Chapter 30: The Terrifying Other Side

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Gazelle Footwork—

Morrow, of course, had no idea what this footwork was called.

After all, he had stolen it from the woman with the long ponytail.

Not that he had deliberately set out to learn it.

Rather, among all the opponents he had faced over the course of eighteen matches, she was the only one who had ever used footwork of this kind.

Strictly speaking, then, it was the only technique he had managed to steal on the arena through thought and observation.

The technique drew power from the toes, making the body light and nimble while advancing or retreating.

It also used the heel as a pivot against the ground, allowing one to change direction with the speed of a gazelle.

Learning how to generate force was not difficult. The true challenge lay in the explosive power required to shift between stillness and motion.

But that problem could be solved with the aid of aura.

That was the fundamental reason Morrow, despite having only recently stolen the technique, could use it even better than the woman with the long ponytail.

“Quite confident, aren’t you?”

After retreating to the center of the arena, Morrow raised a finger and traced the slightly swollen, reddened skin of his cheek. His gaze remained calm as he looked toward Tagore, standing at the edge of the ring.

After several exchanges, he had already figured out the nature of Tagore’s aura ability.

It was an ability that imbued aura with the property of impact, enhancing its penetrating power beyond ordinary aura defenses.

And because a transmuter was not especially skilled at projecting aura, Tagore could only bring the ability into play through close-quarters combat.

More importantly, both his fists and elbows could serve as points from which the ability was released. If so, it was likely that other parts of his body could do the same.

It was a purely combat-oriented ability, perfectly suited to Tagore’s needs.

The reason Morrow considered Tagore overly confident was that there had been no need for him to use his ability at the very first exchange.

After all, most aura abilities possessed, to one degree or another, the tactical value of catching an opponent off guard.

Morrow’s Deceptive Falling Stars was like that, and so was Tagore’s transmutation ability.

If Morrow were the one using Tagore’s ability…

He would begin with ordinary attacks, using jabs to create openings in his opponent’s defense, then unleash the ability at the perfect moment to inflict the greatest possible damage.

Given the tactical value of its surprise factor, there was a very good chance it could end the battle in an instant.

Yet Tagore had used his ability openly from the start, completely wasting that advantage.

From this, it was clear that Tagore’s confidence bordered on blind arrogance.

Still, on a stage like Heaven’s Arena, where fighters displayed their prowess before the eyes of the world, no competitor could afford to hold back in pursuit of victory. Sooner or later, they would inevitably have to reveal their aura abilities in public.

Morrow, however, was constrained by the ever-present possibility of an enemy attack. Unless absolutely necessary, he had no intention of using his aura ability in the arena.

Tagore, you should be grateful for that…

Morrow thought silently.

If he did not have to worry about revealing his aura ability, then after learning the nature of Tagore’s power, he could easily devise a killing strategy and make Tagore pay for his blind confidence.

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But there was no “if.”

Morrow calmly watched for Tagore’s next move. As his thoughts turned, he decided to use Tagore to hone his footwork.

Unaware of the thoughts turning through Morrow’s mind, Tagore’s fierce desire to attack left him fearless as he charged once more.

Amid shrill, ear-piercing whistles of displaced air, fist-shadows concealing deadly attacks engulfed Morrow.

Morrow’s concentration reached its peak. As he continuously evaded the jabs, he could do nothing but keep retreating.

In only a brief span of time, Tagore threw more than a hundred punches.

Because his attacks suddenly lengthened during his rapid assault, Morrow, despite focusing entirely on defense, could not avoid being struck several times.

Fortunately, his center of gravity remained anchored in defense, and the timely dissipation of force provided by his footwork prevented those blows from affecting his physical condition.

One minute, then two…

As time passed, Tagore launched hundreds of punches in succession. Though he occasionally managed to strike Morrow, he could not inflict any decisive damage.

“I can see them…”

Under the pressure of his high-intensity evasions, Morrow gradually adapted to the rhythm of Tagore’s fists. Combined with footwork that had become increasingly smooth and natural, the danger was no longer as great as it had been at the beginning.

The fierce exchange of offense and defense had continued for some time. No matter how Tagore adjusted the angle at which he extended his aura, he could no longer land a blow on Morrow.

Realizing this, Tagore’s initial arrogance vanished, replaced by irritation.

“Can you do anything besides scurrying around, you filthy rat…?”

His anger increased the speed of his punches, but it also disrupted their pattern.

Morrow ignored his words.

He did not know how to describe what he was feeling.

Every time he avoided one of Tagore’s fists, every time he watched from the corner of his eye as the extended aura swept past him—

he found himself longing for Tagore to throw the next punch even faster.

And he would evade it, just as a racing wheel drifted along the very edge of a bend.

Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment. Perhaps it was simply pleasure.

Whatever the reason, he found himself enjoying it.

Even while caught in that storm of savage attacks, he still had enough composure to think.

It was as though, in those fleeting intervals, he had gained another pair of eyes—eyes that observed everything from the perspective of an onlooker.

Under the arena lights shining down from the ceiling, he seemed able to see even the dust stirred into the air.

And he could see what Tagore’s flowing aura revealed—

impatience and rage.

He was getting desperate.

That was Morrow’s conclusion.

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The battle raged fiercely in the arena, and the audience was no less feverish.

Tagore’s supporters in particular believed that he had dominated Morrow from beginning to end. They were so excited that their faces flushed red and the veins stood out on their foreheads.

Yet those who did not understand aura abilities could not see the subtleties hidden within those few short minutes of combat.

“Morrow the Thinker…”

Among the spectators, several aura users stared in astonishment and murmured Morrow’s name under their breath.

The strength Morrow and Tagore had displayed on their climb to the upper floors had naturally attracted the attention of the fighters on the two-hundredth floor.

As a result, many of them had come to watch the match in person.

As aura users, they saw things ordinary spectators could not.

“He… he’s getting stronger. He’s growing stronger at an astonishing rate in the middle of the fight…!”

With his eyes fixed on Morrow, one of the two-hundredth-floor fighters was left speechless.

Had he not witnessed it with his own eyes, he would never have believed that someone could improve so rapidly over the course of only a few minutes of combat.

In truth, this was the feeling shared by most of the two-hundredth-floor fighters present.

They could see Morrow’s footwork changing from slightly awkward to thoroughly practiced.

They could also see his terrifying ability to adapt rapidly amid the high-intensity exchange of offense and defense.

For the first time, they were seeing another side of Morrow after he abandoned his contemplative posture—a frightening side indeed…

“Tagore is finished.”

One aura user who had already earned nine victories on the two-hundredth floor rose and left.

When a sword no longer had an edge, when a punch thrown with all one’s strength could no longer hurt anyone…

defeat was inevitable.

And the fierce battle in the arena had indeed lost all suspense.

Tagore had lost his sharpest claws and fangs. Morrow, conserving his strength while waiting for an opening, needed only one opportunity to send Tagore crashing to the ground, where he lay unable to rise.

As Tagore fell—

the cheers from the audience abruptly ceased. Every face was filled with disbelief.

Tagore had clearly held the upper hand…

So why had Morrow suddenly knocked him down with a single blow?!

In one section of the stands, the handsome man who had been watching Morrow all along suddenly rose to his feet.

“There definitely is something… some unknown power beyond the limits of my understanding…”

The handsome man gazed toward the arena, longing gleaming in his eyes.

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