The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 43

Alavin stood upon a stone bucket, observing Galos' combat style with keen interest.

With a thunderous explosion, Galos withstood Broden's mighty broadsword. At the same moment, lightning surged from his body, assaulting Broden with the ferocity of hundreds of silver needles, eliciting gasps from all around the arena.

Broden screamed in agony, and staggered back over a dozen paces. His body was marred with cuts and lacerations, tingling with numbness.

Seizing the moment, Galos launched a rapid succession of lightning punches, throwing Broden's offensive into disarray.

"Well fought!" The crowd in the arena roared with excitement, cheering wildly.

Alavin clenched his fist in silent admiration for Galos' prowess. Combat Magic was a tool, inert in itself, but versatile in the hands of a skilled wielder. The fluidity with which Galos executed 'Thundervein Valor' was a testament to his status as an Elite Protégé, a clear sign that the Grand Elder had invested heavily in his training.

However, just when victory seemed certain for Galos, Broden struck back from the brink of defeat. His broadsword miraculously landed a blow on Galos. The sight made many onlookers gasp, unsure of what had just happened.

Galos narrowly dodged, but not before the blade tore a crimson gash across his chest, not deadly but bleeding nonetheless. Galos was stunned; victory had seemed within his grasp, yet things didn't go as planned.

The stark red wound was a glaring contrast to his pale chest. Galos touched the wound with his finger, brought the blood to his lips, and tasted it with a cruel smile curling his lips.

"I yield!" Broden declared, sheathing his greatsword with a show of grace, acknowledging his inferiority to Galos. Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

"Yield? I'm not done yet. We've only just gotten to the blood," Galos' expression twisted as he lunged at Broden once more.

Broden frowned slightly but stood his ground, taking a deep breath and boldly meeting the attack with his heavy sword swinging.

"Broden's in trouble," Alavin muttered to himself.

"Hey, lad, what are you looking at?" A cold voice suddenly interrupted from behind.

Alavin turned to see several young Protégés climbing the steps towards him.

Upon hearing of the spectacle, these newcomers had hurried over, racing to the summit only to find Alavin perched atop the stone bucket, engrossed in the duel.

Ignoring them, Alavin continued to watch the thrilling contest on the dueling platform.

"You still watching?" The leader of the group shouted arrogantly.

These were Intermediate Protégés who had bullied Alavin in the past.

"Is it bothering you?" Alavin glanced at them dismissively.

"Heh, you've grown bold, haven't you? Thinking you're tough as a Stage III?"

"I've always been bold. I had no trouble thrashing you before," Alavin sneered. Two years ago, before even becoming a Novice Mage, he had used his brute strength to beat these Protégés, who were then only Stage I. He had beaten them so badly they had avoided him for over half a year. Two years later, these Protégés had advanced to Stage III.

Their taunting words riled the group.

"Back then, we were only Stage I, not well-versed in Combat Magic. Now, with our Combat Magic refined, we're not the same as before."

"We're no longer afraid of your brute force."

"We've been looking for you these past few days, and now you've come to us."

Remembering their past humiliation, the five Protégés spread out, encircling Alavin, ready to publicly humiliate him.

A pretty girl nearby scoffed at them, "Don't overestimate yourselves. Gudmund was knocked down with two punches by Alavin and rolled all the way down the mountain from the path you came. Do you think you’ll win?"

"Are you joking?" The five Protégés frowned, their bluster visibly deflated.

"Joke with you? You aren’t even worth my time." The girl, quite fetching, paid them no further mind, and her attention returned to the fierce battle in the arena.

"Stop making a fool of yourselves and get out," others shouted, engrossed in the excitement of the arena's clash, with no interest in the sideshow.

The five Protégés looked at each other, bewildered. Alavin had beaten Gudmund? If memory served, wasn't Gudmund a Novice Mage Stage V? Could it be another Protégé with the same name?

Seeing them back off, Alavin returned his gaze to the arena.

The battle on the platform was becoming increasingly perilous. Having already conceded several times, Broden could no longer stand his ground. Galos was relentless and kept pushing him back. A mighty roar of thunder sent Broden reeling back a dozen steps, staggering to the edge of the arena.

“You dare to wound me?!” Galos sneered inwardly. His left fist delivered a feint to distract Broden, while his right palm thrust viciously toward his face, aiming for the eyes.

"Broden, be careful!" Someone shouted from below.

Broden's eyes widened in terror. It was too late to dodge.

Crack! A surge of lightning erupted from Galos' palm. A blinding flash and scattering sparks seared Broden's eyes.

Broden screamed, blinded. Galos' firm palm struck true, sending Broden flying backward, tumbling into the crowd below.

"Ah!" Broden clutched his eyes, wailing in pain as blood seeped through his fingers.

Nearby Protégés rushed to help, pulling Broden to safety and glaring resentfully at Galos on the platform. Wasn't this supposed to be a friendly bout? Why did he use such a ruthless strike?