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Third Person POV
The confident grin on Michael's face was a mirror of his mother's. He shifted his weight, his stance a perfect fusion of balance and readiness, the spear of pure light held firmly in his hands. Across from him, Seraphiel's five radiant blades hummed in the air, their gentle glow belying the deadly potential they held. There were no more words. The final lesson had begun.
Michael moved first. He didn't charge blindly; ten years of relentless training had tempered his instincts. He exploded forward, a golden blur against the white stone of the training ground. His target wasn't his mother, but the blade floating furthest to her left. His spear became a flicker of light, thrusting not with brute force, but with precision meant to test the formation.
As expected, the targeted blade shot back to parry. Simultaneously, two other blades converged on his flank, attempting to box him in. It was a perfectly coordinated, automated defense. Fighting these five blades was like fighting five master swordsmen who shared a single mind.
Michael spun away, the shafts of light from the attacking blades searing the air where he'd been a moment before. He landed gracefully, his spear already moving in a defensive arc to deflect a follow-up strike from a fourth blade that had tried to attack him from behind. This was her signature style: an impenetrable, thinking defense that learned and adapted with every exchange.
He knew a direct assault was pointless. He would be overwhelmed by their numbers and perfect coordination. He had to break their formation and add chaos to her perfect system.
He changed his rhythm. Instead of single, powerful thrusts, he unleashed a flurry of rapid-fire jabs, forcing the blades into a rapid, defensive dance. As they moved to counter his assault, he saw his opening. He feinted a lunge to the right, drawing three of the blades to intercept. Then, instead of completing the attack, he slammed the butt of his light spear into the ground.
A pulse of golden energy, a Radiant Echo, shot out from the point of impact. The shockwave of pure mana wasn't powerful enough to destroy the blades, but it was enough to disrupt their perfect flight paths for a fraction of a second.
That was all the time he needed.
With the blades momentarily staggered, he spun, channeling a massive amount of power into his spear. He swung it in a wide, horizontal arc, unleashing a scythe of pure light, a Crescent Flash. That sliced through the air, aimed at all five blades at once.
For the first time in the duel, Seraphiel's calm expression flickered with surprise. It was a clever, well-executed strategy.
The crescent of light slammed into the five blades, sending them scattering through the air like thrown leaves. He had broken the formation. For a single, triumphant moment, his mother was defenseless. He didn't waste it. He lunged forward, his spear aimed directly at her heart.
But Seraphiel was not just any opponent. She was the Captain of the Golden Dawn. One of the strongest swords and shields of the Clover Kingdom.
Just as his spear was about to find its mark, she raised a single, elegant hand. The five scattered blades stopped their chaotic tumbling and, with impossible speed, shot back toward her. They didn't reform their defensive shield. They changed their purpose.
They began to spin around her, faster and faster, until they were no longer five distinct blades but a single, inescapable vortex of golden light. The pressure in the arena skyrocketed. Michael's forward charge was halted as if he'd run into a solid wall.
The dynamic of the fight had completely reversed. He was no longer the aggressor; he was the prey.
The vortex expanded, the blades shooting out like predatory animals before snapping back into the swirling pattern. They came from all angles, forcing him onto the defensive. He was a flow of motion, his spear a blur as he spun and parried, deflecting strikes that would have ended the fight instantly. The sound of light clashing against light filled the air, a series of high-pitched, harmonic chimes that echoed through the estate.
He was holding his own, but he knew he was being worn down. He was trapped in her cage, and it was only a matter of time before one of the blades found its way past his guard. He needed to end this now.
He took a risk. He deliberately ignored a strike aimed at his shoulder, allowing it to graze him. The searing pain was a sharp reminder of the stakes, but it gave him the opening he needed. He poured a tremendous amount of his mana into his spear.
The weapon began to glow with the intensity of a miniature sun. The light condensed, the spear itself broke into four blaster-like shapes, and started concentrating a beam together. This was his strongest attack, a technique he had spent years perfecting.
"Sunfire Lance!" he roared.
A massive, concentrated beam of golden-white energy erupted from the spear's tip, a torrent of destructive power aimed directly at the center of his mother's vortex.
Seraphiel watched the attack come, her expression one of calm, maternal pride. She did not try to dodge. She did not try to overpower his attack with one of her own. She simply raised her hand again.
The five swirling blades of light stopped their assault and converged in front of her. They did not form a larger blade or a simple wall. They seamlessly merged, weaving together into a beautiful, intricate shield shaped like a six-winged angelic crest. Seraph's Aegis. It was not an attack built on overwhelming force, but a defense built on perfect form and absolute control.
The Sunfire Lance slammed into the aegis. The sound of the impact was deafening, a continuous, high-pitched scream of raw power. A shockwave tore through the training ground, cracking the stone beneath their feet. Michael's attack pushed against the shield, a brilliant, desperate struggle between raw, untamed power and calm, perfected mastery.
For a few seconds, the shield held. Then, with a soft, almost gentle chime, it absorbed the last of the lance's energy and dissipated it harmlessly into the air.
Michael stood panting; his mana reserves were still somehow full, but his body could not continue. His final, most powerful attack had been neutralized without a single step back from his mother. The fight was over.
The Aegis dissolved back into five separate blades. Four of them vanished. The fifth one floated silently across the arena and came to a gentle rest, its razor-sharp point resting a mere inch from his throat. Checkmate.
"You've gotten incredibly strong, Mich," Seraphiel said, her voice filled with warmth and pride as she walked toward him. "Your strategy was brilliant, and your power is immense." The final blade vanished. "But you must never forget. Raw power is nothing without absolute control. That was a good fight."
They walked back toward the main training ground, an easy silence between them. Michael, though defeated, felt a sense of accomplishment. He had pushed his mother, even for a moment.
As they approached the area where they had left the girls, they saw them huddled together, whispering furiously about something. The moment Acier and Ignara spotted them, they panicked. They shot to their feet, their faces flushed, and stood ramrod straight, trying to look as casual as possible.
"What's up?" Michael asked, completely oblivious to their frantic energy.
"Nothing!" they both squeaked in unison.
Seraphiel's lips curled into that familiar, teasing grin that always appeared when she was around the three of them. The girls saw it and blushed an even deeper shade of crimson. This strange little dance had been happening for over a year now, and Michael still had no idea what it was about. He just knew it was usually followed by his mother sighing dramatically and muttering something about him being "so dense." He still didn't really know what that meant.
He decided to ignore it. He looked at his best friends, a new confidence burning in his eyes after his duel. "I'm ready," he announced.
His declaration seemed to snap the girls out of their flustered state. Their panicked expressions were replaced by looks of fierce determination. "We're ready, too," Acier said, her voice firm.
"More than ready," Ignara added, punching a fist into her palm.
Seraphiel beamed at them, her heart swelling with pride for all three of her children. She clapped her hands together, her voice ringing with excitement.
"Then it's settled. Rest well tonight, all of you. You will leave for the Grimoire Tower at dawn."
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