Chapter 121: Phoenix Duel
The spectators shouted louder, divided between those who believed in the seasoned Swordmaster and those rooting for the Celia from Sindra.
"Then let the fight begin!" the emissary declared, dropping his hand.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Celia pulled her sword free in one smooth motion, holding it steady in front of her. Her golden demi-human eyes narrowed, locking onto her opponent.
Across from her, Wilfric drew his blade as well, the steel ringing as it slid free. He held it with a calm, steady hand—his gaze sharp, unreadable.
The two fighters stood still, swords raised, staring at each other in silence.
"Hmph... just a lady. And again, only rank E," Wilfric muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing on Celia. "True, that team Nolan—were impressive. I saw his battle myself. But does it matter? No. I don’t believe the girl in his team can keep up with my speed."
The moment the signal dropped, Wilfric dashed forward. His sword blurred, cutting down with terrifying force.
Clang!
Celia barely caught the strike, her knees bending from the impact.
He smirked. "Not bad... for rank E."
His blade flashed again strike after strike, each faster than the last. Celia’s arms trembled as she blocked, her boots sliding backward across the sand. The crowd leaned forward, murmurs rising. She was already on the defensive, unable to press back.
"She’s only focused on my blade," Wilfric realized, his eyes narrowing. A cruel thought crossed his mind.
He shifted suddenly, and instead of another slash—wham!—his boot smashed into the side of her head.
Celia stumbled back, her vision rattling. She almost lost her footing, but with sheer will, she forced herself upright. Her breathing quickened, her sword shaking slightly in her grip.
Damn it... I didn’t want to use my White Phoenix yet. I wanted to keep it hidden for Cora . But... if I don’t... there’s no way I can win. He’s shutting every door on me.
Wilfric vanished from her sight. Her eyes widened. Where—?!
A whisper of steel hissed at her back. She turned slowly—and saw his blade about to cleave down.
Her instincts roared.
"White Phoenix!" she shouted.
In an instant, her body ignited. White flames burst forth, threads of crimson weaving through them. The fire rippled across her skin like armor, burning hotter than the sun itself.
Whoosh!
She dodged, so fast the air cracked.
The crowd gasped, eyes widening, jaws dropping.
Even Wilfric’s expression faltered. "Impossible...! How did she move that fast? Faster than me...?"
He gritted his teeth. I thought I had the upper hand. But no... she’s—
"Come at me," Celia said firmly, her voice cutting through the arena like a blade.
His eyes flared. "Are you mocking me?!" he roared, rushing forward.
Their swords clashed again—clang! clang! clang!—each strike sharper, heavier. Sparks flew in the air.
The audience could no longer follow their blades. To most, it looked as though the fighters themselves had vanished, replaced by blurs of motion and streaks of flame. The clangor of steel echoed like thunder, shaking the entire arena.
Inside the storm of blades, Celia thought, He’s strong. He wasn’t going all out before... But now—we’re equals. Neither of us is backing down.
Wilfric thought the same. This... This girl... She’s no mere rank E.
"What did I tell you all?" The host shouted above the roar of the crowd. "She’s proven she’s not a Rank E! Look at her—going blow for blow with a Rank S Swordmaster!"
The audience erupted.
"What is going on?!" another voice cried. "This is outstanding!"
The emissary leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Yes... yes it is. Remarkable. It seems I’ve become a fan of Team Nolan myself."
From the stands, someone shouted, "They’re too strong! Every time you think they’ll lose, they pull through and win!"
But another spectator shook his head. "Don’t get carried away. Do you really think she can defeat Wilfric—the Swordmaster? Even if she’s keeping up, he’s on another level!"
"That’s true," another added. "Wilfric comes from the Empire—the land of the strongest adventurers. And she? She’s just from Sindra, a backwater village. A lady like her can’t—"
"Can’t she?" someone else interrupted.
The arena fell into a tense hush, every eye fixed on the battle.
Wilfric’s brow furrowed as he exchanged another series of blindingly fast strikes with Celia. Their blades screamed against each other, sparks bursting like firecrackers.
Damn it... how am I not overwhelming her? he thought bitterly. How am I not crushing her outright?
His eyes darted to her blade, now blazing with white and crimson flame. The heat washed over him even from a distance, searing the air.
"It’s that flame," Wilfric muttered through clenched teeth. "That’s what’s keeping her alive... no—more than alive. It’s what’s putting her on my level."
Each time their blades met, the heat surged closer. His gut twisted. If that sword so much as grazes me... my skin, my bones—they’ll burn. That flame isn’t natural.
For the first time, unease flickered in the Swordmaster’s chest.
But then his eyes hardened. "I won’t lose!" he snarled.
Both fighters leapt back in unison, breathing heavy, swords raised.
Then—without hesitation—they charged.
The clash that followed sent shockwaves through the arena. Their blades blurred, striking so fast the audience could no longer separate motion from flame.
Suddenly, Celia’s hand flared. A small ball of fire streaked forward—fwoosh!
Wilfric’s eyes widened. He hadn’t even noticed her casting. He twisted midair, barely avoiding it. The fireball exploded behind him, heat licking his skin.
"Tch... that was close," he hissed. "If that had hit, it would’ve scorched straight to my bone."
He swung down in retaliation, blade whistling. Celia blocked, sparks bursting, and shoved him back with a cry.
"I want to win," Wilfric muttered, steadying his breath. "If I keep fighting this way... it won’t be enough."
He pressed two fingers to his temple, lowering his head as though closing a book, and suddenly his aura spiked. The ground trembled faintly beneath his feet.
"What’s he doing?" someone in the crowd gasped.