thief of fate-Chapter 84: Alistair vs vildar 2

The sound echoed through the arena like a hammer of furious wrath crashing into the earth. It wasn’t just a burst of energy—it was a wild roar, unleashed from the depths of Vildar’s soul, the roar of a beast finally released from its chains. Waves of energy surged from his body in the form of dark green pillars, spiraling around him like poisonous flames, growing fiercer with every breath he took.

Alistair stood firm, his breaths ragged, shoulder bleeding, but his eyes never left his opponent. He knew... it was only beginning now.

The announcer screamed from afar, his voice choked with excitement and fear:

"It’s... it’s madness! Vildar has entered full bio-explosion state! This surpasses the limits of specialized arts!"

One of the judges took a step back, bracing himself for anything.

Vildar was now closer to a primal creature than a human. His muscles bulged, his skin turned a deep crimson, and his eyes glowed entirely without pupils. He was laughing... a mad, broken laugh, echoing across the arena like the prelude to a massacre.

"I’ve waited for this moment! You’re strong, Alistair... strong enough to give me this feeling... the feeling that resembles a fight of life and death!" Vildar shouted, then charged forward.

Even when his sword was shattered, he didn’t accept defeat and kept going with his fists.

He moved at a speed his body shouldn’t have endured, disappearing from his place and reappearing before Alistair in an instant, his fist swinging like a blazing meteor. Alistair raised his sword to block, but the impact was like a mountain slamming into him.

"Ughhh!" His body was flung back like a tossed doll, slamming into one of the arena walls, partially demolishing it.

A strangled cough escaped his lips, blood mixing with sweat. But he stood up. Slowly, with determination, as if his weight had multiplied tenfold.

"I won’t fall... not now."

He raised his sword again, the silver light around it beginning to dance. But his eyes shone with real pain... he couldn’t withstand much more.

What am I up against?

Vildar charged again, relentless strikes, offering no room to think. Each blow released a shockwave that shattered stone. The force of his attacks defied logic... every move of his tore the world around him.

And yet... despite everything...

Alistair blocked, twisted, ducked, retreated, and counterattacked.

"Don’t be like the rest!" Vildar roared, his arm glowing with dark energy. "Show me something I’ll never forget!"

Then he stomped the ground, and toxic spiral pillars of energy surged toward Alistair like serpents.

Alistair focused his breath. His eye gleamed faintly. Then he moved his wrist, placing his sword before him like a guarding barrier against the flurry of attacks.

But that wasn’t the end. Vildar appeared behind him and kicked him in the back. Alistair flew again, but in the air, he spun like a dancer, planted his feet against the wall, and launched himself back like an arrow, his sword igniting with blue energy.

They clashed in the air, as if the sky itself trembled.

The following strikes weren’t mere combat moves. Alistair was using everything he had learned, reading his opponent’s moves, exploiting openings that appeared for just a second... but he knew that each second was cutting a day off his life. As he thought:

He’s getting stronger with each moment. If I don’t end this now... I won’t leave here alive.

He drove his sword into the ground and gathered energy around him.

A blue energy vortex erupted, slashing Vildar in an instant and freezing him for a few breaths.

But Vildar laughed... his laugh shattered inside everyone’s minds.

"Well... this is fun."

Then... the restraints broke.

A massive aura burst from his body, the ground cracked beneath him. His next attack wasn’t visible... it could only be felt.

Alistair blocked, but was thrown again, this time bouncing off the ground three times before settling on his back, breathing hard, his body trembling.

"Get up!" Vildar screamed.

"Get up or I’ll tear you apart and find someone else!"

But Alistair didn’t move.

It looked like it was over.

Then... one of his fingers twitched. Then another. He slowly sat up and raised his head.

He smiled.

"Didn’t you say... you wanted an unforgettable fight?"

Then a new energy rose from his body—not violent like Vildar’s, but calm... profound.

The sword vanished.

Instead... glowing footprints appeared around Alistair, moving with him, each step leaving behind a crack, repeating his movements multiple times.

The real fight had begun.

Every time Vildar attacked, he struck a trace of Alistair. And every time Alistair defended, he struck where Vildar had just been.

The movements continued, sometimes Vildar landing a hit, and sometimes the opposite.

Breaths were short. Eyes burned.

Vildar said, laughing then coughing blood:

"...You were right... You didn’t disappoint me."

"Nor did you..."

Blood poured from countless wounds on Alistair’s body. His eyes nearly shut from swelling, breaths ragged, chest rising and falling as if defying death itself. His sword trembled in his fingers, but his eyes still gleamed... that look that said: I’m not finished yet.

A few steps away, Vildar stood tall.

"Alistair..." Vildar said in a deep voice, a wide grin splitting his face, "You’re still standing? Is that really all you’ve got? Show me the sword... show me your soul!"

Alistair took a deep breath, as if inhaling the last of his will.

This is my last chance... if I don’t finish this now, I won’t stand again.

He slowly raised his head. Pain gnawed at every bone in his body, but his heart still fought. He glimpsed Leonard in the crowd shouting his name. He heard Valerian’s voice whispering in his mind: Don’t back down. Even Leonard’s voice, distant, felt like it echoed inside his head: It’s okay to lose... if you gave it your all.

"Vildar..." Alistair murmured, his voice a thread of light in the arena’s darkness, "Thank you."

He raised his sword slowly. He gathered his energy into it, slowly... steadily... with a strength beyond what he’d known. The sword trembled, began to glow with a clear blue light, sharp as a dagger, pure as the first fire.

The blade ignited. Not just a shimmer, but a beam that tore through everything around it. The air around Alistair split.

Then he screamed—not an ordinary scream, but a roar that carried all his pain, all his rage, all he had endured.

He ran.

Charged toward Vildar with staggering but determined steps. And Vildar? He opened his arms like one welcoming the storm. "Well done, Alistair! Give me everything you have!"

The sword came down.

A moment of silence.

As if time itself paused.

Then the energy exploded.

A line of light cut the air between them, followed by a deafening clang that swept across the entire arena. Everyone in the stands held their breath. No one moved.

Then they saw Vildar.

Standing.

Silent.

And the sword had pierced his body from shoulder to hip.

He smiled.

"Heh..." he breathed with difficulty, but his face shone even more. "A truly great fight..."

Then he staggered, fell to his knees, and collapsed completely to the ground.

And Alistair? He stood for a few moments. Then closed his eyes and collapsed beside his opponent, unconscious.

"The winner: Alistair Drakemore!"

The arena erupted in cheers. Waves of applause and shouting swept the place like an unending storm.

Leonard leapt from his seat, shouting at the top of his lungs: "He did it! Alistair won!" He ran across the small platform and raised his fist toward the sky, as if the victory was his too. His eyes gleamed with pride, and his chest swelled as if his heart was about to burst from joy.

Valerian smiled faintly. A smile mixed with admiration... and perhaps envy? But he clapped, slowly at first, then louder with the rest of the crowd.

Suddenly... he got punched on the arm.

He turned.

It was Kyle.

He looked at him with wide eyes and said mockingly: "Did you see that, Valerian? That’s what a real fight looks like."

Valerian didn’t respond, but looked again at Alistair’s collapsed body, and the sword still shimmering with remnants of that immense energy. Something stirred inside him.

In one of the stands, a tall man stood, with sharp eyes and smooth red hair. He watched silently, his hands behind his back. That was Lord Drakemore, Alistair’s father.

He said nothing.

But he smiled.

The kind of smile only fathers understand when they see their children succeed.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but a swift medical carriage slid into the arena, pulled by a team of medics equipped with modern gear. They rushed toward Alistair and Vildar’s bodies, immediately checking their pulses as a healing light enveloped their torn limbs.

One of the medics raised his thumb toward the royal platform. "Both are stable, but they need immediate treatment."

Silently, the two young men were lifted onto stretchers and taken away, accompanied by unending applause.

Above, in the royal seats, Queen Elyria looked toward Yaram, her eyes glinting with rare admiration.

She spoke in a calm but sincere tone:

"You have truly impressive talents, Yaram. Strong young men..."

Yaram glanced at her and gave a slight nod. He didn’t need many words.

But the voice that came next was heavier than the air.

King Tarel, who had remained silent since the start of the fight, spoke in a quiet voice... strangely sorrowful:

"They will grow far too strong... Strong enough that they’ll never leave anyone behind to die. Strong enough to protect everyone... no matter the cost."

A heavy silence fell between the three of them like a drawn curtain.

Elyria looked at him, then at Yaram. Both sensed something in his voice... something broken, as if that hope masked a deep fear, or a wound left unhealed.

But Tarel said no more.

And no one asked.

Because the next moment brought the creak of doors, and the announcer’s voice declaring the beginning of the next match...

And all eyes turned back to the arena once again.