NOVEL NEXT Chapter 16: For His Family
He stood. The world was a painful, blurry mess, but he stood. Kaelen Valerius stared, his righteous fury momentarily replaced by sheer disbelief.
He had put Azrael down. He should have stayed down.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Kaelen growled, his anger returning, now mixed with a grudging frustration.
He raised his sword again. "Fine! I'll just have to beat you until you can't get up anymore!"
He charged, a golden comet of rage. But this time, something was different.
As the hero's blade descended, Azrael didn't just raise his sword into a desperate block. He moved.
His feet shifted, his body turning in a fluid motion. It was Sebastian's footwork. A clumsy, pained imitation, but it was there.
Clang!
Instead of meeting the blow head-on, he deflected it. He used the principles of the Flowing Steel Style, redirecting the force of Kaelen's attack.
For the first time, Kaelen stumbled, his own momentum used against him. The crowd let out a collective gasp.
'It works,' Azrael thought, a surge of adrenaline cutting through the pain. 'I can see it. I can understand it.'
His skill, Limitless Comprehension, wasn't just showing him the moves anymore. It was showing him the intent behind them.
He could see the subtle shift in Kaelen's shoulders, the tightening of his grip, the path his sword would take before it even began its journey.
Kaelen recovered instantly, his shock turning into renewed fury. He attacked again, a wild flurry of slashes. "Tricks won't save you, Ashveil!"
But Azrael was no longer just defending. He was fighting back. He was the water flowing around the rock.
He parried a slash, the movement smooth and efficient. His mind was a razor-sharp blade, processing information at an impossible speed.
'For my mother's peace.'
His sword became a blur, lashing out in a swift counter-attack. It was a move he had seen Sebastian perform a hundred times.
A shallow cut appeared on Kaelen's arm, drawing a thin line of blood. The hero hissed, more in surprise than pain.
He had been hit. The untouchable hero had been hit.
"You…!" Kaelen's face contorted with rage. His golden aura flared, the power of Battleborn Will intensifying. He was getting stronger.
He unleashed a torrent of attacks, his speed doubling. The arena floor trembled with the force of his blows.
But Azrael was in a different state of mind now. He was Kenji, the artist who had studied this hero's every move, every weakness.
He saw the pattern in the hero's rage. He saw the openings created by his arrogance.
'For Hana's future.'
He ducked under a wide, horizontal swing, the wind from the blade ruffling his hair. He spun on his heel, his own sword coming up in a rising slash.
For a few breathtaking moments, they were on equal terms. It was a dance of impossible grace and brutal violence.
Kaelen was a roaring fire, all power. Azrael was a shadow, all efficiency. The clash of their swords echoed through the stunned colosseum.
But it couldn't last. The golden aura around Kaelen grew brighter, more intense. The air itself seemed to grow heavy around him.
Every block Azrael made sent a jarring shock up his arms. The hero's passive skill was turning him into a true monster.
'I'm at my limit,' Azrael thought, his lungs burning, his vision starting to tunnel. His broken ribs were a constant, searing agony.
He saw Kaelen preparing for a major blow, channeling his Aether. It was the precursor to the Dawnfall Strike. He knew he couldn't block it.
He had one chance. One final, desperate gambit.
'To rewrite this damned fate!'
He ignored his screaming muscles. He poured the last of his will into a single, decisive movement. He charged forward, right into the hero's attack.
He used a technique he had only ever seen in his mind, a core principle of the Flowing Steel Style. He didn't try to strike Kaelen. He struck his sword.
CRACK!
His blade, empowered by his desperate Aether, slammed into the flat of Kaelen's sword at the precise fulcrum point.
It was a move designed to shatter an opponent's balance completely.
It worked. Kaelen's devastating attack was thrown wildly off course. The hero was left wide open, his eyes wide with shock.
But the cost was immense. The backlash of force shattered Azrael's stance and sent him stumbling backward. He had given it everything. He was fading.
Kaelen, though unhurt, was breathing heavily now. His perfect uniform was disheveled, his face bruised. He looked at Azrael, his rage now cold and absolute.
"It's over," he said, his voice low. He began to charge, his sword held high, ready to end the match.
But just as he began to move, a voice of pure authority boomed across the entire colosseum.
"ENOUGH!"
Kaelen skidded to a halt. Headmaster Theron was standing in his private balcony, his calm, ancient eyes fixed on the arena floor.
"The duel is over," the Headmaster declared, his voice leaving no room for argument.
He then looked at Azrael. The boy's eyes were closed. His body was swaying, held up by nothing but sheer, stubborn will. He was unconscious on his feet.
"Medics," the Headmaster ordered. "Take Lord Ashveil to the infirmary. Immediately."
White-robed healers rushed onto the field, carefully supporting Azrael as his legs finally gave out.
The crowd was in a state of stunned silence. They had come expecting a quick execution. They had witnessed a war.
Headmaster Theron's voice boomed one last time, delivering the final, official verdict.
"The winner of this duel is Kaelen Valerius!"