Clarence's breath caught for a moment—then sharpened into disbelief.
"Representing Eberhard Blaze… the champion of Heilen… the indomitable blade… Yves Merlin, Knight of the Black Dawn!"
The voice of the herald rolled like thunder across the Colosseum walls, crashing into silence before the eruption of cheers. Clarence didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened. This wasn't the duel he was promised. This was theatre—and he had just been cast as the sacrificial act.
From the opposing gate, Yves Merlin emerged—no thunder in his steps, no need for bravado. His very presence cleaved through the tension like a sharpened edge.
Tall and commanding, Yves wore a tailored navy military coat lined with silver trim, golden insignias glinting like the sun off steel. His dark chocolate hair was tousled with a warrior's disregard for formality, yet somehow refined. His sharp blue eyes didn't flicker with emotion—they measured. As if he had already dissected Clarence's entire form and filed it under "irrelevant."
Ornate armored sleeves curled up his forearms, etched with runes known only to the king's elite. Hanging at his waist were six neatly fastened vials of unknown concoctions—remnants of past battles, or tools for future domination. His left hand hovered close to his hilt, but he hadn't drawn yet.
He didn't need to. He was the blade.
Clarence's gaze didn't drop. But a whisper crawled through his thoughts: "The Strongest Knight of Heilen huh? I should've expected this."
High above in the royal box, King Alvaro leaned slightly forward, an intrigued smile flickering beneath his grizzled beard. General Zagyg grunted approvingly. Sir Adel, behind his monocle, merely tapped the railing with an ivory cane—once, then twice, as if counting something only he understood.
Yves spoke first. "Clarence Cross. Liberation Front. You've brought principles to a kingdom of predators… Admirable. But principles won't get you far." His voice was composed—noble, almost regretful. But his eyes promised only blood.
Clarence exhaled once. "And here I thought the strongest knight must have his own principles."
The signal was never given. But the fight had already begun.
Yves Merlin moved first—a blur of steel and velocity. His blade tore through the air, a merciless arc aimed straight at Clarence's chest. Clarence reacted just in time, crossing his swords in defense. The impact rang like a bell across the arena.
CRACK. His sheath split clean in two, clattering to the ground like the sound of broken resolve. Clarence's blade gleamed in the sunlight, finally drawn.
But already, Yves was on the offensive again. The next swing came even faster. Clarence blocked it, barely. Their blades locked for a breathless second—and then Yves pushed forward with raw strength, forcing Clarence back step by step.
From the stands, Lucian's voice broke through the crowd. "This is treacherous! The duel was between Clarence and Eberhard!" He gripped the railing until his knuckles whitened, rage brimming just beneath his words.
But the match surged forward without pause.
The fight was no longer grounded in human tempo. Swords clashed in bursts of light—blurs and flickers across the battlefield, too fast for ordinary eyes. Even trained warriors could barely follow the pace. Most spectators saw only flickers, afterimages of motion. Like gods waging war through lightning.
Yves's sword rose again—this time higher. The air shimmered. Flame burst along the steel like a living serpent. Fwoooosh. Yves swung. The blade painted arcs of fire midair, and with the final strike, an eruption of flame exploded outward—like a dragon's breath unleashed into the Colosseum.
Clarence staggered back, caught in the shockwave. The flames licked across the marble floor, splintering stone and melting paint. Yves stepped through the fire untouched. "So. Your Major's Expansion," Clarence muttered, steadying himself, smoke curling around him. "Foolish of you… revealing it so early."
Yves appeared in front of him—as if he'd teleported. "So early?" His voice dropped an octave, cold and lethal. "You're mistaken." His fist met Clarence's gut with thunderous force. CRACK. Clarence flew like a ragdoll, smashing into the far wall of the Colosseum, dust rising in his wake. Blood traced the edge of his lip.
He coughed, clutching his abdomen, the pain rippling like aftershocks from an earthquake. "...Behavioral Ability of Wrath?" he managed to breathe out. He tasted iron. But still… he stood. His sword trembled in his hand, but he raised it again.
"Damn it!" Lucian's voice broke out from the seats again. "I'm going down there myself!" He vaulted over the railing. But before his feet even cleared the edge, a hand caught his collar and slammed him back onto the stone floor. "Shut up and watch," Dawn growled.
Lucian coughed, stunned. "This is a duel. You jump in and he loses by default." Dawn continued. "And what about Clarence, huh!? Don't you care about him at all?!" Dawn turned—her eyes like polished obsidian. "You don't know a thing about Clarence." A long pause. Then softly, with resolve: "So shut up… and watch."
Back on the field, Yves stood with one arm lowered, flames still dancing faintly along his blade. "I'll give you one chance. Forfeit." Clarence spat blood onto the stone. "As if I would." He lifted his sword. Yves smiled—mockingly "As you wish."
Yves swung—his flame-wreathed blade howling through the air. The inferno surged outward, wild and relentless, threatening to engulf everything in its path. But Clarence didn't retreat. THOOM. He stomped the ground, and in response, the arena trembled. A wall of stone erupted before him—solid, swift, immovable. The flames crashed against it like a tidal wave, scattering across its surface, but the barrier held.
"So your elemental affinity is earth, huh?" Yves called out, amused. "We'll see how long you last." But Clarence had vanished. He reappeared behind Yves like a shadow breaking formation. "Indeed," Clarence whispered and then drove his fist into Yves's ribs, mimicking the exact force Yves had struck him with earlier.
CRACK. Yves's body snapped forward, air ripped from his lungs as he was sent flying—slamming into the Colosseum wall. Dust billowed. Cracks snaked through the stone. Clarence stood tall, knuckles tensed and eyes sharp. "My setup's complete," he said calmly. "Now the duel begins for real."
Yves coughed as he pulled himself up, using his sword for balance. Blood trailed from his lips, dripping onto scorched marble. "So that's your trick… Behavioural Ability of Calmness, isn't it?" he muttered. "Stored all that energy for a perfect counter. You got me once…" Flames erupted from his back like wings of wrath. "…but you won't get me twice."
He lunged forward, flames erupting from his limbs and weapon. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, striking again and again—ferocious, fiery, relentless. But Clarence was like flowing stone—solid, yet fluid. He weaved through Yves' strikes with enhanced reflexes. Sparks flew from every clash of steel. Their swords rang through the arena like war bells. And then Clarence trapped Yves's sword with a sudden stomp, pinning it under his leg. CLANG. With Yves exposed, Clarence's blade slashed across his chest, drawing blood.
Yves staggered back, hand over the wound. His breath hitched. Rage flared in his eyes. "I won't lose. Not like this." With a guttural yell, Yves raised his sword high. Flames answered. They surged, spiraled, roared—an inferno unbound. A vortex of fire rose, wild and towering. "This is your end, Clarence Cross!!" The crowd screamed. Some cowered. The arena trembled. But Clarence… only exhaled.
He stepped forward, unfazed. The firelight danced in his eyes. He smirked. "Predictable." He slammed his foot into the ground once more—this time harder. RUMBLE. A monolithic stone wall surged upward—equal in height to the fiery tempest before him. Its face etched with veins of glowing minerals, dense and immovable.
Clarence took a single step. Then, with a war cry, kicked the wall. The entire structure launched forward like a boulder from the gods—faster than a siege weapon, heavier than a war beast. BOOOOOM. The stone slammed into the inferno—snuffing it out—and Yves along with it.
The Colosseum shook as the wall collided with the far side of the arena. Dust, fire, and debris exploded outward. Yves fell from the shattered stonework, limp. The crowd froze. Silence. Clarence stood in the middle of the battlefield, sword still in hand, hair tousled by heat and wind. He exhaled once. Calmly. Then grinned. "That's why I told you not to reveal your Major so soon." He turned, walking toward the center of the arena as gasps and cheers slowly began to rise. "Since I won," he added over his shoulder, "guess I'll share mine."
He looked up at the nobles, generals, and watching world. "My Major is Size." Clarence cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Bigger wall. Bigger hit."
King Alvaro Atlantes Baron sat high in his seat, eyes locked on the battlefield below. The dust was still settling. Clarence Cross stood firm amidst the aftermath, victorious, breathing steady despite the chaos he'd just endured. The King leaned forward, intrigued. "An Elemental Major huh…" he murmured.
Beside him, General Jorg Zagyg and Advisor Sir Adel Foster whispered among themselves, their expressions unreadable. The King's gaze sharpened. "So... the Liberation Front truly has weapons hidden in plain sight." The crowd below broke into thunderous cheers—shock and awe painting every face. An outsider had bested Yves Merlin, the undefeated blade of Heilen.
Among them, Dawn stood with her arms crossed, a smile tugging at her lips. She turned to Lucian. "See?" she said. "Maybe you should take a lesson or two from Clarence… about staying calm." Lucian didn't reply. His gaze stayed fixed on the field. A long breath escaped his chest, equal parts relief and guilt.
Clarence had put everything on the line. For him. And yet… A horn blasted. Then another. Then several in unison. The cheers died. A hush fell. The gates of the Colosseum creaked open once more—this time not for champions, but for soldiers.
Clarence turned slowly, surrounded. His breathing remained steady—but his eyes narrowed. "What… is this?" He took a single step back. His hand twitched toward his sword. Lucian stood up sharply. "What the hell…?" Dawn's smile vanished. "This isn't part of the duel."
Knight after knight marched in—row upon row, each bearing the royal insignia of Heilen. Dozens. Then hundreds. At least a quarter of Heilen's entire standing guard. They encircled Clarence with military precision, weapons drawn, expressions like stone. The mood shifted violently—from victory to dread.
Clarence turned slowly in the center of the ring, eyes narrowing as he took in the trap forming around him. "...Eberhard," he muttered under his breath. This wasn't about honour anymore. It never was. It was about sending a message.