SSS-Class Overlord: My Harem Rules the Realms (18+)
Chapter 46: Ethan Won?

Chapter 46: Ethan Won?

For a long moment, the entire floating arena was silent. Wind howled faintly through the open

arches high above, sweeping banners and scattering sparkling dust from shattered spells.

Ethan stood motionless, Warlord Fang gleaming in his grip. Shadows curled and writhed around

his shoulders like living serpents. His face was still, but his eyes glowed with a burning light that

seemed to devour the space between him and Lyra.

Lyra’s mouth opened slightly. She took another step back, her jade hair whipping across her face.

"W-what... the hell are you...?"

Ethan didn’t answer. His eyes were speaking for him—two amber lanterns filled with quiet fury. His

pupils were pinpoints of gold flame. The lines of his jaw were tight enough to crack.

Lyra lifted her arms. "Stay back!"

She swept her hands outward.

"[Tempest Break!]"

A spiral of wind blades screamed toward Ethan, dozens of slicing arcs converging on him like the

claws of a giant beast.

But Ethan was already moving.

—BEEP—

A faint window flickered across his sight, the words scrolling in cool blue:

[Combat Data Accessed: Vandelion Grandmaster (Imperfect Imitation Mode Enabled)]

[Limited replication of footwork, stances, and blade posture now possible.]

[Warning: Techniques are physically taxing. Mana drain elevated.]

Ethan’s pulse spiked. Perfect.

He shifted his weight, dropping into a low, forward-leaning stance that mirrored the towering

knight from his mindscape training. His knees bent just so, his shoulders rolled forward. It wasn’t

magic. It was pure, honed human movement—an echo of a master’s body language.

The first wind blade slashed toward Ethan’s chest.

He tilted sideways in a whip-quick lean, the blade skimming his cloak but never touching skin. His

right foot crossed behind his left, sliding smoothly. His left shoulder dipped, creating a perfect

blind angle.

Another blade flew in—a shrieking arc aimed for his neck.

Ethan stepped into it, twisting his torso, sword held flat against his forearm. The wind strike

glanced harmlessly off the dark steel. Sparks flared and vanished in the spinning shadows.

Lyra’s eyes widened. "H-How are you—?"

Ethan’s reply was a blur of motion.

He lunged forward in a sudden burst, his blade low, cutting an upward diagonal across the air.

Lyra reeled back, arms crossing instinctively. The blow didn’t connect—but the sheer force of the

air Ethan split sent a shockwave rippling through her defenses.

He wasn’t just fighting. He was performing.

Each movement was crisp, elegant, the product of countless hours of simulated death-matches

against a grandmaster. His footwork skated lightly across the marble tiles, never lingering in one

spot.

Lyra hurled another wind blade, faster this time. Ethan let it scream past his cheek, not even

blinking as it grazed a shallow line across his skin. A trickle of blood welled and vanished into the

shadows swirling around him.

Ethan’s eyes glimmered. Almost there...

He pivoted sharply, sword tucked against his waist, weight coiling like a spring.

Lyra tried to react, but Ethan was already on her.

He exploded forward. The sound of his step hitting marble cracked like thunder. He swept his

blade sideways in a perfect horizontal arc—a move stolen straight from Vandelion’s phantom

memory. Lyra shrieked and threw up her arms, her wind shield snapping into place.

Steel met air with a clang that reverberated through the entire coliseum. Lyra staggered backward,

gasping, her shield crumpling under the sheer physical force behind Ethan’s strike.

Ethan followed, relentless. He faked a high slash, then dropped low, slashing at her shins. Lyra

stumbled, barely catching herself with a swirl of wind that lifted her a few inches off the floor.

"[Wind Step!]" she cried.

She blurred sideways, trying to escape.

Ethan anticipated it. He mimicked Vandelion’s subtle tell—a faint shift of his front foot, a twitch of

his hip—then lunged into the spot she was moving toward. His blade stopped an inch from her

throat.

Lyra froze, pupils trembling.

Ethan’s voice was a razor-edged whisper. "Checkmate."

He didn’t have to swing the sword. His sheer presence held her pinned in place, like a rabbit

facing a wolf.

Lyra exhaled shakily, arms sagging. Her wind shield shimmered one last time... then shattered in

a glittering cascade.

Silence fell.

The tension snapped as the Empire official strode forward, holding his glowing crystal high.

"Winner of this quarterfinal... Ethan Graves of the Dark Mage Tower!"

A roar swept through the floating coliseum. The Dark Tower section erupted into deafening

cheers. Kaeron leapt to his feet, screaming himself hoarse. Lysena was pounding the railing,

grinning like a lunatic.

Even Velexaria allowed herself a faint, wicked smile. Her eyes sparkled as she whispered under

her breath, "Good. Very good."

Ethan slowly lowered his sword. His chest rose and fell, sweat glistening on his forehead. His

mana was drained—he could feel it in the trembling weight of his limbs—but he kept his back

straight and his chin high.

Lyra was led away by her team, looking stunned and defeated. Her Wind Tower teammates were

silent, exchanging worried glances.

Kaeron raced across the platform as the barriers faded, grabbing Ethan by the shoulders.

"BRO!! Did you SEE yourself? You were channeling some knightly god out there!"

Lysena bounced beside them, eyes bright. "Seriously, Ethan—that was terrifying. Are you sure

you’re not hiding a suit of armor under that cloak?"

Velexaria approached at a more measured pace. She studied Ethan for a few seconds, her

expression unreadable, then gave a small nod.

"You did well," she said quietly. "Though next time... try not to drain yourself dry."

Ethan just grinned, leaning on his sword for a moment. He turned toward the Dark Mage stands.

The entire team was waving and shouting his name.

He gave them a single, playful wink.

The Dark Tower’s section went completely insane.

As they made their way out of the arena, Kaeron kept slapping Ethan’s back.

"I swear," Kaeron said, eyes shining, "that Vandelion move where you sidestepped the wind

blade? I almost screamed. And the look on Lyra’s face—priceless."

Ethan chuckled, though fatigue tugged at his eyelids. "I’m just glad it worked. One wrong step

and I’d be diced like sashimi."

Lysena elbowed him. "Yeah, well, next time you pull that silent fury act, at least warn us so we can

hold onto something."

Ethan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry. Guess I... got in the zone."

Velexaria trailed behind them, her cloak swirling like dark silk. "Just be prepared. The next

matches will only get harder. The entire Empire is watching you now, Ethan Graves."

Ethan met her eyes, and a spark of determination lit his own.

"Good. Let them watch."