The Return Of The Exiled Villain

The next Gloria representative stepped onto the platform with deliberate confidence. She was a lean 4th-year named Serael Quinn, known for her dual short spears and highly mobile thrusting style.

Her reputation rested on rapid directional changes and the ability to control distance with precise, repeated jabs that made approaching her difficult.

The moment she appeared, the crowd took notice.

”They’re sending Serael already.”

”Her spear work is annoying to deal with. She keeps people at the edge of their reach.”

”Elira just finished a match. Let’s see if the mobility difference matters.”

Elira remained on the platform, HER sword resting loosely at her side. Her breathing was still steady from the previous fight.

She watched Serael settle into a low, spring-loaded stance without any visible tension.

The referee’s staff dropped.

”Begin!”

Fwoop!

Serael exploded into motion immediately.

Her dual spears blurred as she closed the initial gap with a series of rapid, probing thrusts aimed at Elira’s shoulders and thighs.

The attacks came from alternating angles, each one designed to force a defensive reaction and create an opening for the next.

The tips of the spears carried a thin layer of reinforcing mana that made even glancing contacts sting.

Elira did not retreat.

She stepped in at a slight angle, her sword moving in short, economical arcs that met the spear tips just before they fully extended.

Clangg!

Her parry was timed to the fraction of a second when the spear’s reach was committed, turning Serael’s advantage in range into a liability.

The first exchange produced a rapid string of sharp metallic notes.

CLANG!

SHING!

Serael adjusted instantly, using her footwork to circle while maintaining the thrusting pressure.

She varied the rhythm, between two quick jabs, a half-beat pause, then a longer lunge aimed at the lead leg.

Elira read the pattern and simply moved offline before the longer thrust arrived, her blade flicking out to tap the shaft of the extended spear and disrupt Serael’s balance for a half-step.

The crowd reacted quickly.

”She’s not giving the spears any room to work.”

”Elira keeps stepping inside the effective range.”

”Serael’s usual kiting style isn’t landing cleanly.”

”Tsk!” Serael clicked her tongue and changed approach.

She opened the distance with a sharp back-step and began launching shorter, faster bursts of thrusts while using the second spear to cover potential counters.

The dual-weapon coordination was tight and well-practiced.

For several exchanges, she managed to keep Elira from closing fully, the repeated metallic impacts echoing across the platform.

Elira remained patient.

She absorbed the pressure without overcommitting, her sword work clean and minimal.

When Serael finally overextended on a particularly deep lunge meant to force a reaction, Elira stepped past the spear tip, closed the remaining distance in one smooth motion, and delivered a controlled horizontal cut across the upper arm.

The platform’s safety threshold registered the contact. Serael’s stance broke for the first time.

Elira did not allow recovery.

She pressed forward with a short combination of rising and descending cuts that forced both spears into purely defensive positions.

The moment one spear was angled too wide, Elira’s blade slipped through and struck cleanly against Serael’s side.

Fwip!

The elimination light flared.

Serael Quinn vanished from the platform.

The referee announced the result over the rising noise of the crowd.

”Victory to Elira Voss of Clementine’s Sword & Magic Academy!”

Gloria’s remaining count dropped to twenty-four.

Elira did not leave the platform.

The next Gloria student was already being selected.

A broader 4th-year named Tomas Reeve walked up carrying a heavy single-edged cleaver-style sword.

His style was the opposite of Serael’s, practically built on power, wide arcs, and the ability to break guards through sheer impact.

The crowd’s commentary shifted again.

”They’re switching to a power fighter.”

”Tomas hits hard enough to stagger most people in two or three clean exchanges.”

”Elira has already taken two matches. Fatigue has to start mattering soon.”

Elira settled her stance once more, the tip of her sword angled slightly downward. Her expression had not changed.

The referee called for the start.

Tomas opened with exactly the kind of pressure his reputation suggested.

He advanced in heavy steps and brought the cleaver around in a powerful horizontal cut meant to force an early hard block.

The force behind the swing was enough to send a visible ripple through the air.

Elira met it with a precise angled parry that redirected the momentum rather than stopping it cold. The cleaver scraped along her blade and continued past her side.

Before Tomas could recover the weapon, she stepped in and cut lightly across his leading thigh.

The contact was controlled but clear.

Tomas growled and immediately chained into a second and third heavy swing, each one carrying more weight than the last.

The platform trembled faintly under the impacts as Elira continued to redirect rather than clash directly.

Claaaaaaaaaang!

Sparks flew in short, bright bursts.

The crowd watched with rising intensity.

”She’s not matching power with power.”

”Every redirection is costing Tomas more balance than it costs her.”

”That cleaver style needs clean hits to snowball. She isn’t giving him any.”

Tomas attempted to close the distance fully and use his greater mass to crowd her.

Elira pivoted off his centerline, letting the bulk of his advance pass, then struck twice in quick succession, once against the wrist of his sword arm and once against the ribs.

Both contacts registered.

Tomas’s grip faltered for a fraction of a second.

Elira used that moment without hesitation.

Her sword moved in a clean rising arc that struck the cleaver near the hilt and forced the heavy weapon upward.

The follow-up cut landed squarely against Tomas’s chest, instantly causing the elimination threshold to be activated.

Tomas Reeve vanished.

The referee’s voice carried over the fresh wave of applause and disbelief.

”Victory to Elira Voss of Clementine’s Sword & Magic Academy!”

”Fugh...”

Elira took a deep breath, still maintaining the same stance and composure. She had tried to preserve her energy as much as she could, but the toll was getting worse on her.

Not to mention that Gloria Academy wasted little time sending the next representative.

A lean 3rd-year girl named Kira Adel stepped up, dual daggers already in her hands.

Her style favored speed, feints, and close-range bursts rather than raw power. The crowd murmured as she took her position.

”They’re trying a speed type now.”

”Elira has to be carrying some fatigue after three fights.”

”Kira’s good at finding gaps once someone slows down even a little.”

The referee gave the signal.

Swoosh!

Kira moved first, closing the distance in a low, rapid dash.

Her daggers flashed in short, alternating arcs aimed at Elira’s wrists and forearms, trying to disrupt her sword grip early.

Elira met the first flurry with tight, minimal parries, her blade moving only as much as necessary.

Clink, clink!

The metallic clicks of dagger against sword came in quick succession.

Kira circled, changing angles constantly, mixing high feints with sudden low thrusts. For a short stretch she managed to force Elira into small defensive adjustments.

The accumulated fatigue from the previous matches made Elira’s footwork a fraction less sharp than it had been at the start.

Still, the difference was not enough.

When Kira overcommitted to a longer thrust meant to create an opening, Elira stepped inside the range of the daggers, trapped one wrist with her free hand, and brought the flat of her sword against Kira’s shoulder in a controlled strike.

The platform registered the contact. Kira tried to twist free and continue, but Elira’s follow-up cut landed cleanly against her side.

The elimination light flared.

Kira Adel vanished.

”Victory to Elira Voss of Clementine’s Sword & Magic Academy!”

Gloria’s remaining count dropped to twenty-two.

The crowd’s reaction was a mixture of applause and growing surprise at the streak.

”Shit... I’m reaching my limit,” Elira breathed out, lowering her sword lightly.

Still, she stayed on the platform when the next Gloria student was called.

This time the representative was a solid, broad-shouldered 4th-year named Harlan Vex, carrying a heavy spear and known for disciplined, mid-range control.

He took his position with a calm expression, clearly prepared to exploit any fatigue.

’A 4th-year?’ she thought.

’...This is probably my limit then... sorry, Gray...’

The referee started the match.

Fwoop!

Harlan kept the distance immediately, using the spear’s reach to probe and control space. Long thrusts forced Elira to respect the range.

When she tried to close, he adjusted his footing and used short, sharp sweeps to keep her from entering cleanly.

Elira attempted the same patient approach that had worked before, looking for a single overextension.

Harlan gave her very little.

He maintained the mid-range steadily, occasionally mixing in faster thrusts that tested her residual speed.

The fatigue from four prior matches began to show more clearly in the slightly delayed timing of her parries and the reduced sharpness of her footwork.

Harlan pressed the advantage without rushing.

He forced her to keep moving, kept the spear between them, and gradually tightened the space.

When Elira finally committed to a decisive forward step to break the rhythm, Harlan was ready.

The spear tip caught her upper arm with enough controlled force to register heavily against the safety threshold, and the follow-up shaft strike against her side finished the exchange.

The elimination light wrapped around Elira.

She vanished from the platform.

The referee’s voice carried clearly.

”Victory to Harlan Vex of Gloria Academy!”