The moment the referee's flag dropped, Rylan moved.
There was no sound—
no footstep,
no breath,
no warning.
He simply appeared in front of Leon.
A blur.
A shadow.
A strike faster than Leon's eyes could fully track.
Damian screamed from the stands, "LEEEEEOOONNN—!"
Leon threw himself sideways on instinct.
Rylan's fist grazed his cheek.
Just a graze.
But the impact behind it cratered the stone floor where Leon had been standing.
Students gasped.
"WHAT?!"
"That punch would've broken ribs!"
"He's Level 20—this isn't fair!"
Rylan straightened, calm as cold steel.
"You avoided it. Barely."
Leon didn't reply.
He steadied his stance, daggers raised.
Rylan stepped forward again—this time slower, but heavier. His steps were precise, his breathing controlled, his presence suffocating.
It wasn't that he was fast.
It was that he moved with ruthless efficiency.
A predator.
Rylan raised his hands. "Show me more."
Leon struck first.
He dashed in, daggers flashing.
Left slash—
right stab—
Mana Blade forming on the third swing.
Rylan tilted his head.
The blue arc sliced past him harmlessly.
Leon followed with a knee strike.
Blocked effortlessly.
Rylan countered—
palm strike to the chest.
Leon crossed his daggers, absorbing the blow.
He slid back several meters, boots scraping, breath tight.
Damian shouted, "LEON, HE'S STRONGER THAN A HORSE! A DEMON HORSE!"
Rylan studied him with dangerous interest. "Good reaction speed. Good footwork. You're not normal."
Leon raised his daggers again.
Rylan blurred.
He punched.
Leon blocked.
But blocking Rylan was like trying to stop a mountain.
The impact rattled Leon's bones.
Rylan didn't stop.
Punch.
Kick.
Elbow.
Palm.
Each strike was faster than the last, lined with crushing intent. Leon dodged, deflected, redirected—his body moving with desperate precision.
Luck pulsed, nudging him in the right direction by inches.
Inches that kept him alive.
A fist flew toward his jaw; he ducked under it.
A kick swept toward his ribs; he twisted away.
A palm strike shot toward his neck; he parried with both daggers.
Rylan grinned. "You can read me."
Leon didn't answer.
But inside—
His muscles screamed.
His breath strained.
His heart pounded.
This was the strongest human he had ever fought.
And Rylan wasn't even serious yet.
"Leon is keeping up—?"
"How is he not dead?!"
"A Level 2 shouldn't even SEE those strikes!"
Seraphine Arclight leaned forward slightly in the observation balcony.
Her gaze sharpened.
"This is not skill alone," she murmured. "Something is bending chance around him…"
Her guards exchanged uneasy looks.
Rylan leapt back suddenly, giving Leon a brief breath.
"You're not bad," he admitted. "You're the only Level 2 who made me take a defensive step."
Damian fainted. Again.
Rylan cracked his knuckles.
"But now—try to handle this."
Mana surged around him—
green, sharp, slicing mana.
Wind-type.
A dangerous variant.
Rylan dashed.
This time faster.
This time with mana boosting every movement.
Leon barely blocked the first hit.
The second hit slammed his shoulder.
The third grazed his ribs.
The fourth sent him skidding across the arena floor.
The crowd screamed.
"He hit him!"
"Leon is bleeding!"
"Someone stop the fight!"
Dust billowed around Leon.
He rose slowly, blood trickling from his lip, his breath unsteady.
Rylan watched him with a wolf's focus. "Still standing?"
Leon wiped the blood with his thumb.
"Yes."
Rylan grinned wider. "Good."
He sprinted again.
Leon thrust both daggers forward—
Mana Blade—
Mana Blade—
Mana Blade—
Three consecutive crescents shot toward Rylan.
Rylan twisted through them like a dancer, each dodge perfect.
But on the third dodge—
Luck pulsed.
Rylan's foot slipped on a loose stone.
Just half an inch.
Just enough.
Leon rushed in—
daggers flashing—
aiming for the opening.
Rylan caught his wrist.
He froze.
The entire arena froze.
Rylan's grin vanished.
"Interesting."
In a single motion, he flung Leon backward.
Leon landed hard, rolling across the ground.
Damian shrieked, "SOMEBODY PLEASE STOP THIS MADMAN!"
Rylan walked toward Leon slowly.
"You used luck," Rylan said softly. "Not skill. Not power."
Leon rose again.
Rylan's voice deepened. "That talent of yours… it's dangerous."
His tone wasn't admiration.
It was warning.
And excitement.
Rylan lunged again—
this time grabbing Leon's shirt and pulling him close.
"You're not fighting properly," Rylan whispered. "You're holding back more than I expected."
Leon didn't respond.
Rylan's eyes glinted. "Let me help you bring it out."
He slammed his forehead into Leon's.
The sound cracked like lightning.
Leon's vision blurred—
stars exploding—
ears ringing—
He staggered backward.
The crowd roared.
Damian screamed himself hoarse.
Rylan didn't let up.
He sprinted again—
faster, harder, sharper—
fist cocked back.
He aimed straight for Leon's solar plexus.
This blow—
would knock Leon unconscious.
Or worse.
The crowd gasped.
Seraphine stood.
Damian fainted for the third time.
Leon inhaled sharply.
Luck pulsed.
Harder than ever.
As if screaming.
Leon's foot moved on its own—
half-step forward.
Angle shifted.
Shoulder rotated.
Rylan's punch missed by a hair.
Leon counterattacked.
Mana Blade at point-blank range.
Blue light flashed against Rylan's chest.
A direct hit.
A full-force one.
Rylan flew backward—
skidding across the stone—
slamming into the far wall.
The arena exploded.
"NO WAY!"
"He hit Rylan Thorn!"
"A Level 2 knocked him back?!"
Damian woke up instantly. "WE HIT A LEVEL TWENTY?! LEON WE'RE GOING TO JAIL!"
Dust swirled around Rylan.
He rose slowly.
He wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth.
And then—
He laughed.
A deep, wild, genuine laugh.
"YES," Rylan growled. "THAT'S IT!"
His eyes burned with excitement.
"You really are worth fighting."
He stepped forward again.
His mana flared.
And for the first time—
Leon felt genuine pressure.
This was no warm-up.
This was the real Rylan Thorn.
The monster among upper-years.
The Elite Combat Track's pinnacle.
He cracked his neck.
"This time, Leon Gray…"
He raised his fists.
"I'm done holding back."