The battle raged on.
Yarik swung his axes with explosive force, the twin blades howling through the air. Sparks flew as one collided with Morgan’s sword, the other slamd into the stone floor, carving a deep gouge.
But Morgan didn’t flinch.
His movents were fluid, deliberate—like a shadow gliding between strikes. No wasted energy. No unnecessary flair. Just cold, silent precision. It didn’t look like he was fighting. It looked like he was dancing—with the sword as an extension of his body.
"Damn," Darius muttered from the balcony, arms crossed. "That guy doesn’t even blink."
"Yeah. He fights like a machine. If you face him in the next rounds, you’d better be careful," Mirena said, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes, you can’t be careless with him. Lady Mirena is absolutely right," Kael added from beside her.
Though Mirena hadn’t bothered to watch earlier matches, now she couldn’t look away.
"He’s fast," Rovan said, leaning on the railing. "But Yarik’s got power. One solid hit and it’s over."
Logan didn’t speak. His eyes never left the stage. Nor did Zephyr’s. Both watched in silence, absorbing every motion. Rowan sat nearby, brow furrowed. Even he couldn’t predict the outco.
All the participants and their families were seated in a half-moon-shaped balcony on the second floor. Their comnts could be heard clearly unless whispered.
Down on the stage, Yarik roared and unleashed another flurry. One axe swept low at Morgan’s legs while the other ca crashing down from above like a hamr.
Yarik’s axes were chained with tal links, giving him deadly range and the ability to strike from multiple angles. If he had only used his hands, this kind of attack would’ve been impossible.
Morgan shifted—his cloak slicing through the air. His blade t Yarik’s mid-strike—
Clang!
A shockwave burst from the collision, rattling the stage.
The crowd leaned forward. The gallery buzzed.
"This is wild," soone whispered. "No spells. Just pure combat, backed by mana."
"No flashy fireballs," another added. "But I can’t look away."
From the viewing box, Alek Albrecht gripped the railing. "Where did these freaks co from?"
Mirena’s eyes narrowed. "He doesn’t even look human. That coldness..."
Logan finally spoke. "He’s not just fighting to win. It’s like he’s chasing sothing deeper."
Ardyn Vex nodded. "That calm, those sharp movents... They co from soone who’s seen too much."
On the field, Yarik was panting now. His strikes were losing speed. Sweat dripped from his brow.
"You think you’re better than ?" he barked. "Just ’cause you stay calm and act cool?!"
Morgan didn’t answer.
But sothing flickered in his eyes—a mory.
Two bloodied figures standing in front of him... whispering, "They’re all gone."
They had co back—his father’s trusted comrades. They claid the others were dead, lost to the dungeon. But Morgan had seen their eyes—cold, guilty. They were hiding sothing.
He’d been too weak to ask then.
Since that day, he had trusted no one.
Monsters didn’t lie. Humans did.
And now, every battle was a step forward. A step closer to vengeance. To strength. To slaughtering the truth that haunted him.
Yarik scread and charged again. Both axes ca down with fury.
Morgan raised his sword. Boom!
A wave of mana erupted from the clash, shaking the stage. Cracks spread across the platform.
"He blocked that with one arm," Lilith said softly, astonished. "That strength..."
"Not just strength," Zephyr added. "Focus."
Then Morgan moved.
He sidestepped, spun low, and slashed across Yarik’s leg. Blood sprayed.
"Arghh!" Yarik staggered, rage in his eyes. "You—!"
Morgan didn’t hesitate.
He advanced—fluid, deadly. His sword flashed like a silver cot.
Yarik raised one axe to block, but Morgan knocked it aside and followed up with a brutal elbow to the gut.
The crowd roared.
"Did you see that?!"
"That deadly combo!"
"Is this guy even human?! He fights like a seasoned warrior!"
"Yarik himself is no weakling. It’s just that his opponent is in a league of his own. Totally badass."
Back in the gallery, the red-haired betting boy shouted, "I told you! Morgan’s a beast! I’m finally winning back my money!"
Yarik’s aura flared red. He slamd his axes into the ground.
A ripple of fire spread—Fla Shockwave!
But Morgan leapt upward, twisting mid-air, and landed behind him.
Three strikes. Quick. Sharp. Unrelenting.
Yarik scread, swung wildly.
Morgan ducked inside the arc—and headbutted him.
CRACK!
Yarik stumbled, dazed.
Morgan raised his blade.
"I—won’t—lose!" Yarik bellowed, charging one last ti.
Morgan sidestepped, pivoted, and delivered a clean slash across Yarik’s chest.
Thump!
Yarik fell.
The arena froze.
Seconds passed. Yarik didn’t move. Like a statue lying on the ground.
Then the referee raised his hand.
"Winner: Morgan Benedict!"
First, a shocked silence. Then, suddenly, the crowd erupted. Gallery, balcony, even nobles in the viewing boxes burst into applause.
But Morgan didn’t bask in it. He sheathed his sword and turned, walking away as if nothing had happened.
"He’s terrifying," Lilith muttered. "But... impressive. Maybe this tournant won’t be as boring as I thought," she added with an amused smile.
Zephyr watched him go. That wasn’t his full strength. Just a glimpse, he thought.
On the other side of the balcony—
"This is going to be exciting," Logan whispered. But Alice misunderstood his gaze, thinking he was worried.
She gently touched his arm. "Don’t overthink it, honey. It’s just a competition. Not a life-or-death battle."
Logan looked at her, blinked, then smiled. "I won’t, Mom."
"Hmph. If Darius faces him, he’ll wipe the floor with that boy," Mirena scoffed.
But Darius turned pale. How can she say that? he thought.
Healers rushed onto the stage, carrying Yarik away.
Morgan didn’t look back.
He left the stage, alone. Shoulders straight. Eyes hollow.
In the stands, a noble murmured, "Who is that boy really?"
From the viewing box, Alek Albrecht said nothing... but his grip on the railing tightened.
The silent blade had spoken.
And everyone was listening.
This year’s tournant was different from any other in the past.
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