Chapter 118 – The Seventeen-Level Barrier.

Morning in the inner courtyard of the Lower Cauldrons Estate began with the rhythmic crackle of runes activating across the granite floor.

Diana turned the stone dial of the central matrix with the tip of her obsidian claw, setting the Runic Gravity Circle to four times normal weight. The air inside the marked perimeter grew dense that very second, dragging the fallen willow leaves straight down onto the gravel.

The Commander tied her black hair back with a leather strap between her horns, wearing only the Dragon Chestplate over a gray linen shirt and fitted combat trousers. In her right hand, she held the black steel dagger, its tip covered in a thick leather sheath for sparring.

Zarek stood on the opposite side of the circle, barefoot on the gravel, stripped of his leather vest.

The black chitin markings across his gray chest were on full display, and his four secondary arms spread from the flanks of his torso with sharp claws. In his two main hands, he held the curved moon steel swords, their blades wrapped in thick cloth strips to prevent actual slicing wounds.

“Simple rules, Zarek,” Diana said, her steady voice cutting through the gravitational pressure. “No puncturing vital organs and no poison spells. The fight ends with a clean touch to the neck or total immobilization.”

Zarek twirled both practice swords in the air, flashing a broad grin of sharp teeth:

“It will be a pleasure measuring strength with you hand-to-hand, Diana. Don't go easy just because I'm handsome.”

“I never go easy,” Diana countered.

***

The combat began without a count.

Diana activated [Command Eye] with her 80 Perception points, reading the movement vectors of Zarek's six arms before the first step.

Zarek darted along the side of the circle.

His four chitinous arms launched cables of moon steel silk toward Diana's legs to pin down her mobility.

Diana's read was surgical.

Instead of retreating, Diana focused mana into the tips of her obsidian horns and fired a short burst of flame that burned the silk lines in midair before they touched her boots.

Zarek seized upon the distraction of the fire and closed the distance with a low leap, delivering a twin slash with the lunar swords aimed at Diana's shoulders.

Diana used [Arcane Teleportation].

She blinked eight meters backward, reappearing precisely in the blind spot of Zarek's landing, and extended her left hand:

ARCANE ICE LANCE!

The spike of blue ice erupted from the gravel right at the base of Zarek's right heel, freezing the swordsman's ankle joint to the rock.

Zarek lost his footing for a split second.

Diana wasted no time:

MANA PRISON!

Translucent arcane chains coiled around Zarek's two main arms, locking the movement of his lunar swords for four seconds.

Diana surged forward in a straight line, holding the practice dagger with her right hand aimed straight at the man's exposed throat, while prepping an [Orb of the Arcane Storm] in her left hand to end the duel.

The strategy had been executed with absolute mathematical perfection.

In any battle against an opponent of Level 40 to 45, that chain of spells would have sealed victory in under ten seconds.

***

But that was where the brute reality of the level disparity asserted itself.

Zarek was Level 60.

He possessed over seventy-five points of raw physical Strength and the pure essence of the Sin of Wrath running through his blood.

When Diana's dagger was thirty centimeters from his throat, Zarek did not attempt to use spells or tactical maneuvers to escape the ice.

He simply used the brute mass of his muscles.

ASCENDANT FURY!

All six of Zarek's eyes burned bright red. The arachnid demon flexed his back muscles with such force that the chains of Mana Prison shattered into arcane sparks through the pure physical expansion of his torso.

The ice around his ankle shattered into powder as his leg flexed, and his four secondary chitinous arms snapped forward like steel talons:

Two of the chitin hands clamped Diana's right wrist in midair, holding the practice dagger ten centimeters from his neck.

The other two secondary hands slapped open-palmed against Diana's left hand, dispersing the formation of the Orb of the Storm before the electrical sphere could condense.

And with his two main hands free, Zarek brought the lunar swords down crossed like shears, stopping the padded blades two millimeters from Diana's jugular.

The impact of Zarek's physical surge drove Diana down against the courtyard gravel, pinning the Commander under the weight of his Level 60 frame.

“My point, Commander,” Zarek panted, a wide grin plastered across his sweat-streaked face just inches from Diana's.

***

Diana remained motionless on the courtyard floor for three seconds.

She felt the weight of the four chitin hands gripping her wrists and the coldness of the lunar blades resting against her skin.

She took a deep breath, releasing the hilt of the practice dagger.

“Release my wrists, Zarek,” Diana said in a calm tone, showing no frustration.

Zarek drew back his swords, lifted his weight off her, and extended a main hand to help Diana up from the gravel.

Diana stood up, dusted off her combat trousers, and walked over to the edge of the gravity circle, switching off the runic matrix at the stone dial.

She picked up the pitcher of fresh water and two clay mugs from the wooden bench, handing one to Zarek.

The swordsman downed the water in a single gulp, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, rubbing the side of his heel where the ice spike had nearly split his skin:

“That combo of burning the silk and freezing my heel in the wake of the teleport almost dismantled me, Diana,” Zarek said with blunt honesty. “If you had ten more levels of physical strength to back that thrust... my throat would be cut.”

Diana took a sip of cold water, studying her right hand intently.

“Strategy and spell-reading reduce tactical disadvantage,” Diana said with analytical coldness. “But they do not cancel out a seventeen-level gap in brute strength. If an opponent has enough health and strength to snap mana chains with raw muscle, distance must be kept at twenty meters.”

She turned to Zarek:

“In the Red Cauldron Tournament arena, we will face pairs of Level 50 to 55 veterans. You will be the mobile physical containment to draw the heavy fighters, and I will maintain elemental backline suppression with long-range strikes. No close-quarters combat for me against tanks with seventy Strength.”

Zarek grinned, leaning his back against the manor wall with his swords sheathed:

“It will be an honor breaking the front line for you to fire away, Commander.”

Diana finished the water in her mug, looking up at the coppery sky of the Third Circle.

The defeat in sparring had not been a setback. It had been a lesson in calibration.

Registration for the Red Cauldron Tournament would open in forty-eight hours. And the Arcane Greed Faction had its tactics primed to claim the border pass.