Chapter 11: “Proving GroundsArc I of the Duel: Caius vs. Alarion
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📘 Chapter 11: "Proving Grounds"
Arc I of the Duel: Caius vs. Alarion
"They didn't cheer for him.
They held their breath."
📍 Location: Academy Combat Arena XIII — Noon
The sky was cracked where the moon used to be.
The banners of the Five Realms fluttered in artificial wind — conjured by elemental students trying to look useful. Rows of nobles, professors, and war priests filled the marble balconies like buzzards at a sermon.
And at the center of the arena stood two men.
One born to be worshipped.
The other never meant to be remembered.
Caius inhaled slowly.
The sand beneath his boots was warm — too warm. Not from sunlight. But from aura.
His opponent's.
Across the ring, Alarion Vael'Thyr stood calmly in ceremonial armor — golden plates inscribed with Pyros runes, wings of blazing aura flickering faintly behind him.
His hands were bare. Open. Welcoming.
Like a saint offering forgiveness.
Caius wanted to break every one of his fingers.
Why do people like him get born perfect?
Golden hair, noble blood, tailored smiles…
And here I am, a stitched-together memory thief with a god-eating Codex and a sleep-hugging dream girl who thinks I smell like sadness and moonlight.
Yeah. Totally fair system.
Headmaster Virel stood at the balcony above, his voice enhanced by echo-magic.
"This duel has been approved under Clause 8 of the Student Conflict Resolution Pact."
"Magics allowed. Weapons allowed. Fatal force forbidden, but crippling is... negotiable."
A few professors chuckled.
"You may begin."
Alarion moved first — without moving.
The air shimmered.
His aura expanded — not like fire, but like a sun remembering how to rise.
Caius felt it in his teeth.
"Resonant Core unlocked."
"Aura Signature: Solar Dominion."
"Vein Stability: Pyros-Class Prime."
"I'll give you the first strike," Alarion said gently.
"It's the only one you'll land."
Caius didn't speak.
He moved.
The First Exchange
He dashed forward — Red Waltz partially active.
Not full trance. Just memory threads in motion.
His left leg pivoted in a style absorbed from a desert war dancer.
His right elbow jabbed in the motion of a beast-kin slaver he killed last month.
His shoulder dropped and twisted in mid-air — snapping into a collapsing blow—
Blocked.
Alarion didn't move.
His aura moved for him.
"Impact negated. Soul pressure equalized."
Caius dropped back, then swept low.
Alarion stepped sideways through flame — as if Pyros itself bent to his footsteps.
A solar glyph hovered where he'd been. It exploded with heat.
Caius ducked under the wave, feeling his boots sizzle.
Right. Sun boy can paint runes with his footprints.
I hate him even more now.
Caius rolled out of the blast radius and exhaled.
The Codex pulsed.
"Vein Technique copied: Solar Sigil – Ember Step (limited)."
His lips curled into a slow grin.
"Not bad," he muttered.
Alarion tilted his head.
"Still smiling?"
"It's a nervous twitch."
Caius surged forward again — this time feinting.
Left hand moved, right elbow shimmered — and then he dropped.
He dragged one foot across the sand in a crescent curve — just like the assassin from Veylmar.
"Memory Echo: Knife Step — Activated."
The curve became a trap glyph — not Pyros, but Codex-made. Constructed from death. From memory.
Alarion stepped into it.
And for half a second, his aura flinched.
Caius struck.
Contact.
His fist hit Alarion's chest.
Hard.
A sound like iron hitting cathedral glass.
Alarion didn't stumble — but he blinked.
"You learn."
"That's the idea."
The crowd murmured.
A noble girl in crimson bit her lip.
A Chainseeker leaned forward in his seat.
*Round Two *
Alarion stopped holding back.
He raised both hands.
Solar veins lit across his arms. Runes bloomed in the air like angry flowers.
"Pyros Vein Technique: Flame Crowned Judgment."
The air screamed.
A column of gold fire spiraled downward toward Caius like a punishment from godhood.
Caius whispered:
"Red Waltz."
The Codex flared.
Memory wrapped his limbs. Ghosts whispered in his blood.
He moved through the flames — not untouched, but unbowed.
His cloak caught fire. He spun with it — turned it into a weapon.
The burning cloth lashed around Alarion's arm.
And Caius pulled.
Both slammed into the sand.
Caius on top.
Elbow rising.
"Strike trajectory copied: Berserker Drop – Northern Wastes."
His arm fell—
Caught.
Alarion grabbed his wrist with one hand.
Eyes glowing.
"You're fast."
"You're annoying."
Alarion flipped him.
Caius crashed into the sand.
Status Update
Caius: Minor burns, bruised ribs, aura pulsing uneven
Alarion: Slight soul fatigue, one knuckle cracked, ego intact
Above, the Headmaster leaned forward.
"They're not trying to kill each other," he muttered.
"Not yet," Professor Avelryn whispered back.
The crowd was silent.
No cheers.
No chants.
Just… watching.
Like they knew something rare was happening.
Like they were watching fate rewrite itself.
Caius rose to his knees.
Spat blood.
"Still only the first arc," he muttered.
"You look tired," Alarion said.
"You look kissed by the sun. That must be exhausting."
They stood.
Faced each other.
And charged.