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Across the ruined court from Amy stood a man who looked calm and collected.
Torren Vale. A second year, ranked 198th. He had a compact build with dark black hair, a single streak of gray running through the side. Despite his young age, he looked older than most, his face weathered and wrought.
He held a single short blade in a reverse grip, with not a scratch on him.
And looking at him, there was nothing impressive. No flaring bloodline, no radiant aura, no booming techniques.
But that was exactly the problem for Amy.
With every vine she summoned, he cut right through it as if it were mere butter. It was like he always knew where she was going to attack, always dodging with ease or striking the bud before it could bloom.
He was an efficient man who used little stamina while putting heavy pressure on Amy, forcing her to pull out all the tricks in her head.
Well. Not all the tricks.
But all that she was willing to share.
She stood breathing heavy as the man calmly walked toward her, waiting for more.
Torren tilted his head at her, his voice flat as he spoke.
"Vines from the ground when I advanced. Glyphs when I circled left. And a polite bow at the start to make me careless." He flicked a severed length of green vine off his blade as if it were nothing. "It seems there is nothing left in your hand."
He raised the blade lazily, the point drifting toward her like an afterthought.
"This fight will be over before you know it. A shame, really. I was hoping you'd be strong enough to give me a good battle."
He stepped forward, and Amy gave another step of ground, her back foot brushing the warning edge of the boundary runes.
Once Torren closed the distance, it would be over for her.
Watching Amy pressed back, Mars's knuckles turned white, his hope for Amy to win ringing loud in his heart, while the rest of the squad watching the hologram longed for the same.
Only Arthur looked composed.
Because he knew Amy was strong. Strong enough to win.
Down on the court, Amy exhaled, long and slow, her posture quietly changing as she stopped retreating and the nervous trembling of her body stilled.
"You're right," she said softly. "You know my every move. You saw everything I did in all my matches."
Her grip shifted on the staff.
"But you haven't seen everything I can do."
Slamming her staff into the ground, a cascade of vines rose up on all sides of her. However, instead of lashing out to attack, these vines coiled around Amy herself, wrapping her in an armor of sorts.
As they coiled around her body, they took the form of heavy armor. Layered and intricate, Amy was beginning to look like a paladin wrapped in vines. But that all changed as buds started to bloom across her armor, transforming her into a flower paladin.
From below, the vines then started to lift her up into the air, granting her a freedom of movement controlled by her own vines, something any mage would be jealous of. And blooming atop her head, a pink flower opened, its petals unfurling like a living crown, the final touch on the armor of woven vines.
Plated in green, crowned in bloom, the small shy girl was gone. What stood in her place looked like something out of an old fairy tale.
She leveled her staff at Torren.
"Be ready to face the Flower Queen."
And all across the ruined court, flowers began to bloom.
They pushed up through the cracks in the stone, through the wreckage of severed vines, dozens of them, then more, buds of every color opening in a slow wave that spread outward from Amy's feet until the battlefield looked less like a court and more like a meadow.
Torren's eyes tracked them, and for the first time, his file had nothing to say.
Then the meadow opened fire.
Every bloom became a muzzle, mana bolts launching from the flower hearts in staggered volleys, screaming toward Torren from the left, the right, behind, above, no rhythm to read, no single origin to close down.
His blade answered.
And to his credit, it answered well, as Torren cut and slipped through, carving bolts out of the air. Each individual shot was nothing he couldn't have handled alone, but all together, it created a storm unfit for any warrior.
And so, slowly but surely, he was being whittled down.
For every bolt he cut, three more were already on their way. For every flower he destroyed, two bloomed behind it.
He would have to step it up if he wanted to win.
And so, as if calling upon a sixth sense, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath...
And cut a mana bolt without seeing it.
"I cannot believe it, Jonathan! Amy the Flower Queen has risen up and commanded her servants to attack the valiant Torren, who fights a perilous battle to survive!"
"But when struck with distraught, he turns himself blind, striking out with nothing but his sixth sense! A true display of talent, folks!"
Like a blind monk, Torren skillfully dodged every attack, faster and quicker than he had before, as if he could sense things before they happened, his body moving fluidly across the battlefield, weaving through the storm in a deadly dance.
He was slowly making ground toward Amy, the crowd screaming out for him as he wove his way through.
"Unbelievable, what we are seeing here, folks! Torren is trying his absolute hardest, and SUCCEEDING, dodging the array of mana bolts! Truly a wonderful display of talent!"
"That you could say, Jonathan. A true display indeed. But the question remains, how will Amy react to such moves?"
Amy frowned at the sight.
There wasn't much left in her bag. She had a couple more attacks she could do in this form, but from all of their practices, there was only one true attack she could still muster.
'I guess I have to use it.'
Up in the holding area, Arthur's eyes tracked the blind swordsman's advance, then flicked to Amy's raised staff.
'Good. Don't wait for a perfect opening. Make one.'
Raising her staff high, Amy gathered a torrent of mana from her body, drawing it up into the staff while the flowers continued their assault, buying her the seconds she needed.
And then, bringing the staff down, she pointed it at the flower on her forehead, making it bloom even wider as the torrent of mana gathered into it, its color shifting from a light blue to a light green glow.
And then, like a cannon storing a ton of energy all at once, it released.
FWOOOM!
From the heart of the crown bloom, a massive beam of light green mana erupted across the court, a laser of concentrated nature ripping through the meadow, swallowing bolts and blooms alike as it screamed toward Torren.
The beam lasted for over a full second before it faded out, leaving nothing but dust in its trail.
Torren, however, was still standing.
His figure was rough in shape, blood spilling down his arm, but the look on his face, even with his eyes closed, was one of pure focus.
And so, one foot after another, he carved his way forward.
Hurt, burned and bleeding, he walked forth.
Torren knew she was spent.
And so, like a predator stalking its prey, he pounced.
But Amy was already moving.
Her vines carried her backward through the air, retreating across the meadow, opening the distance her armor was built to keep.
It didn't matter.
Torren's leading foot came down on a vine, and instead of cutting it, he leaped off it.
Leaping again and again, his feet kept finding the thick coils of vines, using them as if they were his personal jungle gym.
"He's... he's climbing her vines, Jonathan! The man is using HER OWN MAGIC to reach her!"
"AMY! MOVE!" Mars's voice tore across the arena.
She was moving. But in the end, it wasn't enough, as the blind swordsman flowed up through the meadow like the whole battlefield belonged to him.
And Amy, having spent all but the last of her mana, found her armor getting harder and harder to sustain, its grip loosening around her body.
Even the flower atop her head seemed to be wilting by the minute.
And so, the small shy girl did the only thing remaining.
She stopped running.
She gripped her staff in both hands, turned in the air, and met him.
CLACK! CLACK! CLANG!
Blade against staff, in the air, atop the swaying towers of the dying meadow. He was better. Even exhausted, even burned, even bleeding, he was better, his short sword working around her guard with two years of craft.
And Amy blocked on instinct, on drills, on the endless hours under a golden whip, her arms going numb, her vision swimming.
The final exchange came fast.
Torren feinted low, rolled his wrist, and the short sword came up inside her guard, past the staff, its point driving straight for her.
The Coliseum rose in horror.
And the last vine on the field was already flying.
It lashed from the dying meadow beneath him, a green spear launched with everything the ground had left to give.
And in the same breath that Torren's blade closed its final inches, the vine's hardened tip closed on the center of his back.
The protective runes screamed.
Gold light erupted around them both, freezing the two fighters in a single terrible frame, suspended together above the ruined meadow. The vine's point, caught in a shimmering lattice, aimed clean through his heart from behind.
His short sword, caught in the same golden light, a finger's width from her throat.
Two lethal strikes.
One instant.
The Coliseum held its breath as the referees conferred below, the golden lattices hanging frozen in the air, replays flashing across the officials' crystal, again, and again, and again.
And then the head referee raised not one hand, but both.
"DOUBLE LETHAL STRIKE! THE MATCH IS RULED... A DRAW!"
The vine and the blade dissolved from the golden light in the same breath, and the meadow, at last empty of mana, lowered the two of them gently to the broken stone and wilted away to nothing.
They stood there, inches apart, swaying on their feet, both understanding exactly what had just happened.
"A small vine," he said quietly. "Even after everything, I thought I couldn't be taken by surprise. How did you get it past me?"
Not even truly caring about the loss, he simply wanted to know how Amy had slipped past his senses.
Amy caught her breath, leaning on her staff, and gave him the smallest, most polite smile in the Coliseum.
"That's a secret."
And her eyes drifted, just for a moment, across the arena to the holding area, where Arthur stood watching.
And Arthur, knowingly, smiled back.
Torren followed her glance, found nothing he could read in it, and let out a long breath. Then, for the first time in the entire match, he smiled, and bowed his head to her.
"ATTENTION! AS PER TOURNAMENT REGULATION, BOTH CONTESTANTS ARE ELIMINATED! THE HIGHEST RANKED CONTESTANT REMAINING IN THE GROUP WILL RECEIVE A BYE INTO THE NEXT ROUND!"
"A DRAW, FOLKS! THE MATCH OF THE DAY, MAYBE THE MATCH OF THE TOURNAMENT, AND NOBODY WON IT! AMY EVERETT AND TORREN VALE HAVE ELIMINATED EACH OTHER IN THE MOST SPECTACULAR FASHION!"
Amy turned to the stands, swaying, held upright by her staff and nothing else.
And bowed. Politely. The same small bow as always.
The crowd somehow got louder.