UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 113: Wait And Listen

Finally, both Dune and Syras moved.

No words. No hesitation.

Their swords clashed with a sharp ring, and Dune's body moved almost on its own , calm, steady, collected.

His eyes narrowed as he watched Syras come at him again, faster this time, strength pulsing through every strike.

He's strong. Fast too, Dune thought, feeling the weight behind each blow press against his guard. If I wasn't enhancing my legs with Neba... I'd already be a step too slow.

His stance stayed low and centered, feet shifting lightly across the stone floor. Every time Syras lunged in with another powerful cut, Dune's body flowed out of the way, small movements, precise steps, saving up Neba.

He felt the hum of Neba in his legs, subtly reinforcing his speed, letting him stay just half a beat ahead.

Another slash came, aiming for his side. Dune's sword snapped up to block, the impact jolting through his arms. He slid back, letting Syras's force push against empty air.

Cadogan's teaching really helped me, his swordsmanship is just amazing... The thought flickered through his mind. If I didn't have that, I'd already be down.

He could almost hear Cadogan's gruff voice in his head.

"Don't meet strength with strength. Flow and wait. Let them break themselves on your calm."

Dune exhaled through his nose, steadying his pulse. Syras roared, driving forward again with a heavy overhead strike meant to end it.

Dune's body shifted sideways, smooth as water, letting the blade crash against the floor with a spark.

He didn't counter. Didn't rush in. He stayed still. Blocking when needed, evading when possible. His sword moved only to deflect, never to strike. Syras grew more desperate, more aggressive with each failed hit.

Let him tire himself out...

Another thrust , Dune parried lightly, stepping off the line, making Syras miss by inches.

Their swords flashed once again, thin streaks of silver, colliding with crisp, echoing clashes that rang through the arena.

Dune's body moved with a serene calmness, parrying each of Syras's aggressive strikes like drifting water. His expression didn't shift once.

Even as Syras pressed harder, trying to overwhelm him with speed and brute strength, Dune barely seemed to try, his feet slid with silent precision across the floor, always exactly where they needed to be.

His sword moved just enough to deflect. Just enough to counter.

Never wasting more Neba than necessary.

The crowd watched, mesmerized.

Above them, Ramires's voice boomed out, excitement clear.

"Incredible... Dune's swordsmanship is outstanding!"

Syras gritted his teeth, frustration flashing across his sharp features. His strikes grew heavier, more desperate, but Dune stayed ahead of him, weaving around slashes, answering with quick, efficient counters that nicked at Syras's guard.

He's getting impatient, good. Come on, use your ability syras.

Syras stepped back, his free hand tightening into a fist.

Green tattoos and glowing runes ignited across his arms and shoulders, crawling like living green fire over his skin.

The arena responded with a roar of excitement.

"He activated it! Syras Vermillion's true power!" Ramires shouted, barely heard over the cheers.

A heavy pressure dropped over the platform. The ground trembled slightly beneath Dune's feet. He stood there, sword lowered slightly, unfazed.

Still, he didn't activate his own ability.

The crowd, already buzzing, began to murmur in confusion.

"Why's he not using it?"

"Does he think he can beat Syras without it?"

"Is he crazy?"

Dune didn't care.

He stepped forward as Syras rushed him again, this time faster, angles sharper, attacks laced with his Neba power.

Every time Syras's blows connected with the air near Dune, the space around them twisted, punches and kicks launched at strange, impossible angles, trying to push Dune off the platform or slam him into the ground.

Dune moved like a shadow, barely slipping out of range each time.

So that's how it works. He changes the direction of force. If I'm hit, I won't just fly back, I could be launched anywhere.

Very annoying, but ability only lasts for three seconds after each strike, in other words... it can be avoided.

Syras roared, slamming a palm into the floor, a wave of distorted force burst out, trying to shove Dune off his balance.

Dune's foot slid half an inch, no more. He adjusted his stance without breaking rhythm.

Syras pushed him again and again, Dune narrowly avoiding every fatal blow by the thinnest margins.

Syras lunged forward with a heavy strike, Dune sidestepped. and his boot snapped up with ruthless precision.

A direct kick to Syras's stomach.

"Dune finally attacked!"

The boy gasped, stumbling backward, but then, something strange happened.

As Syras staggered away, a second impact struck him from behind, as if Dune's kick had bent through space and hit twice.

One kick and two hits.

The arena exploded into madness.

"What the—?

"No way!"

"Dune knows that technique too?!"

Ramires shouted, stunned. "This is the technique that Atlas used before!"

Above, the officials exchanged looks of shock.

Most of the audience hadn't seen Dune's ability in full before, not during the earlier tests, not clearly.

Even now, they couldn't grasp what had happened. Some people thought this was Dune's real ability, but in reality this was just a technique he learned from Atlas.

Dune didn't pause.

He pressed the advantage, flowing forward, overwhelming Syras with sharp, relentless kicks, every strike bending oddly through the air, coming from impossible directions.

Syras, desperate, activated his power again, launching himself to the side with a forceful push.

And somehow, he finally managed to catch Dune with a glancing blow that sent him stumbling.

Dune flew away from the arena falling down towards the ground, Syras chased him to deliver the final strike.

3...

The crowd gasped.

2...

Dune was struggling to grab something to hold while Syras only smirked, surging forward, victory within reach.

1...

"Now!" Suddenly, Dune turned and faced him, smile appearing on his lips.

"What?" Syras' eyes widened.

Dune's hand closed around Syras's collar with icy calm, stopping his momentum dead.

"Got you!"

The two of them toppled over the edge of the platform, tumbling through the air, but Dune twisted mid-fall, using Nebastep secretly and rotating their bodies with a subtle, practiced movement.

Syras's back struck the ground first. A sharp, clear thud.

"He did it!"

"Amazing! Dune!"

The entire arena erupted with cheers and shouts, the energy boiling over.

Above, Ned and Atlas laughed, relief and pride shining on his face.

Cel, lounging lazily as always, just smirked as the other officials stared in disbelief.

Richard Neville leaned forward, frowning thoughtfully. Magma Rodelyan shook his head in disappointment.

"That boy..." Richard muttered. "He's dangerous."

Down below, Dune calmly rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and without even glancing at Syras, turned and walked away from the platform.

As Dune climbed back up from the arena, the excited murmurs of the crowd still buzzed around him like a living thing. Before he even reached the resting area, he caught sight of a familiar figure striding toward him.

Atlas.

"Nice work," Atlas said, grinning and slapping a firm hand on Dune's shoulder. His voice was relaxed, but his eyes burned with a competitive fire. "You're making this seem way too easy."

Dune allowed a faint smile. "Thanks to you and Cadogan!"

"But still, don't let your guard down, it's was really hard to keep up with Syras' speed," Dune said simply.

Atlas chuckled. "I won't. Watch closely."

Without another word, Atlas turned, heading toward the platform as his name was called.

And again... His match was over before most people could even settle in their seats. A blur of motion, a single strike. and his opponent crumpled.

Atlas returned moments later, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves, as if he had merely taken a stroll.

Dune nodded at him in quiet approval.

Meanwhile, the fights continued one after another. As hours passed, the number of competitors steadily thinned.

Finally, Ramires's voice boomed over the arena again, signaling a new stage.

"Attention! We have reached the next phase! Only 32 competitors remain!"

Top 10 Rankings

1. Azrael Rodeny – 13,000 points fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

2. Atlas – 10,000 points

3. Cedric Valefort – 9,000 points

4. —

5. Dune – 7,500 points

6. Edward Ederyus – 6,900 points

7. Syras Vermillion – 6,900 points

8. Lucas Neville – 5,000 points

9. Raves Rodeny – 5,000 points

10. Raphael Caelum – 4,500 points

Dune's eyes scanned the names without emotion.

Azrael at the top.

No surprise.

Atlas right behind him, pulling away from the rest. Also expected.

His own name sat at fifth, not bad, but not comfortable either. There's still room to climb.

He noticed the absence at 4th place immediately. Seraph's name was missing, she had been given an automatic pass, her strength beyond needing to prove anything further.

Then his gaze dropped lower, searching until he found it.

23rd.

Ned. 3,000 points.

His score barely floated above the dangerous cut-off. All around him, competitors had gathered points close to 2,900 or 3,000 points, the margin was razor thin.

One loss, and Ned would be thrown down into B-Class, separating him from Dune and Atlas in S-Class.

No room for mistakes.

The atmosphere grew heavier as everyone realized the brutal reality. Even the smallest slip could destroy everything they had worked for.

As if answering the tension, Ramires's voice cut through the arena again, sharp and commanding:

"Next match! Raves Rodeny vs Ned!"

All heads turned.

Ned stood up slowly, breathing out through his nose. His hands clenched into fists, not out of fear, but focus.

Dune caught his brother's gaze across the waiting area. "Give it your all!"

Ned gave a small nod.

He had to win.

And he was ready.