Chapter 58: THE FALL OF THE BLADE

The fight had dragged on far too long. Even the audience, who had cheered with tireless energy at the beginning, now found themselves nearly breathless. Spell after spell, the clash of steel, the echo of bodies hitting the floor—it was relentless. A normal person couldn’t endure such prolonged anticipation. The pressure of watching alone could crush lesser hearts.

And yet, amidst all the chaos, one thing went unnoticed. Slowly—subtly—a gap was forming.

Two of the fighters were steadily draining their mana reserves, their bodies showing the wear of accumulated blows. But one of them… remained largely untouched. Not unscathed, but resilient. Tired, yes. But that person’s strength? And mana?

Still intact.

That person was—Lilith Starwind.

She had been healing herself throughout the battle. Small, efficient bursts of recovery magic—barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but enough to prevent lasting damage. Enough to keep her going.

The opposite was true for the others.

Morgan and Zephyr, both seasoned and calculating, had noticed this. Neither of them was a fool. And Lilith’s healing magic wasn’t exactly a secret.

“She already fights like a seasoned mage just at 12,” Zephyr muttered under his breath. “But to have healing magic on top of everything else? No one’s beating her in a war of attrition. Did fate favor her because she’s a girl or what?”

Morgan didn’t respond. But the tightening grip on his sword said enough.

The fight continued. And slowly the gap widened. Soon, even the audience began to realize what was happening. The nobles leaned forward. Tension returned, this time with curiosity.

Morgan and Zephyr’s stances began to falter.

While the three were fighting and the whole audience was immersed in awe, a figure emerged from the direction of the healing chambers. Though he had just been treated and barely healed fully, he still couldn’t resist the pull of this match. And what greeted him was far beyond his expectations:

Lilith—gaining an edge against two of the strongest fighters in the tournament.

He passed through the crowd quietly, ignoring the murmurs, and made his way to the noble balcony.

Alice’s eyes widened. “Logan, honey! You’re up?”

She stood quickly and embraced him, warmth flooding her voice.

“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry,” Logan said gently.

“Good to see you back, boy,” said Noah Starwind with a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Starwind,” Logan replied politely before taking his seat.

Rudeous was also happy to see Logan fine. But not everyone shared the same feeling—Lady Mirena and Darius, in particular.

And though this welcome may have gone unnoticed by many, it still caught one person’s gaze.

Across the arena, Prince Rowan glanced briefly in Logan’s direction.

Logan didn’t notice the stare. His focus was fully locked on the fighting stage now.

After a moment, Rowan also looked back toward the stage.

On the Fighting Stage

The fight continued, and Zephyr and Morgan continued to lose ground. Finally, Morgan’s jaw clenched.

“I need to pick up the pace,” he muttered. “Let’s see if she can keep that advantage when things speed up.”

He suddenly raised his left arm—lightning burst from his palm and arced toward Zephyr.

The crowd gasped.

“Did you see that?”

“Morgan used a ranged attack spell!”

“He never does that—he’s always focused on close combat!”

Zephyr blocked the attack with a rotating shield of air and water, but before the clash settled, Morgan was already moving.

He shot toward Lilith like a bullet, wind-fueled magic compressing the air around him until it whistled—sharp, like something tearing through the sky.

Lilith’s eyes widened. She threw up a wind barrier and layered it with gravity magic to slow his charge. But that’s when two spinning spheres—crackling with lightning—appeared behind Morgan’s back.

He launched them—one aimed high, the other low.

Lilith hesitated for a split second, trying to gauge which one would strike her directly.

That was all Morgan needed. The two spheres were just a feint.

He broke through her air barrier, slipped into close range, and slammed his blade squarely into her chest while she was still focused on the spheres.

She noticed at the last moment but couldn’t react in time.

Her small frame flew backward, crashing into the ground like a ragdoll.

Thud!

But before the momentum even settled, a concentrated water orb blasted into Morgan’s back—Zephyr’s retaliation.

Boom!

Morgan was launched in the same direction Lilith had flown.

Lilith, barely recovering from the last hit, noticed Morgan hurtling toward her. Blood traced the edge of her lips, but her mind stayed sharp.

She slammed her right hand to the ground, twisted her body mid-roll, and bent her knees like a coiled spring. Air magic surged into her legs.

As Morgan came within range, she kicked upward with both legs—clean, direct.

He raised his blade to block—but the impact still sent him flying like a cannonball.

And then—

CRASH!

Morgan slammed into the audience stands like a sack of flour.

For a second, silence.

Then the arena erupted.

“Participant Morgan Benedict—OUT!” the referee’s voice roared above the chaos.

“Remaining participants: Lilith Starwind… and Zephyr Albrecht!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Morgan’s sudden loss came as a shock though. Finally, one down. One more to go.

“Guys, I think Lilith will win.”

“Dumbass. Zephyr will win. Didn’t you see? Lilith was almost thrown out of the stage!”

“But I wish Morgan could be the winner. What a shame.”

Arguments about who would win stirred in the audience.

In the Balcony

Alek Albrecht’s lips parted slightly. His jaw loosened. He exhaled—just a little. Relief, tightly controlled.

In the gallery where Morgan had landed, he slowly stood up and cleared the dust from his body.

“Weak… I’m still very weak,” Morgan murmured while brushing off the dust.

There was no bitterness. No shame. Only calm. And in his eyes—a fire, a quiet determination to grow stronger.

Back on the Stage

Both Lilith and Zephyr were panting.

Lilith’s healing spells had kept her body from breaking—but no magic could eliminate exhaustion. Her breathing was ragged. Sweat streaked down her brow.

Zephyr stood across from her, his sword still gripped—but his mana was nearly depleted. That last water blast had taken the rest of it. His shoulders slumped slightly, not from injury, but fatigue.

The crowd had come alive again. The earlier tension had turned into energy. Shouts for their favorite contestant filled the air.

In the betting corner, those who had staked everything on Morgan now sat quietly, faces long and grim.

“It’s almost time,” Rowan murmured from his seat.

And at that very moment—Logan looked toward him as well this time. Like instinct.

His next opponent.

The Third Prince of the Hale Dynasty.

Rowan Hale.

To Be Continued…

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