[Location: The Arena Floor]

The silence following Elena's victory hung heavy in the air. The crowd was unsettled. First the Needle, then the Saint. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"AND NOW..." The Announcer cleared his throat, his enthusiasm dampened.

"FOR THE FINAL MATCH OF THE FIRST ROUND."

"FROM CLASS B... THE GALE BLADE! JETT!"

WHOOSH.

A blur of green motion shot out of the East Gate.

Jett flowed. He was lean, wiry, and aerodynamic. He wore a suit of light leather armor enchanted with [Weight Reduction] runes.

In his hands, he held twin scimitars that curved like hawk talons.

Summersaulting into the center of the arena, wind mana swirling around his ankles. He posed, blades crossed, grinning at the camera.

"Make some noise!" Jett shouted.

The crowd erupted. This was what they wanted. Speed. Flash. Style.

"AND FROM CLASS F... THE IRON TOWER... ALARIC!"

The West Gate opened.

Nothing happened for three seconds.

Then... a sound.

SCREEECH.

It was the sound of metal torturing stone.

Alaric walked out.

Every step he took, the hum of the air seemed to resonate with his heartbeat.

Steady, calm, cool and collected

Behind him, dragging along the limestone floor, was The Anvil.

The six-foot slab of grey Mythril gouged a deep white trench into the arena floor with every step. Sparks flew from the friction.

Alaric held the handle loosely in one hand, dragging the 400-pound weapon as if it were a dead beast.

He looked tired. He looked dusty. He looked like a construction worker wandering onto a battlefield.

The crowd started to titter.

"Look at that thing!"

"Is he going to fight or pave a road?"

"He's so slow!"

However, despite the doubts and sneers from the clouds, he remained headstrong

After a few seconds of walking, he stopped in the centre of the ring, breathing out, a puff of steam escaping his lips.

Jett looked at the massive slab of metal. He couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Hey, big guy," Jett sneered, spinning his scimitars.

"Compensating for something? You'll never hit me with that log of metal. It takes you five seconds just to lift it. I can kill you ten times in five seconds."

However, for this low-level taunt, Alaric didn't get angry. He blinked slowly, his eyes tracking the spinning blades.

"It's not for hitting fast things," Alaric said honestly, his voice rumbling in his chest.

"It's for breaking hard things."

"Hah! You have to catch me first!" Jett laughed

"BEGIN!"

[Wind Art: Flash Step.]

BANG.

Jett vanished.

He moved faster than the human eye could track.

He moved so fast that even Arthur and Mozart in the stands raised their eyes a bit in surprise.

For such a talent to be in class B? It just showed how talented those of class S were

Boom!

A sonic boom echoed as he broke the sound barrier, appearing instantly behind Alaric's back.

"Too slow!" Jett screamed.

He unleashed a flurry of slashes. [Wind Blade Barrage].

TING. TING. TING. TING.

One, two, three, four!

Sparks showered off Alaric's back. The blades cut through his uniform instantly, shredding the fabric to ribbons.

In an instant, Jett had taken control of the battlefield, a move with made the audience yell with joy

"That's it, Jett! Tear him apart!"

"Show those class F losers what the gap between classes!"

And on the receiving end, Alaric grunted. He swung The Anvil around in a massive, horizontal arc.

WHOOSH.

The blade passed through empty air. Jett was already gone.

Not only that, but taking advantage of Alaric's lack of speed, Jett began to move!

Appearing on Alaric's left. He Slashed! A cut opened on Alaric's forearm.

Appearing on Alaric's right. Stab! The tip of the scimitar dug into Alaric's thigh.

"Can't touch me! Can't touch me!" Jett taunted, dancing around the massive Titan like a mosquito around a bear.

Alaric roared and swung again. An overhead smash.

CRACK.

The Anvil hit the ground. It missed Jett by three feet, yet the impact shook the arena, sending a tremor through the floor, but Jett just hopped over the shockwave, laughing.

"Look at him!" the Announcer shouted. "Now this is more like class F, watch him struggle hahaha!"

The crowd roared with laughter. It was pathetic. Alaric was swinging wildly, destroying the floor, but he couldn't land a single hit.

In the VIP box, Professor Arthur smirked. "Brute strength is useless without agility. That boy is just a meat shield."

"Perhaps it's you who needs to learn some teaching skills, Professor Mozart"

Back in the arena, Alaric was panting. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

He was covered in shallow cuts. His uniform was in tatters.

Jett stopped ten meters away, bouncing on his toes. He wasn't even winded.

"Give up, Ironheart," Jett grinned. "

You're durable, I'll give you that, but blades are slowly getting through; death by a thousand cuts is still death."

"The only difference is that mine is the slow and painful kind"

Jett raised both swords. The wind mana around him began to condense. The air pressure in the arena dropped.

"Look around you, the crowd is full of joy!"

"You lot of class F only exist to serve as punching bags for the higher classes"

"And now that you've done this..."

"Then it's time to end it, after all, I'm already bored."

[Advanced Wind Magic: The Shredding Vortex.]

A tornado began to form around Jett.

However, unlike regular wind, it was filled with thousands of invisible mana-blades.

"I'm going to turn you into ground beef!" Jett screamed.

The tornado expanded, rushing toward Alaric. Dust and debris were sucked into the vortex.

Alaric stood there, holding his heavy sword. The wind whipped his hair, stinging his eyes.

He couldn't outrun it. He couldn't dodge it.

The crowd cheered, waiting for the finish.

Alaric closed his eyes.

'If walls don't work,' he remembered Mozart's voice. 'Don't be a wall.'

Alaric opened his eyes. They weren't panicked. They were focused.

He tightened his grip on The Anvil.

"Come here, little bird," Alaric whispered.

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