Unlike her last two fights, Zeva didn't stroll out with calm composure—she sprinted the moment Quincy's hand dropped, steel already half-drawn. Her longsword burst free with a clean hiss, its polished edge catching the sunlight like a shard of glass. Across from her, Calvinel matched her pace, his greatsword pulled back in a wide, brutal arc, intent to crush her momentum in a single swing.
They collided at the center with a violent crash of metal. Calvinel struck first, his greatsword cutting a brutal line through the air. Zeva slipped back half a step, her eyes never leaving the blade, her movements crisp, economical—just enough to let the steel sweep past. Her answer came instantly. Her sword spiraled upward, the motion blooming into a horizontal slash that clanged hard against his weapon. Without pause, she pivoted, twisting the momentum into a low sweeping cut that forced him to drag his plated leg back, the strike biting sparks from his greaves.
Her assault didn't stop. Each motion fed the next—an upward curve that turned mid-air into a sharp downward fall, her blade cutting like a petal drifting into a thorn. Calvinel scrambled to keep pace, both hands straining against the heft of his greatsword. The sound of ringing steel filled the arena in rapid succession—clang, screech, clang—as he intercepted blow after blow, his armor already scoring with dents and gashes where her strikes slipped past his guard.
She pirouetted with dangerous grace, blade flashing from a high slash into a sudden thrust whipped from behind her back, the motion too fast to predict. Calvinel caught it on the edge of his greatsword, but the sheer elegance and relentlessness of her technique left him staggering. He was defending on instinct, his plate doing more work than his skill, each block coming a fraction too slow, the edges of her strikes glancing into his cuirass and leaving deep grooves.
"And we're off to an explosive start!" Quincy's voice boomed as she flew overhead, circling like a owl to watch every movement. "Zeva is already unleashing the Blossom family's swordsmanship! She's smothering Calvinel before he can even draw a proper breath! Will he be the one to finally answer her storm, or just fall like the rest?"
In one of the VIP stands, Zara shot to her feet, hands cupped around her mouth. "Yeah, get him! Beat the shit out of him!" she shouted, every ounce of royal composure abandoned. Prince Mark, blinked at the outburst. *Utterly unbecoming of a princess…* he thought dryly, though her catharsis was so unrestrained he doubted she'd hear him if he said it aloud.
Meanwhile, in the fighters' waiting room, Amos squinted at the viewing window, scratching his head. "I thought he said he had a plan. Looks like he's just getting hammered."
Bryanard leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "No… he has something. He's not swinging blindly. He's biding his time, making a spectacle of it."
The creak of the door cut him off. Footsteps echoed into the chamber as Xain, Roland, and Mae returned. "Hey, we're back," Xain said, stepping up to the viewing window. His gaze flicked down at the arena. "Did the fight already start?"
"Are you alright?" Edluar asked, eyes running over him. "You took a pretty bad hit."
Annabel raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. "You look surprisingly fine. Especially considering Even is still in the Healing Springs."
Mae chuckled, leaning in with a grin far from innocent. "Xain just has a lot of endurance. I'm sure."
Xain froze, a faint blush on his face before Ulrich interjected with an amused chuckle. "Let's… just go back to watching the beatdo—ah, I mean fight."
Back in the arena, Zeva slid back, her blade held loose at her side as she tilted her head. One hand rested lazily on her hip, her voice carrying clearly across the din. "Is this all your confidence amounts to? I am severely disappointed."
Calvinel steadied himself, armor dented and scraped, his breathing heavy but his grin unfaltering beneath the visor. He raised one hand almost casually. "Patience, my lady. I'm just putting on a show. Can't have this end too quickly, now can we?"
Zeva rolled her eyes at the bravado and lunged forward again—
—but Calvinel's smirk deepened. His boot struck the arena floor with a sharp thud. Frost rippled outward from the point of impact, racing in a perfect circle. Within a blink, the ground for fifteen feet around him glazed over with ice.
Zeva's heel hit the slick surface. She skidded, her footing compromised.
"He froze the ground! Could this be Calvinel's grand plan to come out Victorious against The Blade!?" Quincy shouted as the crowd roared, leaning in as one, every eye fixed on the duel.
"See?" Calvinel's voice rang out, smug and assured as he hefted his greatsword back. "I told you I had a plan! Let's see you dance without proper footing. Goodnight!" With that, he swung the broad flat of his blade, aiming to knock her senseless in one clean strike.
"How idiotic," Zeva muttered.
Wolf, watching from the stands, muttered the same words at the same time.
Zeva shifted—her footing faltering on the ice yet somehow deliberate. She slipped low, letting the massive swing whistle over her head, her blade flipping into a reverse grip. Spinning on her hip, she poured her bodyweight into the motion, her left hand slamming against the pommel to drive the strike home.
The sword punched clean through Calvinel's right foot, the steel pinning him to the ground like a nailed plank.
A critical blow, landed.