Chapter 67: The Stranger He stepped onto the field slow.
Measured.
Each step kissed the stone just light enough to not seem arrogant, but strong enough to leave a faint mark. A presence like a coiled storm pretending to be calm. The crowd didn’t know him. But they could feel it. Something ancient. Something not from here.
He didn’t wear anything flashy—just a dark coat, worn leather boots, gloves that hid the burns, and a quiet smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.
Inside, he was calculating.
Every movement Lucian had made in the last four fights. Every bit of mana that leaked from the boy’s skin. Every time he shifted his weight. How he didn’t blink when others flinched. How he sat, watched, and moved like the world already played on repeat in his head.
That’s the anomaly.
He didn’t need a scan to see it now.
He could taste it in the air. The mana wasn’t wild or pure. It was layered. Refined. Polished through experience no one this young should have.
His mission had been simple: find the source of the tear that almost exposed their buried bloodlines. He thought it was an object. A catalyst. A cursed relic left behind.
But it wasn’t.
It was a boy.
Lucian Black.
And now he was standing in front of him.
The dragon inside his flesh stirred. The blood wanted to rise, to roar, to test. But he shoved it down. Let his shoulders slump slightly, like he wasn’t impressed.
Couldn’t let them see what he was. Not yet.
The moment he crossed the halfway mark, Lucian stood.
Finally.
Two wolves recognizing each other.
"...You," Lucian muttered.
He answered with a smile. "Me."
Then they moved.
No ref.
No start.
Just instinct.
Their auras clashed in the middle—no theatrics, no screaming energy. But the moment they met, the world cracked.
Stone split under their feet. Air warped. Dust exploded from the impact.
Lucian launched forward first, hand crackling with blue mana, a feint strike toward the jaw—
But he read it.
Twisted sideways, redirected the blow, and slammed an open palm to Lucian’s ribs. The force pushed Lucian ten meters back.
The crowd gasped.
Lucian slid, flipped, landed low, grinning now.
His turn.
He blinked.
Appeared in front of him.
Elbow strike straight to the temple.
He blocked it with a reinforced guard, but the hit rang in his skull. Before he could counter, Lucian twisted mid-air and slammed a spinning heel into his side.
He flew back.
Hit the wall of the arena and cracked it.
He coughed once. Blood.
So that’s how strong you are.
The gloves tore slightly at the wrist. The burn marks glowed faintly beneath. Mana surged to seal the pain.
Lucian didn’t wait.
He came again.
But this time—faster.
The boy was reading him too.
They clashed mid-air.
Blows. Counters. Redirects. Every motion layered with intent. Lucian weaved spacetime into his steps, blinking between milliseconds, hitting from impossible angles.
He responded in kind.
He didn’t use dragon fire.