Chapter 94: Emeric vs. Sigrun

He moved.

Wind gathered at his heels. He leaped. The ice spread beneath him, chasing him, trying to freeze his feet to the ground. He landed on a patch of frozen sand and slid, his balance teetering. He rolled. Came up in a crouch.

Sigrun was already there.

She didn’t swing her axes. She threw one.

The axe spun through the air like a discus—fast, brutal, aimed at his head. Emeric ducked. The axe passed over him, close enough to shear a lock of hair. It embedded itself in the wall behind him.

Sigrun’s second axe came from the other direction. A backhand throw. Emeric threw himself sideways. The axe bit into the sand where he’d been standing.

He came up.

Sigrun was empty-handed.

She smiled.

Then she charged at him.

She was really fast.

She crossed the arena in a blur of fur and muscle. Her fist caught him in the chest before he could react.

He flew backward. Hit the ground. Rolled. Came up gasping.

She was there again.

She sent him a kick. He caught it on his forearms. The impact sent shockwaves through his bones. He staggered. His arms were trembling from the impact.

She followed with a punch to his ribs. A knee to his gut. An elbow to his face.

He couldn’t keep up. He was getting dazed. This woman if he could call her that was too strong. Too fast and definitely relentless.

He needed to change his strategy.

The blade emerged from the cloth.

The crowd gasped.

Sigrun stopped.

Her eyes widened.

"That’s—"

Emeric didn’t let her finish.

He attacked.

The sword moved in his hands like it had always been there. Like it was an extension of his arm. He cut. He slashed. He stabbed.

Sigrun dodged. Weaved. Slipped away.

But she was slower now. The sword was faster than her. It cut through the air—a blur of dark steel and silver light. She barely avoided a strike to her throat. A slash to her chest. A thrust to her heart.

She retreated.

For the first time, she retreated.

Emeric followed. The fight changed.

Emeric was aggressive now. Relentless. He pressed his advantage. The sword sang in his hands. It was more than a weapon—it was a part of him.

Sigrun tripped.

She hit the ground. Rolled. Tried to rise.

Emeric took advantage.

He drove his sword into the earth beside her head.

"Yield."

She stared at him. Her eyes were wild. Desperate.

"I don’t yield."

She grabbed his sword arm.

Ice exploded from her hands. It wrapped around his wrist. Crawled up his arm. Bit into his skin.

Emeric screamed.

He dropped the sword. Staggered back.

Sigrun rose.

"I don’t need weapons," she said. "I am the weapon."

She attacked.

The fight turned again.

Sigrun seemed faster now. More desperate. The ice was her weapon. She froze the ground beneath his feet. She threw shards of ice like daggers. She made the air so cold that Emeric’s breath came in ragged gasps.

He dodged. Weaved. Slipped away.

But she was relentless.

A shard of ice caught him in the shoulder. He felt the cold bite deep. His arm went numb.

A second shard hit his leg. He stumbled. Almost fell.

A third shard sliced across his ribs. Blood welled through his tunic.

He was bleeding.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He had made a promise.

It gathered around him—a vortex of air and pressure. The ice shards slowed. The cold receded. He felt the warmth return to his limbs.

He raised his hand.

Lightning crackled at his fingertips.

He had never used it like this before. Not in the tournament. Not in any fight. But he had trained. He had practiced. He had learned.

He threw the lightning.

The bolt arced through the air. Sigrun’s eyes widened. She raised her arms. Ice gathered—a shield of frost. The lightning hit it. The shield shattered. Sigrun flew backward. Hit the ground. Rolled.

Her arms were smoking. Her face was twisted with rage.

"You—"

Emeric didn’t let her finish.

He attacked.

They clashed in the center of the arena. The crowd screamed. The ground shook. The walls cracked.

Sigrun threw everything she had. Ice. Frost. Cold. Desperation.

Emeric threw everything he had.

They were both bleeding. Both exhausted. Both refused to fall.

Then Sigrun made a mistake.

She overextended. A wild attack. A desperate lunge.

Emeric saw it.

He sidestepped. Caught her.

Her ice shattered.

His sword caught her in the chest.

She flew backward. Hit the wall. Slid down.

She didn’t move. But she wasn’t done.

Sigrun rose.

Her face was a mask of blood. Her arms were broken. Her body was shattered. But she rose.

She screamed.

The ice came again. A wave of cold. A wave of fury. It swept across the arena. It hit Emeric like a physical blow. He flew backward. Hit the ground. Rolled.

He stood up, trying to gain his composure. She was already standing above him.

Her fist caught him in the face. His nose shattered. Blood sprayed.

A second punch. His ribs cracked.

A third. His vision blurred.

He was going to be beaten to a pulp at this rate.

He caught her fist. Twisted. He drove his elbow into her throat. She gagged. Staggered.

He grabbed her head. Slammed it into his knee.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Blood sprayed.

She collapsed.

Emeric stood over her.

His body was broken. His face was a mask of blood. His ribs were cracked. His arm was frozen. His leg was numb.

But he was alive. She was not moving.

He raised his fist.

The crowd roared.

He walked back toward the tunnel.

His legs trembled. His vision blurred. Blood dripped from a dozen wounds. His own. Hers. He didn’t fall.

He reached the tunnel.

He disappeared into the shadows.

–

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

[SEMI-FINALS — COMPLETE]

[OPPONENT DEFEATED: SIGRUN THE ICE-BLOODED]

[TIER PROGRESS: 48% → 52%]

[COMBAT EXPERIENCE GAINED]

[STRENGTH: 78 → 80]

[AGILITY: 76 → 78]

[MANA: 73 → 75]

[DP AWARDED: +30]

[CUMULATIVE DP: 3763]

[DEVOTION LOGGED: ADVANCING FOR TARGET]

[SYSTEM NOTE: THE FINAL AWAITS. PREPARE.]

---

Emeric read the notification. Closed it.

He had advanced.

The final awaited.