Can You?

Lira, from the stands, watched the arena with narrowed eyes, her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.

'How the hell did Rian do that?' she thought, heart racing.

Rian had knocked out Darion Veth, a wind master, with speed and strength no novice should have.

'Did his power boost his speed and strength?' she wondered, frowning.

The image of Rian tied up in her room, drugged with the amber sedative, flashed in her mind.

'How did he even escape in the first place?'

She scanned the crowd, gauging their reactions.

"Rian! Rian!" some chanted, leaping from their seats, while others clapped, awestruck by the fight.

No one seemed to suspect what had happened, and most importantly…

There was no sign of whoever helped Rian break free from her room.

Even though Rian had won this fight through surprise, beating the next opponent—a fire master—would be near impossible given his visible exhaustion.

'Fine,' Lira thought, easing her shoulders slightly. 'At least no one's suspecting Rian's using magic, but…'

In the arena, Charles panted, chest heaving like he'd run a marathon.

'Hell yeah, I did it!' he thought, a grin he couldn't hold back spreading across his face.

Adrenaline still surged, and the electric spark he'd felt when hitting Darion hummed in his muscles.

'It actually worked…' he thought, glancing at Lira in the stands. 'I hate relying on her, but…'

Charles was starting to suspect Rian's body responded to Lira's commands, but…

'Why?'

'It's crap depending on that nutcase, but for now, it's working,' he thought, wiping blood from his arm with a quick swipe.

Clap clap clap!

The crowd kept cheering as servants dragged Darion from the arena, careful not to worsen his injuries.

Charles straightened, trying to ignore the pain in his thigh and arm.

'And to think this isn't over,' he thought, eyeing the entrance where the next fighter was already gearing up. 'Alright… just one more.'

The thought knotted his stomach but also sparked excitement.

'I can do this.'

The announcer's voice cut through the crowd's roar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, brace for Rian Cole's second fight!" he bellowed, the arena quaking with cheers.

"Ooh!"

"From distant lands, a fire master with an flawless victory record, we present… Syris Kael!"

A tall, muscular man strode into the arena, moving with confidence and a smile that showed more teeth than kindness.

For some reason, that grin reminded Charles of Kain Cole.

"Whoa!"

The crowd roared, some chanting Syris's name as he raised a hand, small flames dancing on his fingertips.

Fwoosh!

Syris stopped before Charles, sizing him up.

"You sure you want to face me?" he asked, his deep voice dripping with arrogance. "I'm not underestimating you like that idiot."

He nodded toward where Darion had been hauled off, his smile widening.

"Don't get your hopes up, little Cole."

The announcer leaned into the moment.

"Syris Kael taunts Rian Cole, vowing no mercy! Can Rian really win this fight in his condition!?" he cried, the crowd erupting in shouts and applause.

"Let's go, Syris!" a woman yelled from the stands, while others began chanting for Charles just for the thrill.

"Rian! Rian!"

Charles felt a twinge of doubt.

'My body's shot,' he thought as his trembling worsened from the last fight's strain.

He still didn't fully grasp how his powers worked, so no clear strategy came to mind. Blood kept dripping from his wounds, and the thigh pain was growing more annoying.

'Can I really handle this?' he thought, but then cursed himself. 'Damn it, since when am I a coward?'

He squared his shoulders, forcing a cocky grin.

"You sure you want to face me?" Charles shot back, pointing at himself with his thumb. "That last guy was just a warm-up."

"Ooh!"

The crowd exploded—some laughing, others hyped.

The announcer didn't miss a beat.

"Rian Cole fires back with unstoppable confidence! He truly believes he'll win!" he shouted, ramping up the tension.

Syris let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Hope it's not just talk," he said, raising his hands.

Fwoosh!

A flame sparked between his fingers, small but bright, and he flicked it at Charles with a swift motion.

Whack!

Charles dodged on instinct, leaping aside.

Sizzle!

The flame grazed his arm, leaving a trail of heat that singed his skin.

'Crap!' he thought, stumbling back.

Syris didn't wait, launching another flame—Fwoosh!—that scorched a trail in the arena sand.

Charles dodged again—Clack!—but noticed the ground starting to glow with tiny fire spots.

'This is bad,' he thought, heart racing. 'If he keeps this up, the whole arena's gonna be a bonfire.'

It was a crazy idea, but…

'I've gotta get close!' he thought, charging at Syris.

But as he raised his fist—

"Argh!" A sharp pain shot through his ankle, making him stumble.

Thud!

Charles dropped to his knees, gasping.

'What the hell?' he thought, glancing at his foot.

He hadn't hit anything, but the pain was real, like he'd twisted something.

'Did I injure it?' he thought, panic rising.

Syris seized the chance.

Fwoosh!

He launched a bigger flame, which Charles barely dodged by rolling aside.

Whack!

The heat singed his hair, the smell of burnt strands filling the air.

"Time to end this show!" Syris roared, laughing as he raised his hands for an even larger attack.