Chapter 93: The Duel of Wind and Light
The matches were announced. Jack, sitting all alone, looked across the room at Peter, who was seated a few meters away. Peter instinctively felt the gaze and turned his head. Their eyes locked across the space between them.
They had been paired with each other.
A slow, competitive smirk spread across Jack's face. He stood up and sauntered over. "Don't think I'll go easy on you," Jack said, his voice casual but edged with a challenge, "just because we share a dormitory."
Peter scoffed, standing to meet him. "Do your best," he replied, his tone cold. "I'll make sure you won't act this cocky after the match."
Jack's grin widened, turning mischievous. "Wow. Such big words from someone who betrayed his own department. And what are you going on about? You were number two in the Wind Department, and you always will be."
Peter's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He was about to fire back a retort when a calming hand settled on his shoulder.
"Peter, don't." It was Angela. Her voice was low and steady as she stepped beside him. "He's trying to make you angry. Don't fall for it."
Jack's eyes flickered to Angela, and his smirk faded into a look of bored disappointment. "You're no fun," he said with a dismissive wave. He turned and left the waiting room without another glance.
Peter let out a tense breath, the fight slowly leaving his shoulders. Angela gave his shoulder a final, reassuring squeeze before letting go. "Focus on the fight, not the taunts," she advised.
Peter nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. "I will." He turned and headed for the preparation area to clear his mind and ready his mana.
---
Ten minutes later, the air above the central arena shimmered. The announcer, a middle-aged man with a voice enhanced by amplification magic, floated into position. His voice boomed across the packed stadium.
"Attention, ladies and gentlemen! The matches you have all been waiting for are about to begin! This is the battle between the top sixteen students of the entire academy!"
He paused, letting the crowd's roar wash over him before continuing with dramatic flair. "The first match decides a spot in the elite top eight... but it is also for the top spot of the Wind Department itself! A fight between the Wind Department's number one and its former number two! Who do you think will come out victorious?"
He gestured grandly to the left tunnel entrance. "Now, the first fighter! Hailing from the Healing Department's team—a mage who left his original department to fight for new allies! He is the former number-two-ranked wind student, a participant in the great hunting competition, and the victor of two of the most dominant wins in this tournament so far!"
"He now fights for a spot in the top eight! I give you... **Peter Crux!**."
The heavy gate of the tunnel ground open. Peter walked out into the sunlight, the roar of the crowd a distant hum in his ears. He wore a fitted silver combat suit that reflected the arena lights.
His brown hair stirred in the gentle breeze that always swept the colosseum. His face was a mask of calm concentration as he walked to the center of the sandy floor and waited, still and focused.
The announcer's voice rose again. "And now, his opponent! The undisputed best student of the Wind Department! One of the strongest combatants in our entire academy! He defeated his previous opponent without breaking a sweat, and his team placed third in the hunting competition!"
"The Wind Department's champion... **Jack Kensington!**."
A deafening explosion of cheers erupted from the Wind Department's section. The right-side gate opened, and Jack strolled out as if entering a casual gathering, not a championship duel. He wore simple, dark trousers and a loose tunic, a stark contrast to Peter's formal gear.
His tall, slim frame moved with a lazy confidence. His messy, leaf-green hair was tousled by the wind, and his dark green eyes were fixed like predators' sights on Peter from the moment he appeared. He came to a stop a few paces away, the ghost of a taunting smile on his lips.
A referee materialized in a flash of light between them, his authority silencing the last murmurs of the crowd. He looked at both competitors, raised his hand, and brought it down sharply.
"**Begin!**"
The word was still hanging in the air when Jack moved. A **Wind Scythe**, a crescent of solidified, howling air, formed instantly in his grasp. He didn't charge; he simply *flowed* forward and swung the vicious arc straight at Peter's neck.
Peter reacted on instinct. He activated **Flight**, pushing himself vertically into the air. The scythe passed harmlessly beneath his feet, its gust tearing at the sand below.
Hovering ten feet up, Peter raised a hand. A dense, brilliant beam of light—a **Light Ray**—coalesced in his palm and lanced down toward Jack. Jack sidestepped with infuriating ease, the beam scorching a black line into the arena floor where he had stood.
With a smirk, Jack kicked off the ground, using his own wind magic to propel himself upward until he floated face-to-face with Peter in mid-air.
For a tense second, they hovered in silence. Then, simultaneously, identical orbs of condensed light formed in both their hands.
They fired at the same instant.
Two **Light Rays** collided midway between them in a silent, blinding flash of energy that canceled each other out, scattering harmless motes of luminance.
The message was clear: with identical elemental affinities for Wind and Light, this battle would be decided not by variety, but by sheer skill, control, and cunning.
Jack was the first to break the stalemate. He surged forward, his Wind Scythe reappearing as he unleashed a whirlwind of slashes. Peter was forced backward through the air, parrying with hastily conjured shields of compressed wind.
He didn't want a close-range fight; Jack's physical strength and aggressive style were legendary. But Jack was relentless, pressing the attack, giving Peter no room to create distance or cast a more powerful spell.
Just as Peter blocked a particularly heavy slash that numbed his arm, he made his move. A small, intensely bright **Flash** spell—a light bulb of pure glare—materialized directly in front of Jack's eyes.
Jack flinched, his assault breaking for a split second as his vision filled with white.
Peter seized the chance. He blasted backward, putting twenty feet between them. Before Jack could clear his sight, a dozen **Wind Cutters**—invisible, razor-sharp blades of air—spun into existence around Peter and shot toward his blinded opponent.
A grunt came from Jack's direction. A localized **Wind Storm** erupted around him, a miniature tornado that deflected and absorbed the incoming Cutters, scattering them harmlessly into the broader gusts.
Then, from within the heart of his own protective storm, Jack fired back—a single, precise Light Ray shot straight through the chaotic winds toward Peter.
It was too fast to dodge completely. Peter twisted in the air, but the beam grazed his thigh, searing through his suit and drawing a sharp hiss of pain from his lips. He looked down to see a smoking tear in the fabric, the skin beneath red and angry.
Jack's personal storm died down, revealing him completely unharmed, not a hair out of place. His smile returned, wider now. "Getting slow, Peter?"
Without waiting for a reply, Jack unleashed his own volley. A ring of Wind Cutters formed around him, and between each blade, a focused Light Ray sparked to life. It was a combined, omnidirectional assault.
Peter's eyes narrowed. He responded in kind, conjuring an identical defensive ring of Cutters and Rays around himself. The air between them became a deadly lattice of crisscrossing light and shredding wind as their attacks met and canceled each other out in a series of silent flashes and sharp *snaps*.
But Jack wasn't done. While maintaining the barrage, he began moving *forward*, diving straight through the maelstrom of his own and Peter's intersecting spells.
The crowd gasped. It was a brutally risky maneuver. Jack weaved and dodged with impossible grace, a green-haired phantom slipping between beams of light and gusts of cutting wind. He was closing the distance again, his eyes locked on his target.
Peter retreated, maintaining his own barrage. But then he felt a shift in the air behind him. He glanced back to see another Wind Storm—Jack's—springing up, blocking his retreat.
*Trapped.*
Thinking quickly, Peter poured more mana into his hands. A new, larger, more violent **Wind Storm** erupted from him, roaring forward to engulf and consume Jack's smaller one. The two tempests merged into one chaotic, roaring column of sand and magic. Without hesitation, Peter flew straight into its heart, using the visual cover to hide and reposition.
Jack arrived at the outer edge of the combined storm and didn't even pause. He raised his Wind Scythe and brought it down in a decisive, two-handed slash. The magical blade tore through the swirling winds like a hot knife through butter, parting the storm and cleaving it in two.
The sight on the other side wiped the confidence from Peter's face. His eyes widened in genuine shock. *He cut through it? His control... It's monstrous!*
His moment of surprise was all the opening Jack needed. He was inside Peter's guard in a flash. A brutal kick aimed for Peter's gut. Peter crossed his arms, blocking it, but the impact sent a jarring numbness up to his shoulders. Jack, despite his slim build, hit with the force of a battering ram.
The close-quarters assault began in earnest. A flurry of punches, kicks, knees, and elbows. Peter was a capable fighter, but against Jack's overwhelming physicality and aggressive pressure, he was forced into pure defense, giving ground with every block and parry. Each blocked strike reverberated through his bones.
*Flash!*
Another light bulb burst in front of Jack's face. This time, Peter didn't retreat. He lunged *into* the attack, driving a solid fist into Jack's stomach.
*Thud.*
The punch landed, but Jack only grunted, his smirk barely fading. Even blinded, his combat sense was terrifying. He had felt the origin of the impact. He rotated his entire body with the momentum of the punch and launched a spinning heel kick.
It connected squarely with the side of Peter's neck.
Peter staggered back, a choked sound escaping him. He clutched his neck, pain radiating down his shoulder. He was tough, but Jack was simply on another level in close combat.
Jack blinked away the last of the light spots, his smile now predatory. "That punch stung a little," he admitted, rubbing his abdomen. "But that's all? How was my kick? Did you like it?"
Peter said nothing, his frown deepening. He hated that smile, that casual superiority. But the pain in his neck was a cold, clear lesson: he could not beat Jack Kensington in a contest of strength or wind mastery.
Their light magic was too evenly matched. To win, he would need something else. He would need a perfect plan, and he would need to execute it flawlessly.
He took a deep, steadying breath, ignoring the taunts. He backed away, creating a respectful distance once more. Across the sand, Jack mirrored him, his playful demeanor settling into something more focused, more serious.
Both young men settled into their fighting stances once again. The probing was over. The feints and tests were done.
The real fight between them was finally about to begin.
Author's Note: The clash of former allies has begun, with Jack's raw power overwhelming Peter's skill. But Peter is a strategist. What desperate plan is forming in his mind? Can cunning overcome sheer strength? The battle for the Wind Department's pride—and a spot in the top eight—reaches its boiling point!