Hearing his name, Vern summoned Enkris from his subspace. The sword appeared in his hand, its white scabbard catching the sunlight and scattering silver reflections across the Colosseum. Dressed in a simple white training garment, his long hair was tied loosely, falling like a dark river down to his waist.
With unhurried grace, he stepped into the arena and came to stand opposite his opponent—Dominic Gossen. The third-year towered with a bulky frame, his head clean-shaven, and a massive sword rested across his shoulder. A grin split his face, sharp and mocking.
"You should give up, pretty boy. Or there won't be any mercy." Dominic's voice carried a threatening edge.
"..." Vern gave no answer. He simply tightened his grip on Enkris and fixed his calm gaze on his opponent, waiting for Instructor Vikel's signal to begin.
"What do you think? How many blows can he take?" someone in the crowd muttered, sparking a ripple of murmurs.
"Hm? Two? Oh, well… I think he'll survive two at most. That's why I bet on him lasting just that long. Odds were one to ten, so I went for the safer gamble."
Laughter and sharp whispers spread like wildfire among the spectators, most of them already convinced of the outcome. To them, Dominic's bulky figure and monstrous blade meant an inevitable defeat for Vern.
"Hmph," Salena crossed her arms, her expression sharp with disdain. "Fools."
Charlotte gave a soft snort as well, her unusually calm eyes glinting with irritation at the crowd's words. Yet, despite their defiance, both girls felt their stomachs tighten. Neither could ignore the truth—Dominic was terrifyingly strong. Their confidence in Vern was genuine, but the sheer weight of his opponent's presence gnawed at the edges of their hearts.
Instructor Vikel's deep voice broke through the noise, pulling all attention back to the center of the arena. "You know the rules, don't you?" His gaze swept over both combatants, sharp and commanding.
"Of course," Dominic replied with a confident smirk. His tone was brimming with arrogance, as if the victory was already carved in stone.
Vern, in contrast, remained calm. He only gave a short nod, his face unreadable, eyes locked onto his opponent with an unwavering steadiness that carried neither fear nor excitement.
"Then… begin."
Vikel's voice struck like a war drum, and the air itself seemed to grow heavier as the duel finally commenced.
"Hahaha! I'll finish this with one strike!" Dominic's booming laugh echoed through the Colosseum as he swung the greatsword off his shoulder and lowered into his stance.
Across from him, Vern's hand slid to Enkris. With a steady pull, he drew the blade from its white scabbard. The air seemed to shiver as the pitch-black sword gleamed under the sunlight. A ripple of sharp gasps erupted from the crowd, their earlier mockery silenced by the weapon's ominous aura.
Dominic's grin faltered for a moment before twisting back into arrogance. "Quite the sword… but it doesn't suit you."
He slammed his foot into the ground, mana surging into his legs. The stone beneath his boots cracked as his body shot forward, faster than most eyes could follow. His greatsword roared with power, coated in a dense layer of sword force that shimmered dangerously in the air.
Boom! The sound of his takeoff shook the arena stands.
In the next instant, Dominic swung in a wide arc, the massive blade howling as it tore through the air toward Vern's abdomen, the pressure alone enough to make the nearest spectators flinch.
Vern let out a sharp snort, his expression calm yet disdainful. He raised Enkris sideways, aura crackling faintly along its edge as he angled the blade downward with measured precision.
Shringkkk!
The screech of metal tore through the arena as Dominic's massive greatsword ground against Enkris. Sparks scattered like fireflies, the overwhelming force redirected. Instead of splitting Vern in two, the greatsword was pulled down, its crushing momentum dragging it toward the earth.
The arena floor cracked under the redirected weight, dust rising in a thin cloud.
In that instant, Vern's body moved with serpentine grace. His foot pressed lightly onto the broad spine of Dominic's descending blade—using it as a stepping stone. His figure lifted into the air, his white garment flowing around him like fluttering wings.
Twisting his body mid-leap, Vern coiled himself sideways, eyes glinting with razor focus. Then—
Thud!
The crack echoed like a breaking boulder. Dominic's left shoulder twisted grotesquely under the force of Vern's kick—bones crunching as the joint gave way. His massive frame was hurled sideways, crashing against the arena floor with a resounding boom.
His greatsword slipped from his grip and remained buried in the ground, trembling from the impact, abandoned by its master.
"Aaaarghhh!" Dominic's roar of agony split the air as he rolled across the stone floor, clutching his ruined shoulder. Dust clung to his sweat-slicked skin while he writhed, his once-proud grin replaced by a mask of pain and disbelief.
The Colosseum fell silent for a heartbeat. The crowd who had bet against Vern now stared, wide-eyed, unable to reconcile the "pretty boy" with the merciless figure who had just crushed a seasoned third-year in a single counter.
Dominic's screams echoed through the Colosseum, his bulky frame writhing as he clutched his shattered shoulder, tears streaking down his face. The once-arrogant giant was reduced to a pitiful figure, rolling helplessly on the stone floor.
Yet Instructor Vikel did not move. His arms remained folded behind his back, his gaze impassive. Arrogance brought him to this state, he thought. Let him taste the consequences.
The crowd shifted uneasily, murmurs dying down into tense silence.
Vern, meanwhile, showed not a flicker of hesitation. Enkris was already dismissed into his subspace; he had no need for it now. His footsteps echoed softly as he closed the distance to the broken third-year.
He crouched down, eyes cold, and seized Dominic's right arm with both hands. The limb trembled violently under Vern's grip—it took effort even to hold it steady against Dominic's thrashing.
Then, with a sharp twist—
Creak!
The sickening sound of joints being forced against their nature reverberated through the arena. Gasps rippled through the audience; some looked away, unable to stomach the brutality. Dominic's scream rose to a new, ragged pitch, his voice cracking as pain drowned out any trace of pride.
And Vern… his expression didn't change.
Vern's grip shifted. His cold hands slid down to Dominic's trembling right leg. The third-year's eyes widened in horror, his hoarse screams breaking into desperate cries.
"No—no, stop! Please!" Dominic writhed, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain.
Vern didn't flinch. His face remained unreadable, eyes devoid of mercy as he tightened his hold and prepared to twist. The crowd collectively held its breath, a wave of unease spreading through the Colosseum. Some leaned forward, unable to look away; others turned pale, covering their mouths in dread of what was about to come.
Just as the tension reached its peak—
CLANG!
A sharp voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"That's enough."
The authority in Instructor Vikel's tone left no room for argument. His words echoed across the arena, freezing Vern mid-motion.
Vern's expression didn't change, but after a brief pause he released Dominic's leg and stepped back, his figure composed, as if he had never considered it anything more than routine.
The instructor finally strode forward, his presence filling the arena. He spared Dominic only a passing glance—disappointment flickering in his stern eyes—before turning to the crowd.
"The winner," his deep voice carried like thunder, "is Vern Kael."
A mixture of stunned silence and scattered gasps swept through the stands. The very same voices that had mocked Vern moments ago now struggled to comprehend what they had witnessed.
Instructor Vikel clasped his hands behind his back and concluded, "With this… today's matches come to an end."
The announcement rang final, yet the image of Vern's calm brutality lingered in every spectator's mind, carved into their memory far more vividly than any victory before it.
The Colosseum hung heavy in silence, the tense atmosphere pressing down on every spectator. Then, cutting through the stillness like a sword slash—
"YES! I'M RICH! I'M RICH!"
Edward's triumphant cry rang out, startling the crowd. He leapt to his feet, fists pumping the air with the joy of a man who had just seized the heavens themselves. "Hmm? Well, I was born rich… but now I'm super rich!"
His voice cracked with excitement, echoing louder than Dominic's earlier roars of pain. Heads turned, expressions shifting from shock at Vern's ruthless display to confusion at Edward's shameless celebration.
The reason was simple—earlier, he had recklessly wagered all his allowance on Vern's victory. Not just his own money, but Salena's as well—without even asking her.
Now, as the reality of Vern's victory sank in, Edward's laughter burst out like fireworks. He looked as though he might explode from sheer joy.
Salena's face darkened, a vein twitching on her forehead. "Edward…" she hissed, her eyes narrowing like a predator's.
Charlotte covered her mouth, torn between amusement and exasperation. The crowd, meanwhile, began to murmur again—not about Dominic's defeat, but about the eccentric friend of the victor who dared to make such a scene.