Time cracked.
Sir 8's hands moved in slow, divine precision. Each gesture sliced the air with ritual grace, forming glowing glyphs around his body. They floated like celestial runes—circles upon circles, inscribed with ancient calligraphy only a master of Wind Arts could manifest.
"Level 6 Wind Art…" he whispered again, almost inaudible.
Kai blinked in awe. "Level… 6?!"
Even as a bystander, the ki in the air was overwhelming. Trees bent inward. Stones lifted from the ground. The atmosphere thickened like the gravity had changed. Kai took two stumbling steps back.
But Chandler—already mid-blitz—read through the illusion instantly.
"He's bluffing," he muttered with narrowed eyes.
He wasn't wrong… entirely.
This wasn't a true Level 6 Wind Art. Sir 8 didn't have the ki left to fully manifest that level. But what he could do… was bait.
The runes weren't for a Level 6 cast.
They were a frame. A mask.
"Too late," Sir 8 muttered.
BOOM—!
As Chandler closed in, the ground beneath him shifted violently.
"Level 5 Earth Art: Sink Maw!" Sir 8 shouted.
The glowing wind sigils evaporated as the true spell beneath Chandler detonated—a trap laid during the very first chant, disguised with overlapping wind glyphs.
The terrain beneath Chandler liquefied. In an instant, it became a collapsing spiral of earth, sand, and gravity—a sinkhole with crushing force.
Chandler's footing failed him again.
But this time—not by surprise.
His eyes flared.
"Clever…"
His body twisted mid-fall. Rather than try to regain footing, Chandler embraced the drop—vanishing into the spiral maw.
Sir 8 cursed.
He's not resisting?
From deep within the pit, a voice boomed—muffled but clear:
"Level 5 Fire Art: Hellbloom Surge."
Then the world exploded.
A column of pure red fire erupted from the sinkhole—stretching hundreds of feet into the sky like a flaming geyser. The shockwave vaporized several trees, blasted boulders into ash, and sent Kai tumbling backward, arms over his face.
"GAAHH—!"
Sir 8 barely crossed his arms in time, activating a quick "Level 3 Wind Shell" to block the brunt—but even that snapped in half.
CRACK!
He skidded across the dirt, clothes singed, coughing, vision flickering red.
Within the pillar of fire, Chandler emerged. His body radiating heat. His eyes locked forward. His kimono now in tatters, revealing burn-muscled flesh beneath runic tattoos.
No one spoke.
Even the birds had fled.
Kai, from behind a scorched stump, rose slowly. "I… I can't even keep up. That's not magic. That's… war."
Chandler hovered inches above the cracked earth—fire propelling his legs like a silent engine. He no longer walked.
Sir 8 groaned, using his staff to pull himself upright.
"You're insane," he muttered.
"I'm thorough," Chandler replied. "That trap would've caught most A-rank tacticians off guard."
Sir 8 spat blood, grinning despite himself. "So I got you once."
"Once." Chandler nodded.
They stared again.
No tricks now. No more bait.
Only the final exchange.
Sir 8's breathing grew shallow. "If I had enough ki… I'd show you what Sapient Mode really is."
Chandler smirked. "I've already seen it. You used it once against Grand Knight Bellias. You tore through three royal formations in under six seconds."
"Then you know how dangerous it is."
"I do. Which is why…" Chandler raised one hand.
Flames spiraled to his wrist.
"…I can't let you reach it."
Sir 8 snapped his staff upright.
"Come on, then."
The world slowed.
And the last dance began.