Chapter 485 - What Two Years Brings

Just as he glanced back in reaction to the whisper to his ear, Samfrey was already gone, continuing his stride in the countless bolts that bounced from each surface of the metallic arena. 

Watching from beside Iris, who watched with a worried gaze, an unknown figure commented, "Sheesh, doesn't that seem a bit much for a duel?"

She looked to the side to see a man with shaggy, light-brown hair standing with hands tucked into the pockets of a black, well-lined coat, watching the duel behind yellow-lensed, circular glasses. 

The man seemed to notice her gaze as he spoke to her, "So that's "Ren Nakamura"--the founder of Gladiolus, huh? Interesting. I can tell–he's strong, way above that guy, anyway."

"Who are you?" She asked. 

He flicked his glasses up, briefly displaying his prismatic eyes, "Sorry about that. I'm Nikko, the leader of the Sky Dragon Conglomerate."

Accepting the hand he extended, she shook it hesitantly, still perplexed as the man seemed to hold knowledge more than he let on. 

Did he purposely stand next to me because he knew I was affiliated with Gladiolus? How would he know that? She thought. 

"Oh, don't mind me," Nikko assured with a smile that housed unseen intentions, "I don't think I'm the only one curious about Gladiolus. Though I can't say all curious ones are as harmless as myself." 

"What does that mean…?" She asked. 

Nikko adjusted his glasses as he took a moment to reply before beginning to take his leave from the stadium, "Who knows? There's a lot of eyes on you–so stay on guard."

The enigmatic man simply waved off, leaving her perplexed as to his intentions before her attention was brought back to the stadium. 

While he stood in place, taunts continued to pour from Samfrey, not met with swift strikes that came as strands of swift lightning, leaving small nicks against his armor. 

"Frozen in fear? Or perhaps you simply can't perceive speed like mine?" Samfrey taunted from his disembodied lips, moving through a channel of ricocheting lightning. 

Damn, he's annoying, he thought. 

"He's on the ropes!"

"Tiger's got him dead to rights–!"

"Come on! I've got my month's pay on you, snowy!"

The roars of the spectators came through, but he paid them no mind as he kept his focus up, taking in a breath through the hot winds that occupied the presence of the lightning-filled arena. 

I've let him have his fun, he thought. 

–Just before another swipe of lightning-etched daggers could reach him, he vanished into the shadows, causing Samfrey to momentarily pause on the ground as his physical state was reset in that split-second. 

Did he figure out my timing? No–he couldn't have, Samfrey thought. 

However, the natural alarms of the veil of electricity that occupied the air around him alerted him of an attack coming from directly behind. 

What–? Behind–? Samfrey thought. 

The cat-like man resumed his lightning traversal, barely evading a strike from him as he reappeared from the shadows. 

Close, but not enough–! Samfrey thought. 

–But again, the man found himself outpaced. Even whilst moving as lightning itself, furthering his speed through continuous ricocheting, the snowy-haired man appeared in front of him with a step from the shadows–blocking his path. 

"What–?!" Samfrey let out. 

"Didn't I tell you?" He said, "You're predictable." 

In a panicked move, Samfrey kicked from the wall to evade his reach, but just as he was about to kick from the steel floor–the man's path was barriered once more by his emergence from the shadows. 

Seriously–? Did he actually figure out the timing?! It's not just that–he himself is fast—! Samfrey thought. 

"Ready to give up?" The smiling words that came from the nonchalant expression of his seemed to set off Samfrey completely. 

"Shut up–! I'll shut that big mouth of yours—!" Samfrey launched into the air as lightning coiled the boundaries of the arena. 

Finally. I was waiting for him to finally give me his best shot, he thought with a sight. 

The frosted-haired man poured out all of his magical energy, creating a tempest of visceral lightning that scathed the steel of the area, prompting the dormant, magical barriers to activate between the arena and the spectators. 

"Manifest a stampede through the clouds, through the world, through my adversaries! Nziza: Tempest Plains!" Samfrey yelled out from the top of his lungs. 

The great magic manifested itself into one of many forms; from every angle of the arena, beasts forged of lightning emerged–bulls, tigers, lions, behemoths, and even dragons–filling the space with a cobalt blue glow as the many strands of lightning hissed. 

"Ren, be careful…!" Iris called out. 

Cracking his knuckles, he finally began to take some steps as the stampede of lightning beasts began to coalesce around him, stomping with thunderous steps. 

"Alright, finally…it's time to show off a bit of what I've got," he muttered with a smile as his snowy locks were brushed in the static wind. 

Samfrey watched, seething from up above as veins pressed against his skin while lightning protruding from his pores–struggling to maintain the overwhelming spell. 

Simply raising his hands together, pressing his palms against one another, his gaze took on a darker glimpse; inhabiting a dark impulse that flooded through his hazel gaze–directly to Samfrey. 

"Araphel: Endless Dismantle." 

As the words that came through his lips as a malediction to his opponent left, a shadow emerged from his position, immediately enveloping a curtain of darkness over the entirety of the steel-forged arena, swallowing the lantern's flames, and the light of the electricity itself. 

From the eyes of Samfrey, he struggled to perceive what happened: before his eyes, all of the lightning beasts, in their dozens of forms, stampeding forth–were cleaved endlessly, without mercy, and left without a form. 

It was directly beneath him; the edge of the visceral, enigmatic magecraft–but he could sense a hint of its true nature. 

…The entire space of the arena…it's as if the air itself embodies the concept of "being cut"...he thought. 

After the shadow left, returning the light to the arena, none of Samfrey's great magic remained, leaving the spectators perplexed as from their point-of-view, nothing occurred. 

In the aftermath of such magecraft, or rather–a glimpse of it, the dagger-wielding man slumped his guard. 

"I give up," Samfrey claimed lifelessly as he returned to the ground.