Fighting Greg

As Vincent locked eyes with his new challenger, he couldn't help but feel a momentary sense of relief. Unlike the arrogant villains he had faced before, this opponent seemed devoid of the typical overbearing pride that often clouded their judgments. For the first time, Vincent thought he might be up against someone who wouldn't waste time on empty words.

That brief sense of relief, however, vanished the moment his challenger opened his mouth.

"It's time for you to know your place. Let's fight!" The challenger's voice boomed across the stage.

Vincent suppressed a sigh, already regretting his earlier optimism. Standing before him was a man with a military-style crew cut, his chiseled physique on full display as his armor left his six-pack abs exposed. In his hands, he wielded a massive axe that looked capable of cleaving through steel. This man was a Tier 1, four-star Origin Warrior, someone not to be taken lightly.

Vincent's face darkened, feeling foolish for expecting anything different. Without hesitation, he unsummoned his [Duskedge Blade] and activated his C-rank talent: Origin Power Enhancement. 

The energy coursing through his veins heightened his force attribute, increasing his strength. With his Basic Origin Movement technique activated, he became a blur of motion, rushing at his opponent with deadly intent.

His fist, glowing with a faint musky aura, made a resounding clap as it collided with his opponent's gut. The impact was immediate. The challenger's eyes bulged as he was hurled backward, skidding across the stage before crashing unconscious outside its boundaries.

"I've had enough of these cliché speeches for today," Vincent muttered under his breath, casually picking at his ear, as if the fight had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Vianne, who had been preparing to announce the second challenger, was frozen in place, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. The crowd, which had been buzzing with anticipation, fell into stunned silence.

"Did... did he win just like that?" someone in the audience finally murmured.

"I guess? That guy's not moving at all," came the uncertain reply.

As confusion spread throughout the arena, an instructor stepped forward to check on the fallen challenger. A quick examination confirmed that the fighter was no longer able to continue. With a gesture to the referee, the decision was made.

Vianne snapped back into action, her voice filling the stadium with excitement. 

"Instant victory for Vincent Magnus!"

The crowd erupted, their previous shock giving way to thunderous applause and cheers.

"VINCENT! VINCENT!" they chanted in unison, their voices reverberating across the arena.

"ONE MORE WIN!"another section of the crowd roared, eager to see their new favorite triumph once again.

High above the arena, in the distinguished seats reserved for the influential, Dean Thorne watched with an impressed expression. 

"Not bad," he muttered under his breath, a rare compliment slipping past his lips.

Sylthana, seated beside her uncle, overheard his words but kept her expression neutral, though her curiosity about Vincent deepened. 

On the other hand, Arnold looked utterly bored, his gaze wandering away from the stage, while Verno hadn't even bothered to watch the fight.

With another decisive victory under his belt, the atmosphere shifted among the remaining challengers. Those who had harbored thoughts of testing Vincent's strength or dethroning him now found themselves laughing nervously at their own hubris. 

The challenger he had just knocked out was one of the academy's elite students—someone many believed to be unbeatable.

"Do you still want to challenge Vincent Magnus?" one student asked, breaking the uneasy silence.

"I might have doubted his strength before," another replied, "but I'm not blind. He deserves that position. It's probably smarter to challenge Greg Malcolm instead."

"Yeah, I heard Greg was pretty underhanded last round," came the whispered reply. 

"Didn't he and his party gang up on some weaker students and kick them out of the event?"

As the students speculated, Vianne's voice once again boomed across the arena, cutting through their conversation.

"What's this? It seems the Top 6th contender, Greg Malcolm, is leaving his stage! Is he... conceding? Wait, no, he's heading towards Vincent Magnus' stage!"

All eyes turned to Greg, who strode confidently across the arena. His presence commanded attention, and Vincent, standing at the center of the stage, watched him approach with a calm, stoic expression.

Greg stopped at the base of the stage and addressed the nearest instructor, who also served as a referee for the event. 

"If I concede my current position," Greg asked, "will I be allowed to challenge Vincent Magnus for his spot?"

The instructor hesitated, unsure how to respond, and glanced up at Dean Thorne for guidance. The Dean, after a moment of silent contemplation, nodded his approval.

"I allow it," the Dean declared, his voice carrying across the arena.

A slow smile spread across Greg's face. 

"Thank you for your wise decision, Dean," he said, his tone dripping with mock gratitude.

Vincent, still unmoved, was curious. Where was Greg's confidence coming from? He had seen what Vincent was capable of, yet here he stood, certain that he could emerge victorious.

"Will you dare accept my challenge, Vincent Magnus?" Greg called out, his voice loud enough for the entire audience to hear.

Vincent's response was simple and unshaken. 

"Come up here, then."

Though visibly irritated by Vincent's nonchalant demeanor, Greg kept his anger in check and leaped gracefully onto the stage.

"Do you need to rest?" Greg taunted, a grin spreading across his face. 

"Take your time—I wouldn't want you to claim I took advantage of you later."

Vincent remained utterly unfazed. 

"I don't need to rest to fight a weakling like you."

"Hmph! We'll see how smug you are after I beat you to a pulp!"

With a shout, Greg took his fighting stance. A faint red glow enveloped his fists, solidifying into a pair of fearsome [Fire Gauntlets]. The air around him began to shimmer with heat as his fire affinity activated, surrounding him in an aura of burning energy.

Vincent, maintaining his calm demeanor, summoned his [Duskedge Blade]. The dark, gleaming blade glowed faintly with purple energy as he held it at the ready. Still, he couldn't help but wonder where Greg's confidence came from. Greg was only a Tier 1, three-star Origin Warrior—hardly a match for someone who had just bested a higher-tier opponent.

Once both fighters were ready, Vianne's voice rang out again. "What an unexpected turn of events! Our Top 6th contender, Greg Malcolm, has surrendered his position to challenge the Top 1 contender, Vincent Magnus, who's already secured two impressive victories today! Could this be an act of revenge after Vincent's earlier humiliation of Greg? Either way, this promises to be an exciting battle!"

The crowd, already on the edge of their seats, erupted into cheers once more.

"Go, Greg! Beat the crap out of him!" one voice shouted.

"Vincent! Vincent!" others called, eager to see the academy's top contender continue his winning streak.

Vincent watched as Greg's fiery aura intensified, small fireballs materializing in the air around him. They hovered for a brief moment before, with a swift motion of Greg's hand, they flew toward Vincent, whizzing through the air like blazing projectiles.

The first few were easy enough to block. Vincent deflected them with his [Duskedge Blade], the dark weapon slicing cleanly through the flames. 

However, more fireballs kept coming—two, four, six—and soon, the barrage seemed endless. Greg was relentless, hurling them with increasing speed.

Yet, even with the pressure mounting, Vincent moved with calculated precision, dodging and parrying each attack. His face remained impassive, his focus unshaken.

Just as he prepared to advance, Vincent noticed something off. One of the fireballs, unlike the others, curved mid-flight. It was coming from behind, tracking his movements like a homing missile.

"Crafty," Vincent muttered under his breath.

Before he could react, the fireball hit its mark. A loud boom echoed through the arena, and a cloud of thick smoke enveloped Vincent's figure.

The crowd gasped as Vianne's voice cut through the tension. "A direct hit!"

For a moment, all eyes were fixed on the smoke, wondering if Greg's surprise attack had given him the upper hand. But the anticipation was short-lived.

Without warning, Vincent burst through the smoke, unharmed and as stoic as ever. His [Duskedge Blade] gleamed menacingly as he rushed toward Greg, his movements swift and decisive.

Greg clicked his tongue in frustration, clearly annoyed that his trick hadn't worked. He quickly shifted into a defensive stance, his fists clenched and his [Fire Gauntlets] glowing brighter as he prepared for the impending clash.

As Vincent closed the distance between them, he unleashed his next move. With a sharp swing of his blade, a pulse of venomous purple light shone—a manifestation of his skill, Venomstrike Lash.

"Haa!" Vincent's battle cry rang out as his attack tore through the air.

Greg gritted his teeth and met the attack head-on, his gauntlet-covered fists ablaze. With a powerful punch, he tried to counter the strike, flames erupting from his hands as he attempted to overwhelm Vincent's offensive.

Clang!

The sound of clashing metal filled the arena, followed by a heavy bam as the force of the impact sent Greg stumbling backward. He rolled across the stage, struggling to regain his footing.

"Agh!" 

Greg grunted in pain as he finally came to a stop. His arms throbbed, the force of the blow leaving them numb. He winced, barely able to believe what had just happened.

"How... how can he be this strong?" Greg's thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of it. His gauntlets, a rare gift from his father, were of high quality—Tier 1, rare armaments. Yet, they had been matched by Vincent's seemingly humble blade.

Greg's confidence faltered for the first time. He had underestimated Vincent, assuming that his background would make him an easy target. But now, it was clear—Vincent's strength wasn't something that could be explained away by wealth or status. 

Vincent, for his part, was equally surprised. He had expected Greg's gauntlets to show some damage after their clash, but they were unscathed. 

"So, he has rare armaments too," Vincent thought with a frown. "His father must be filthy rich…"

But there was no time for further speculation. This was a battle, and Vincent knew better than to waste precious moments standing still. He had to press the advantage while he still had it.

"I don't know what he's planning," Vincent thought, eyeing Greg warily as the latter struggled to his feet. "But it's better to end this quickly."

Without hesitation, Vincent activated his Basic Origin Movement once more, his figure blurring as he dashed forward with blinding speed. He closed the distance between them in an instant, his [Duskedge Blade] cutting through the air with lethal intent.

Greg, still reeling from the earlier attack, barely had time to react. He raised his arms in a desperate attempt to block the strike, his [Fire Gauntlets] clashing with Vincent's blade.

Bang!

The force of the blow was too much. Greg was forced to one knee, the stage beneath him cracking from the impact. The crowd gasped as they saw the fracture spread across the floor, a testament to the power behind Vincent's attack.