Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 74: Breaking Point
’So we are all E-ranks?’ Leon’s gaze flickered between his group and the four young men closing in.
They all wore similar outfit styles like the ones his mates were wearing, but in a different style that sent Leon’s nerves on edge.
"What rank are they?" Leon asked, placing a hand on the broad-shouldered boy’s damp shoulder.
The boy shook him off roughly. "D-ranks. The first group we... they were E-ranks." He corrected himself, not crediting Leon with any part of the victory.
’E to C? What about the D-ranks?’ "Fine," Leon said aloud. He repositioned himself, raising his empty hands to a guard position as he settled his weight.
Twenty feet away, the new group wearing masks on their faces stopped and raised their arms. Cheers rose from the audience sitting in the far distance.
The one in the center, a skinny boy without a mask, whose eyes looked calm, simply knelt and placed his palms on the ground.
Without warning or rumble, the earth at Leon and his group’s front erupted. Jagged shards of rock and compressed soil hurtled toward them like cannon fire.
Leon’s body slid sideways as he moved on instinct; a jagged stone that was the same size as his fist whistled past his ear.
Woom.
Behind him, two simultaneous cries of pain rose—the lanky boy and the sharp-faced one went down, one clutching a shattered arm, the other his limp leg.
"NO!" the broad-shouldered boy roared and dashed forward at great speed, his sword a silver arc at his side.
He didn’t dodge; he met the stone head-on with double strikes.
CRUNCH. SMASH.
His blade sheared through one rock, then another. The impact sent his arms upward, but didn’t slow him down.
Leon saw the muscles in the guy’s forearms cord, saw his hands tremble violently with the strain, but the boy held his ground, deflecting the stone like a madman.
Leon moved past him, positioned himself between the boy and the rock-controller. "Let me handle them," he said in a low voice.
"What can you do?" the broad-shouldered boy snarled, shoving Leon aside with a hard push to the chest. "You don’t even have a weapon to defend yourself. Stay back!"
"There is no luck on your side. This is not like the fight you won against Grace." He charged forward like a bull, his sword leading.
He weaved through a second, weaker volley of stone, closed the distance, and with a desperate lunge, drove his blade deep into the kneeling controller’s chest.
He exhaled sharply and swung his sword, letting the blood slide from it.
But the victory wasn’t celebrated for long. From the left, the second unarmed member of the C-rank group moved.
A swirling vortex of air condensed around his fist, ignited into a wreath of searing orange flame, and then was thrust forward.
A concentrated spear of fire and concussive wind shot across the field, sending every face pale.
The broad-shouldered boy tried to pivot to bring his sword up, but he was too slow. The blast took him on the side in a full flare.
The impact didn’t echo loudly; it swallowed the sound with a THUMP.
He got lifted off his feet, his sword flying from numb fingers.
He sailed backward through the air and crashed heavily at Leon’s feet, skidding in the dirt, his uniform smoking, while the skin beneath it blistered red.
Leon’s eyes moved swiftly from the broad-shouldered boy to the boy standing in the far distance, laughing.
His body coiled, ready to spring forward to meet the fire-wielder. But a bloodied hand shot out and clamped around his ankle with surprising strength.
"No," the broad-shouldered boy choked out, his face extremely twisted in pain. He shoved at Leon’s leg, pushing him back.
With a gargantuan effort, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up with his arms.
"You two!" he yelled at the lanky and sharp-faced boys who were struggling to rise. "On me! Now!"
He stumbled forward, unarmed now, and placed his battered body as a shield at Leon’s front.
Realization struck Leon; he was a piece his own team didn’t trust, but couldn’t afford to lose yet.
Leon stood behind him, forced into the role of a spectator. His fists clenched so tight his nails bit half-moons into his palms.
Suddenly, his vision began to fade, his chest heaving. The command from the elevator haunted him louder now.
It drowned out the proctor’s distant voice and the crackle of gathering energy from the remaining C-rank.
FIGHT THEM ALL.
’I’ve got to do something.’ "Think, think, think!" He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
In the darkness behind Leon’s eyelids, the face of the man he saw walking through the flames when he touched his father’s green scalp at the Granum Tower rose vividly.
"It’s time!" a loud voice rose from his thoughts and slammed against his skull, forcing his eyes to crack open.
Leon felt a crackle within his veins like electricity waking up beneath his skin as the early afternoon sun’s rays stabbed him.
His vision snapped into crystalline focus. At his front, he saw the lanky boy helplessly throwing his only arm left—the right arm—holding the sword in a clumsy arc at the fire-wielder.
The sharp-faced boy hopping on one leg, screaming through gritted teeth as he tried to stand. And then the broad-shouldered boy, fighting with furious vigor against the two remaining C-ranks armed with swords.
His frantic heart calmed when he took his first step. At that instant, the world paused. The screams died in the sharp-faced boy’s throat.
The arc of the lanky boy’s sword halted mid-air. The broad-shouldered boy’s face remained like a mask of strain. Dust motes hung suspended in the shafts of sunlight like frozen stars.
When Leon’s left leg moved and joined his right, time and movement resumed with a collective gasp.
He dashed forward at great speed but felt as if he was being controlled by something he couldn’t fully understand.
The fire-wielder blinked when he saw Leon close the distance in a blink, snarled, and thrust a condensed ball of orange flame toward the sharp-faced boy.
Leon’s right fist clenched so tight the skin stretched white over the knuckles and shot forward.
Crack.
It struck the fire with a sound like ice breaking over a lake. The ball of flame shattered inward, collapsing into nothingness with a soundless suck of air.
Leon’s fist drove forward and connected with the fire-wielder.
THUMP.
The boy’s eyes bulged as sharp air seeped out from his mouth, nose, ears, and butt. The impact sent him flying backward across fifty feet of the field.
CRUNCH – SCREECH – THUD.
A loud, crushing sound rose as his crumpled body hit the metal fence. And when the dust cleared, the mouths of the audience forgot how to close, seeing the unbreakable metal of the fence bent inward.
The broad-shouldered boy’s face went slack. He stared from the ruined fence to Leon, who stood with his right arm still extended, his fist uncurling slowly.
