The morning sun beat down on the pristine sands of the Grand Arena, but the heat was nothing compared to the sheer, suffocating energy radiating from the packed stadium seating. Tens of thousands of spectators had crammed into the stands, their voices merging into a continuous, deafening roar.

It was the Third and Final Round of the Main Qualifiers. By sunset, the final roster for the Grand Tournament would be locked in stone.

High above the center of the arena, Bruce Doyle drifted on his floating platform, bathed in the morning light. He threw his arms wide, soaking in the adulation of the crowd before raising an amplification crystal to his lips.

“Welcome back, folks!”

Bruce bellowed, his magically enhanced voice echoing off the towering stadium walls.

“The weak have been culled! The unprepared have been sent packing! We are down to the absolute elite of our academy’s hopefuls!”

The crowd roared in agreement.

Down in the participants’ box, Ray Croft leaned his elbows against the heavy stone railing, a cup of iced tea resting comfortably in his hand. Beside him, Kaelen Thorne sat perfectly still, her sharp eyes scanning the arena floor, the martial tension in her shoulders a stark contrast to Ray’s relaxed posture. Higher up in the stadium, in the spectator boxes, Cassian, Rina, and Svane watch together with the audience.

“Before we witness the bloodshed, allow me to lay out the revised schedule for today’s carnage! We are shuffling the deck to ensure our combatants have time to breathe!”

Bruce continued, pacing his platform with theatrical flair,

In the floating panels above the Grand Arena Massive arcane text flared to life, listing the events.

“We will open the morning with the Dueling Event Quarter-Finals!”

Bruce announced, pointing to the sky.

“Following that, we will test the minds and the mettle of our crafters in Alchemy and Potioneering, followed by Runic Engineering! Then, we return to the sands for Beast Taming! We will cap off the afternoon with the Dueling Semi-Finals and Finals, and conclude the qualifiers with the final round of Strategic Wargaming!”

A murmur of approval rippled through the stands. It was a grueling gauntlet, perfectly designed to test endurance as much as skill.

“But do not leave your seats when the final horn blows!”

Bruce said excitingly, dropping his voice into a conspiratorial, booming whisper that sent shivers down the spines of the audience.

“Because the organizing committee has sanctioned a very special performance today. Trust me, folks. You will not want to miss it.”

“A special performance?”

Ray mused, taking a slow sip of his iced tea.

“What do you think, Kaelen? Are they bringing in a monster from the deep Wilds to eat the losers?”

“Whatever it is, it’s designed to distract the crowd from the fact that half of their favorites are about to be eliminated, don’t let the pageantry distract you. Focus on the board, Ray.”

Kaelen replied, her eyes never leaving the empty sands of the arena floor.

“Let us kick things off with the First Level Groups Dueling Quarter-Finals! We have eight participants remaining! Let the system decide their fate!”

Bruce Doyle’s voice boomed,

Above Bruce, the massive Scrying Panes shifted. They split into two distinct glowing frames with a massive, stylized ‘VS’ in the center. The frames began to spin rapidly, acting like a giant, magical slot machine. The portraits of the eight remaining duelists flashed in a blur of colors.

Whir. Whir. Whir.

The pane on the left locked in with a loud, ringing DING!

It displayed the scowling, battle-scarred face of Kogar Ramsey.

The pane on the right continued to spin for a fraction of a second longer before locking in with a second DING!

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It displayed the stoic, heavily armored visage of Kima Ramsey.

For a brief moment, the stadium went completely silent. Then, it erupted into a mix of laughter, groans, and wild cheers.

Bruce Doyle threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, the Founders have a twisted sense of humor today, ladies and gentlemen! We have the Hammer versus the Anvil! Roommates, Team SIS squadmates, and… brothers! I hope their mother isn’t watching, folks, because someone is missing family dinner tonight!”

The heavy iron gates at the northern end of the arena ground open.

Kogar Ramsey marched out first. The offensive half of the duo eschewed the safety of a shield. He wore heavy chainmail over boiled leather, optimizing his shoulders for the massive, two-handed battleaxe resting easily on his collarbone.

A moment later, Kima Ramsey stepped out. The defensive anchor of the pair was a walking fortress, encased head-to-toe in heavy full plate. He carried a massive iron tower shield on his left arm and a brutal, flanged mace in his right hand.

The two Bronze Aegis spellswords met in the center of the sunbaked sands. They didn’t glare at each other with the bitter rivalry of enemies. They looked at each other with the weary, profound understanding of two men who had beaten each other black and blue a thousand times before.

“You know the score, Kima,”

Kogar said, his hot-blooded grin stretching across his face. He rolled his shoulders, his battleaxe gleaming.

“Five-hundred and seventy-two to five-seventy-one. Time to tie it up.”

Kima didn’t smile. He adjusted his grip on his tower shield, planting his sabatons firmly into the dirt.

“You’re too reckless, Kogar. You always overextend on the third swing. I’m making it five-seventy-three.”

“Let the Quarter-Finals… BEGIN!”

Bruce roared.

The bell tolled.

Kogar didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, leading with a rapid-fire cantrip. He snapped his fingers, his voice a sharp bark.

“Impulso!”

A jagged Kinetic Jolt of raw, blunt force shot directly at his brother’s chest. The invisible projectile struck Kima’s tower shield with a loud CRACK, meant to stagger the heavily armored defender and ruin his footing.

But Kima knew the opening gambit perfectly. He had braced his back leg a fraction of a second before the spell hit, absorbing the kinetic shock seamlessly into his Form of the Guardian stance.

Kogar was already in the air. He brought the massive two-handed battleaxe down in a devastating, overhead cleave, the Form of the Storm.

Kima raised his tower shield, his mana flaring to life.

“Scutum!”

He cast the 1st-Circle spell: Shield.

A glowing hexagon of hard-light erupted over the iron face of the shield just as the axe bit into it. Sparks rained down on the sand with a screech of grinding mana and steel. The sheer kinetic weight of the blow forced Kima down to one knee, but the magical line held.

“Too slow, little brother!”

Kogar laughed, using the momentum of the blocked strike to violently wrench the axe sideways, ripping it free to transition into a sweeping horizontal strike aimed at Kima’s exposed ribs.

Kima didn’t try to block it with the shield. He stepped directly into the swing, completely crowding Kogar’s weapon arc, and slammed the heavy iron hilt of his flanged mace directly into his brother’s breastplate.

Kogar grunted, the breath knocked violently from his lungs, his axe swinging harmlessly over Kima’s head.

It was a mesmerizing, brutal civil war. Because they fought together every single day, there were no surprises. It was a grinding match of pure attrition. Every feint was anticipated; every strike was perfectly countered.

For five minutes, the arena echoed with the deafening crash of steel on steel and the explosive bursts of low-tier kinetic magic.

Finally, Kogar broke the rhythm. Realizing he couldn’t crack the tower shield through conventional means, he jumped backward, creating a sudden gap. He slammed his gauntleted hand against his own chestplate.

“Repello!”

He cast the 1st-Circle spell: Kinetic Push.

Instead of blasting Kima, Kogar weaponized the spell’s recoil, propelling his own body backward another ten feet to create a massive runway.

“Here it comes!”

Cassian yelled from the spectator box, leaning over the railing.

Kogar’s eyes went wide, his pupils dilating as he triggered Aegis Burst. The adrenaline flooded his system. He sprinted forward, a blur of chainmail and fury. He channeled his mana directly into the blade of his battleaxe.

“Reverbero!”

He cast 1st-Circle spell: Elemental Rebuff.

The steel of his axe glowing with a volatile, unstable kinetic light, ready to violently discharge its stored energy on impact. He was banking everything on one, shield-shattering strike.

Kima watched him come. The stoic brother didn’t brace his shield. He didn’t drop his center of gravity.

Instead, Kima’s left hand flashed from behind the shield in a rapid somatic gesture.

“Imago!”

He cast the 1st-Circle spell: Phantasmal Decoy.

Just as Kogar launched himself into the air for the final, apocalyptic cleave, Kima’s image flickered. A perfect, static illusion of Kima holding his tower shield remained exactly where it was, while the real Kima smoothly side-stepped a mere twelve inches to the right.

Kogar’s roaring battleaxe crashed down with the force of a falling meteor.

It cleaved straight through the phantom shield. The illusion instantly shattered into wisps of ambient mana.

With absolutely zero physical resistance to stop his overcharged swing, Kogar’s momentum betrayed him. The heavy axe buried itself deep into the arena sand. Kogar’s center of gravity pitched violently forward, pulling him completely off balance.

Kima didn’t hesitate. He stepped in cleanly from the right. He didn’t swing the flanged mace at his brother’s head; he used the heavy iron shaft to brutally sweep Kogar’s right leg out from under him.

Kogar hit the dirt hard, a cloud of sand erupting around him. Before he could even release the handle of his axe, the cold, heavy iron rim of Kima’s tower shield slammed down, pinning Kogar’s throat to the ground.

Kima stood over him, breathing heavily, the mace raised for a finishing blow that would never fall.

“Five-seventy-three.”

Kima panted.

Kogar stared up at the shield pinning his throat, then let out a booming, breathless laugh. He slapped the dirt twice in surrender.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep