Matt POV
If it was not an area attack, then he must have cast something else entirely.
Something like a—
A violent gust of wind slammed into me from behind, catching me completely off guard.
Lioren was floating high above the arena with a pair of wings on his back, with his massive wind sword aimed straight at me.
He was now full-blown, having a face of ecstasy
I face him head-on as well and thought. "Looks like it is time for phase two."
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Lioren POV
I was born as an awakened weaver.
They called me a genius before I understood what that meant.
I remember standing on a stone platform, barely tall enough to see over the railing. Wind gathered around my hands without effort, responding as if it had been waiting for me.
I transmuted thrum at seven years old.
I was not even aware I was doing anything special. I remember thinking the air felt warm, and it felt obedient.
The maids froze.
My personal butler behind me went pale. His breathing turned shallow, like he was afraid to move.
That was the moment everything changed.
After that day, people stopped asking what I wanted. They started telling me what I was.
An Ocypete prodigy.The future Morach-ranked heir.Someone who can never fall short.
Every word sounded like praise, but none of it felt optional.
When I smiled, they smiled back, relieved.When I hesitated, even for a moment, the room tightened.
I learned to read those reactions quickly. It was, after all, everything I grew up with.
I gained the attention I wanted and the attention I did not. Eyes followed me wherever I went. Expectations clung tighter than shadows.
Growing up, I was taught the rules.
Being kind was acceptable, but being gentle was not.
Being superior was mandatory.
Kindness was allowed only if it was shown to the worthy.
Anything else was a weakness.
Runden and Dun were assigned to me when we were still children. They were both born into different branch family.
They bowed too deeply and spoke too carefully. I told them they did not need to do that.
They did not listen.
Nobody ever does.
They followed because that was how the Ocypete household functioned. The main family stood above. On the other hand, branches supported, admired, and obeyed.
That hierarchy was absolute. It was treated like an invisible law.
I remembered what Uncle Medley told me back then.
"Those beneath you reflect you.""If they are mocked, it is because you failed to lead them.""You must set the example."
Those words were drilled into me until they felt like facts instead of advice.
So when that peasant spoke back to Dun, something inside me snapped.
Not because Dun was showing an unbecoming act.But because I had allowed him to do so.
That was my failure.
Watching that boy stand there, unranked, disrespectful, smirking as if names and bloodlines meant nothing, filled me with anger that felt justified.
I told myself that was my responsibility.
I would correct him.I would put him in his place.I would remind him where he stood.
That was what an Ocypete was supposed to do.
But once the fight began, something felt wrong.
Each clash burned through my arms. My form was clean, precise, honed by years of correction and relentless training. And yet we are always forced into a stalemate.
Reckless.Unpolished.Relentless.
An unconscious thought then popped into my head. "This peasant might be an equal to me, if not superior."
Sweat slid down my neck.
This was wrong.I should not be struggling.I should not be pushed like this.
The thought dug into me deeper than any of our countless clashes.
Shame crept up my spine.
Losing to him meant failing everything I had been raised to uphold. Failing my name. Failing the role that had been carved into me since childhood.
And yet, beneath that shame, something else surfaced.
Relief.
For the first time, I was not a symbol.Not an example.Not a standard by which others measured themselves.
I was just a human fighting another human.
When Runden finished his chant, and I took to the air, wings of wind forming behind me, my chest felt strangely light.
Not because he strengthened me.
But because something else had loosened.
I looked down at him, standing there without fear, without hesitation.
"I will beat you not because it's my duty to correct you, but because I just felt like it."
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Nagi POV
"So the chant wasn't an attack spell," I muttered, eyes locked on the arena. "It was a wind enhancement buff."
Tasora crossed one leg over the other, waved at a snack vendor, and ordered a bucket of fries like she was watching street entertainment instead of a duel. She nudged the bucket toward me.
I grabbed a few out of reflex, bit into one, then immediately recoiled.
Tasora snorted. "Not a fan of barbecue flavor?"
"It's fine," I said, swallowing. "I just… never had barbecue fries before."
She licked the salt off her fingers and went right back to watching the fight.
Below us, Matt detonated another explosion beneath his feet, blasting himself upward. The force cracked the air, launching him like a missile toward Lioren.
Lioren twisted in midair, wings flaring, and swung his oversized wind blade in a wide arc.
Matt barely avoided it. The edge of the blade shaved past him, the pressure alone tearing up the stone floor below.
He clicked his tongue and detonated another blast, changing direction instantly.
He's using explosions like stepping stones.
Lioren tried to close the distance, but the reach of his sword forced Matt to keep moving.
Every time Matt got close, the blade cut him off.
Every time Lioren pressed, Matt blasted away.
Tasora crunched another fry. "Matt made the right call, you know."
I glanced at her. "You mean taking out Dun first?"
She shook her head. "No. I mean, taking out the fat one."
I followed her gaze to where Runden had been sent flying earlier.
"If that guy can buff," she continued, "he probably can heal or debuff too. Leaving him around would've evened the field."
She paused, then smirked. "Though honestly, Matt messed up the order. Should've knocked out the fat one first."
Another explosion rattled the arena.
Matt came in from above this time, detonating behind Lioren to force him forward.
Lioren spun, blade screaming through the air, narrowly intercepting Matt's next approach.
Sparks of compressed wind burst outward, shredding the air.
"Well," Tasora said, shoving more fries into her mouth, "this is still more fun than him curb-stomping them."
Matt twisted midair, detonated again, and vanished in a flash of smoke and fire. Lioren shot forward, wings snapping as he chased, sword cutting through the haze.
From the stands, it was clear.
Matt was fighting on borrowed time.
Tasora leaned back. "Either way, if this keeps up, it's only a matter of time before Matt loses."
She nudged the fries toward me again.
I took one out of courtesy, bit off a tiny piece, and said quietly, "But Matt said he'd win."
Tasora's chewing slowed.
"Oh?"
She turned her head toward me, eyes sharp. "Did he now? That guy tends to say the most outlandish things."
Before I could answer, a voice cut in from the front row, overlapping with hers.
"And it always comes true."
"And it always comes true," Tasora echoed automatically.
A split second later, she hurled the bucket of fries forward on instinct.
A hand caught it cleanly in midair. Not a single fry spilled.
I leaned forward to get a better look.
"Rank nine, Cwal Solace, right?"I asked.
He nodded, took a handful of fries for himself, then passed the bucket toward me. Tasora snatched it away before I could.
Cwal did not seem to care. "So," he asked, munching, "what did he say this time?"
I hesitated. "He said he'd win. Because they're Ocypete brats."
Cwal stopped chewing.
"Oh," he said. "That explains it."
Tasora frowned. "Explain what?"
"Ocypetes have a bloodline affinity for transmutation wind," Cwal said casually.
"A fully developed Ocypete doesn't even need to transmute thrum anymore. Their thrum is already wind by default."
"It sounds limiting," he continued, "but it isn't. Wind is, after all, one of the most adaptive elements. Second only to water."
Below us, Matt unleashed a barrage of explosions, detonating one after another like cannon fire.
Lioren planted himself midair, wings flared wide, blade spinning as he cut through the blasts. Each swing dispersed the force, but the pressure was clearly stacking.
Cwal kept talking. "Young Ocypetes don't have that yet. They only get it naturally when they reach Rook rank."
"So until then," Tasora said slowly, "they waste extra thrum just turning it into wind."
"Exactly," Cwal replied.
She narrowed her eyes. "How do you know that much about the Ocypete bloodline?"
He shrugged. "I'm a fan."
Tasora did not look convinced.
In the arena, Matt kept up the bombardment. Explosion after explosion.
Lioren blocked, deflected, dodged, and countered, his sword carving arcs of pressure through the chaos.
At a glance, it looked like a stalemate.
But I could see it.
Lioren's breathing was controlled, measured. His movements were precise, conserving effort.
Matt, on the other hand, was getting louder. Stronger. Each blast hit harder than the last.
Lioren narrowed his eyes midair.
He's waiting, I realized. He thinks Matt will run out first.
Right on cue, Matt shouted up at him, voice carrying clearly through the arena.
"Waiting for me to run dry is pointless!"
Another explosion sent him rocketing sideways.
"My thrum stat," he exclaimed, grinning wildly, "is the one thing I am confident in!"