The dust settled slowly around Lucian’s boots. Rubble floated mid-air, caught in a brief gravity distortion before falling with soft, dull clinks. His coat fluttered as he stepped forward. Ash stood ten meters away, his eyes locked on Lucian, chest rising and falling slow and steady.
For a second, the whole arena felt quieter than it should’ve been.
His form blurred—light-speed feints stacked into each other. His right hand formed a flat strike lined with temporal threads, aiming straight for Lucian’s core. At the same time, a ripple spread underfoot. A null pulse meant to destabilize Lucian’s footing and memory for just 0.3 seconds.
Lucian shifted slightly.
Ash’s strike passed through his afterimage.
Lucian was behind him.
Ash spun—fast—but Lucian had already pressed a finger against his back.
A shockwave exploded from the point of contact, sending Ash skidding across the battlefield like a stone skipping water. He flipped, landed low, then vanished again—this time flickering through dimensional skip-steps. His coat blurred in and out of sight, and an arc of light cut across the air with each jump.
Lucian blinked and blocked the first strike with the side of his forearm. The second he ducked under. The third he didn’t block.
Because it wasn’t meant to land.
Ash appeared behind him, driving a chrono dagger laced with entropy into Lucian’s blind spot. The blade phased into temporal mist at the last moment—meant to bypass solid matter and cut into Lucian’s past self.
Lucian tilted his head. The dagger passed harmlessly through air.
"Close," he muttered.
He turned and tapped Ash on the chest. Not a punch. Just a tap.
But something cracked.
Ash’s face twisted as the shock moved through him, not outside—his breath caught, arms fell limp for half a second, like a circuit got fried mid-combat. Lucian didn’t press forward. He just waited. Watching.
Ash gritted his teeth and flared everything.
His aura bloomed wide—midnight blue laced with ghostwhite strands. Time fractals spun around his wrists, and his feet anchored into the fractured floor with retrograde sigils. Around his body, phantom limbs flickered—echoes of different timelines. Some older, some broken, one where his eyes glowed red instead of blue.
Eight versions of Ash attacked at once, each a splinter of his timeline. One went high with twin blades, one low with a leg sweep charged with gravity pulses. Another threw a chrono seal at Lucian’s shadow. The rest attacked from all angles with relentless, perfect sync.
Lucian stepped into it.
His body flowed like water, arms cutting through shadows. He blocked three, parried two, let one pass. One version grabbed him by the shoulder—then blinked in panic when Lucian turned and smiled.
Lucian drove a palm into his chest.
Not one of power, but removal.
That version of Ash shattered—pieces of a memory undone. The rest flinched, and Lucian danced through them, striking gently but surgically. One to the throat, another to the stomach, another to the head. He didn’t need power. Just precision.
He’d fought worse than this. Worse than Ash. Worse than anything this era could dream up.
Ash coughed blood and landed in a crouch, his real body catching up to the temporal feedback. His arms shook.
Lucian rolled his neck. "You’re good," he said casually. "Real good."
Ash raised his eyes, sweat dripping down his chin. "I trained for this."
Silence again. Then Ash lunged.
No tricks. No time magic. Just raw motion.
They clashed hand to hand—Lucian dodging by centimeters, slipping past elbow strikes, kicks, rapid jabs, and reversals. Ash was fast, tighter now, less flash. His hits didn’t try to predict Lucian. They followed instinct. Clean combat. No hesitation.
But every time he landed something—
One to the ribs. One to the wrist. One to the sternum.
It was like fighting a wall of smoke. Nothing stuck. Nothing slowed him down.
Then Ash used his final skill.
The battlefield froze. Dust hung still. Evelyn’s glyphs paused mid-bloom. Korren’s gauntlet charge halted. Even Mirae’s void aura stopped humming.
Only two people moved.
The field twisted into a world of stillness—blue filters running through space like veins of frozen light. Ash gritted his teeth and charged with everything he had left. Blades hummed in reverse time frequency. He stabbed once, twice, three times—each hit echoing past, present, and future.
Lucian watched it all.
Then he reached out—grabbed the blade with his bare hand.
Ash’s eyes widened. "You shouldn’t be able to move in—"
"Who said I’m moving?" Lucian murmured. "I was already here."
Then he crushed the blade.
Ash stumbled back. "That’s not possible—"
Lucian raised his hand.
Ash froze. Not from power. From instinct.
Lucian stepped in, pressed two fingers to Ash’s chest again.
Then whispered: "Sleep."
Ash collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.
A pulse of wind scattered through the field. Everyone blinked. Evelyn’s glyphs shattered. Korren looked around, confused. Mirae narrowed her eyes. Rovan finally stood from the broken pillar, expression unreadable.
He walked forward, hands in his pockets, past Ash’s fallen body. No celebration. No flex. No drama.
Just a slow, calm exit.
Then he stopped halfway across the arena.
And spoke for the first time in the whole match.
"Next time, send someone stronger."
He tilted his head slightly, like he was bored.
"I’m leaving the field open. Anyone from any division. Any rank. You want to take me on—step forward."
The crowd didn’t cheer.
They didn’t know how to react.
Because deep down, they realized something.
This wasn’t a hunter match anymore.
It was something else.
Lucian turned again and kept walking.
And behind him, Ash lay unconscious—but breathing.
The cameras zoomed in on Lucian’s back.
One of the commentators whispered over the mic, "...That wasn’t a fight. That was a lesson."
And in the stands, the real hunters—the old ones—didn’t smile.
Because they knew exactly what they’d just seen.
Hiding in plain sight.