Chapter 16 — Where Illusions Break.
Afternoon light lay across the arena like a thin veil of gold—too gentle for what it was about to witness.
The battleground had been cleared, swept, and sealed. Stone etched with old dueling sigils reflected the sun faintly, as though remembering blood from centuries past. Heat shimmered above the ground, but the air itself felt cold—expectant.
Arwyn and Rayvaris stood at opposite ends of the field.
Arwyn did not move.
She did not need to.
Her blade rested at her side, angled just enough to catch the light—silver darkened by a hue that did not belong to metal alone. Moonlight clung to it unnaturally, despite the sun overhead.
Rayvaris inhaled slowly.
Her stance was correct. Her grip disciplined. Her pulse—Miki—circulated at a controlled Level Two rhythm, steady but restrained.
It was not enough.
High above the arena, beneath a shaded stone balcony, Sylvaris stood with her hands folded behind her back. Her gaze never wavered from the field.
Beside her stood Elara.
He watched with the calm of someone observing a tide he already understood.
“Elara,” Sylvaris said at last, voice even. “Speak.”
Elara did not look at her immediately. His eyes remained on Arwyn.
“Arwyn has fully mastered the Lunar Shadow Sword,” he said.
Sylvaris exhaled quietly. Her eyes sharpened.
“Level One—Crescent Veil,” Elara continued. “A foundation built on elegance. Precise arcs. No wasted motion.”
Arwyn shifted her foot.
The stone beneath it darkened for an instant—as though shadow itself had acknowledged her presence.
“Level Two—Half-Moon Mirage,” Elara said. “Light and illusion braided together. Against that, reaction becomes guesswork.”
Rayvaris tightened her grip.
She felt it now.
The pressure.
“And Level Three,” Elara finished, voice lowering. “Full Moon Oblivion. Calm. Absolute. The strike that ends before the enemy realizes they were already dead.”
Sylvaris finally turned her head.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked coolly. “I know.”
Elara met her gaze then.
“I’m not informing you,” he said. “I’m stating a fact.”
His eyes returned to the arena.
“Your student will lose.”
Silence stretched between them.
---
“Rynvaris, you should have considered our proposal,” Arwyn said.
Her gaze did not waver. Not even for a blink.
She’s my little sister—
and yet she dares to look at me without fear.
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Unacceptable.
I will correct that myself.
“I’ll allow you the first move,” Arwyn continued, confidence threaded effortlessly through her voice. A faint smile curved her lips—not mockery, but certainty, as though the outcome had already been written.
Rynvaris stepped forward, steel scraping softly against stone as she raised her blade.
“As the elder sister,” she declared, voice ringing clear across the arena, “I won’t disgrace myself by holding back!”
Steel met steel.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
The sudden violence of her advance sent a visible ripple through the stands. Gasps followed—then whispers.
“Shameless…” someone hissed. “She attacks first after saying that?”
Arwyn did not react.
Her sword moved with effortless precision, intercepting every strike, every angle, every feint. There was no wasted motion in her defense—no hesitation. Each parry flowed seamlessly into the next, refined to a degree that bordered on inhuman.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
So it’s true…
Brother wasn’t exaggerating.
Arwyn’s eyes sharpened.
Still—
I can’t afford to relax. Not even for a breath.
Rynvaris slid backward, boots carving shallow scars into the stone as she forced distance between them. The air around her blade shifted, Miki surging along its edge in a rising, resonant hum.
She lifted her sword.
“Crescent Bloom Slash.”
The blade sang.
With each swing, compressed sound burst forth—crescent-shaped arcs tearing through the air in rapid succession, their pressure bending light itself as they raced toward Arwyn.
---
Arwyn’s eyes widened—only for an instant.
She pivoted smoothly, her blade tracing a perfect crescent as moonlit Miki wrapped around the steel.
“Crescent Veil.”
Clang!
The incoming sound-wave slashes shattered against her defense, dispersing into the air like broken echoes.
A wave of disbelief swept through the arena.
“The Eleventh Princess… that strong?”
Sylvaris’s fingers tightened unconsciously. Pride stirred in her chest, quiet but fierce.
She’s reached the first form already.
So she has mastered the foundation of the Flowing Moon Sword. No wonder she carries herself like this…
—but it won’t be enough to bring Arwyn down. Not yet.
Eighth Prince Draven Elowen watched with narrowed eyes, his jaw set.
“So,” Arwyn said lightly, lowering her blade just a fraction, “you really think slashes like that can defeat me?”
Rynvaris met her gaze, breathing steady.
“No,” she answered. “I don’t.”
Steel screamed again.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Crescent Bloom Slash met Crescent Veil—strike after strike, offense and defense colliding in rapid succession, sparks scattering across the stone.
Then the rhythm broke.
Rynvaris stepped in and twisted her grip.
“Wind Serenade.”
The air erupted.
Dozens of crescent slashes burst forth in a relentless storm—too many, too fast.
Arwyn braced—
—and the attacks passed straight through her.
Her form blurred, then wavered like mist under moonlight.
The arena froze.
It's went through her?!
Gasps rippled through the crowd, shock deepening into disbelief.
“Multiple slashes—and illusions?”
Rynvaris’s eyes narrowed.
Half-Moon Mirage…
Sis Sylvie said it only creates false images of the swordsman.
Fine.
Her stance widened, Miki surging outward.
“Then I’ll cut everything,” she thought coldly. “Every direction.”
---
Rynvaris struck from all directions at once.
Afterimages flickered across the arena—front, flank, rear—each one swinging with lethal intent. The air screamed as overlapping arcs of sound and steel closed in.
Arwyn’s expression hardened.
“Crescent Veil!”
Clang! Clang!
Her blade spun in tight, controlled arcs, moonlit defense forming a revolving barrier around her body. Each impact rang like a hammer against a bell, forcing her feet to slide back inch by inch.
“Is that all?” Arwyn called out, her voice steady despite the pressure. “If this is your limit,then you’ve already lost.”
Rynvaris didn’t respond.
She inhaled once—deep, controlled—
“Wind Serenade.”
The storm returned.
Clang!
Arwyn twisted aside at the last instant, the slash grazing past her shoulder as she slipped out of range, her blade snapping back into guard.
She straightened, eyes gleaming with certainty.
“It’s over,” Arwyn declared. “I’ll end this now.”
Her Miki surged, dense and overwhelming, moonlight flooding the blade.
“With my final form—”
The air itself seemed to bow.
“Full Moon Oblivion.”
---
So this is her pace now…
What in the world did she train through?
Prince Draven’s nails dug into his palm.
She’s learned this much in barely a month? More than two forms—no, even controlling them like this is abnormal.
But This attack of Arwyn’s will end her.
“So, Sylvaris,” Elara asked calmly, his gaze never leaving the battlefield, “how many forms has she mastered?”
Sylvaris’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Master… you already know the answer. Why pretend otherwise?”
Elara’s eyes narrowed slightly, then softened with quiet amusement. “Because even I can’t predict the next step of someone who will one day become king of the world.”
“Ha… ha ha ha…”
“Ha ha ha ha…”
Their restrained laughter drifted across the viewing platform, light and unsettling all the same.
Prince Draven frowned.
Why are they laughing…?
Elara spoke again, his tone settling back into cold reason.
“But still—Rayvaris will need the Fourth Form to defeat Arwyn. And she’s only a Level Two Miki user. Using it is impossible for her.”
“But Master,” Sylvaris replied evenly, “she can defend herself with the Third Form.”
“That is true,” Elara conceded. “But Arwyn is a Level Three Miki user—one full level above Rayvaris. If this continues, Rayvaris will lose the moment her Miki runs dry.”
Silence fell once more.
Heavy. Certain.
The kind that foretells an unavoidable end.
