Alex stood motionless, the blood sword in his hand slowly dimming, as if adjusting itself to the calm of its master. He didn't tense up or take a fighting stance—he was simply waiting.
The man who had spoken to Kael earlier began to approach him at an unhurried pace. He moved with confidence, without haste, each step seeming to emphasize his control over the situation. Of average height, solidly built, with short dark hair and sharp, well-defined features. He wore light combat armor—leather reinforced with metal plates on the shoulders and chest, free of unnecessary decoration, yet clearly expensive. The armor fit him like a second skin, nothing restricting his movements; everything about him spoke of experience and long familiarity with battle. His hands were empty, but that only heightened the sense of danger—like a predator that needed no claws to be lethal.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex glanced aside. Adam and Derek had already engaged Kael—flashes of magic, crackling lightning, and air currents torn apart by water whips made it clear that their fight had truly begun. He turned his gaze back just as the man stopped a few steps away.
The man let out a heavy breath, ran a hand over the back of his head, and, surprisingly, asked in a completely calm, almost casual tone,
"So, what's your name, kid?"
Alex blinked, then answered without hesitation,
"Alex."
"Nice to meet you, Alex," the man said with a faint smile. "I'm Ray." He tilted his head slightly back, gesturing with his gaze behind him. "And those are the members of my group, as you've probably guessed. By the way, some of the strongest vampires you can find on the continent."
Alex sighed heavily.
"And why are you telling me this? To scare me?"
Ray immediately waved his hands.
"No, no, not at all. Honestly. I don't know what exactly happened in the guild building, but Kael…" He grimaced slightly. "He rates your strength highly. And if even he thinks that way about someone, simple threats won't do." He paused, then added kindly, "I want to settle this a bit more… humanely."
"And what exactly are you proposing?" Alex asked calmly.
Ray's face visibly brightened.
"I'm glad you're willing to listen. You see, Kael dragged the whole group out in the middle of the night, ordered us to gather here immediately, and then simply said, 'You're fighting this student.' If it were daytime, I wouldn't even argue. But right now…" He yawned, covering his mouth with his palm, and drawled sleepily, "Right now I'd much rather be lying in a soft bed under a warm blanket."
Ray looked at Alex closely.
"I imagine you wouldn't mind that prospect either, instead of standing here with a sword."
Alex sighed again.
"You make a fair point. So your proposal is that I surrender?"
"Exactly," Ray nodded with satisfaction. He raised a finger, like a teacher explaining an obvious truth. "Think about it. You've already spent a lot of energy fighting Kael. And now there are eight vampires in front of you, ones who've worked together for years and survived thousands of battles. No matter how strong you are, you can't handle us alone." He lowered his voice slightly. "And honestly, I don't particularly want to maim an ordinary student."
Ray took a step forward and extended his hand.
"Put the sword away. Surrender. We'll save everyone a lot of time, and you'll keep your life. What do you say?"
Alex smiled slowly.
"It's not a bad idea. Really. It would save a lot of people a lot of time." He paused for a moment. "But there's one small 'but.'"
The next instant, Alex spun sharply and brought the blood sword down in a powerful overhead strike. The blade split the air—and the air answered with a spray of blood. It spilled across the arena in a dark stain, and where a moment ago there seemed to be no one, a human silhouette gradually appeared. First the wound, then the outline of the body—and only then did he become fully visible.
With a snarl, the vampire leapt backward several dozen meters, clutching his shoulder.
Alex turned back to Ray with a self-satisfied smile. For the first time, genuine surprise appeared on the commander's face.
"If you'd already decided to end this fight so crudely," Alex said calmly, "you should have assigned someone who at least tries to conceal their aura and bloodlust." He tilted his head slightly. "Instead of just hiding behind invisibility."
The surprise on Ray's face instantly turned into anger. His jaw clenched, and he was about to respond when a hoarse, rage-filled shout rang out behind Alex.
"Stay out of this, Ray!" the wounded man yelled. "I'll deal with this brat myself!"
He stepped forward, and the blades of daggers flashed in his hands. Blood was still dripping from the open wound, leaving dark spots on the arena floor, but it only seemed to fuel him further. With a growl, he lunged at Alex.
The strikes came fast and chaotic, filled with blind fury. The daggers sliced through the air, but none reached their target. Alex moved lightly, almost lazily, as if reading the attacks before they were even born. A step to the side, a shift of his torso, a short retreat—and another strike missed.
At one point, Alex suddenly stepped forward. His free hand grabbed the man by the head. Without unnecessary words or theatrics, he slammed the vampire face-first into the ground with all his strength.
A dull, heavy sound echoed across the arena. The stone beneath the body cracked, forming a small crater. Dust burst upward in a cloud. Alex straightened and calmly brushed it from his shoulders, looking down at the motionless body.
And at that very moment, a red magic circle flared beneath his feet.
A pillar of fire erupted instantly.
Alex pushed off the ground and leapt aside, but even midair he sensed danger—dozens of sharp ice projectiles were already flying toward him. He deflected some of them with his sword; blood and ice scattered with a clatter in all directions. As he was about to touch the ground, another red circle flared beneath him.
A new column of flame shot upward. The remaining ice projectiles vanished into it, melting without a trace.
Ray watched with a satisfied smile.
"Well, that's that," he said, waving his hand carelessly.
The woman behind him halted the spell.
And in that same instant, her face went pale. Shock spread not only across her features, but across the faces of the rest of the group—including Ray himself.
The flames dispersed.
Alex stood in the middle of the arena, unharmed and calm, staring straight at his opponents. The blood sword in his hand glowed faintly.
Irritation twisted Ray's face. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
Two men behind him reacted immediately. With swords drawn, they charged at Alex. One raised his hand, and the air around his blade twisted into streams of wind; the other ignited flames along the length of his sword.
Alex moved lightly once more. He dodged, parried, occasionally meeting their attacks with his own blade. Their combinations were coordinated, fast, honed by years of fighting together. The wind reinforced their strikes, while the fire tried to drive him into a corner.
But it wasn't enough.
Seizing the moment, Alex stepped forward sharply and, with a short, clean motion, severed one attacker's arm. A scream of pain tore through the air. The other roared in fury and lunged at Alex from behind.
Alex merely smiled.
He dodged the upward strike, pivoted on his heel, and delivered a sharp upward slash. The blade carved a deep, bloody wound across his opponent's chest. Without slowing, Alex turned back to the first man—the one who had already lost an arm. The vampire was forming a magic circle with his remaining hand.
One precise movement—and the second arm fell onto the stone of the arena.
Alex raised his sword for the finishing blow.
A stone wall sprang up instantly in front of him. His blade slammed into it, shattering the surface but failing to break through.
Alex felt a powerful magical aura above and looked up. Ray was falling from the sky, a battle axe in his hands, ready to crush everything in his path.
Alex smiled straight at him.
The next instant, the spot where Alex had been standing vanished beneath the strike. Ray's axe slammed into the ground with such force that it carved a deep, wide crater. Dust surged upward in a solid wall.
Self-satisfied smiles appeared on the faces of the remaining group members.
"After a hit like that, he couldn't have survived," the woman said cheerfully. "Even if he dodged, the attack radius would still have caught him."
Amid the dust, Ray still stood in the crater, gripping his axe and staring at the empty space beneath him. There was no sign of Alex's body. Only a small pool of blood lay under the blade.
He snapped his head around, but neither saw nor sensed Alex.
Ray tried to pull the axe free from the ground. It didn't budge. He tugged again. And again. Useless.
"What the hell…" he muttered irritably.
At that same moment, a chill ran down his spine. Ray spun around sharply—and had no time to react.
Alex's fist slammed straight into his face.
The blow was so powerful that Ray was hurled headlong out of the crater and sent flying across the arena, until he crashed into the wall with a dull, unmistakable sound, raising yet another cloud of dust.
Alex cast a quick, cold glance at what remained of the group. Two women stood frozen, staring toward where Ray had just slammed into the arena wall. Two more men stood beside them—tense, focused, drilling Alex with their eyes.
He swept his gaze across the arena but saw no sign of the three men he had injured earlier. Alex's eyes drifted instinctively to the side, toward where Adam and Derek were still fighting Kael.
"I need to finish this here and get to them."
Alex surged forward.
The women reacted instantly. Magic circles flared on their staves, and fireballs and icy projectiles shot into the air. Alex weaved between them, sharply changing his trajectory, slipping almost point-blank past lethal streams of magic. Flames scorched the air beside him; ice shattered against the stone behind his back.
When he was almost upon one of the women, Alex swung for the strike.
His blade was stopped.
One of the men appeared abruptly in front of her. Blood sword met blood sword, and a metallic clang rang across the arena. A red magic circle flared beneath Alex's feet.
But he didn't even consider retreating.
Instead of dodging backward or to the side—where other, pre-prepared traps awaited—Alex grabbed the man by the arm and yanked him toward himself, swapping places with him.
The woman froze for a split second. Her spell failed to activate.
That moment was enough.
With a sharp motion, Alex wounded her, the blade sliding along her side and leaving a bloody gash. He immediately spun, deflected the attack of the man he had just switched places with, and smashed his free hand into the man's face with full force.
The man was sent flying several dozen meters, skidding across the stone of the arena.
Alex was already turning for another strike at the woman when an ice wall suddenly rose in front of him. His blow stopped short, spiderwebbing cracks across the frozen surface.
Immediately, identical walls rose from the other sides. In the next moment, Alex found himself sealed inside an icy box.
From the inner walls and the ceiling, sharp ice spikes began to grow. The ice screeched and cracked as the walls surged inward and the ceiling descended, compressing the space to a deadly minimum.
Outside, the woman watched her trap with satisfaction.
But when the frosty mist cleared…
Her face twisted in horror.
Alex stood unharmed. Around him, the ice spikes were shattered, and fragments of ice littered the stone at his feet. The blood sword pulsed softly in his hand.
The woman jerked her staff toward him. Alex launched himself forward.
In one motion, he cleaved the staff in half without even slowing, and with the next strike carved a deep wound into her chest. A sharp kick sent her flying backward, where she struck the stone of the arena with a dull thud.
Alex slowly straightened, shifting his gaze to those still standing.
Only two remained—a wounded woman clutching her bleeding side, and the last man, who stepped in front of her, leveling his spear straight at Alex. His stance was tense but composed, without panic—the posture of a fighter used to guarding the rear.
Alex snorted softly and prepared to charge when he suddenly felt a familiar mana behind him.
He sprang sharply to the side.
"Seriously?" Alex called out loudly into what seemed like empty space, a crooked smile on his face. "Did you really think it would work a second time?"
Though it looked as if he were speaking to no one, Alex clearly felt the aura of that same dagger-wielding man—still invisible, but far too familiar.
The wounded woman, blood still flowing from her injury, leapt backward and with a powerful jump landed on the empty stands. Alex tensed, ready to chase her, but the spearman blocked his path.
Their blows collided. Alex deflected several rapid thrusts and raised his sword for a counterattack, but his blade was intercepted—another metallic clang as the second man, now visible, burst into the fight with gleaming daggers in his hands.
Spear and daggers worked in perfect tandem.
Alex jumped back several meters, but they gave him no respite—both pursued immediately. He dodged, counterattacked, forced them to retreat, but quickly realized this pair was different. Their movements were smooth, coordinated, without wasted motion. Every strike by one was instantly covered by the other.
Each time Alex tried to reach one of them, the other stepped between them. Seconds stretched like thick tar. And then—both suddenly leapt backward dozens of meters.
Alex didn't even have time to inhale before a brown magic circle flared beneath his feet. The stone of the arena instantly lost its solidity, turning into a viscous, clinging mass. Alex's legs began to sink downward.
At the same time, a shadow loomed above.
A massive stone boulder was flying straight at him.
Alex snapped his head to the side and saw Ray standing on the stands with his arm outstretched. A brown magic circle glowed on his palm, and a self-satisfied smile rested on his lips.
Alex smiled back—straight into his eyes. Ray's smile twisted.
The boulder fell. A dull impact shook the arena, throwing up a massive cloud of dust.
One of the swordsmen approached Ray—the same one Alex had previously left with a deep wound across his chest. Now he was completely uninjured, as if nothing had happened.
"The kid held out pretty well," he said. "But even he couldn't survive an attack like that."
The woman Alex had wounded in the chest appeared beside them as well. She, too, was unharmed and merely clicked her tongue.
"Last time, after words like that, he not only survived but injured almost every one of us. I'd be more careful with conclusions."
Ray snorted.
"We should have crushed the brat with the whole group from the start," he said coldly. "Instead of taking turns. We'd have been done with this long ago."
He turned, about to shift his gaze toward where Kael was fighting.
Suddenly, a trembling voice sounded—the second woman's, the one who had only been wounded in the side and now stood whole again.
"…It looks like this isn't over."
Ray's calm vanished instantly. Anger twisted his face as he snapped around, staring into the arena. The dust had not fully settled yet, but everyone could feel Alex's dense, steady magical aura.
"Too early to draw conclusions," Ray thought coldly. "Maybe the brat just hasn't finished dying yet. I hope Kael didn't need him alive too badly. And as much as I hate to admit it, the opponent turned out to be fairly strong. Or maybe it's not about strength at all? From the very beginning, we looked at him like an ordinary student. That's what stopped us from judging him properly."
A crooked smile appeared on Ray's lips.
"That's it. Alex's appearance threw us all off. We didn't even fight at half our strength, attacking one at a time or at most in pairs. If the boy had faced all eight of us at once, the outcome would have been obvious—he would have lost without question."
At that very moment, a chill ran through Ray's body, and the hair on his arms stood on end. He quickly scanned his companions' faces and noticed that some were staring at the boulder in horror, while others looked at it with strange, tense anticipation, as if all of them were waiting for the inevitable continuation.
Ray clicked his tongue and said aloud,
"Stop panicking. Since when do the best adventurers on the continent get scared by some student? You all take down S-rank bosses without a problem, so why are you trembling in fear over—"
He didn't finish.
A cracking sound came from the direction of the boulder. Then another. And another.
A moment later, the boulder shattered into countless fragments that flew in all directions. Ray instinctively squeezed his eyes shut and raised an arm to shield his face as dust and small stones blasted toward them.
"That's… impossible," flashed through his mind.
He snapped his gaze forward and saw Alex—who wasn't even looking at them. His eyes were fixed somewhere along the stands. In the next instant, Alex was there in a single leap.
Panic flared across Ray's face.
"Could it be that he—"
Ray didn't finish the thought. Tightening his grip on the axe, he rushed forward. Alex turned at the exact moment Ray came within striking distance, and the axe blade collided with the blood sword.
"How the hell did you survive that hit?!" Ray roared furiously.
Alex answered calmly, without even raising his voice.
"A-rank dungeon boss attacks are more dangerous than what you showed me here. 'Some of the strongest vampires on the continent'…" He mockingly emphasized the last words.
Ray's eyes instantly flooded with blood. He was about to shout something, but Alex violently knocked his blade aside. In the next moment, Alex was already behind him. A slashing strike ran the length of Ray's back, and blood sprayed across the stone. Another instant—and Alex stood in front of him again, driving a blow straight into his chest. Ray didn't even have time to react before Alex vanished and reappeared behind him, severing both backs of his knees with two short movements.
Ray's legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. The next moment, Alex was in front of him once more. One clean, merciless motion—and the arm holding the axe fell to the stone, separate from the body. Blood poured from every wound, flooding the stands, and Ray went limp, seemingly losing consciousness.
Alex froze.
He stood before Ray's kneeling, blood-soaked body, breathing heavily after the flurry of lightning-fast strikes. Then he shifted his gaze to the rest of the raid group.
They were all frozen in place. The terror on their faces was so genuine it couldn't be mistaken for anything else.
Alex slowly swept his eyes over the arena and the stands, as if searching for someone. Then he clicked his tongue in annoyance and addressed Sirena in his thoughts.
"It looks like our theory about a healer was correct. But right now I don't feel any foreign aura," Alex added irritably. "Not a trace."
"That doesn't mean he isn't here," Sirena replied gently. "Have patience, my Lord."
Alex let out a heavy breath and said aloud, tiredly,
"I hope this night ends soon."
Tightening his grip on the blood sword, he dashed along the stands toward the remaining members of the group.
The terror on their faces vanished almost instantly—as if someone had flipped a switch. Cold focus appeared in their eyes, their movements became precise and coordinated. Three swordsmen stepped forward without a word, synchronizing their positions and blocking the narrow passage of the stands, ready to receive Alex.
The trio gave Alex no pause. They moved in a wedge: the central fighter pressed straight on, forcing Alex to retreat up or down the steps, while the other two constantly flanked him. The moment Alex shifted sideways, a blade immediately cut off his path, forcing him either to take the hit or sharply change position.
From the rear, the sorceresses applied constant pressure. One worked coldly and methodically: ice blades sliced through railings, froze over the steps, and forced Alex to constantly watch his footing. If he stopped even for a moment, ice would bind his feet. The second acted more aggressively: fireballs didn't fly straight but detonated to the sides, changing directions, cutting off escape routes, forcing Alex back toward where the swordsmen were already waiting.
The spearman kept his distance and controlled the space. His strikes were long and precise, forcing Alex to block or evade without getting too close to the women. Whenever Alex made a sharp dash in their direction, the spear instantly appeared in front of him, barring the way. And if Alex tried to force close combat with the spearman, the dagger wielder intervened—quietly, almost imperceptibly, with sharp strikes into blind spots, forcing Alex to abruptly change direction.
Alex slid between attacks, his blood sword constantly in motion—blocking, deflecting, sometimes merely touching enemy blades without committing force. He didn't try to break through the defense, didn't go for risky lunges. His steps were measured, his breathing steady, his gaze calm.
The swordsmen began to accelerate, trying to break his rhythm. Blades flashed closer and closer to his body, and several times Alex was forced to parry at point-blank range, feeling steel skim past his hair and tear his clothes. Fire scorched the air behind him, ice crunched beneath his feet, and the spear repeatedly forced him to leap aside to avoid being impaled.
And yet—they still couldn't pin him down completely. Alex always found a narrow gap, a step, a railing, a shard of ice—something that let him hold on for one more second. And with every passing second, he read them better, all the while waiting for their healer to reveal himself.
Then, after deflecting another blow, a wide, almost cheerful smile spread across Alex's lips. He spun sharply and dashed to the side—toward where Ray's body lay.
"Stop him!" someone shouted from behind.
The three swordsmen instantly rushed after him, not falling a single step behind. The women reacted even faster. A thick, pulsating wall of fire flared up in front of Ray's body, and with a thunderous crash, a massive wall of ice rose before it.
Alex didn't slow down. His blood sword plunged into the ice with a sound as if he were cutting not ice, but glass. The strike was straight and brutal—the wall shattered into fragments, pelting the stands with a hail of icy blocks. The next motion—and the fiery barrier around Ray went out, torn apart by a single sharp sweep.
Alex could already see that the wounds on Ray's body were gone. Chest, back, knees—not a trace of the earlier blows. But along with that, he clearly felt something else. A foreign magical aura just a few meters from Ray. It was faint, barely perceptible, but enough for Alex to know exactly where the healer was.
"Got you," Alex said quietly.
One burst of movement—and his sword traced a short, deadly arc. The strike was precise. Invisibility fell away instantly. A female body appeared on the stone floor of the stands, and beside it—a head that rolled several steps away. Blood quickly spread in dark stains between the cracks in the stone.
Alex straightened and smiled with satisfaction.
"Now this fight will end much faster."
He turned. The three swordsmen who had caught up to him froze near Ray's body. Their faces were pale, their gazes locked on the female corpse at Alex's feet. The rest of the group ran up moments later and likewise stared at the dead body in horror.
The spearman, gathering the last scraps of courage he had left, sharply leveled his spear at Alex.
"We need to buy time for Ray!" he shouted. Though his expression was as serious as he could manage, naked panic rang in his voice. "Yuni, deal with him! We'll cover you!"
The fire sorceress clenched her teeth and nodded, already gathering mana, while the others immediately shifted positions, trying to shield her from the flanks and rear.
Alex merely exhaled slowly and smiled—not widely, not arrogantly, but with that cold, ominous smile that sent a chill crawling down the spine. He raised his hand, and a dark magic circle appeared on his palm.
"Interesting…" he murmured softly. "How many of you will survive this."
Dark flame burst from the magic circle. It didn't roar or flare like ordinary fire. The darkness flowed, rolling forward like a wave, devouring the lantern light and the shadows beneath the adventurers' feet. The space in front of Alex seemed to crumple, and the arena itself drowned for a moment in a dull, suffocating silence.
The adventurers instinctively raised magical barriers. Someone screamed, someone lunged backward—but the darkness was already there.
For several seconds, Alex held it, calmly staring ahead, feeling foreign auras thrash in panic, trying to break free from its grip. Then he slowly clenched his fist. The dark flame vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and Alex stood motionless.
He slowly surveyed the space before him—the place where the adventurers had stood just moments ago, where their tense magical auras had been felt. Now… nothing. Emptiness.
Alex lowered his gaze.
Only a wide black mark remained on the stone of the stands, as if it had been seared by red-hot iron. The stone was cracked, partially sunken. No ash, no fragments of armor, no weapons—nothing remained that could testify that living people had stood there moments ago. Only a scorched stripe.
Alex silently stared at it for several seconds, then slowly relaxed his fingers, letting the last remnants of dark mana finally dissipate. There was no triumph on his face, no joy—only calm and a faint shadow of fatigue.
In the silence that followed the battle, Sirena's calm voice sounded in his mind.
"My Lord… may I ask one question? Purely out of curiosity."
He gave a barely noticeable smile at the corner of his lips.
"You may."
There was a brief pause, as if Sirena were choosing her words.
"Why drag this fight out so much? You could have ended everything far faster. Used the darkness right away, or avoided dealing light wounds and gone straight for lethal ones. Or simply taken heads… the way you did with the healer. Besides," she added after a moment of silence, "it doesn't seem like you derived any pleasure from this battle at all."
Alex let out a heavy sigh, slowly catching his breath.
"I agree with everything you said," he replied honestly. "And… I don't have a clear answer to your question."
He fell silent for a moment, looking at the scorched stone beneath his feet.
"In any case," Alex continued more calmly, "I think it's better if we continue this conversation back at the Academy. And for now… we need to finish dealing with Kael."
Sirena said nothing more.
Alex shifted his gaze toward the part of the arena where the fight between Derek, Adam, and Kael was still ongoing.
Kael stood between the two young men lightly and at ease, as if he were not at the center of a battle, but on a training ground. A mocking smile was frozen on his face, his eyes gleaming with cold interest, as though everything happening was nothing more than entertainment to him.
Adam's sword, completely wrapped in lightning, lunged forward in a series of fast, precise strikes. The blade cut through the air with a sharp electric hiss, every swing measured. Kael stepped back half a pace, barely turning his torso—and Adam's sword passed just centimeters from his shoulder. The next strike missed again. Kael didn't block or parry—he simply dodged, as if he knew the trajectory of every swing before Adam even made it.
Derek attacked from the sides and below with water whips, trying to slip past Kael's sword and reach his body. One whip nearly touched his leg, but Kael leapt, spun in midair, and landed so lightly it seemed he hadn't felt the strain at all. The water sliced into the stone of the arena, leaving a deep groove.
"Too weak," Kael tossed out with a faint laugh.
Adam instantly changed his rhythm. Stepping back, he thrust his palm forward, and a bolt of lightning shot toward Kael—compressed, focused, aimed straight at his chest. At the same time, Derek swept two whips in a crossing arc, cutting off escape routes.
Kael tilted his head, as if appraising the attack.
He took a short step aside, letting the lightning pass by, and in the next moment his own sword—also crackling with electricity—lightly deflected the water whips, without even fully severing them. The water splashed apart, causing no damage.
Adam was already close again. His sword lunged forward once more—a series of three consecutive strikes, each aimed at a vital point. Kael dodged with minimal movement, almost lazily: a lean, a half-turn, a step back. His smile never faded for a moment.
Adam's face remained calm. He breathed evenly, his gaze focused and cold. Even realizing that not a single attack had reached its target so far, he did not lose his rhythm or try to force the pace.
In contrast, Derek grew increasingly irritated. His strikes became wider, his whips more aggressive, his swings sharper. Water slammed into the arena with force, throwing up sprays, but Kael managed to slip out from under every blow. One of the whips passed too close—Kael leaned back, and the water tore away a lock of hair, leaving only a few droplets on his clothes.
"Oh, that's better," he said mockingly. "But you're becoming predictable."
Derek clenched his teeth and attacked again, this time alone, without Adam's support. Two whips struck from opposite sides, a third formed instantly and came down from above. Kael calmly passed between them, as if moving through falling raindrops.
When Adam attacked on his own—sword and lightning, with perfectly measured distance—the result was the same. Kael evaded, giving not the slightest chance to even graze him.
He controlled the fight completely.
Every movement was precise, every step confident. The mocking smile never left his face, and it seemed that Kael was not merely dodging—he was deliberately allowing them to attack, watching, studying, playing with his opponents like a predator that had not yet decided when to deliver the killing blow.
At the same time, he kept casting short glances toward the other side of the arena and the stands. To an outside observer, it looked like mere arrogance—as if he had such absolute control over the situation that he could afford to be distracted. The taunting smile did not leave his face even when he effortlessly dodged another of Adam's strikes or let one of Derek's water whips pass by.
"Ray… you idiot."
Kael had seen Alex survive the stone boulder—an attack that should have erased anyone. He had seen the boy get back up as if nothing had happened. And now—he was calmly fighting on the stands against almost the entire raid group at once. Kael could barely sense Ray's magical aura, which meant he was wounded again.
"I thought after the first injury he'd draw conclusions," the irritated thought flashed through Kael's mind. "No. He charged in alone again. Stepped on the same rake twice."
Kael barely grimaced, effortlessly knocking Adam's sword aside.
"Although… at least the others seem to have figured it out."
He saw the rest of the group acting together, covering one another, finally stopping the steady flow of injuries.
"At least some result," he acknowledged coldly. "They're finally trying to live up to their status. Hopefully, subduing Alex will now be only a matter of time. And when that happens, I'll be able to finish my own fight. Dancing with children is fun… for the first few minutes," he thought with annoyance, dodging another series of attacks. "But it's starting to get on my nerves. Still, better them than him again. One round with Alex was enough for me to understand the difference in power. It defies both logic and my understanding of what's possible. No matter," he promised himself coldly. "I'll ask. If not him—then Elizabeth."
Kael slipped between the attacks once more, the same condescending smile on his face.
"In any case, I will come out the victor. There is simply no other option for me."
Outwardly, Kael maintained a mask of calm, superiority, dominance. But inside—irritation, wariness… and a faint, unwanted shadow of fear that surfaced every time his thoughts touched the name Alex.
"I see the end of this battle. And it will be mine!"
At that very moment, a chill ran across Kael's skin.
The mask of calm cracked like thin glass, replaced for a fraction of a second by shock and a subtle but very real sense of dread. He felt it before he understood it—a surge of powerful, oppressive magical aura behind his back, so dense that the air around him seemed to grow heavier.
Kael threw a brief glance forward—at Adam and Derek.
Both stood frozen. Their movements had stopped, and their pale faces were fixed not on him, not on the battlefield, but on the stands behind him.
Kael tried to turn around. His body refused to obey. He remained staring straight ahead, feeling only the terrifying, dark magical aura behind him, pressing against his back, squeezing his lungs, forcing his heart to beat faster.
A drop of sweat slowly slid down his cheek. His hands trembled slightly. Kael lowered his gaze to them, as if unable to believe it, then looked back at his opponents.
Derek was pale as a sheet, his eyes never leaving the stands. But Adam struck Kael the most. His face—tense just a moment ago—had changed. There was no fear in it. Instead, there was genuine, almost childlike… awe.
A few seconds later, the dark aura vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. The pressure eased.
Kael exhaled sharply, wiped the sweat from his brow, and tried to stretch his familiar condescending smile across his lips. It didn't work. Only then did he manage to slowly turn around.
And in that same moment, he swallowed in fear, a lump catching in his throat. His gaze—now hiding nothing but fear—met Alex's. He stood on the stands, looking down coldly and resolutely, like a predator that had finally noticed a small insect beneath its feet.