Chapter 235: Chapter 212 : Martial Grandmaster Vs Combat Master (Part 2)

Dirt and stone fragments were helplessly pushed and pulled at by the rushing winds. Ralf and Lamar kept to the platform’s centre, zigzagging about speedily as they traded blows, seamlessly transitioning between offence, evasion and defence.

In the chaotic tempest that was the fighters going at it, the stone tiles suffered and even the air couldn’t help but scream. Similarly vocal was the stands. Ignited by the match's invisible heat, the audience burned with a boisterous frenzy with awed “ooos” and “aaaas” dominating the space.

Ralf’s preferred norin fighting style was offence-focused and could be described as a fusion of capoeira, taekwondo and kickboxing, in that order of significance. Upside down, right way up; he seemingly had no preference as he unleashed his attacks.

Just like his Psi-based fighting, flips, twists and spins were frequent fixtures in his movelist. Aesthetics aside, the acts added a level of unpredictability to his attacks while also increasing his momentum/attack power.

These types of ‘big’ attacks usually had a precision cost, but not for Ralf, who had a coupon called masterful skill. Still, one couldn’t perform too many ‘big’ attacks without creating openings in one’s defence.

Ralf knew this and seamlessly switched up his fighting style several times, sometimes in short bursts, and other times in such lengthy spells that one might believe that he abandoned his preferred fighting style entirely.

The Transmigrator transformed into a flickering flame, shifting from fighting style to fighting style without rhythm or reason. To further complicate matters, he switched up his timing and speed, adding pauses, feints and fakes into the fray while continuing to play mind games with his opponent.

‘Even this isn’t enough,’ Ray thought from his couch, face showing a complicated look.

Before the flame that was Ralf, Lamar didn’t break a sweat at all, well mentally speaking. He remained cool-headed throughout, choosing to fight ‘fire with fire’ by transforming into a flame himself. Not only did he adopt a similar style, he even made a habit of replicating Ralf’s movements, flexing both his muscles and Natural talent.

Fire against fire.

Which one would extinguish the other first?

The audience wouldn’t get to see the result play itself out but this was only due to the self-imposed time limit. Nearing the two minutes mark, it was clear who the stronger fighter was.

Ralf's outfit was dirty, torn in places and stained with blots of red, some expanding in real-time. Fresh blood trickled from the gash on the Transmigrator's left cheek, a result of a lacking dodge and swiping elbow strike. The cut was his only visible wound, the many others hidden by his clothes, with a few injuries being bone-deep. Bloody and battered, the Transmigrator reflected a sorry sight.

All that described, Lamar hadn’t gotten off scot-free. He too cut a shabby figure, even sporting a bloody nose. Still, while he was on the receiving end of many hefty blows, the exchange rate wasn’t equal. For every four attacks Ralf landed, Lamar landed five.

This didn’t sound like much but given how many attacks had been thrown and the power behind these attacks, this difference proved substantial. Should the two continue as is, the Martial Grandmaster would most likely win the contest.

The audience’s reactions varied before this fact. Some were simply exhilarated by the spectacle, free of any substantial thoughts, treating it as pure entertainment. This bunch was the loudest but nevertheless made up the minority. The majority of the audience fell into two camps. The first camp was gleeful about Ralf’s sorry state and his inevitable defeat while the second camp felt conflicted about what they were witnessing.

Those in the first camp had long wished to see Ralf taken down a peg and felt great schadenfreude at Ralf’s trouncing. Rotten smiles adorned their faces and jeers and cheers left their mouths, the former directed at Ralf and the latter directed at Lamar. The second camp was far quieter. It wasn’t like this group especially liked Ralf, most didn’t.

They just couldn’t square their idea of Ralf, the undefeatable figure in their minds, with the struggling Ralf before them. Ralf was a mischievous soul and it wasn’t far-fetched to think that he would hold back to deliver a last-second twist, but this clearly wasn’t the case here. He was serious, more serious than ever, and was still being forced on the back foot. The mismatch was hard to process and drove those of the second camp into a tumultuous silence.

Needless to say, Charlotte and the others were among those in the second camp. They were silent, all wearing blank expressions as they watched the match play out.

‘Don’t lose…don’t you dare lose…’

While Charlotte had said what she had said, actually seeing him in such a sorry state brought untold discomfort to her. It felt wrong. She hated it with every fibre of her being. Her body was tense and rolling with negative emotions. Her hands resting on her thighs were balled up tightly, her sustained clench turning her knuckles white. Her gaze lowered as if to run away from the reality before her... but a certain someone wouldn't allow her to.

Swoosh!

Her eyelids were forced to flicker at the sudden gust. A moment of bafflement gave way to even greater bafflement as she found herself shadowed. The audience reacted with similar surprise and exclamations rang out as they directed their attention to her - or rather, Ralf who had suddenly leapt into the stands.

Her head swung up to meet Ralf's gaze, only to meet a flick to the forehead.

“Ow?! Ralf, why are you…?”

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“You weren’t paying attention,” he rebuked, following up with a light chop to Charlotte's head. “That’s no good. You have to, or you’ll miss the decisive moment of my victory.”

“Victory,” the Onic Master muttered, a certain light catching in her eye as she stared at him.

“Yeah, did you forget already? Haa, you really are a goldfish, Charl. Silver never loses. The future is uncertain but not my victory, so watch carefully or you might miss the inevitable, okay?”

The Transmigrator was a sight for sore eyes, and yet when looking at him, one could feel nothing but confidence radiate off him. This confidence was contagious and quickly spread to Charlotte and the others. The gloom previously shrouding their figures and expressions was dispelled at once as they chose to trust their friend’s words.

Charlotte nodded deeply. “I won’t look away again, I promise. Show me victory then, Silver.”

“Will do.”

Saying this with a smile, Ralf gave her hair a ruffle before looking at his other friends' faces, where he noted similarly assured expressions. He turned to the sound of their supportive comments before striding back to the platform. He did so in silence as the audience wrestled with his words and existence. Doubters had their doubts called into question while believers had the sparks of belief flash anew in their eyes.

“Aha, Silver never loses, huh,” Lamar spoke up as he watched Ralf hop back on the platform.

“Silver never loses,” Ralf repeated matter-of-factly, as though it was an obvious truth.

The audience sank further into bewilderment at the claim, going silent as they pondered the ‘cryptic’ words.

“I see,” Lamar didn’t oppose his opponent’s flawless logic. “So, what now? Going to stop holding back and beat me in one punch?”

“I could…but I’ll spare you and myself the damage."

Lamar squinted, the amusement faltering in his gaze.

Ralf paid the change no mind and continued. “Instead, I’ll be tagging out here with Ray. If you can withstand him for two minutes, your wish will be granted.”

Lamar’s smile returned in full force at the words. He smashed his fist into his palm with an excited look on his face. “What are we waiting for then, hurry up and switch.”

Ralf obliged. Stomping, the black Endera Flames spouted from his shadow before rising to engulf his figure. Burning out of existence seconds later, the flames cleared to reveal a different young man; there was no mistaking the fact. The chill invoked by his mental signal, the poised look on his face and the frigidness in his gaze made it clear that, that what occupied the space wasn't Ralf anymore, but someone else entirely.

Compared to the rowdiness that Ralf inspired in the audience, Ray’s presence inspired intrigued silence. He had made some appearances here and there, but Ray was still a rarity to the Academy. The mystery surrounding him remained thick.

“So you’re Ray, huh?" Lamar broke the silence after assessing his new opponent. "Ralf couldn’t get the job done, how about you, think you’ll do better?”

Ray didn’t care to immediately respond and instead passed the next few seconds staring at his raised right hand. He clenched it and unclenched it, unrushed as though having all the time in the world. Only after repeating the process a few times did he show a satisfied look and cease. The Transmigrator then dragged his upward to lock onto his opponent before parting his lips.

"Who knows, how about we find out together...” Saying this coolly, Ray let his hand drop to his side before breaking into stride.

Lamar’s lips tugged up. “Sure, let’s.”

All words died down following the exchange. The Martial Grandmaster broke into a stride himself and the distance between the fighters closed slowly but surely, tension and excitement rising in the atmosphere.

Then, with three metres separating the pair, the sound of tiles cracking rang out as the two bolted into action.

The match continued.

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