Clang! Clang! Clang!
Swords clashed with a deafening metallic echo, the sound of steel against steel reverberating through the air.
Felix couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise. His blackwood training sword was crafted with black steel, a material so exceptional that even master craftsmen revered it as a masterpiece. Yet, the ordinary-looking wooden sword in Sonia's hands had endured dozens of direct strikes without so much as a splinter.
"Either that sword is made of something extraordinary," Felix thought, his gaze narrowing on Sonia, "or her swordsmanship is on a level I didn't expect."
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Sonia's foot shifted, her entire body sliding in a smooth and unpredictable motion. She narrowly evaded Felix's powerful downward strike, a move fueled by his full strength and intention to end the duel.
Felix's eyes widened. Once again, her elusive footwork disrupted his rhythm at the perfect moment. And, just like before, Sonia seized the opening to counterattack.
Clang!
Felix parried her strike, their swords locking briefly. But he could feel it now—her moves were becoming sharper, her strikes more precise. She was adapting.
He had underestimated her.
Felix bit his lip, sweat trickling down his temple. This wasn't how he had envisioned the match going. Initially, he thought her display of talent would be short-lived, a flash in the pan fueled by beginner's luck. But after countless exchanges, Felix realized she was learning. Every clash honed her movements, refined her technique, and closed the gap between them.
"I can't let this drag on," Felix thought, his grip tightening on his sword. He knew that prolonging the fight would only work to her advantage. Despite his years of training and the refined explosiveness of his Waveform Stance, Sonia's growth was relentless. If this continued, it wouldn't just be a matter of fatigue—he might actually lose.
He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. It was time to end this.
Felix stepped back and assumed his signature Waveform Stance, his sword raised high above his head, body angled for maximum power. His eyes locked onto Sonia, burning with determination.
"This next strike," he declared, his voice echoing across the arena, "will decide everything. Win or lose—it ends now."
Sonia didn't respond immediately. Her lips curled into a faint smile, and then, to the shock of everyone watching, she mirrored his stance exactly.
Raising her wooden sword high, she shifted her weight to one side, her posture mimicking Felix's down to the smallest detail.
The crowd gasped.
Felix's jaw tightened. To anyone else, this might look like an arrogant taunt, but Felix knew better. Sonia wasn't mocking him—she was challenging him on his own terms.
"How dare she…" Felix muttered, his frustration bubbling.
Meanwhile, the onlookers exchanged murmurs of disbelief.
"She's using his stance? That's… impossible."
"There's no way she actually knows Waveform Stance. It's a family secret!"
"She's bluffing," another added. "No one can just copy a stance by watching it. It takes years of training, even for the most talented swordmasters."
Despite their skepticism, everyone fell silent as Felix moved.
Boom!
The ground shook as Felix launched himself forward, his sword slicing through the air with devastating momentum. His entire body coiled and uncoiled in perfect synchronization, delivering a strike that could shatter the defenses of even the strongest swordsman.
Sonia didn't flinch.
Instead, she matched his motion exactly.
Her body mirrored his steps, her wooden sword descending at the same angle, with the same force. It was as if Felix was facing a reflection of himself.
Clang!
The collision of their swords sent shockwaves rippling through the arena. Both fighters moved past each other, their backs now turned. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze.
A sharp crack broke the silence.
Sonia's wooden sword fractured, the broken half clattering to the ground.
The crowd erupted into murmurs, a mix of awe and pity.
"She gave it her all," someone whispered.
"She almost had him…"
Felix stood tall, a triumphant smile on his face. The image of a single black wing appeared over his shoulder, its shimmering edges forming the unmistakable shape of a Waveform Sword Spirit—a manifestation of his mastery.
"Did you see that?" someone gasped.
"He summoned his sword spirit mid-battle! That's incredible!"
Even Felix's usual confidence wavered slightly. Summoning a spirit mid-fight was no small feat, even for him. He turned to Sonia, his voice softer but still firm.
"You fought well," he said, offering a rare note of genuine respect. "But—"
A second crack interrupted him.
Felix's blackwood sword split in half, the two pieces falling to the ground.
The crowd's collective gasp turned into stunned silence as another figure appeared behind Sonia—a radiant figure with a glowing white sword.
Sonia had also summoned a sword spirit.
But what shocked them most wasn't that she summoned a spirit—it was the spirit itself.
"That's… impossible."
"She summoned a Waveform Sword Spirit! But she's not part of the Vosloda family!"
"Did she just… learn it in one fight?"
Felix's expression twisted into a mix of disbelief and admiration.
The whispers swirled, the awe and envy palpable in the air. But Sonia didn't bask in their reactions.
Her focus was elsewhere.
She turned, her piercing gaze locking onto a shadowy figure leaning casually against a pillar in the distance.
It was him—the Observer.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. In her mind, she spoke, her thoughts sharp and biting:
"You mean to tell me… you're just a figment of my imagination? That you don't exist? That you're just a projection of my subconscious?"
The Observer tilted his head, a playful grin spreading across his face.
Instead of answering, he crouched down, picked up the broken half of Sonia's wooden sword, and ran his hand along its edge. In an instant, the sword was whole again, as if it had never been broken.
The surrounding spectators noticed nothing—no one even acknowledged the repaired sword.
The Observer dusted off his hands, gave Sonia a quick salute, and began walking away.
Over his shoulder, he called out, his voice tinged with amusement:
"Take a guess."