SSS-Class Overlord: My Harem Rules the Realms (18+)
Chapter 45: Ethan VS Lyra (Dark VS Wind).

Chapter 45: Ethan VS Lyra (Dark VS Wind).

The floating arena trembled under the roar of thousands of voices. Magic lights glared from every

corner, washing the marble floor in swirling blues and golds. Banners of each Tower rippled in

invisible currents of wind and mana.

Ethan stood alone on the bright marble stage, eyes narrowed, the distant echo of the crowd

somehow muffled in his ears. His dark cloak fluttered behind him as the wind swept through the

open coliseum.

From across the arena, Lyra—the Wind Tower’s first-generation prodigy—strolled forward, hips

swaying with casual arrogance. She was tall, lithe, her jade-green hair whipping around her face

like living streamers. Her eyes were sharp and crystalline, glinting like knives as she regarded

Ethan with barely contained scorn.

"So you’re the Dark Tower’s great hope, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You

don’t look like much. Honestly... all that talk, and you’re just another pretty boy with a sword."

The Wind Tower section howled with laughter. Lyra’s teammates banged their fists on the railing,

chanting her name.

Ethan didn’t answer. His eyes were half-lidded, face calm, betraying nothing.

Lyra tilted her head, smirking. "Silent, are we? What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue—or maybe

your precious system can’t write you a comeback?"

Still, Ethan said nothing.

The Empire official stepped forward, raising his glowing crystal staff. His voice boomed over the

stands.

"Quarterfinal Match: Dark Mage Tower’s Ethan Graves versus Wind Tower’s Lyra Stormward!"

Magic barriers flared into place around the stage, swirling arcs of blue runes locking into a

protective dome.

"BEGIN!"

A blast of wind slammed outward as Lyra blurred into motion, green afterimages streaking across

the tiles. She darted around Ethan in a dizzying circle, her cloak swirling like a cyclone. She

snapped her fingers, and a crescent blade of condensed wind shot toward his ribs.

Ethan shifted, the blade missing him by inches. Sparks burst from the marble as the wind slash

carved a shallow groove in the floor.

Ethan twisted his body, his amber eyes tracking Lyra’s flickering form. His voice was quiet.

"Fast..."

Lyra’s grin widened. "Not fast enough?"

She vanished again. Ethan ducked low, spinning on his heel. His cloak snapped like a whip as he

swung his elbow backward. But Lyra was already gone, appearing above him, one hand stretched

forward.

"[Gale Pressure!]"

A spiraling cone of wind hammered down onto Ethan, shoving him to his knees. His cloak flapped

wildly, his hair whipping around his face. He grunted, teeth gritted, muscles straining.

Velexaria shouted from the stands. "Ethan! Stay sharp!"

Kaeron pounded the railing. "Come on, Graves! Don’t let her dance circles around you!"

Lysena yelled, "Blast her out of the air already!"

Ethan exhaled, pushing back against the winds. He swept his leg around in a low kick, dispersing

the vortex with a burst of shadow energy. His voice cut through the roaring wind. "Nice tricks."

Lyra touched down, smirking, not even breathing hard. "Oh, we’re just getting started."

They clashed again, exchanging rapid strikes—Lyra’s wind blades flashing in deadly arcs, Ethan

deflecting them with his forearms, his cloak absorbing some of the lighter cuts. The tiles beneath

their feet cracked and splintered with every impact.

The crowd was on its feet, roaring with excitement.

Then, with a sudden shrill whistle, Lyra darted back a few paces and raised both hands.

"[Storm Cage!]"

A swirling shell of compressed wind erupted around Ethan, the walls shimmering like spinning

glass. Inside, the air howled, pressing inward from every side. It felt like being trapped in a

spinning hurricane. Ethan staggered, his hair flying around his eyes, mana straining against the

pressure.

From outside the shell, Lyra’s laughter rang sharp and cold.

"What’s wrong, Dark Mage? Thought you could keep up? This shell is specially layered—it keeps

everything in, and I can keep blasting you for as long as I want!"

She thrust her palm forward.

"[Razor Squall!]"

Dozens of tiny wind blades shrieked into the shell, slashing across Ethan’s arms and chest. Thin

lines of crimson bloomed on his skin, soaking into the fabric of his cloak.

Kaeron shouted from the stands, face pale. "ETHAN!!"

Lysena gripped the railing, eyes wide. "Velexaria, do something!"

Velexaria clenched her fists, but her voice was calm. "He has to handle this on his own. It’s part of

the rules."

Inside the vortex, Ethan stumbled, blood dripping from shallow cuts along his arms. His vision

blurred. His mind screamed in agony.

In his thoughts, he roared, "SYSTEM! Let me move! Cancel this, or I’m going to actually lose!"

A pause. Then the cool mechanical voice echoed through his skull.

[Negative. The System cannot interfere with external combat effects during official matches.

However—if Host can endure for 20 seconds, System may forcibly destabilize the opponent’s

magic structure.]

Ethan’s breath came ragged. "Twenty... seconds...?"

[Countdown: 20...19...18...]

Lyra’s mocking voice filtered through the howling winds. "Come on, hero. Is this all the Dark Mage

Tower has left? You’re pathetic. Your precious Tower Master’s watching you bleed and she can’t

even save you."

She sent another volley of wind blades slashing through the shell. Ethan twisted, trying to shield

his torso, but more cuts opened on his arms and back.

[15...14...13...]

Ethan snarled under his breath, sweat and blood mingling on his skin. The walls of the storm kept

pressing in, blades slicing like invisible knives.

[10...9...8...]

"System... come on... just... hold on..."

Lyra’s voice was sharper now, triumphant. "I’ll finish you right here!"

She drew back both hands, wind swirling so violently the tiles cracked under her feet.

[5...4...3...]

The shell’s walls grew so tight, Ethan could barely breathe.

[2...1...]

Suddenly, the wind faltered. A deep shudder rippled through the shell. The howling vortex split

apart with a thunderous crack, as if an invisible blade had sliced the spell clean in half. Magic

lights fizzled and shattered in midair.

Ethan fell forward to one knee, coughing. Blood dripped to the tiles.

Lyra blinked in shock. "What...? Impossible. You should still be trapped—"

Slowly, Ethan lifted his face. Shadows fell across his eyes, hiding their golden glow, leaving only

an ominous darkness in their place. His breath misted in the cold air. The silence in the arena was

absolute as every spectator held their breath.

Ethan’s voice dropped to a chilling calm. "You shouldn’t have underestimated me."

Lyra stepped back instinctively as Ethan rose, the shadows peeling away from his face to reveal a

deadly glint in his eyes. In one smooth motion, he reached over his shoulder.

With a resonant metallic rasp, Ethan drew the Warlord Fang.

Black steel flashed under the arena lights. Mana crackled around the blade, shadows swirling like

living smoke. Ethan held it angled low at his side, the tip gleaming with dark power.

He gave the sword a single, slow spin, letting it hum through the air. Sparks danced around him

as he settled into a low stance.

Lyra stared, eyes wide, her bravado finally flickering. "W-What the hell is that sword...?"

Ethan lifted his chin, a razor smile cutting across his face. His cloak billowed as he took one

deliberate step forward.

The entire arena seemed to hold its breath.