The elder's voice faded, and for a mont the world felt suspended between breaths. Robert Osborn stood at the edge of the stage, the stone beneath his boots darkened by old blood—his own and others'. His muscles ached with a deep, grinding fatigue that no pill could fully erase. His breath was steady only because he forced it to be. Every inhale scraped against sore ribs; every exhale carried heat from overworked ridians.
Across from him, Harvey Walker waited. He stood straight-backed, sword held loosely at his side, golden qi flowing around him, restrained rhythm. Unlike Max or Conner, Harvey looked untouched. His robes were clean. His breathing was calm. His presence pressed outward with quiet authority, like a mountain that had never known decay.
This was the Walker Clan's heir. The arena was silent enough that Robert could hear the faint creak of wood from the stands. Then Robert reached into his storage ring. The motion was simple, almost casual. Steel flashed.
A second sword slid into his left hand.
For half a heartbeat, no one understood what they were seeing. Then the crowd erupted.
"Two swords?!"
"Is he insane?"
"That's not a standard form—"
"Does he even know how to fight like that?!"
Shock rippled outward like a physical force. People leaned forward, so standing without realizing it. Even the elders whispered to one another, brows furrowed. Harvey's eyes narrowed.
For the first ti since stepping onto the stage, his expression shifted—not fear, not doubt, but surprise. It vanished almost instantly, replaced by a burst of laughter. Real laughter. Loud and sharp, echoing across the arena.
"So this is your answer?" Harvey said, spreading his arms slightly. "Two swords, one body already half-broken. Do you really think that changes anything?"
Robert adjusted his grip, testing the balance of both swords. One was lighter, quicker, and ideal for redirection. The other carried more weight and was better for decisive cuts. Together, they felt… Right. "We'll see," Robert said.
Nothing more. Harvey's laughter faded into a cold smile. "Good. I was hoping you had given sothing worth crushing." The elder raised his arm. The air tightened.
"Begin."
Harvey moved first—not with explosive speed, but with certainty. One step forward, sword rising in a clean arc that cut straight toward Robert's centreline. No wasted motion. No flourish. Just pressure. Robert moved. Breath Sync—Shadow Step.
His body slid diagonally, neither retreating nor advancing, but repositioning into a narrow angle. Harvey's sword passed where Robert's chest had been a breath earlier. Robert's right-hand sword snapped forward, a probing strike aid at Harvey's wrist.
Harvey blocked easily, the sword ringing once. CLANG. The impact jolted Robert's arm, reminding him instantly of his exhaustion. Harvey did not even budge. "Still light," Harvey said calmly.
Robert did not answer.
He stepped in again, this ti rotating his left blade upward in a tight arc—Twin Dragon Fang, Coiling Scales—using one sword to bind and the other to threaten.
Harvey adjusted instantly, his sword turning sideways to catch both swords imdiately, qi reinforcing the steel. Sparks burst between them.
The two separated, then collided again.
Almost imdiately after the fight began, it beca fast, dense, and rciless.
Harvey pressed forward relentlessly, his footwork grounded and precise, always cutting off Robert's angles. Each strike carried weight, forcing Robert to respond with exact timing; blocking too hard ant being overpowered. Dodging too far ant losing initiative.
Robert danced on that edge.
He was carried by Shadow Step in quick, effective shifts, including energy-efficient half-steps, pivots, and slides. His breath stayed synced to his movents, every motion tied to an inhale or exhale.
Dual swords changed everything. One sword was intercepted. The other threatened. One sword redirected the force. The other slipped through gaps that should not exist. Harvey noticed.
His attacks grew sharper and more deliberate. He began targeting Robert's legs, then his shoulders, forcing him to split focus. A shallow cut opened along Robert's calf. Blood darkened the stone.
Robert gritted his teeth and kept moving. Five minutes passed. The crowd barely breathed. A heavy downward strike from Harvey forced Robert to cross both swords to block. The impact drove him to one knee, the stone cracking beneath the force.
Harvey stepped in imdiately, his sword already descending for the follow-up. Robert rolled sideways, Shadow Step barely carrying him clear. The sword struck where his head had been, carving a deep groove into the stage.
"You're slowing," Harvey said. Not mockery. Observation. Robert rose, blood dripping from his arm and leg. His vision tunneled briefly. He forced it wide again. "Not yet," he replied.
He surged forward. For the first ti, Robert attacked without retreating. Twin Dragon Fang unfolded fully—both swords coiling in mirrored arcs, one high, one low, forcing Harvey to adjust twice in the sa breath.
Harvey blocked the first.
The second grazed his ribs. Blood appeared. A sharp intake of breath rippled through the stands. Harvey stepped back, eyes narrowing—not in pain but in calculation. His qi surged, denser now, heavier.
"So that is how you want to fight," he said quietly. The next exchange was brutal. Harvey unleashed a sequence of controlled, punishing strikes—Sword Art: Golden Severance—each blow chained to the next with relentless pressure. Robert retreated under the storm, swords moving constantly, arms burning.
CLANG—CLANG—CRACK.
A strike slipped through. Robert's shoulder exploded with pain as steel bit deep. Blood was sprayed. He stumbled. The crowd gasped. Harvey advanced, sword raised high, intent clear.
"This ends now."
Robert's breath hitched—then steadied. He did not pull more power. He refined what he had. Shadow Step tightened. Breath Sync deepened. His movents beca smaller, cleaner, and almost invisible.
Harvey's sword ca down.
Robert slipped inside the arc, both swords moving imdiately—one sword catching the strike, the other carving upward along Harvey's forearm.
Blood ran freely now.
Harvey snarled and struck back, driving a knee into Robert's ribs. Pain flared white-hot. Robert flew back, skidding across stone, coughing blood.
Ten minutes. Both n were bleeding now. Both are breathing hard. Neither stepped back. The arena felt like it was holding its breath.
Harvey attacked again, overcommitting for the
first ti—just a fraction too much force, a fraction too much speed.
Robert saw it. Shadow Step carried him behind Harvey's shoulder.
Twin Dragon Fang coiled—not wide, not dramatic—just perfect.
Both swords struck.
One cut deep across Harvey's back. The other drove into his side.
Harvey roared, stumbling forward. His sword dropped from numb fingers, clattering against stone. Silence fell like a curtain.
Harvey turned slowly, disbelief etched across his face. He took one step. Then another. His knees gave out. He fell. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then the elder's voice rang out, clear and undeniable.
"Winner—Robert Osborn."
The arena didn't erupt imdiately. People stared. At the blood on the stone. At the fallen Walker heir. At the Osborn, standing—shaking, bleeding, breathing hard—but still standing.
Then the realization hit. The noise exploded. Robert didn't raise his swords. He let one drop from his hand, then the other. They clattered beside Harvey's fallen sword.
He stood there, chest heaving, vision swimming, the weight of the mont settling slowly, heavily. Across the stands, faces had changed.
Fear. Awe. Sothing like reverence.
Robert Osborn had done it. Not by luck. Not by tricks. By mastery. By will. As the sound washed over him, Robert closed his eyes for a brief mont.
Then he opened them. And the city of Celestial Brook would never look at the Osborn na the sa way again.
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