Chapter 314. Is This the Great Prodigy? A Girl Who Knows How to Run?

The horn did not merely sound; it shrieked. The magical amplification turned the blast into a physical shockwave that rippled through the crowd, silencing the chatter and leaving only the raw, hungry expectation of the masses.

The sound reverberated in William’s bones, a primal warning that the time for words had ended and the era of steel had begun.

Lia stepped out from the shadows of the tunnel, her boots crunching on the sun-bleached sand of the arena floor. The light was blinding, a white-hot glare that made the arena feel less like a stage and more like an altar prepared for sacrifice.

Her greatsword felt impossibly heavy on her back, each step a conscious decision, each breath a measured attempt to keep her heart from hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

From across the scorched circle of sand, Commander Ardyn emerged. She didn’t walk so much as stalk, her movements fluid and predatory.

Her armor glinted viciously in the sunlight, and as she reached for the hilt of her weapon, the crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch.

With one smooth, terrifyingly practiced motion, she drew her massive greatsword. The blade sang as it left the sheath, a high, metallic wail that set William’s teeth on edge.

Ardyn didn’t immediately charge. Instead, she planted her feet wide, rolling her shoulders until they popped audibly, then settled into an aggressive, low stance.

Her grin was wide, showing teeth, her eyes bright with something that looked dangerously close to bloodlust.

"So," Ardyn called out, her voice carrying easily across the arena, laced with a mocking amusement. "Here I am... facing the little prodigy everyone’s been whispering about."

"The one they say has been forged in the fire of William Wade’s obsession," Ardyn chuckled. "I must be proud of you to get trained by the one who saved this academy from the Hollow Circle attack."

Lia stopped ten paces away. She didn’t flinch at the provocation.

She reached back, her fingers finding the hilt of her own sword, and drew it slowly. The steel hummed as it cleared the sheath, a counterpoint to Ardyn’s blade.

"I’m not here for whispers, Commander," Lia replied, her voice surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "And I’m not here to prove anything to them."

"I’m here to prove what I can do."

Ardyn laughed, a harsh, barking sound that drew nervous glances from the nobility. "Spoken like a true student of the academy."

"All theory, all posture. But theory doesn’t stop a blade from splitting your skull open, girl."

"Theory doesn’t stop the feeling of your own ribs cracking under pressure."

Lia met Ardyn’s gaze, refusing to look away. "I’ve learned more than theory."

"I’ve learned how to survive. And I’ve learned that respect isn’t given; it’s taken."

The commander’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something sharper, something more dangerous.

"Respect?" Ardyn’s voice dropped an octave, losing its mocking edge and gaining a deadly seriousness. "You want my respect? Then earn it."

"Show me that you’re more than just another pretty face with a shiny toy."

"Show me you have the stomach to see blood and not blink."

Lia shifted her weight, her grip tightening on her sword until her knuckles turned white. Her inner monologue was a frantic whisper.

’Focus. Breathe. Watch her hips, watch her shoulders.’

’She’s faster than she looks.’

’Don’t let her dictate the rhythm.’

’Don’t become the prey.’

"I won’t blink," Lia promised, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper that seemed to carry more weight than any shout. "I’ll show you exactly what I’m made of."

Ardyn’s eyes flared. The playful predator had vanished, replaced by the hardened veteran who had survived countless battlefields.

"Good. Because I don’t plan on holding anything back."

The two women stood frozen in the center of the arena, two points of lethal intent separated by twenty feet of sand. The silence between them was suffocating, a coiled spring of tension that seemed to stretch until it threatened to snap the very air.

The crowd held its breath, thousands of eyes fixed on the two figures, waiting for the first spark to ignite the inferno.

William watched from the sidelines, his hands clenched so tight his fingernails drew blood from his own palms.

’Don’t rush it, Lia,’ he pleaded silently. Wait for her to overextend. ’Let her show her hand first.’

’Don’t let her turn this into a slaughter before it even begins.’

Ardyn circled slowly, her greatsword held low, the tip carving a shallow groove in the sand.

"Come on then, little bird," Ardyn provoked, her voice dripping with challenge. "Show me your wings if you wish to be free."

The silence shattered like glass. Ardyn didn’t announce her attack; she simply became motion. With a guttural roar that sounded more like a wounded beast than a human, she exploded forward, her massive greatsword whistling through the air with terrifying velocity.

The first strike was a vertical cleave aimed at Lia’s skull. Lia reacted instinctively, her greatsword rising to meet the blow in a desperate, grinding parry.

When the two blades connected, the sound wasn’t a metallic clang; it was a bone-deep thrum that vibrated through the entire arena floor. The force of Ardyn’s impact sent a shockwave through Lia’s arms, nearly dislocating her shoulders.

’Gods, she’s not human,’ Lia thought frantically, her teeth grinding together as she fought to keep her sword from being driven straight through her own collarbone. ’It’s like being hit by a falling mountain.’

Ardyn didn’t give her a moment to breathe. She twisted her hips, converting the momentum of the failed cleave into a vicious horizontal slash.

Lia twisted her body, barely evading the blade as it hissed past her ribs, close enough to tear through her tunic and leave three thin crimson lines across her skin. Blood immediately began to seep, warm and sticky.

"Come on, Lia!" Kaela’s voice cut through the crowd’s tense murmur, loud and fierce, a desperate anchor in the chaos. "You’ve got this! Don’t let her break you!"

But to the spectators, it looked like breaking. Ardyn was a whirlwind of steel and violence.

Each strike was a thunderclap. Lia was being driven backward, her boots carving deep furrows in the sand as she retreated inch by excruciating inch.

Ardyn’s strikes carried a raw, overwhelming power that made every impact against Lia’s guard feel like a small earthquake.

"She’s just running," a student muttered from the third tier, his voice dripping with disdain. "She can’t match that kind of power."

"She’s just waiting to die."

"Look at her hands," another whispered, pointing at Lia’s white-knuckled grip. "She’s terrified. She’s cornered."

Lord Valestria watched from his seat of honor, his narrow, skeptical eyes tracking every movement. He saw only retreat. He saw only a girl being systematically dismantled by a seasoned predator.

To him, this was not a duel; it was a public execution.

But William saw something else entirely. His eyes were locked on the way Lia’s feet planted and the way her blade didn’t just block but flowed.

With every devastating impact, Lia wasn’t just absorbing the force; she was channeling it. She was using her Undertow Surge not as a shield, but as a funnel.

Each time Ardyn’s blade struck hers, Lia’s blade would tilt at a precise angle, redirecting the kinetic energy downward through her stance and back into the earth, while simultaneously gathering a subtle, coiled tension in her own muscles.

’She’s not running,’ William realized, his heart hammering against his ribs. ’She’s building pressure.’

’She’s letting Ardyn think she’s winning, letting Ardyn exhaust her own momentum into the void.’

’She’s turning herself into a dam, and she’s waiting for the moment Ardyn tries to break through.’

Ardyn pressed the advantage, sensing weakness. She unleashed a flurry of strikes, left, right, and overhead, each one more brutal than the last.

Lia’s defense became a frantic dance of redirects. A strike grazed Lia’s shoulder, sending a spray of blood across the sand; another blow caught Lia’s thigh, leaving a deep, purple bruise that would surely become a hematoma.

The sound of steel meeting steel was becoming a constant, deafening rhythm, punctuated by Lia’s labored, ragged breathing.

"Is that all?" Ardyn taunted, her face flushed with exertion, sweat streaming down her scarred features. "Is this the great prodigy? A girl who knows how to run?"

Lia didn’t answer. Her inner world was a cold, focused tunnel.

’More. Give me more.’

’Let her pour everything into me.’

’The surge is almost full. Just one more... one more mistake...’

Blood dripped from Lia’s chin, mixing with the sweat. Her muscles screamed in protest, each nerve ending firing warnings of impending failure.

But beneath the pain, there was a terrifying calm. The Undertow Surge was no longer just a technique; it was a living thing coiling inside her bones, a storm waiting to be unleashed.

Ardyn roared again, raising her sword high for what appeared to be a finishing blow: a massive, two-handed overhead strike that would split Lia from crown to sternum.

The crowd gasped, many turning their heads away from the impending carnage.