Chapter 62

The skies over Minamo flickered with the prismatic shimmer of reinforced barrier spells as the Universal Guard Colosseum came to life. At its center, a shimmering arena—wide, circular, and massive—glowed with arcane symbols as Berwick von Blutschwert and Asche Ace Kyezhen stepped into opposite ends.

Spectators were kept out for today. This was a spar between captains. No interruptions. No limits.

The horns blew, and the moment the bell chimed—they moved.

Berwick was first, always first.

His blade—Enketsu, the blood star katana—shimmered crimson and gold as he vanished from sight, appearing behind Asche in an instant with a clean, high-speed horizontal strike.

CLANG!

A transparent arcane rune-shield deflected the slash. Asche floated back midair, cloaked in wisps of neutral-elemental arcana. His longcoat fluttered like smoke.

Asche
Still rushing. Still reckless.

Berwick
And you're still floating away from a real fight.

Asche extended his hand—and hundreds of glowing geometric spell-glyphs unfolded around him. He unleashed chain-lances of pure arcana, all converging on Berwick like spears from every angle.

Berwick grinned and raised his sword. With a spin, he released a blood-field counter, slashing a radius around him with such pressure that it curved the projectiles away.

The two clashed repeatedly—Berwick up close, aiming to rupture Asche’s calm control with overwhelming offensive pressure, while Asche danced backward, casting precise, arcana-layered spells to restrict movement and deconstruct attacks before they landed.

Their battle was like watching a chess match at lightning speed:

Berwick's footwork was violent and wide.

Asche's was minimal, efficient, mathematical.

Berwick leapt upward, carving the kanji for “starblood” into the air mid-slash.

Asche raised a reflection field, and the katana glanced off—but the field bent. It began to destabilize.

Asche
(flicking his wrist)
Agradable.

The pleasant rune emerged from his chest, shifting into his legendary sword, its silver-blue light disrupting the battlefield's pressure. With a single swing, runic projectiles lined the field in complex sequences.

Berwick skidded back, breathing hard.

Berwick
Still the prettiest caster out here.

Asche
And you’re still a brute with good metaphors.

They kept going for another twenty minutes—neither faltering. Each adapting. Berwick created a blood clone; Asche bent light to create fake copies. Berwick coated his blade in radiant starfire; Asche inverted mana streams to cancel bursts.

It wasn’t just a spar.

It was ritualistic—a dance born of rivalry, history, and grudging admiration.

Finally, as the clock neared an hour, the system declared a draw. Both were still standing. Neither had a clear upper hand. Berwick sheathed Enketsu. Asche let Agradable dissipate.

Berwick
(wiping blood off his mouth, smiling)
One day, I’ll break through those floating sigils.

Asche
(putting his gloves back on)
And one day, I’ll outpace your footwork.

They both sat down, panting.

Berwick
So… another round tomorrow?

Asche
(eyes glowing faintly)
Wouldn’t miss it.