Cavin, gripping his blade tight enough to whiten his knuckles, appeared in front of Ethan in a single blink of motion so swift it sliced through the air with a faint whine. He landed silently, but his presence exploded across the arena like a thunderclap.
Ethan stood where he was, still gazing at him with the same eyes of unshakable disdain, as if Cavin's killing intent was no more than an annoying breeze. The contempt etched in those calm pupils made something inside Cavin crack.
He could no longer bear the humiliation. He wanted to crush this outsider's arrogance beneath his heel. He longed to see fear reflected in those indifferent eyes—eyes that hadn't wavered since the match began. Though this was not the real world, the pain inflicted in the battle arena was no illusion. Every blow, every broken bone, every last gasp was felt in the marrow. Cavin planned to defeat Ethan, then torture him slowly, savoring the agony and the surrender.
