Chapter 110: Lightstep
The third morning of the tournament preliminaries brought a crisp, unforgiving glare to the central arena. Ren Montclair stood at the edge of the stone boundary, the chatter of the gathering spectators already building into a restless roar. He adjusted the leather grip of his practice sword, his knuckles pale as the weight of the upcoming match settled firmly onto his shoulders.
Lena stepped up beside him, her posture rigid. Her eyes darted across the arena floor, studying the angles and sightlines not like a fellow student, but like a royal guard searching for assassins.
"Move away from the ring, Lena," Ren said, keeping his voice low but leaving no room for argument.
Lena frowned, her hand resting instinctively near the pommel of her own sword. "If he pushes the tempo too fast, or if the referee misses an illegal follow-through—"
"Then I take the hit, and I lose," Ren interrupted firmly. He turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. "I do not want you stepping in if I fail. If I cannot survive a standard tournament duel on my own merit, then protecting me from it is only delaying the inevitable."
Lena’s jaw tightened, but she gave a crisp, reluctant nod and retreated to the designated spectator barrier. Ren exhaled slowly, centering his mana. He needed this victory. He could still feel the sting of missing the hidden piece inside the Blackwood tomb, a technique he knew deep down Alex had deliberately taken from his path. Phantom Tread should have been his. Now, his replacement technique, a volatile prototype he called Lightstep, was unstable, drained too much mana, and could barely carry him half a meter.
"Fighters to the center," the referee’s magically amplified voice echoed across the expansive ring.
Ren walked forward. Across the chalk boundary stood Knight Fenn Rusk. Unlike the heavily armored fighters Maya and Emily had faced earlier in the week, Fenn wore fitted, lightweight dueling leather. He wielded a slender, perfectly balanced saber, his weight shifting effortlessly between the balls of his feet. Fenn was a mobile duelist, a specialist in rapid angles and evasive footwork.
The starting bell chimed, sharp and clear.
Fenn didn’t charge straight at him. He exploded into a zigzagging sprint, leaving faint trails of dust behind him. Ren immediately brought his blade up, channeling his natural Light affinity to form a glowing, translucent buckler over his left forearm.
Steel struck hard against the shield of light. Fenn didn’t stay locked against it. He immediately pulled back, pivoted on his heel, and slashed at Ren’s exposed flank. Ren parried with his sword, stepping back to maintain his distance. But Fenn was impossibly fast, turning the parry into a sliding thrust aimed directly at Ren’s throat.
Ren flared his mana, expanding his light shield to cover his entire upper body. Fenn’s saber bounced off the construct with a sharp hiss. Instead of retreating, Fenn used the rebound to spin and launch another rapid series of cuts—high, low, feinting left before striking right.
Ren was forced backward, his boots sliding across the sand. His fundamentals remained solid. His posture stayed upright, and every parry was controlled. But each time Fenn’s blade struck his shield, more of Ren’s mana disappeared. Keeping a large defense active against someone attacking so quickly was becoming unbearable.
In the stands, the audience murmured. The situation was becoming obvious: solid fundamentals alone were not enough against a fighter like Fenn. Ren was slowly losing the battle of endurance, being pushed around the ring by an opponent who refused to give him a clear target.
Sweat stung Ren’s eyes. His breathing grew shallow. If he tried to cast an offensive light beam, the delay would give Fenn exactly the opening he needed to get inside his guard and finish the match.
Don’t borrow another person’s answer, Alex’s voice echoed in his memory from their courtyard training. Light has no weight.
Fenn rushed forward again, his saber dropping low as if aiming for Ren’s knee before his wrist suddenly changed direction, sending the blade upward toward Ren’s chest. It was the finishing strike of the sequence. Fenn had finally stepped fully into range, putting too much weight behind the attack to easily pull back.
Ren didn’t expand his shield. He didn’t try to block.
He let the Knight enter his guard.
Instead, he gathered a powerful surge of pure Light affinity and forced it into the sole of his rear boot. Mana gathered beneath his foot, pressing against the stone.
Release.
A blinding flash of golden light erupted beneath Ren’s rear foot.
The unstable Lightstep launched Ren violently sideways. He disappeared from Fenn’s attack line in an instant, shifting a full body-width to the side.
The cost came immediately. Heat scorched the leather of his boot, filling the air with the smell of burnt hide. The sudden force tore through the muscles in his right calf, sending a sharp burst of pain up toward his knee.
Ren bit down hard enough to taste blood, forcing his injured leg to support him as he landed.
The Lightstep had worked.
Fenn’s upward slash cut through empty air. The missed attack pulled the Knight completely off balance, leaving his back exposed.
Instead of copying Alex’s brutal close-range style and relying on physical force, Ren leaned into his own strengths. He raised his left hand, ignoring the pain in his leg, and formed a dense band of hard light.
The glowing ribbon shot forward, wrapping tightly around Fenn’s sword hand and locking his wrist in place. Ren twisted his fist sharply. The light tightened around Fenn’s wrist, forcing his fingers open.
The saber clattered onto the stone floor. Ren stepped forward and pressed the tip of his practice sword against the back of the unarmed Knight’s neck, ending the match with a clean disarm.
The referee blew the whistle and raised a hand. "Match! Victory to Ren Montclair!"
The crowd roared in approval. Ren released the light construct, fighting the urge to collapse. He sheathed his training sword with a trembling hand and forced himself to walk out of the ring without limping, hiding the pain in his calf behind a mask of royal composure.
As he exited the tunnel beneath the stands, he found Alex, Alicia, and Cassandra waiting near the medical corridor. Lena was already rushing toward him, her eyes immediately settling on the scorch marks covering Ren’s boot.
Alex leaned casually against the stone wall, his arms crossed as he watched Ren approach. He didn’t offer empty congratulations.
"That step was incredibly crude," Alex said bluntly.
Ren let out a breath that was half laugh, half wince as he leaned against the tunnel wall to take some weight off his burning leg. He looked Alex directly in the eye. "If I remember correctly, the first time you tried to cast your kinetic spell, you blew up your own arm."
For a moment, the tension in the hallway rose. Then a genuine, competitive grin appeared on Alex’s face. Ren returned it, the shared understanding of their painful and reckless methods closing the distance between them. It wasn’t hatred. It was a rivalry built on real progress.
A few feet away, Lena watched the exchange in silence. She had spent weeks treating Alex as a threat, convinced he was a thief trying to suppress Ren’s destiny. But seeing the exhausted yet satisfied expression on Ren’s face, she realized something she hadn’t expected: Alex wasn’t sabotaging the prince. He was pushing him to become stronger than fate alone would have allowed.
Alex pushed himself away from the wall to follow the group toward the infirmary, his eyes briefly flicking downward.
Hovering at the edge of his vision, invisible to everyone else in the tunnel, translucent blue System text appeared.
[Meaningful Main Character interaction produces Ren’s new Lightstep route: +30 LP]
Alex dismissed the notification with a thought, a faint sense of satisfaction settling over him as his accumulated balance quietly rose from 100 to 130 Lust Points. The tournament was only just beginning, and everyone was finally getting sharper.