Final Life Online

The arena trembled as molten cracks spread beneath Morgan's boots, his staff pulsing with crimson firelight.

He slammed the Blue Shore Staff down once.

"Molten Surge!"

The ground erupted, a tide of liquid fire spewing forward like a volcanic wave. The heat warped the air, threatening to swallow everything in its path.

Rhys raised his sword, his calm unbroken. His voice, low and resolute, carried through the roar of flame.

"Lunar Tide."

Silver-lit water burst from his blade, sweeping outward in a gleaming crescent. The two torrents collided—lava against moonlit flood. Steam exploded skyward, hissing, filling the arena with a blinding mist.

From within the vapor, sparks of red and blue clashed, illuminating the haze.

The crowd held its breath.

Morgan's voice boomed like a furnace:

"Lava Spire!"

From the molten cracks, a jagged column of blazing magma erupted toward Rhys.

But Rhys had already moved, stepping into the mist, his eyes glowing faintly with lunar light. His blade lifted skyward, runes flashing.

"Moonlight Beam."

A silver beam of concentrated brilliance lanced forward, cutting through the mist, searing across the battlefield. It smashed against the Lava Spire, shattering molten rock into glowing shards. The beam didn't stop—it tore through the spire, piercing Morgan's defensive ward and forcing him backward with a grunt.

The audience gasped—Morgan, pushed back?

Morgan snarled, eyes blazing.

"You dare push ME?!"

His staff twirled, fire and molten stone coiling around him, forming armor of magma.

"Lava Titan's Shell!"

The molten armor solidified across his body, turning him into a walking inferno.

Rhys whispered in return, raising his hand. A veil of silver light enveloped him, shimmering like moonlit glass.

"Moonveil Blessing."

The barrier pulsed, his robes fluttering in the heat, but his gaze stayed steady.

Morgan stomped forward, each step shaking the floor. His staff flared.

"Volcanic Burst!"

Dozens of lava spears shot forth, streaking across the air like meteors.

Rhys's lips moved softly, a prayer-like murmur to the moon.

"Silver Eclipse."

The sky above the arena dimmed unnaturally. A pale, radiant moon manifested, cloaked in flowing water and light. The eclipse descended, bathing the battlefield in silver radiance.

Every spear that crossed its glow slowed, bent, and dissolved under the tide of lunar energy. The zone pulsed with power—Morgan's movements sluggish, his spells resisting him, while Rhys moved like a figure of divine rhythm, every step guided by lunar tide.

The crowd went wild.

Morgan roared. His molten armor cracked, spilling lava onto the ground.

"ENOUGH!"

He raised the Blue Shore Staff high, its shard glowing blindingly hot. The floor split wide beneath Rhys.

"Lava Cataclysm!"

The arena floor heaved—torrents of lava gushed upward in pillars, collapsing in on Rhys from all sides, a fiery cage.

For the first time, Rhys's expression sharpened. His voice rose, clear and unwavering:

"Moonfall Judgement!"

Above, the eclipse's glow flared into brilliance. From its heart, a colossal fragment of glowing moonstone materialized and plummeted downward.

BOOOOM!

The fragment crashed into the lava cage, smashing molten pillars apart, hurling fiery debris across the arena. A shockwave rolled through the stands as Morgan staggered backward, raising his staff desperately to block the falling judgment.

The moonstone struck, and his molten armor shattered, sending cracks racing across his body of fire and stone.

But Morgan laughed, even as blood spilled from his mouth.

"Hah… impressive… but fire… doesn't die so easily!"

He slammed his staff into the ground one last time.

"Infernal Core!"

The Blue Shore Staff's shard pulsed furiously. A sphere of molten fire gathered above Morgan, collapsing into a burning miniature sun. Heat blasted outward, scorching the very barrier walls of the arena.

The audience screamed and shielded their eyes.

Rhys, sweat dripping down his brow, exhaled slowly. His sword glowed with a pale tri-color—light, shadow, and water weaving together.

"Then I'll show you… why the moon eclipses the sun."

He thrust his sword upward, chanting:

"Aqua Lance. Gleaming Halo. Abyssal Grasp!"

A pressurized spear of water tore upward, piercing the molten sun's outer shell. A radiant halo spun from his body, purging the oppressive flames as it carved through the inferno. And from beneath Morgan, massive dark hands surged from the ground, clawing and holding his legs in place, dragging his fiery body down.

Morgan's eyes widened.

"No—!"

The sun cracked, collapsing in unstable fury.

At that instant, Rhys's blade came down in a final arc.

"Vertical Slash."

The glowing cut of silver, water, and shadow split the collapsing sun cleanly in half—then carved through Morgan's body of lava and flame.

The explosion rocked the arena, drowning the coliseum in white-hot brilliance.

For a breathless moment, all was silent but the hiss of cooling steam.

When the haze cleared, only Rhys stood, his Scholar's Blade lowered at his side, his robes still faintly glowing with lunar radiance.

Morgan lay broken across the ground, his molten armor shattered, the Blue Shore Staff cracked and darkened.

[ Victory! Winner: Rhys. ]

The crowd erupted like thunder.

The announcer's voice broke with awe.

"Unbelievable! The streak lives—one hundred matches, one hundred victories! Rhys, the Magic Swordsman… no, the Lunar Blade—has carved his name into history tonight!"

Rhys closed his eyes briefly, exhaling. He raised his sword once—not in boast, but in silent acknowledgement of the battle, the fallen opponent, and the roaring tide of voices calling his name.

The roar of the crowd hadn't died down even after the system's announcement.

[ 100 Matches Cleared. No Losses. ][ Streak Achieved: Centurion's Glory. ][ Unique Title Unlocked: "Lunar Blade." ]

Silver light briefly flared across Rhys's body, marking the new title. The system window floated just long enough for the entire coliseum to glimpse it, and then it vanished.

The audience screamed louder than before—chants of "Lunar Blade! Lunar Blade!" rippled through the stands until it shook the very air.

But beyond the cheers, other gazes stirred.

On one of the gilded balconies, a man in a white-and-gold robe leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. His sigil marked him as an Archmage of the Silver Council."That boy's magic… it wasn't just elemental synergy. I sensed a resonance—something older. Something… Ancient."

Beside him, a noblewoman in emerald silks toyed with her wine glass, lips curling."A hundred wins, and still so young. His face hasn't even hardened from war. If we claim him now, my house will dominate the capital's mages' guild."

On a shadowed balcony higher up, cloaked figures said nothing—but every eye followed Rhys. Their silence weighed heavier than the crowd's cheers.

Down in the pit, the medical attendants rushed to Morgan's broken body, pulling him back with chains of cooled steel. Even shattered, he smiled grimly."Hah… I lost… but at least I lost to a monster. Kid… don't let them own you."

Rhys lowered his blade, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He glanced once at Morgan, then at the crowd, and finally at the system's fading glow. A hundred battles. A hundred victories. But the way the crowd screamed felt… different this time.

Like they weren't just celebrating him—They were idolizing him.

The announcer's voice cracked with barely contained excitement."Ladies and gentlemen, history has been written before your very eyes! Rhys, the Lunar Blade, has ascended beyond challengers, beyond others—And now he is the first Rank 1 Gold grade Warrior!!!" he shouted as they cheered more and more.

The crowd didn't just cheer. They erupted. It wasn't sound anymore—it was a tidal wave. Stomping feet rattled the floorboards. Magic flares burst into the air, fireworks of flame, ice, and lightning painting the sky in arcs of color.

On Rhys's chest, the silver badge he had worn through every battle suddenly trembled. The number 99 etched upon it dissolved into shimmering light, before reshaping itself. The silver bled away, replaced by radiant gold that gleamed so brightly even the farthest spectators shielded their eyes.

When the glow settled, the badge pulsed with power. At its center burned a single inscription:

100

It wasn't just a number. It was a declaration.

The coliseum's enchantments resonated with the transformation, sending a shockwave of mana through the arena. The walls glowed faintly, ancient runes flaring to life as though to mark the occasion.

[ Congratulations! You have earned the title Luna Blade of Avaernus City ]

[ Effect: Power of Ancient Moon Magic increased by 20% ]

Rhys nodded as he went back to the resting room.

"Well, there are still 100 matches left," he mumbled as he stretched. He had been here for the last week now.

The next morning, the golden badge on his chest gleamed like a second sun as Rhys stepped once again into the arena. The crowd erupted the moment his name was called—no longer a murmur of curiosity, but a roar of expectation.

And so, the streak continued.

Match 101.

A frost conjurer wove a blizzard over the arena, sealing the floor in ice and hurling spears of frozen death. Rhys' blade cut once, twice—the storm split apart, the mage left unconscious before his own ice cracked beneath him.

Match 117.

A windcaller with tempest wings rode a cyclone, striking from every angle. Rhys answered with a Moonlit Slash that carved through the gale itself. One silver arc, and silence.