Chapter 163: A Spear Who Refuses To Break

Drevin staggered forward as the redirected bullets slammed into his back, but his expression barely flickered.

His breathing didn’t break.

His posture didn’t crumble.

Iron Pulse kept his mind steady—heart and mana syncing into a calm, cold rhythm.

This is fine, he told himself. It only caught me off guard. Iselde’s healing runes can heal me…

But then he noticed it.

The healing beam behind him—

the shimmering rune-light that always mended his wounds instantly—

was moving… much slower.

A cut on his arm sealed very slowly , but not completely.

The bruising on his ribs softened, but did not vanish.

His breath hitched as realization ran through him.

Why is the healing weaker?

He turned sharply toward Jax—

just in time to see the gunslinger’s smug smirk.

Jax twirled a pistol around his finger with casual arrogance.

“Dark element,” he said. “Same as your arrows—it weakens other basic elements. Except light.”

Drevin’s eyes widened.

“You… how many elements do you use?”

“I know fire and ice from the dungeon… but dark too?”

Jax shrugged.

“Well, that’s my weird specialty.”

He lifted both pistols. Mana crackled across the barrels in a spectrum of shifting colors, not bound to any one element.

“I can use most of the elements.”

Drevin froze for a beat.

“…Most?”

Jax’s smirk twitched, just slightly—

a rare flicker of honesty beneath the bravado.

“Yeah. Even though I have…”

his voice dropped, almost too low to hear—

“mana syndrome.”

Drevin’s eyes widened again—

but Iron Pulse calmed him instantly, clearing the ripple of shock from his mind.

Still, he couldn’t hide the quiet awe in his voice.

“…You’re fighting like this, even with mana syndrome?”

Jax lifted one gun to his shoulder, clicking the chamber with a bright metallic snap.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Drevin narrowed his eyes, grip tightening on his bow.

“…Or pretty shocking.”

Jax grinned wider.

“Same thing.”

The air thickened between them—

one side fueled by sharpened calm,

the other by reckless genius and rune-forged support.

Their duel was far from over.

Ron and Maera clashed again—

both now deep inside Iron Pulse, both pushing their limits in opposite ways.

Maera’s Wild Resonance roared through her blood like a beast unchained.

Her rage sharpened, not dulled—

fury becoming fuel, violence becoming focus.

Her red aura rippled outward in feral waves, coating her gauntlets in wild, clawed energy.

Ron, by contrast, looked like the calm eye of a storm.

Iron Pulse steadied his breath, tightened his muscles, sharpened every movement.

His grip on the black spear became flawless—

the weapon wrapped in extremely hot dark-blue flames, heat shimmering off the metal like distorted air.

She swung down—

BOOM!

Ron blocked with a twist of his spear.

The flames surged up the shaft and exploded around Maera’s arm, but her wild aura crushed through it, sending embers spiraling.

She snarled, fangs showing.

He exhaled slowly, eyes cold and focused.

They traded blow for blow—

wild fury against refined precision—

each impact cracking the stone beneath their feet.

Off to the side, a storm of speed whirled.

Lia and Col were locked in a blistering duel, their movements blurring into streaks of green and pink.

Iron Pulse had boosted both of them:

Col’s moss-green aura tightened, giving him explosive bursts of speed—

Lia’s sharp pink wind aura flared, energy butterflies swirling as she darted faster than before.

She was just a bit faster—

but Col compensated with sharper timing, trying again and again to slip past her and strike Ron mid-battle.

Every time he lunged—

SHING!

Lia appeared, blocking him with her white straight sword, pink wind flaring off the blade.

But then—

Her eyes widened.

A chilling prick ran up her spine.

She sensed it—

a shadow-cloaked arrow slicing through the air toward her leg.

One of Drevin’s arrows, fired earlier during his fight with Jax, now making its delayed return.

She twisted at the last second—

WHOOSH!

The arrow grazed past, cutting a strand of hair.

But her footing slipped—

just a fraction—

And Col didn’t miss the opening.

“—!!”

His kick smashed into her stomach.

THUD—!!

Lia was launched backward, spinning across the stone floor.

“LIA!!” Ron shouted, instinctively pivoting toward her.

But Maera was already there.

Her kick, wrapped in raging red aura, slammed toward Ron’s ribs—

He barely caught it with the shaft of his spear, dark-blue flames erupting from the block. The impact pushed him back, boots grinding against stone.

Maera didn’t relent.

She hammered blow after blow at him—

wild, relentless, furious.

And behind her, Col sprinted toward her, joining the assault—

the moment Lia was thrown away, he moved straight in to support Maera, his twin short blades ready to strike Ron from the flank.

Ron’s calm expression hardened.

Two on one.

Maera in front.

Col rushing from behind.

And Lia far away, struggling to breathe.

.

.

.

Ron was getting pressed—hard.

Maera hit him first, exactly as he expected she would.

Her aura raged around her like a wildfire, the crimson storm twisting around her claws as she hammered blow after blow into the black spear.

Each strike sent a hard vibration up the shaft, rattling into Ron’s wrists, but he absorbed it with disciplined movement—

turning the spearhead, angling the haft, stepping back just enough to bleed off her momentum.

Maera fought like a beast cornered and enraged.

Ron fought like a wall that refused to break.

He barely had time to breathe before Col joined the assault.

The wind around Col sharpened and surged, wrapping around his legs as he dashed in from the side.

His twin short swords glinted with moss-green aura, each slash aimed with surgical precision.

He didn’t try to overpower Ron—he didn’t need to.

He simply attacked where Maera’s pressure created openings.

A fast cut toward Ron’s thigh.

A stinging slash aimed at his ribs.

Another at his shoulder.

Then Col vanished again, reappearing on the opposite side before Ron could fully adjust.

The world around Ron collapsed into a tunnel of pure defense.

Sparks exploded as he knocked aside Maera’s claws.

Wind hissed and whirled as he angled the spear to deflect Col’s blade.

The stone beneath his feet cracked each time he braced himself against Maera’s strength.

He stayed in constant motion—

not attacking, not striking back—

just staying alive.

Ron’s breathing became short, measured bursts.

His arms throbbed.

His spear shook under the combined assault.

But he held.

He kept his stance low.

He kept his form tight.

He kept conserving every last bit of strength and mana.

Because he understood something.

He couldn’t win in this moment.

Not against the two of them working together with perfect timing.

But he didn’t need to win right now.

So he defended.

Parried.

Redirected.

Survived.

Inside his head, he counted beats and seconds with each block:

One… steady… two… parry… three… slide… four… brace…

He was waiting.

Waiting for the moment he knew would come.

Waiting for the wind aura he trusted to return.

Lia.

He trusted her to get up.

He trusted her to return to his side.

He trusted her to turn this suffocating two-on-one into a real team battle.

Until that moment arrived?

Ron gritted his teeth, twisted his spear to catch another clawed strike, and endured.

They wouldn’t break him.

Not before she came back.

Meanwhile—

Jax and Selene were not faring much better on their side of the battlefield.

Jax was covered in cuts and bruises, his clothes torn in several places where Drevin’s arrows had grazed or pierced him.

His stamina was recovering fast thanks to Selene’s earlier runes, but his mana was dangerously low, and—strangely—

his body felt heavier than it should.

A little more exhausted than a normal fight could justify.

Across from him, Drevin looked equally battered.

Blood dripped down his arm and across his jaw; his healing beam kept patching wounds, but now only sluggishly.

His mana reserves were nearly drained, and each arrow he fired carried less force than before.

Between them, Selene and Iselde were locked in a battle of pure technique.

Selene’s face was pale, sweat streaking down her cheek. Her mana was thin, her casting sluggish, but her expression never wavered.

She alternated between Runic Shield and Explosive Runes, barely keeping up with the mirror shards Iselde hurled at her.

Iselde, too, was at her limit.

Blood trickled from her nose, her breathing ragged.

Her mana flickered weakly around her hands as she shaped mirrors, each spell slower, shakier than the last.

Her arms trembled under the strain of keeping up with Selene’s pressure and responding to every shift in the battlefield.

Both girls were struggling—

but neither stepped back.

Selene gritted her teeth, raised her wand, and formed a new spell—

small, floating runes swirling around her wrist.

Not flashy.

Not complex.

Barely enough mana to cast.

But she made them.

And then she hurled them across the arena.

Rune Magic – Second Circle: Healing Runes.

The small runes shot forward, weaving through debris and wind currents…

and struck Lia, who had just pushed herself up from the floor, still shaking from Col’s kick.

A soft glow enveloped her, sealing her worst cuts and steadying her breath.

Not full healing—just enough to move.

“Lia!” Selene shouted hoarsely. “Go—help Ron! That’s all I can heal you for now!”

Lia looked at her—

eyes wide, touched, determined.

She nodded once.

And then—

FWOOOOOSH—!!!

Pink wind erupted around her, butterflies scattering like sparks.

She vanished in a blur, cutting across the arena at full speed—

—straight toward Ron,

who was being crushed under the combined assault of Maera and Col.

The wind howled.

Her blade flashed.

Her aura sharpened like a razor.

Lia was returning to the battlefield—

—and Ron’s two-on-one was about to change.

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