Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 84: Hardships

Chapter 84: Hardships

The smoke was still clearing.

The crowd had gone quiet—not out of respect, but confusion. People leaned forward in their seats, squinting, asking each other what just happened.

And then they saw it.

Lucian Thorne was standing at the center of the battlefield.

Chest rising and falling. Blood trailing down his face, slicing across one eye. A thin stream ran from his nose. He looked tired... but not broken. Not even close.

At his feet—Astrid Vale.

Unconscious. Motionless. Sword still gripped in her hand, but her fingers were slipping.

The announcer’s voice cracked through the silence.

"...And that’s it! LUCIAN THORNE ADVANCES TO THE SEMIFINALS!"

The crowd snapped back to life with a delayed roar—some cheering, others still stunned.

"What was that?"

"Where’d that smoke come from?"

"Did he knock her out in the mist?"

"She was winning—what the hell happened?"

Back in the arena, Lucian wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked down at Astrid.

Then, finally, he spoke—loud enough for the crowd to catch it.

"Strong swordwork," he said, his voice raw. "Precise. Resilient."

He stepped back, slowly straightening his posture.

"But precision doesn’t beat adaptability."

Lucian turned and walked off without looking back.

In the waiting room, the squad had all gone still.

Shylo leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed. Johnny’s brows were furrowed. Maverick had gone quiet.

Then Milo spoke, glancing sideways at Amari. "You’re up next, right?"

Amari didn’t look away from the screen.

Didn’t even blink.

Just smiled.

Milo raised a brow. "You ready?"

Amari chuckled, rolling his wrist like he was loosening up a casual stretch. "I’ve been ready since this whole thing started."

He stood up and picked up his chains, the metal coiling like it already knew the rhythm.

...

> "AND NOW—IT’S TIME FOR MATCH THREE OF THE QUARTERFINALS!"

The announcer’s voice blasted through the stadium, already brimming with hype.

> "SHYLO vs. SELENE ASHFORD!"

The arena lit up again as the two fighters walked out, both calm, both collected—but with completely different energy.

Selene, cloaked in light-blue and silver, strode like the arena belonged to her. Mana shimmered faintly around her like it couldn’t wait to be used.

Shylo? Quiet steps. Hood up. His hands in his pockets like this wasn’t even the main event. The shadow beneath his feet flickered unnaturally—stretching, tightening, alive.

The crowd cheered—half for her, half out of curiosity for him.

In one of the upper stands, a girl gasped. "Wait... that’s Shylo?"

Her friend turned. "From our class? Shadow guy who never talks?"

She blinked. "I didn’t know he could even fight."

Another voice chimed in, older, calm. A teacher, leaning slightly toward his wife with a faint smile on his face.

"I always said that boy’s dangerous when he stops holding back."

Back in the arena, Shylo and Selene wasted no time.

He vanished the moment the bell rang.

She countered instantly—her mana flared, revealing an arcane pulse that outlined Shylo mid-blink before he could even reach her. The crowd gasped.

He landed clean, but didn’t strike. Not yet.

Selene smirked, hands glowing. "You’re not going to be able to sneak up on me today."

And just like that, it was on.

He blurred through shadows—teleporting, feinting, shifting.

She weaved through it with mana walls and counterbursts, reading every angle, forcing Shylo to rethink every move. For the first time, he was the one reacting.

The Ocean brothers, watching in the waiting room, were halfway on their feet.

"Come on, come on—block that!" one shouted.

"She’s reading him too well! He’s getting boxed in!" the other added.

Maverick stood with his arms crossed, tense. "He’s on the backfoot," he said. "If this keeps up... he might not make it through."

Amari, sitting nearby, didn’t even flinch.

He kept watching. Quiet for a moment. Then—

"He’s not panicking," Amari said. "He’s adapting."

Maverick raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Amari nodded once, slowly. "He’s too smart not to."

The room fell into a brief silence, everyone locked on the screen.

Then Amari’s thoughts drifted.

Shylo had always been the calm one. The observant one. He didn’t fight flashy. He fought to finish.

Johnny had potential—a dangerous unco and years ahead to master it.

But Shylo.

Right now, Shylo was the only one who could push Amari in a fight.

Maybe not beat him.

But push him.

Amari smiled to himself, tapping a knuckle against the bench as he leaned back.

"It’s only a matter of time," he said quietly.

"Shylo’s about to win."

Selene struck first—again.

Her mana burst across the battlefield like a wave, twisting with heat and momentum. But this time, Shylo didn’t vanish. He didn’t dodge.

He stood.

Focused.

Every breath steady. Every muscle still.

Then—he moved.

She blinked. He was gone.

A flicker in the corner of her eye—too fast.

She twisted, narrowly dodging the first strike, her mana flaring up in defense. But even as she blocked, she knew. That wasn’t just a random shadow blink.

Shylo had planned it.

He was finally reading her Unco. The rhythm. The limits. The blind spots.

She launched a counter-blast, mana sweeping wide—calculated, perfect.

But Shylo had already closed the distance.

With complete calm, he slipped just past the edge of her wave and stepped in.

Low stance. Eyes sharp.

One opening.

That’s all he needed.

Shylo moved like his shadow was pulling him through the air—his blade an echo, his motion clean.

The hit landed.

Selene stumbled.

And before she could ground herself again—Shylo used his momentum, twisted behind her—

And swept her clean out of the ring.

The barrier shimmered.

Elimination confirmed.

Silence. Then—

"SHYLO ADVANCES TO THE SEMIFINALS!"

The crowd exploded—but not all in celebration. Some fans clapped, others booed. Whispers floated around the arena—

"Didn’t he cheat last round?"

"That guy? I thought he got lucky..."

"He’s shady."

But Shylo didn’t flinch.

He just stood there.

Raised one hand up.

And way up in the crowd, his teacher stood, smiling quietly.

Beside him, that same girl from class shouted, hands in the air. "LET’S GOOO, SHYLO!"

They were smiling.

And for once—so was he.

Just a little.