The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice-Chapter 116: Entrance Exam [16] Final Showdown

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[Commentor Booth]

The tension across the broadcast was palpable as the final matchups unfolded, each screen displaying warriors locked in combat.

In one feed, Vynesaa clashed against Marin—a battle of precision and power. Vynesaa’s fluid, nature-infused movements countered Marin’s sharp, relentless offense. Neither fighter held a clear advantage.

Another screen showcased Calenthir and Kaidon, their clash resembling a storm meeting an unbreakable wall.

Yet, despite these intense battles, the commentary panel—and the majority of the viewers—kept their focus on two specific matchups.

Oliver vs. Lyrius.

Caspian vs. Darian.

The favorites for victory were clear.

"I still say Darian wins this," one commentator muttered. "Caspian’s skilled, sure, but Darian’s a monster in close combat."

Another scoffed. "And Oliver? The cleanest swordplay in this generation. That Lyrius kid doesn’t stand a chance."

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[Caspian vs. Darian – The Battle Resumes]

Caspian stood, blood dripping from his lips, his body aching from the brutal slam he had just endured.

Darian had thrown him like a ragdoll, leaving a crater where he landed.

His body screamed in protest, but his mind remained focused.

Darian cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. He was grinning.

"So this is it?" Darian sneered. "I expected more."

Caspian exhaled, steadying himself. His gaze locked with Darian.

Every fight was a puzzle, and brute strength alone was never the answer.

’He needed a solution.’ Caspian thought.

He dashed forward.

Their swords clashed, sparks flying between them.

Caspian moved with precision—each strike refined, every step intentional. He weaved through Darian’s offense, using calculated feints and counters.

A shallow cut to Darian’s ribs.

A flicker of irritation crossed Darian’s face.

Caspian pressed forward, unleashing a storm of relentless attacks, pushing Darian back.

His science-driven swordplay made every movement efficient, his adaptability making him a nightmare to predict.

SLASH!

Another cut. A graze across Darian’s shoulder.

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Darian caught his wrist.

The moment froze.

"You’re fast," Darian said, "But I can do this all day."

SLAM!

And then he threw Caspian into the ground again—this time harder.

The impact ruptured the earth, sending cracks splintering outward. The air left Caspian’s lungs in a sharp exhale.

Darian didn’t let go.

He hoisted Caspian up by the collar, his grip crushing.

"This is no fun man?" Darian scoffed, slamming a fist into Caspian’s gut.

BAM!

Pain exploded through Caspian’s ribs.

BAM!

A second punch.

BAM!

A third.

Blood splattered onto the battlefield.

Caspian’s body screamed in agony, but his mind remained focused.

Pain was information. Pain was data.

Darian swung again. This time, Caspian moved.

A sharp twist of his body, a sudden shift of weight—Darian’s own force sent him off-balance.

Caspian landed behind him.

Bloodmoon glowed in his grasp.

SLASH!

He slashed upward, cutting through Darian’s back. Blood splattered across the ground.

Darian hissed, turning—only for Caspian to duck beneath his swing and drive a knee into his ribs.

A heartbeat later—

Caspian’s sword carved across Darian’s arm.

Darian stumbled back. He touched his arm, looking at the blood. His own blood.

For the first time, his grin faltered.

Then he laughed.

"You think that’s enough?" Darian’s eyes burned with fury and excitement. "You’re finally worth crushing."

He inhaled deeply.

And then—

He roared.

A wave of fire exploded from his mouth—a blast of raw, unrestrained Dragon’s Breath.

Caspian moved instantly.

His sword cut into the ground, and with a burst of strength, he launched himself above the flames—the heat barely missing him.

But Darian was already there.

BAM!

A fist collided with Caspian’s side mid-air.

Ribs cracked.

Caspian crashed back down, rolling across the battlefield.

Darian descended, his sword gleaming. Ready to finish it.

Caspian coughed, trying to rise. His body was failing. Bloodmoon pulsed in his grip.

Darian charged.

Caspian stood his ground.

Their swords met one final time.

A brutal, relentless flurry of blows—Darian overpowering, Caspian surviving by instinct.

Then—

Darian roared, Dragon’s Breath igniting around his blade.

Caspian saw the opening.

He lunged forward, faster than Darian could react.

And then—

A sharp, clean slash.

Blood sprayed.

Darian’s head flew through the air.

The world fell silent.

Darian’s body stood for a moment. Then, like a collapsing mountain, he fell.

Caspian didn’t move.

Because he couldn’t.

His right arm—gone.

The last exchange had cost him dearly.

But he had won.

Blood dripped from Caspian’s severed arm, but his face remained unreadable.

He simply stood there, victorious but broken.

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[POV: Arianna Syvalis]

Arianna sat cross-legged on the couch, a glass of wine untouched beside her.

The dim glow of the television flickered across the room.

She wasn’t the type to get sentimental over fights, but this one…

This one had her full attention.

Onscreen, Caspian and Darian clashed with the force of two titans.

Caspian’s footwork was sharp, efficient. Darian’s raw power was overwhelming, a walking juggernaut in human form.

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Arianna exhaled, rubbing her temple.

That idiot.

She had always known Caspian was different.

Not just skilled—dangerous. There was a certain ruthlessness in his style, a brutal efficiency that set him apart.

But Darian… Darian had no wasted movement, no hesitation. His strikes were like falling boulders, shattering everything in their path.

Caspian was fast, but Darian was absolute.

The screen flickered as Caspian delivered a lightning-fast slash—only for Darian to catch his wrist mid-motion.

Arianna sat up straight.

That’s bad.

Darian grinned, his voice carried through the broadcast speakers.

"Is this it? I thought you were strong."

The next second, he slammed Caspian into the ground. Hard. The impact cracked the stone beneath them.

Arianna flinched. Not out of concern—he could handle it.

But still, she hated seeing someone she had trained getting overpowered like this.

She sighed, leaning back against the couch, fingers tapping idly against the armrest.

This is a waste of time.

If Caspian lost here, it wouldn’t change anything. He’d just get stronger, break through his limits, and keep going.

That’s what people like him did.

She reached for the glass of wine, then stopped.

A thought crossed her mind. If he loses, how much will my paycheck drop?

She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. Priorities, Arianna.

Onscreen, Caspian stirred. Slowly. Deliberately.

Arianna’s lips curled into a smirk.

"Come on, idiot. Show me something interesting."

Arianna swirled the untouched wine in her glass, watching as Caspian pushed himself up from the cracked floor.

Darian laughed, raising his sword. "Just stay down."

Arianna didn’t bother listening to the rest. This was the part where things turned.

The moment Darian moved in to finish him, Caspian shifted.

It wasn’t flashy. No grand displays of magic, no overpowering surge of strength—just a sudden, brutal adjustment in his footwork. He closed the distance before Darian could react.

Then—Caspian sword flashed.

A sickening slash.

A beat of silence.

Darian’s body jerked. His sword arm twitched, his grip faltered. Then—his head fell.

Arianna exhaled through her nose, tilting her head. There it is.

Caspian stood over Darian’s lifeless form, his own arm missing at the elbow, crimson pooling at his feet.

Arianna shot up from her seat, her wine glass nearly flying out of her hand.

"YES! THAT’S MY BOY!" she screamed, pumping her fist in the air.

She didn’t care about dignity.

She didn’t care about grace.

She was jumping on her bed like a lunatic.

"I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! HA! TAKE THAT, YOU MUSCLE-HEADED BRAT!"

She grabbed a pillow and yeeted it across the room, as if Darian himself could feel the insult from beyond the grave.

Then, still panting from excitement, she collapsed back onto her bed, clutching her chest.

Holy shit. She actually felt lightheaded.

After a few moments, she blinked and cleared her throat.

Sat up straight. Smoothed out her robes.

A slow, smug smirk spread across her face.

"Not that I ever doubted him, of course."