Chapter 53: A Cheer-Warrior

From this point, it was obvious she was still testing the technique against her opponent, playing with it rather than committing fully, judging by just how mildly she’d chosen to apply it so far. She hadn’t gone anywhere near its true severity yet, still readjusting to its rhythm after what had clearly been ages since she’d last called on it in battle.

Mark had already pieced together, from his earlier exploration of Cassandra’s chamber, that this particular technique stood as a special embodiment, likely tracing back to one of the Amazon Queen’s own glories and blessings.

It carried a genuinely diabolical edge, more than capable of severing and slaying an opponent outright. Beyond that, it sharpened the efficiency of every combat movement behind it, and most fascinating of all, it let its wielder catch fleeting glimpses into an opponent’s own fighting art, weaving pieces of it seamlessly into her own.

This had clearly been bestowed on her like some hard earned trophy, a mark of true distinction, and it stood as one of the very things that set her apart even among fellow Amazonians.

Watching the shift unfold, Kai’s eyes widened. If he was reading the scene correctly, the Amazon had transitioned fully into deliberate, dance like footwork. It no longer looked like two opponents locked in combat at all, more like two dancers moving in practiced tandem. She’d somehow made it look as though her opponent were simply participating in her own performance.

Max noticed it too, a growing unease chipping away at his earlier confidence. The whole thing felt genuinely absurd to watch, two combatants meant to be striking and fighting with real, brutal intent, yet the scene playing out in front of him looked closer to something majestic and elegant instead.

Over in the staff section, Carlo leaned back comfortably in his seat, glancing sideways toward the combat instructor.

"So, still good for that bet, or should we raise the stakes a little?"

The combat instructor returned the glance with an easy smile, resting one hand thoughtfully against his chin.

"Hmm, I think I’ll just leave it where it stands. Wouldn’t want to multiply your losses too badly."

Cassandra moved with striking dexterity across each footfall, leaning smoothly to evade an incoming strike, raising one slender leg into a counter, twirling gracefully to parry and strike in the same fluid motion, flowing effortlessly around a rapid volley of continuous blows from her opponent.

It was, without question, a genuinely ancient art, the kind that deserved to be cherished and preserved. There was little doubt it ranked among the most valuable, sought after techniques recorded anywhere in Amazonian history.

No formal record had ever classified this particular style of movement as a dance outright, but what set this one apart was its true purpose. It wasn’t crafted purely for enchantment or display. It existed to slay enemies and opponents alike.

This was a weapon wielded only by someone who had earned the right to carry it, through years of loyal, unwavering service to the Amazon Order.

Several of the more attentive students in the crowd had started noticing the shift too. Some watched with open fascination as her graceful frame swept gracefully across the platform, while others remained genuinely uncertain how movements like that could ever translate into real combat effectiveness.

A handful reacted loudly, some in clear approval, others with obvious skepticism.

A freshman girl near the front leaned so far over the railing her friend had to grab her sleeve. "Wait, is she seriously dancing right now? In the middle of a fight?"

"How is that even supposed to work as an actual technique?" the boy beside her asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Look at her feet, though," a sophomore a few rows back cut in, leaning forward with real interest. "She’s not moving randomly at all. There’s a pattern to it."

"She’s basically making that shrimp follow her rhythm instead of the other way around," his neighbor added, nodding slowly.

A junior further down leaned forward as well, arms braced against his knees. "She’s reading its movements in real time. Every single attack it throws, she already seems to know exactly where she needs to be next."

The MantisShrimp lashed out with another rapid combination, but Cassandra slipped cleanly between each strike with such precise, unhurried timing that several nearby students fell completely silent, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

One sophomore boy swallowed hard. "Okay, that wasn’t luck. That was something else entirely."

Cassandra carried herself with all the competence, rhythm, and flow of a cheerleader dancing to lift a team’s morale mid game. It was, in its own strange way, a perfectly fitting echo of her unusual title, the Cheer Warrior.

Except her purpose here wasn’t to support anyone. It was to intimidate, mirror, and ultimately bring down the target standing in front of her.

The sight grew harder and harder for the crowd to simply brush off. What had first looked like some elegant, almost ceremonial display was steadily revealing itself as something considerably more dangerous underneath.

"Okay, this is starting to actually feel scary," a freshman boy muttered, gripping the edge of his seat.

"And she hasn’t even gone in for a real, serious hit yet," his sophomore neighbor pointed out.

"Then why does it feel like Roman’s summon is the one being controlled here, not her?" another junior asked, glancing between them.

"Because she’s the one dictating the entire pace of this fight," the sophomore replied simply.

It really was as spectacular and genuinely glorious a display as ever.

Mia watched from her own seat in the stands, a small smile tugging at her lips as she savored the coming downfall of yet another of Kai’s subordinates, an outcome that would almost certainly bruise his standing as one of the sophomore class’s top ranked names, positioned above her own.

The MantisShrimp swung both arms in a swift, striking flurry, throwing punches sharp enough to spark faint flashes in the air with each swing.

Cassandra shifted smoothly from one foot to the other, leaning her body to easily slip past each blow. She leaned further still over her left leg before twisting backward in one continuous motion.

Her body seemed to read and respond entirely on its own by this point, moving fluidly through a continuous sequence of dance concealed strikes, defenses, and parries.

The MantisShrimp leaned forward, launching a crushing blow from one arm and a Spear strike from the other simultaneously, both cutting sharply through the air toward her.

Cassandra pivoted through a series of patterned, successive movements, turning to the side, balanced entirely on the support of her feet. Both attacks sliced cleanly through empty air, exactly where her right rib and chest had been only a heartbeat earlier.

With that, she raised one of her slender yet powerful legs, extending her foot before slicing it through the air in a sharp, twirling, almost balletic motion that connected squarely with her target.

Gasps of shock and surprise rippled through the stands like a sudden, cresting wave as thick blue ichor sprayed violently across the floor in a flowing arc, the MantisShrimp’s left arm severed clean away entirely.

Kai’s head snapped backward at the sight, utterly unprepared for it, while Max looked genuinely close to being sick.

Mia’s smile widened, a soft chuckle slipping free from her lips, drawing a few curious glances from nearby students. That attention didn’t last long, though, chased off almost instantly by a single sharp glare from Victor, scattering the onlookers like startled rats fleeing sudden light.

She pressed one hand over her mouth, fighting to keep the growing giggle from tipping fully into open laughter. She genuinely loved what had just unfolded in front of her.

Something sweet stirred quietly in her chest at the sight, enough to make her want to openly praise Mark for making her entire day, humiliating two of Kai’s own subordinates in a row, even while some small part of her wished the victory belonged to her instead.

Roman’s expression twisted into the ugliest look he’d worn all match, disbelief, rage, and mounting anxiety colliding all at once at the very real possibility his summon might be finished for good.

"Roman’s summon just lost an entire arm!" a sophomore near the aisle blurted, hand flying to his mouth.

"Is that even something a summon can recover from?" the freshman beside him asked, wide eyed.

"Don’t lean out that far, it’s still moving!" a junior a row back warned sharply, pulling his own friend back from the railing.

The referee’s attention snapped toward the MantisShrimp, clearly ready to step in if things turned genuinely unsafe, though the match’s built in safety system remained dormant for now, the summon still technically capable of continuing.

Cassandra pressed forward, driving a brutal front kick straight into the MantisShrimp’s chest, the armored shell caving inward with a sharp, crisp crack.

To her, this barely registered as anything at all, no different, really, from crushing some overgrown, squishy insect, if considerably larger in scale.

Though certainly nothing next to her own true, towering size.

She advanced on the badly bleeding MantisShrimp with slow, deliberate steps, hips swaying in that same effortlessly elegant stride she always carried.

Several students visibly tensed at the sight.

"She’s still walking toward it," a sophomore girl whispered, gripping the edge of her seat.

"The referee already blew the whistle, though," her freshman friend said uncertainly.

"Is she actually going to stop?" someone else asked from a row behind them, voice tight.

The referee blew his whistle a second time, formally signaling the end of the match, even though neither combatant had technically declared surrender outright. Still, the outcome sat plain and obvious to everyone watching by this point.

Yet Cassandra didn’t halt her advance there.

Her entire body language carried a stubborn, unbroken continuity, the same bloody battle instinct honed and reinforced across countless ages of combat. Her eyes burned with sharp, unwavering intensity, locked firmly on the massive, wounded shrimp before her.

Disgust flickered plainly behind her gaze.

She had already won, decisively, beyond any real dispute. And yet some older, deeply ingrained part of her still demanded she finish the role expected of a properly loyal, dutiful Amazon.