Chapter 302: Ariel’s Fight [2]

Chapter 302: Chapter 302: Ariel’s Fight [2]

The crowd’s roar hadn’t even settled when the Iron Mountain Sect’s second fighter charged onto the stage.

A heavy-set man with a stone-gray spear, his feet pounding the stone as he sprinted toward Ariel.

The spear tip glowed with earthen energy, ready to impale her while she was still recovering from the first fight.

Smart tactic.

Desperate tactic.

It failed before it began.

Ariel turned to face him, her expression calm and unruffled. No heavy breathing. No sign of exertion.

The Yang Qi reservoir Damon had cultivated inside her hummed with vitality, replenishing her energy faster than any pill could.

The spear specialist’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"How?" he gasped, his voice trembling.

Ariel smiled serenely.

She raised The Trident, its blue tip gleaming.

Blue light bloomed around her, water coalescing into a spiraling vortex of crescent-shaped blades.

Crescent Riptide.

The technique manifested in an instant, a cyclone of razor-sharp water that spun around her body.

The blades hummed as they cut through the air, each one carrying enough force to slice through steel.

The spear specialist planted his feet and thrust.

His stone-gray spear extended, the tip aimed at Ariel’s chest.

It never reached her.

The Crescent Riptide caught the spear mid-flight, the spiraling blades wrapping around the shaft like a serpent.

The sound of grinding stone filled the arena as the vortex stripped the weapon from his hands.

The spear spun through the air, clattering against the barrier.

His eyes went wide.

The vortex didn’t stop.

It continued its spiral, shredding his armor into ribbons. Strips of enchanted leather and steel plating flew in every direction, scattering across the arena floor like confetti.

He stood exposed, arms raised to protect his face.

Ariel closed the distance.

She swept his legs with the shaft of The Trident, the legendary artifact moving like an extension of her own body. His legs left the ground, his body tilting backward.

Before he could fall, she planted her palm against his chest.

An aquatic palm strike.

Water surged from her palm, a pressurized blast that sent him flying across the arena. He crashed into the barrier, the impact cracking the stone floor where he landed.

He didn’t get up.

Medical stewards rushed onto the stage, lifting the unconscious fighter onto a stretcher and carrying him off.

The crowd buzzed with disbelief.

"Two down," Mio muttered from the dugout.

Mia nodded. "She’s not even winded."

Damon watched Ariel stand in the center of the arena, The Trident resting against her shoulder. Her robes were pristine. Not a single scratch. Not a single drop of blood.

The Tidal Sovereign Art was more than a technique.

It was a statement.

The Iron Mountain Sect’s third fighter stepped onto the stage.

He was massive.

A mountain of muscle wrapped in scarred leather armor, a hammer the size of a boulder resting on his shoulder.

His jaw was set, his eyes burning with desperation.

Two of his sect brothers had fallen. He was their last chance to salvage dignity. The weight of that responsibility pressed down on his shoulders like a mountain.

He was massive—a wall of muscle wrapped in scarred leather armor, his hammer the size of a boulder resting on his shoulder.

His jaw was set, his eyes burning with desperation.

He knew what awaited him.

He had watched the previous fighters fall to the blue-haired girl with the legendary trident.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t announce himself.

There was no point in words. No challenge to issue. The time for posturing had passed.

He simply raised his hammer, the muscles in his arms bulging as he gripped the handle with both hands. He brought it down with all his might, slamming the head into the stone floor.

The ground trembled.

The stone floor erupted.

Jagged spikes of earth shot upward in a wave, a forest of stone teeth that spread across the arena toward Ariel. The spikes rose in irregular patterns, creating a maze of obstacles designed to trap and impale.

Jagged spikes of earth shot upward in a wave, a forest of stone teeth that spread across the arena toward Ariel. The spikes rose in irregular patterns, creating a maze of obstacles designed to trap and impale.

Ariel didn’t retreat.

She stepped forward, body gliding through air.

But her feet didn’t touch the ground; water motes formed beneath them, supporting her weightless advance.

Water motes rose from the air, droplets of moisture suspended in the atmosphere.

She stepped onto them, her body rising above the spike field like a dancer ascending invisible stairs.

Each step created a new platform beneath her foot.

The hammer-wielder stared up at her, his jaw hanging open.

"What the—"

Ariel raised The Trident.

She held it above her head, the three prongs pointing downward. Water began to gather at the tip, compressing into a dense sphere of liquid pressure.

She dropped.

The descent was silent.

No battle cry. No declaration of victory.

Just the quiet certainty of a technique perfected.

The Trident struck the ground beside the hammer-wielder, the prongs sinking into the stone.

A pillar of compressed water erupted from the impact point, a column of liquid pressure that slammed into his chest with the force of a waterfall.

He didn’t even have time to scream.

The pressure pinned him to the ground, his hammer clattering uselessly beside him. His body pressed flat against the stone, arms and legs spread, unable to move.

"Surrender," Ariel said.

Her voice was soft.

The hammer-wielder tried to speak, but the pressure crushed the air from his lungs.

"I... give up..."

The water pillar dissolved.

Ariel pulled The Trident from the ground.

Grand Marshal Vane raised his hand.

"Winner! Ariel Aquaria of the Azure Dragon Sect."

The crowd exploded, a wave of sound that shook the very foundations of the arena.

Three fighters had fallen before her.

Three victories, each one flawless.

Not a single scratch marred her perfect skin.

Inside the Iron Mountain Sect’s dugout sat in stunned silence, their remaining fighters staring at the empty stage as if they had seen a ghost.