"Hehe."
Arthur imagined the sound, a playful lilt that seemed to match the permanent expression plastered on Celeste Devreux's face. She stood over the unbalanced swordsman, forcing him into submission with two primed Magic Circles—one a swirling green, the other a volatile red—held mere inches from his temple.
Vicktor had tried to end it. He had staked everything on a final, sweeping slash, his blade screaming with Fiery Sword Aura. But before the steel could graze her, a blue ellipsoid barrier had materialized. It arrested his blade instantly, reacting with a speed so sharp it seemed less like a reflex and more like an autonomous defense.
"Shit."
Arthur imagined the curse on Vicktor's lips. Desperation ignited. A violent shroud of fire erupted around Vicktor's form—a desperate, defensive cloak of his own aura—milliseconds before Celeste discharged her spells.
When the haze cleared, Vicktor lay unconscious on the ground. Celeste stood over him, her shield gone, entirely unscathed.
An ruthlessly efficient display of force… Arthur thought.
He could not look away when she turned her gaze directly to him. She didn't scowl. She didn't glare. She simply mouthed the words, her expression never wavering from the disarmingly goofy smile she had worn the entire time.
"You're next."