Absolute Cheater - Chapter 489
Chapter 489: Averin Academy XIII
The applause still echoed when the arena sigils dimmed, marking the end of the Magnus cousins’ duel. The announcer’s voice rose over the noise, steady but unable to hide his astonishment.
“Team Magnus—victorious! Proceed to the next stage.”
Below, the cousins stepped back from the dueling circle, breathing hard but standing straight. Their violet aura faded in unison, replaced by quiet composure. Amanda stretched her arm, rolling her shoulder with a small grin. “Not bad for a warm-up.”
Maxwell chuckled under his breath. “Don’t get cocky. This was just the first round.”
Sylens gave a short nod. “We stay together. They’ll study our coordination now.”
Sophia lifted her shield and slung it across her back. “Then let them. We’re not hiding what we are.”
Lia said nothing, her eyes fixed on the next arena as new names flashed across the sigil boards. “Watch,” she murmured. “We’re not the only ones worth noting.”
The light above the second dueling field brightened, and another team stepped forward—clad in white and gold armor marked with a hawk emblem.
“The Rydan Clan’s scions,” whispered someone from the audience. “Their eldest son fought earlier—Violet-tier lightning resonance.”
The crowd leaned in as the match began.
Their leader, Rynor Rydan, moved like a storm given human form. His lightning erupted in blue-white arcs, striking the ground in controlled bursts that forced his opponents back in every direction. His team followed with disciplined precision: twin siblings with halberds who mirrored his rhythm perfectly, a girl who controlled metallic sand, and a soulweaver who stitched energy threads between them for shared amplification.
Every movement was clean, tactical, devastating.
“Now that’s coordination,” someone muttered behind Asher. “Almost military-level execution.”
Rynor dashed forward, vanishing in a flicker of light, and reappeared behind an opponent mid-parry. His lightning blade came down, halting an inch before impact as the referee sigil flared. The defeated fighter was ejected from the formation instantly. Within moments, all five opponents had fallen—the Rydan team hadn’t taken a single hit.
“Flawless victory!” the announcer declared.
The stands thundered in applause again. Even Asher tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. Clean, but predictable. Every strike telegraphs dominance, not adaptability.
His eyes flicked back toward the cousins below—Maxwell was watching the Rydans with a faint smirk, while Amanda leaned lazily on her whip handle. “Looks like they’ve still got fans,” she murmured.
Sylens’ tone was dry. “They’ll have fewer when they meet us.”
The next few rounds rolled one after another, each displaying a different type of skill.
One group from the Dravos Sect fought with mirrored movement, their leader splitting his energy into clones to confuse opponents—a flashy but unstable technique that collapsed under sustained pressure. Another, the Yurein team, used coordinated elemental shifts—earth, wind, and flame flowing in cyclical attack waves. Their formation was elegant, their transitions clean, but their defensive coverage left gaps that drew murmurs from the evaluators.
Still, a few teams stood out beyond the rest.
The Drevan siblings, dressed in obsidian robes, fought with eerie silence, their shadows moving separately from their bodies, attacking at angles impossible for normal fighters. They finished their duel in under two minutes, their final strike forming a cross-shaped burst of black light that made several spectators gasp.
Then came House Velran, users of illusion resonance. Their arena shimmered with phantom doubles and mirrored terrain. The opposing team fought shadows until exhaustion, never realizing they’d been surrounded from the start.
“These candidates…” an instructor whispered beside Asher, flipping through a recording tablet. “If even a quarter of them qualify, this year’s intake will surpass the last decade’s combined.”
Asher didn’t respond. His eyes moved between each match—measuring rhythm, energy flow, decision-making. Every mistake caught his notice: a delay too long, a defensive pivot slightly off-balance, a hesitation when formation pressure mounted.
When the Velran team’s illusion dome finally faded, Asher’s attention returned to the cousins.
They stood at the edge of the next dueling platform now, waiting for their turn in the second round. Their auras were calm, perfectly stable despite the growing tension. Maxwell was speaking quietly to the others, his tone focused but relaxed. Amanda leaned on one leg, still wearing that half-satisfied smirk. Sylens’ eyes followed every movement of their potential opponents. Lia was adjusting her bowstring; Sophia checked the edge of her shield for cracks.
In the stands, murmurs continued to ripple through the air.
“Five Violet-tier candidates, and they work as one? That’s too disciplined for a family squad.””Maybe a noble sect backed them?””Or maybe they’re just hiding something.”
Asher’s lips curved faintly. “Let them guess.”
Down below, the next set of names flashed—two of them glowing brighter than the rest. The announcer’s voice rang out across the arena:
“Next match—Team Magnus versus Team Drevan!”
The crowd erupted instantly.
Excitement mixed with disbelief. Two of the strongest emerging teams—one known for perfect coordination, the other for lethal precision. The energy in the air spiked like static before a storm.
Amanda cracked her whip once, grinning. “Finally, someone interesting.”
Maxwell rolled his shoulders. “Stay sharp. These aren’t regular opponents.”
Sylens adjusted his stance. “We’ve seen their rhythm. They strike in pairs, two real, three shadowed. The center never attacks first—only after distraction.”
Lia exhaled slowly. “Then we break their rhythm.”
Sophia nodded once, calm and resolute. “Together.”
Above, Asher leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowing with anticipation. Around him, even the other guardians had fallen silent.
The duel field darkened, the crystals dimming to a low, pulsing glow. Shadows crept across the ring as the Drevan siblings took position opposite the Magnus line. Their leader, a tall boy with silver eyes and a half-smile, inclined his head.
“Let’s see if your teamwork shines,” he said, voice soft but edged.
The referee’s sigil flared.
“Begin!”
And as the shadows stretched across the battlefield, the two most promising teams of the entrance trials clashed—light against darkness, precision against instinct, formation against illusion.
The second round had begun.
The instant the signal rang out, both formations erupted into motion.
Maxwell surged forward, blade igniting with violet aura, but the Drevan leader—Kairn—moved faster. His silver eyes gleamed as his team vanished into the gloom. The shadows themselves seemed to fold inward, swallowing them whole.