CHAPTER 174: CYRUS VS JESKA

The announcer’s voice rang out once more, playful and booming:

"And now! For our fourth match in the Octofinals, one that may not last long, or may surprise us all! Will brute strength win the day, or will speed and precision prove superior?!"

A pause, then a dramatic drumroll echoing through the stadium.

"In this corner! Jeska! She’s the woman with strength that could punch through castle walls and a smile that’s been known to intimidate black bears! Known for her ferocity, resilience, and devastating strengthening magic, she’s a force to be reckoned with!"

A tall, well-built woman strode onto the arena floor with deliberate steps. Her bronze skin gleamed with sweat. Her knuckles were wrapped in tight black bandages, and her sleeveless leather armour creaked as she rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck.

"She’s never met an opponent she couldn’t smash through, and rumour has it she trains by punching boulders until they beg for mercy. Let’s hear it for Jeska!"

A ripple of cheers spread through the crowd. Jeska didn’t acknowledge them. She kept her eyes fixed ahead.

"And now, her opponent! Sleek, stylish, and sharp! With a rapier as quick as lightning and a fighting style like dancing death... you know them by now! The ever-elegant Cyrus Vale!"

The gate opposite hers opened and Cyrus stepped out to a different kind of applause.

Whistles, excited cheers, and polite clapping from fans who clearly followed his past performances.

He wore his long crimson coat that fluttered with every step, a decorative silver rapier at his side. His blond hair was neatly tied back, and his sharp blue eyes gleamed with confidence.

"He made short work of Helka in the first round, delivering a dozen strikes in two seconds! Or so the referees said! A master of precision! He doesn’t waste a single movement! Can brute strength overcome his speed and technique? Or will Jeska join the growing list of those he’s defeated?"

As Cyrus reached his starting position, he gave Jeska a small, courteous bow. Jeska cracked her knuckles in response.

The announcer gave them a beat of silence.

"Fighters... ready?"

Cyrus lowered into a fencing stance, rapier pointed forward. Jeska crouched slightly, body humming with stored magical strength, like a spring compressed and waiting to burst.

"Begin!"

Jeska lunged.

It was like a cannon firing. One moment she was still, and the next her foot shattered a tile as she launched toward him.

Cyrus sidestepped like wind slipping through a gap between two rocks, light on his feet, his coat swirling behind him. He thrust once, just once, but Jeska flinched back, and the blade grazed her shoulder harmlessly.

She knew his speed and tried to account for it in her movements.

"You’re faster than I thought," she muttered, twisting to pivot and throw a left hook.

It missed.

And then the true dance began.

Jeska moved like a battering ram, her punches reinforced with layers upon layers of strengthening enchantments. She created small craters in the ground with every step, and her fists caused shockwaves that cracked the air.

But Cyrus never stayed in one place long enough for those fists to land.

Instead, his rapier flicked forward again and again, striking not for her torso or head, but for her joints. First the elbow. Then the knee. Then a quick jab to the wrist.

Kai leaned forward in his seat, hands gripping his knees.

"He’s targeting all the places that support her movement," he whispered.

Jeska grunted with pain and narrowed her eyes. Her left elbow twitched as she tried to swing, but the joint didn’t respond properly. Cyrus had struck just enough to displace the joint’s movement.

"Jeska can punch a hole through a steel gate, but only if she could move her arm!" the announcer shouted gleefully. "And Cyrus Vale isn’t giving her that chance!"

Kai nodded slowly, seeing it clearly now. Jeska’s attacks began to slow, not from fatigue, but from the strikes made by Cyrus. Her balance was shifting. Her steps weren’t aligned. Every time she tried to launch herself, Cyrus nipped at the architecture of her body, dismantling her power at the seams.

’I could break through that limitation by allowing my shadow magic to move my body, but that’s a little less precise...’

Jeska roared, and with raw fury, unleashed a final desperate surge.

She slammed her foot into the floor and charged like a bull. The tiles cracked with every step.

Cyrus was already gone.

She punched, and he slipped sideways.

She twisted, and he ducked low.

Then, he struck again.

This time, his rapier touched behind her knee. Her leg gave out.

Jeska stumbled forward and dropped to one knee, sweat pouring from her forehead.

Her body trembled. She tried to rise.

Cyrus raised his rapier and waited, polite as ever. He was giving her a chance to fight back.

’Damn... He doesn’t just want to win. He wants a fight. He wants to see what she can do. I want to fight him.’

She looked up at him.

"You’re good," she said, smiling through the pain. "Real good."

She rose to her feet with pure adrenaline and willpower and went to throw a punch, but Cyrus met her throat with the tip of his rapier.

She threw her hands up, knowing she’d lost.

The crowd erupted, not in dismay, but in excitement. The mix of finesse and brute power had created a riveting spectacle.

"And that’s the match!" the announcer cried, practically singing. "Cyrus Vale moves on to the Quarterfinals! Jeska gave it her all, but our lightning-quick duelist moves forward unscathed!"

Cyrus offered Jeska his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up gently.

They walked off together, instead of to their respective sides of the arena.

The crowd applauded both competitors.

Kai leaned back in his seat, brow furrowed.

"He still hasn’t been touched," he muttered.

Vepice glanced at him.

"You think you’ll have to fight him?"

"If we both make it to the semifinals... It’s possible."