The chantings rose, echoing like thunder through the colossal arena. The crowd roared, wave after wave of voices colliding into a storm of excitement. Elite ones, kings, and rulers of nations—the most powerful and destructive men alive—were all gathered here, their eyes fixed on the ground. This was no ordinary fight. This was a duel worthy of legends.
Aron walked step by step toward the middle of the arena. His pace was steady, his eyes sharp, his chest rising and falling calmly. He was not nervous, but it was his first time standing before such a crowd. The arena itself felt alive, a beast with fangs, the sand trembling under every chant and stomp. Yet, no eyes were on him. Not a single cheer. He was the shadow, the unknown. He walked into the middle like a ghost.
Carlos, meanwhile, sat somewhere in the back, his mouth stuffed with noodles. He had been so focused on his food he thought Aron would already be waiting inside the arena. Only when he looked up and saw Aron slowly walking across the sand did he panic and shuffle toward his seat.
The crowds screamed louder, chants turning wild.
"Go!"
"Fight!"
"Break him down!"
All kinds of words struck Aron's ears, but then… something else. Goosebumps crawled across his skin. He felt it—a chilling aura cutting through the heat of the arena. His eyes shifted, and there he was. A man with twin swords, each blade gleaming faintly under the sun. His aura was suffocating, hunting Aron even before a strike had been made. His stare was like a beast who had already chosen its prey.
The crowd whispered and gossiped in excitement.
"Hah, a guy with bare hands against someone with twin swords?"
"Hopeless. That's no fight at all."
High above, on a marble balcony where the elites sat, one figure leaned forward. He was bold, sharp-minded, and radiated authority. His presence silenced even the kings beside him. He was the King of Galaguard. And though most dismissed Aron as trash, the king's eyes lingered on him with interest.
Aron's thoughts cut through the noise. Black hair, twin sworded, unique physique. He looks like a professional one. What's his name?
The crowd answered for him. They chanted as one, their voices shaking the arena.
"X! X! X!"
The applause and cheer was not for Aron. It was for his opponent. Everyone wanted to see X crush him.
The referee stepped into the center, his voice clear. "Rules: don't kill. Only knock. Let the battle begin!"
A silence fell just for a heartbeat, then the match exploded into life.
They stood, staring at each other. The air between them thickened. Aron muttered in his head: Focus. Even if he has twin swords, he needs more strength, more openings. I have to run, watch, and find the right spot.
Then—vanish.
X disappeared in a blur, the sand beneath shaking as if struck by an earthquake. He appeared above, descending like a meteor, swords flashing. Boom! The ground cracked open where Aron had been. Aron had already dodged. Again X charged, blades slicing through the air, but Aron saw everything, slipping away each time with sharp movements. Both men backed off, breathing heavy.
X's lips curled into a smirk. This brat… he can read my moves? Barehanded? No. He must be bluffing. A sword user, maybe, but not just normal—something beyond. Let's see how long he lasts. I'll twist the sand itself and slash him down.
Carlos had finally reached his seat, noodles still dangling from his mouth. He looked at the ground and froze. His eyes widened—Aron was already fighting. In his shock, he threw all his food straight onto the person sitting next to him.
"Who did this? Who threw food on me?!" the man roared, standing to his feet.
Carlos, without hesitation, pointed at another guy nearby. "Him."
The two men started brawling, and Carlos laughed, dusting his hands before sitting back down. "Good. Now… come on, Aron. Show them who you really are."
Back on the field, Aron was caught off guard. X slammed his blades into the ground, twisting the sand into a storm. Dust and grit filled the air, blinding Aron. He lost sight of his opponent—then pain. Small cuts appeared across his skin as X's blades nicked him from the shadows of the storm. Blood streaked his arm, his shoulder. Aron staggered back. But as X closed in for the finishing blow, Aron flipped backward, drifting out of reach. The blades slashed air instead of flesh.
X narrowed his eyes. He dodged again. But he's slowing. Now's the best time.
With a roar, he charged. Both swords aimed straight at Aron, fast enough to panic anyone. But in that instant—Aron vanished.
X's eyes widened. Aron was above him. He twisted in midair, but Aron's movements disrupted his rhythm. X swung upward, desperate to cut him down, but Aron used the handle of one of the swords he had grabbed mid-move, slamming it against the ground to push himself away.
Aron drifted back, breathing heavily, blood dripping from shallow cuts. His chest rose like a hammer striking again and again. But X… X looked at his hands and froze. One sword was missing.
During that clash, Aron had not only dodged his attack but also knocked one blade clean out of his grip.
X trembled, rage boiling inside him. This brat… this brat is toying with me! His veins pulsed, anger taking control. With a growl, he charged again.
The crowd erupted.
"What was that?!"
"He disarmed him!"
"That kid is something else!"
Carlos grinned wide, finally hearing others shout Aron's name. "Go, Aron!"
But no one knew who Aron really was.
Inside the chaos, Aron's perception shifted. Everything slowed. The claps, the cheers, the jeers, the bets—they all dragged into echoes. He saw every movement clearly, like each strike was being drawn in the air before it landed.
X came again, blade raised, fury on his face. Aron whispered, "You simply won't give up."
Then he ran forward, straight into X's attack. The crowd gasped. But Aron slipped past the sword and drove his fist straight into X's gut.
The impact shook the ground.
X's body flew through the air like a broken doll, slamming against the arena wall with a crack. Dust and sand erupted, swallowing everything in a cloud.
For a moment, no one knew what happened. Silence stretched across the stadium. Then, as the dust cleared, the image froze in everyone's mind—Aron standing firm, battered but unbroken, and X engraved into the wall, unconscious.
The crowd went silent. Mouths open. Just how had he won?
Then a single clap broke the silence. Carlos, grinning like a madman, cheered. "That's my boy! Hahaha!" His voice cracked, but the crowd caught on. Slowly, cheers erupted, wave after wave, until the whole arena thundered with Aron's name.
The King of Galaguard leaned back, his eyes sharper than before. His lips curled ever so slightly. Sixty-three punches in less than a second… who is even that kid?
The referee stepped forward, voice booming. "Mr. Kron wins the game! His points increase—he advances!"
But Aron felt neither joy nor sorrow. He wasn't happy, nor was he sad. His eyes found Carlos in the crowd, noodles hanging from his messy shirt. Aron smiled faintly.
As he walked toward the exit, all eyes followed him. Whispers chased after him like shadows. "How did this trash beat X?" "Who is he really?" "Did you see that speed?"
One man approached him at the gate, smirking. "Hey, my name's Panama. Nice to meet you."
Aron didn't even stop. "Sorry. I'm not interested."
Panama's face twisted. "You fool, I wasn't asking for an autograph!"
But Aron was already gone, walking into the open air beyond the arena.
And there, just outside, someone was waiting for him. Standing still, silent… watching.