Chapter 34: POETRY VS PERCUSSION

The crowd buzzed with barely restrained excitement as the announcer’s voice rang again across the arena, sharp and clear:

“Match Three — Second Round! Token 18 versus Token 23! Darius Smith versus Zephyr Albrecht!”

And just like that—the noise stopped.

Then, a wave of murmurs swept through the stands like a brewing storm.

“Oi oi… this is the one we’ve been waiting for!”

“Smith family heir versus the wind phantom of Albrecht!”

“I swear, if someone blinks and misses the first move again, I’m suing!”

Even the noble balconies were unusually quiet.

Mirena leaned forward, her nails digging into her armrest. She whispered a silent prayer—but whether it was for her son’s triumph or survival, only the gods knew. Kael Thorne stood beside her, arms crossed, unreadable—but a tiny tic at his temple betrayed tension.

Across the row, Rudeous remained silent, his gaze flicking to Logan. Alice gently squeezed Logan’s hand under the table. Ardyn Vex observed the field with the grim calm of a war general.

“Let’s see if Darius can handle this,” Logan muttered.

Ardyn replied, voice low, “He’ll try. But Zephyr… he’s not just a prodigy. He’s what the word ’genius’ wishes it meant.”

On the Arena Floor

The gates parted with a grinding rumble.

Darius stepped out first—red and silver armor gleaming, the Smith sigil embroidered on his cloak. The air around him pulsed with three distinct forces: fire, air, gravity. He radiated raw power.

“Look at that mana pressure! Kid’s walking like he already won.”

“This time, both the Smith representatives are truly amazing.”

The cheers were loud. House Smith had influence, and Darius had a reputation to match.

Then came Zephyr.

Dark-blue robes, silver hair tousled by the wind, a face as calm as a frozen lake. No aura. No theatrics. Just calm footsteps.

“There he is… the assassin in mage robes.”

“He’s so quiet it’s scary. Like a guy who says ’nothing personal’ before vaporizing you.”

“Yes. Exactly like that Morgan Benedict guy.”

“Damn, man! Why does it feel like this tournament’s full of freak shows?”

“You got that right. They even brought two freaks hiding in twelve-year-old bodies!”

“Hahaha!” With that comment, the entire section erupted in laughter.

On the Stage

Darius and Zephyr stood facing each other.

Darius scoffed. “You don’t look so impressive without all the mystery.”

Zephyr didn’t reply.

The referee raised his hand. “Contestants, ready?”

Darius gave a sharp nod.

Zephyr adjusted his stance—fluid, relaxed.

“Begin!”

Darius moved first—exploding forward in a storm of wind, leaping high before dropping like a hammer, gravity-infused fist aimed for Zephyr’s skull.

But—

Zephyr vanished.

A shimmer of air and mist—then a spear of water zipped toward Darius’s side.

He blocked it mid-air with a spinning flame shield and landed hard, retaliating with a gravity pulse that cracked the floor beneath Zephyr.

Zephyr sidestepped like he’d seen it hours ago and answered with a compressed blast of air.

The two circled. The crowd went wild.

“Damn! They’re throwing spells like they’re playing catch with natural disasters!”

“I can’t even afford a mana stone, and these brats are nuking each other like it’s dessert!”

Kael Thorne’s eyes narrowed. “He’s adapting… too fast.”

Down below, Darius grinned. “You’re good. Let’s see how long you can keep up.”

He conjured a volley of flame disks and hurled them into the sky. They curved down like meteors.

Zephyr raised a hand.

A razor-thin dome of wind surrounded him—elegant, surgical. The fire struck and fizzled like raindrops.

Then Zephyr vanished again.

Darius spun—

Too late.

Zephyr’s blade, wind-imbued, sliced clean across his chest guard, sending Darius skidding.

“Bro just erased ten gold coins’ worth of armor in one swipe.”

A second jet of water hit Darius square in the chest, short-circuiting his fire shield.

“Damn it!” Darius flipped mid-air, casting wind magic to recover.

The battlefield became a war zone.

Flames, air blades, ice shards—mana tore through the air. Darius used double-casting combos, trying to trap Zephyr with gravity bursts.

Zephyr responded with curved wind scythes and water veils, dancing through the chaos with eerie grace.

“It’s like Darius is throwing bricks, and Zephyr’s fencing with wind.”

“This isn’t a duel, it’s poetry vs. percussion.”

Even Prince Rowan paused, teacup halfway to his lips.

Lilith Starwind’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting…”

Her father asked, “Which one?”

Lilith smirked. “Both.”

On the Arena Again

Darius panted. Sweat dripped. His pride burned hotter than his fire.

He summoned everything.

Fire compressed into a crimson orb. Air spun violently. Then—gravity twisted it all into a rotating sphere.

“Flame Typhoon!”

The spell roared forward—an elemental maelstrom.

“Wooo! That’s it! That’s an advanced Tier-2-level move!”

“Hope Zephyr’s got insurance.”

Zephyr didn’t move.

He breathed once.

Raised both hands.

The wind died.

Then came the slash.

One clean, invisible horizontal cut.

The typhoon unraveled. Flames vanished. Gravity dispersed.

A panic flashed across Darius’s face. “Why isn’t this working?!”

Silence.

“He just deleted it. Not blocked. Not dodged. Deleted.”

Zephyr stepped forward—sheathed in calm. Water condensed around his hand. He appeared behind Darius.

Crash.

Darius hit the ground hard.

Still, he stood. Bruised. Bloody. Breathing like a bellows. He screamed and charged one last time.

Fire. Air. Gravity.

Zephyr didn’t even flinch.

He walked forward. Through the pressure. Through the spell.

“Bro’s walking through Darius’s full combo like it’s mild weather.”

Then—his final spell.

No chant. No flourish.

Just a ripple of mana. Silent.

It hit Darius like a wall of silence.

Fire snuffed out. Gravity collapsed.

And he fell.

“Winner—Zephyr Albrecht!”

Darius had given it his all—but Zephyr had dismantled him, piece by piece.

Applause exploded. Some cheered. Some just stared.

But the Smith family’s balcony no longer held its earlier pride—only stillness, strained expressions, and tightly clenched fists.

Kael was the most depressed one. His disciple lost.

Mirena’s lips parted. No sound. Colour drained from her face.

Ardyn nodded. “Calculated. Cold. Effective.”

Alice whispered, “Darius was unlucky. His opponent was terrifying.”

Logan leaned back. “I wish Darius had won. But Zephyr is in a league of his own.”

Rudeous looked stoic—but his clenched jaw told a different story.

“His son lost. He looked like a statue… but a statue about to crack.”

From the Albrecht booth, a laugh echoed.

Alek Albrecht sipped his drink and barked:

“Finally! I thought this tournament was just noble kids showing off daddy’s credit score. Now that’s a mage! But that Smith kid still lost though. What can be done when Zephyr Albrecht is your opponent.” He blurted out with an amused smile.

Zephyr walked off the field—still silent. No taunt. No celebration.

He didn’t need to say anything.

The storm had passed.

But its silence?

That would echo louder than any shout.

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