A concept

The faces of most who were present had shifted from surprise to fear. However, Ryo and the Headmaster wore different expressions. The Headmaster grinned with intrigue and curiosity, while Ryo's blood boiled with excitement; he couldn't wait to face the Azrael before him.

"What the hell have you become? You didn't even have ki before, so what is this?" Owen questioned, his voice trembling.

"You ask too many questions for those at death's edge," Azrael replied simply, his tone unwavering.

Owen, the rank seven, Clyde, the current rank nine, Zach, the current rank ten, and Laura, Doarahn, Kegan, and Azim, now ranking eight, six, five, and four respectively, stood face to face with Azrael, their hesitation palpable.

"Draw your sword, here we come!" Azim declared, trying to muster courage.

"Against you, I have no need for that," Azrael responded coolly, his confidence unshaken.

"Fine, then die!" Owen retorted as they all rushed at Azrael, swinging their weapons.

Their attempts to hit Azrael were in vain as he deftly evaded each of their attacks. Futility grew with every minute; it wasn't just difficult—it was seemingly impossible.

"Everyone, move!" Clyde exclaimed, urging everyone to back away from Azrael as he prepared his ki technique.

"9th Ignition: Dying Star!" Clyde called out, raising his palms in a dramatic display of power.

The ensuing explosion was devastating, engulfing Azrael completely, accompanied by a deafening boom that shook the entire arena.

As the smoke began to clear, Clyde heaved with exhaustion, his ki nearly drained. Everyone anxiously watched as the smoke dissipated, waiting to see the outcome of Clyde's powerful attack.

In the middle, Ivan stood, his form unharmed, his hands engulfed by a mysterious grey flame that danced as he looked at the ranked students with a sense of disappointment.

"Maybe it's my fault for assuming any of you would be remotely close to her," Azrael said, a tinge of frustration in his voice.

"Crap, it did nothing. Let's attack again!" Laura exclaimed, hoping for a different outcome.

However, their intentions to attack again were swiftly thwarted as they found themselves unable to move, paralyzed in place by an unseen force.

"Attack? There is no point; you are all too weak, and I've grown tired of this foolishness," Azrael said dismissively. With a mere flick of his fingers, everyone was sent flying, crashing into the mana reinforced walls of the arena.

The sickening thud of impact was accompanied by the sound of bones cracking, and blood spurted from their mouths. Azrael's echoing footsteps as he closed in on them created a foreboding symphony, heralding their impending doom.

"We... concede," Clyde managed to utter the words through his bloodied lips.

"Yes, we concede," Laura agreed, struggling to her feet alongside the others.

Though they might have had a hint of fight left in them, it was abundantly clear that winning against Azrael was nothing short of impossible. His power was overwhelming, and it took just one attack from him to render them defenseless. With a simple movement of his finger, they all knew they stood no chance.

"Do you also feel this way, Clyde?" Azrael asked, his voice cold and commanding.

"Yes, we've... lost," Clyde said, his head dropping as he clutched his chest in defeat.

"Did you give the members of my squad an opportunity to concede at Zefron's ambush four years ago?" Azrael's words carried a dark spark of electricity that began to crackle around him.

"So why the hell should I let you live?" he said, pointing his hand at Clyde. The atmosphere was charged with menace, and the students knew that their lives now hung in the balance, subject to Azrael's judgment.

"Stop, Azrael! As long as you are present in this academy, you can't take a life. Whatever you do outside is your business," the Headmaster's stern words echoed through the entire arena.

"You won't live much longer," Azrael retorted, retracting his hands as he walked back to the center of the arena.

The ranked students, bloodied and battered, limped out of the arena, the pain of their defeat overshadowed by the relief of preserving their lives.

Ryo confidently strode onto the stage, facing Azrael at the center.

"Am I also fighting for my life?" Ryo asked as he approached Azrael.

"No, maybe I'm not strong enough to kill you," Azrael responded.

"Haha, we both know that's not true. I'm sure I'll lose, but I won't give you an easy fight," Ryo declared, a determined glint in his eyes.

"I know you won't," Azrael replied, drawing his sword.

"And what about the second one?" Ryo inquired, referencing Genesis, which remained sheathed at Azrael's back.

"I'm afraid a fight with that blade isn't one you can survive," Azrael said somberly.

"I see. You've changed a lot—your morals and values. These are things I will find out later. For now, all I need to know is the extent of your strength," Ryo said, a confident smile forming as his hands and feet began to emit a distinct blue glow.

"Good, then come," Azrael said, his words signaling the start of the duel.

The air seemed to combust at Ryo's incredible speed, and his fist created a deafening shockwave as it seemingly pierced through Azrael's body. However, it was merely an afterimage, as Azrael now stood calmly behind Ryo.

"You must move even faster," Azrael advised, and in that instant, numerous cuts appeared on Ryo's body.

"When?" Ryo muttered to himself, gritting his teeth against the pain as blood splattered from his wounds.

Gathering his focus, Ryo closed in on Azrael again, launching a barrage of punches and kicks. Yet, not a single strike managed to graze Azrael, who effortlessly evaded each attack with graceful and elusive movements. The harder Ryo tried to land a hit, the more elusive Azrael became.

Suddenly, Ryo's own bones cracked as Azrael's swift fists met his body, sending him tumbling backward.

"I see, so this is the level," Ryo muttered, blood trickling down his battered form.

"This can't be it, Ryo," Azrael stated as he watched Ryo struggle to his feet.

Rising from the ground, his body bloodied but his determination unyielding, Ryo stretched out his hands.

"My father had warned me not to do this, but it's been so long since we fought, and I'd hate to disappoint you," Ryo said, the blue glow that surrounded his hands and feet dissipating.

"Lawless arts," Ryo whispered, and it felt as if his ki vanished entirely. But Azrael could see something more; Ryo's ki was compressed and amplified, swirling around his hands and feet, distorting space itself as if bending reality to his will.

In an instant, Ryo appeared before him, catching Azrael by surprise. Azrael could only deduce that his distraction had caused this momentary lapse in awareness.

Then Ryo unleashed a punch— one that Azrael couldn't evade. It wasn't a matter of speed; no one could dodge it. This punch transcended mere physical force; it was a conceptual attack, an inevitable event in the very fabric of time. It carried the weight of something far beyond a typical strike.

"Yes, this is it," Azrael murmured as he felt Ryo's fist connect with his body.