Chapter 380: I Want To Earn It

“Didn’t you say it usually works?” Elias asked.

Then, without warning—

He punched him.

Bang!

No spell.

No enhancement.

Just a raw, clenched fist.

It sent Kellen skidding across the floor, crashing into the barrier wall.

The rune on his right arm cracked.

Another spell—gone.

He tried to stand.

Elias didn’t let him.

The moment Kellen’s palm braced the floor, Elias dropped a reverse gravity spell under him.

Bang!

Kellen slammed back into the ground with a shout.

Another spell gone.

Only two left.

The crowd began to shout now.

Not in excitement.

But in alarm.

The mimic was being dismantled.

And Elias?

He didn’t blink.

Back in the stands, Cael whispered, “He’s taking everything. Not just winning. He’s stripping him.”

Renna exhaled. “That’s not just anger.”

Reiz watched closely. “It’s a lesson.”

Kellen forced himself to stand.

Barely.

His shoulder twitched. His leg ached. Three of his stored spells were gone.

“Why?” he muttered.

Elias tilted his head. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t!”

“I saw what you did.”

Elias’s voice was quiet.

But everyone heard it.

“You didn’t stop.”

“You kept hitting him.”

Kellen froze.

The memory came back—Reiz beneath his fists, limp, unresisting, broken.

“I wasn’t there to stop it,” Elias said softly.

“So I’m stopping this.”

Kellen roared.

He triggered both remaining spells.

Boooooooom!!

A shockwave burst outward — flame and thunder, wrapped in compression.

The platform cracked.

The barrier flared.

The crowd shielded their eyes.

And when the dust cleared, Elias was already standing behind him.

Palm open.

One last spell—soundless—hit Kellen in the center of the back.

A black pulse.

No light.

No blast.

Just silence.

Thud!

Kellen dropped.

Unconscious.

“Combatant unable to continue. Winner: Elias Verdan.”

The crowd didn’t cheer.

It stood.

And watched as Elias stepped away from the platform, not triumphant…

Just quiet.

And across the Colosseum, no one mistook him for average anymore.

Not ever again.

Every student, every instructor, every healer. Even the Deans. None of them saw Elias as average anymore.

Kellen’s body was still twitching when the healers lifted him off the stage.

His limbs moved without intention, spasming slightly from the feedback backlash Elias had delivered. His essence core was drained and his skill storage cores which were his secondary cores were dim — not completely shattered, but overloaded.

He would recover.

Eventually. It might take a month or a year, no one knew at the moment but Elias had made sure Kellen’s case wasn’t that of permanent damage.

But whatever image of indomitability Wyrmere had hoped to parade through these trials had just been laid bare and quiet in front of thousands. By none other than Elias, ElderGlow’s dark horse.

Dean Oryll’s jaw was locked so tightly his molars hurt.

But he didn’t show it.

It was that he didn’t show it. He simply couldn’t.

His fingers drummed gently along the armrest of his elevated seat.

He sat perfectly still, eyes forward.

Expression unreadable.

Only those closest might’ve seen the faint discoloration along his clenched knuckles.

Across from him, Dean Godsthorn of ElderGlow took his seat again with all the serenity of a man returning from a stroll.

He adjusted his lapel slightly, leaned forward, and turned toward Oryll.

With a calm smile, he asked Dean Oryll. “That was a good match, wasn’t it?”

Oryll didn’t blink. “Very educational.”

“A well-raised student.”

“Two, perhaps.”

Godsthorn chuckled lightly, then offered a courteous nod. “You’ve always had good eyes, Oryll. It’s a shame the ears and mouth didn’t follow.”

Before Oryll could formulate a response—Dean Dethrein of Crowgarth clapped once.

Loud. Abrupt.

“Well said, Godsthorn! Well said! A victory is a victory. Brutal, clean, and unmistakable. You’ve bought your academy another cycle of respect.”

Godsthorn raised a brow. “And what of yours, Dethrein?”

“Crowgarth always plays loud and messy,” Dethrein said, voice like a grin. “But we never pretend to play nice.”

Oryll said nothing. Even Dethrein who’d been silent all through the battle was now speaking up.

Oryll just smiled thinly, lips a pale line.

Besides the platform where the Deans say comfortably, Lord Terrace, leaned to one of his aides.

“File a recruitment report for Elias Verdan,” he said in a low tone. “Ensure he’s placed on the Imperial Consideration List. He’ll be done with the school soon.”

The aide blinked. “Before finals are over?”

“I know what I saw. If anyone deserves a recommendation, it’s definitely him.”

Back below, the arena shimmered once more.

Dean Oryll was still the announcer and despite the anger and fury rumbling in the deepest parts of his insides, he still has to see through with the position he’d been assigned.

“Oryll, are you sure you’re good?” Dean Dethrein asked with mockery presented as sympathy.

“Or do we need someone else as the announcer?” Dean Godsthorn added hoping for the talks to end if only Oryll would agree to the change of announcer.

“No. It’s the finals. I can’t afford to give over my position to anyone when this battle is what would decide the ultimate winner of the tournament.” Dean Oryll kept frowning but he replied regardless. There was no way he’d remain here with the others.

They’d continue to mock him underhandedly and he didn’t want that.

He stepped forward and his voice, now steady again, rang out across the Colosseum.

“After a short recovery interval, we will proceed to the final match of the Year Five Trials.”

“Finalists: Elias Verdan of ElderGlow. Cedric Van of Thornevale.”

The stands rumbled softly.

Not in volume.

But in weight.

The moment had come.

In the prep zone, Cedric sat sharpening his blade with precise, even strokes.

Not because the blade needed sharpening.

But because it helped center him.

His thoughts were slow. Clean.

His plan already in place.

Across from him, Elias had his eyes closed.

Not meditating.

Just… breathing.

“You ready for this?” Cael asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I’m not going all out,” Elias replied calmly.

Renna blinked. “What?”

“He needs more than a loss. He needs to find where his blade leads.”

Cael muttered, “You’re gonna let him think he has a chance?”

“No, he has a chance.” Elias said softly, stepping forward. “I’m just going to give him a reason to swing harder.”

The lights around the stage turned amber.

A lower, heavier resonance took over the announcer’s voice as he declared:

“Final Match of the Year Five Tournament — Cedric Van versus Elias Verdan!”

“Begin!”

And like that, the storm resumed.

Elias didn’t strike first.

Neither did Cedric.

Vwoooom!!

They moved simultaneously — Cedric with a low step into sword range, Elias with a narrow pivot, avoiding the opening thrust.

Cedric’s blade whistled — clean, aimed at Elias’s thigh.

Elias blocked with the back of his wrist, casting no spell, using only angle and pressure.

The crowd leaned in.

Cedric pressed forward.

His slashes came in rhythm — four-point, ten-pattern combinations designed to bend opponent reactions into expected responses.

Elias dodged.

Not fast.

Not fluid.

Just… perfectly positioned every time.

The blade never landed.

But it never stopped.

Then, Elias countered.

A spell? No.

A palm to Cedric’s shoulder.

Cedric recoiled, twisted, slashed again.

The blade missed.

Elias dropped low.

A knee to Cedric’s calf.

Cedric stumbled.

The crowd gasped.

Then Cedric’s rhythm changed.

He cut the beat.

“Phewww…” Shifted his breathing.

Elias recognized it instantly.

He backed off.

Now they circled.

It was like watching two mirrors face one another — no reflections, only movement without waste.

Cedric’s blade finally scored a glancing blow across Elias’s left sleeve.

The crowd roared.

Then Elias cast his first spell.

A glyph bloomed midair — slow, deliberate.

A shockwave burst from beneath Cedric’s feet — but not centered.

It missed.

Cedric countered with a three-point dive, slicing upward.

Elias dodged.

Just barely.

Miss Leana leaned forward in the observation row. “He’s… holding back.”

Damon snorted. “He’s having fun.”

“Or testing.”

“No,” Damon said, watching Elias’s footwork. “He’s giving Cedric his best shot.”

Back in the ring, Cedric’s blade curved through a parry sequence that forced Elias backward.

Elias planted his foot—

And cast two spells at once.

A rare move.

One froze the wind between them.

The other disrupted kinetic control under Cedric’s shoes.

Cedric grunted.

Slid two inches.

Recovered fast.

The blade reversed.

Cut upward.

Elias tilted his head.

A single strand of his hair was sliced.

The Colosseum roared.

Then Elias smiled.

Just slightly.

“Faster,” he said.

Cedric’s aura flared.

The rhythm changed again.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t grunt.

But his breathing slowed.

His form compacted.

No more wasted movement.

He vanished.

Reappeared behind Elias.

A backslash aimed straight for the shoulder blade.

It connected.

Or should have.

Elias caught it between two fingers.

No spell.

Just muscle.

Cedric’s eyes widened.

Elias didn’t counter.

He let go.

The crowd murmured.

Confused.

Thrilled.

Cedric stepped back and lowered his blade slightly.

“I want to earn it,” he said.

“You are,” Elias replied. “But now…”

He raised one hand.

“Let’s give them something real.”

Three spells flared behind Elias in a triangle.

All angled.

All raw.

The air buzzed.

Cedric raised his blade again.

Ready.

Just as the first triangle fired.

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