Chapter 29: ZEPHYR VS RIKAN

The dust had barely settled from Logan’s shocking victory, but the atmosphere in the arena was already shifting again—less disbelief now, more tension.

The announcer’s voice rang out across the stadium, crisp and commanding:

“Match Thirteen—Stage Two! Token 23 versus Token 26! Zephyr Albrecht versus Rikan Hale!”

A ripple moved through the crowd. At first—silence. Then came the murmurs.

“Rikan Hale? The one from the Ironback Highlands?”

“Yeah. That guy’s a monster. I heard he broke a boy’s ribs in a spar just to prove a point.”

“They say his mana’s so dense it shatters stone when he punches. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

In the second-floor balcony, Logan had returned to his seat among the Smith family. Alice was beaming beside him, her hands still warm from hugging him earlier.

“I’m just… so proud of you,” she said for the fifth time.

He smiled gently but kept his eyes forward.

Mirena, sitting nearby, forced a tight-lipped smile. “Congratulations,” she said, the word sticking like tar in her throat.

Kael said nothing at all. His expression was unreadable—his silence not cold, but… contemplative.

Logan glanced out at the roaring gallery. He could hear voices buzzing, even from up here.

“…Rikan’s gonna crush whoever that other guy is…”

“…Unless Zephyr really is as good as they say…”

He leaned back and exhaled. I didn’t want to show too much. But it’s getting harder to stay hidden.

Then his eyes flicked to Zephyr Albrecht.

The boy was standing silently at the edge of the arena gate, posture loose, but his gaze razor-sharp. Serene. Focused.

Almost like Morgan.

But Logan could tell—there was something different.

Morgan fought like a blade sharpened by grief, driven by vengeance. Zephyr… was searching for something else entirely.

He’s looking for strength—not to avenge, but to challenge. Like a man chasing storms just to see if one can kill him.

On the other side of the balcony, Prince Rowan and Lilith Starwind were seated apart—but not out of earshot from each other.

Lilith’s eyes swept over Zephyr with passing interest. “He looks competent,” she said airily, “but still not quite my level.”

Noah Starwind, her father, raised a brow beside her. He didn’t respond, but his eyes lingered on Zephyr a second longer than necessary—a silent sign of caution.

A seat away, Prince Rowan rolled his eyes. This brat… always reaching for the sky with one hand while looking down with the other.

Still—he had to admit Zephyr did carry an aura unlike most.

Back in the gallery, excitement crackled like wildfire.

The twin gates opened, and two figures stepped onto the arena floor.

Zephyr Albrecht—cool, composed, his pale-blue robe fluttering with every step. His dual elemental rings shimmered faintly.

Rikan Hale—bare-chested under a thick fur cloak, his arms covered in tribal tattoos, one of which pulsed faintly with mana as if alive. His axe hung at his side, but his presence alone felt like a charged stormcloud ready to break.

The crowd erupted.

“Go, Zephyr!”

“Break him, Rikan!”

In the betting arena, Albert was practically glowing. Unlike Logan’s match, this one had balanced stakes. The board was alive with silver tokens and furious debates.

“Yes! A proper matchup!” Albert clapped like a man who had survived a plague. “Finally—normal odds!”

“Who are you putting your money on?” his assistant asked.

Albert grinned. “I just hope it lasts longer. That’s when the real coin comes in.”

Back up in the noble balcony, a tall, thin man seated beside Lord Alek Albrecht leaned in.

“Who do you think wins this one, Lord Albrecht?”

Alek let out a soft chuckle. “My son, of course. He’s never fought to impress—only to prove.”

The man raised a brow. “Prove what?”

“That no one—” Alek said, eyes gleaming, “—can touch him.”

On the arena floor, the referee raised his hand.

“READY!”

Rikan cracked his neck.

Zephyr didn’t blink.

“THREE… TWO… ONE—BEGIN!”

Rikan moved first.

Like a meteor.

His axe glowed faintly red, flames licking the edges as he slammed it toward Zephyr with bone-crushing force.

Zephyr stepped aside—just one step—but it was enough. The ground shattered where he had been.

Wind swirled around his ankles as he slid to the side, hands barely moving, yet the air bent to his will.

Rikan growled and spun, following up with a wide arc. Zephyr ducked, pivoted, and released a compressed burst of water from his palm. It struck Rikan’s shoulder—he grunted, but held firm.

The duel exploded from there.

One spell after another.

Axe and storm.

Steel and spray.

The crowd could hardly keep up. The very platform trembled under their feet.

And for the first time in the entire tournament… no one was sure who would win. Because both of them were evenly matched.

Rikan’s axe cleaved through the air like a battering ram made of flame and stone, while Zephyr countered with precise elemental control—sharp gusts to misdirect, cold jets of water to parry and blind.

Each time Rikan advanced, Zephyr answered with minimal movement and maximum efficiency.

But it wasn’t one-sided.

Rikan caught Zephyr off guard once, slamming his foot down and sending a burst of molten stone upward in a jagged spike. Zephyr’s leg was grazed—just a scratch, but the crowd noticed.

“He landed a hit!”

“Zephyr’s bleeding!”

Up in the balcony, Lilith Starwind raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “At least this isn’t boring.”

Noah didn’t speak, but his hand was now resting unconsciously on the edge of his seat.

Even Logan narrowed his eyes.

Zephyr stumbled back, pressing a palm to his leg. His breathing remained steady, but the blood ran down his shin in a slow stream.

Rikan grinned. “Still think calm eyes win wars?”

Zephyr didn’t answer.

Instead, he raised both hands.

The air around him shifted.

It became sharp.

Focused.

His water magic didn’t ripple—it condensed.

The wind didn’t swirl—it formed a razor-thin edge.

He stepped forward.

And vanished.

No one in the gallery saw what happened.

All they heard was a loud CRACK—followed by a deep BOOM as Rikan was hurled backward across the stage, his axe flying from his grip.

Stone shattered where he landed.

The entire arena gasped.

Rikan groaned, tried to rise—

But a final surge of wind pinned him flat.

Zephyr stood in the center of the stage, water and wind circling his arms like tame serpents, expression as calm as ever.

He hadn’t said a single word during the entire match.

The referee waited a moment, then raised his hand.

“Winner—Zephyr Albrecht!”

The crowd exploded.

From the balcony, Alek Albrecht smiled faintly, arms crossed, as if nothing unexpected had happened.

In the betting zone, Albert sighed deeply. “A little more struggle would have earned me more money.”

Back in the noble balcony, Lilith shrugged. “He’s good,” she admitted. “Not better than me, though.”

Rowan said nothing—but a single glance toward Zephyr told another story.

This wasn’t the kind of opponent you could underestimate.

And Logan?

He watched with interest, eyes narrowing—not in fear or envy, but curiosity.

He’s stronger than I expected, Logan thought.

As Zephyr left the stage without a word, he passed by Rikan’s crumpled form. He didn’t gloat. Didn’t even look back.

Just like Morgan.

Just like Logan.

Silent strength walked differently than pride.

And though the crowd began to turn toward the next match, the names of the last two victors still lingered in the whispers echoing through the arena:

Logan Smith.

Zephyr Albrecht.

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