fall, roared and swung his greatsword in a final, desperate arc. The blade descended toward Li Shenlong, but the boy twisted his body at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow. Instead, the edge grazed his side, the sheer force throwing him backward across the arena.
The arena was silent as the dust began to settle, the battlefield shrouded in a haze of smoke and debris. Both fighters lay motionless on the ground, their weapons discarded, and their bodies battered. The energy in the air dissipated, leaving an eerie stillness that hung heavy over the stunned crowd.
Finally, the announcer's voice broke through the quiet. "This match…" He hesitated, his voice trembling with disbelief. "This match ends in a draw!"
The crowd erupted into chaos. Cheers, gasps, and shouts filled the air as spectators struggled to process what they had witnessed. Some rose to their feet, applauding the incredible display of skill and determination. Others exchanged bewildered looks their voices drowned out by the uproar.
In the private booth, Ryker sat frozen, his wide eyes fixed on the arena below. "A draw?" he whispered, the words barely audible over the noise.
Mathias exhaled slowly; his arms still crossed. "A draw," he repeated, his tone calm but tinged with admiration.
As the medics rushed onto the field to attend to the fighters, Ryker's expression shifted from shock and awe to determination. He clenched his fists, his crimson eyes burning with resolve.
Mathias glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.