Dante quickly pinched his nose, the sudden itch signaling yet another sneeze. He wasn't one for superstition—but twice in a row? That was pushing it. Add to that the distinct feeling of eyes boring into the back of his head—sharp, analytical eyes, unlike the passive gaze of the crowd—it put him on edge. Normally, when Sirzechs watched him, Dante could feel the weight of expectation, the subtle hum of scrutiny. But this... this wasn't Sirzechs.
This felt like judgment. Stern. Calculating. Apprehensive. It was like standing in front of a tribunal and being dissected without a word spoken.
Finally, the shimmering magic dome split open and the last opponent stepped onto the field.
Dante almost whistled.
Towering, elegant, and clad in a full set of luxurious silver-and-gold knight armor, she strode in with poise. A red plume streamed behind her helmet, and a massive tower shield paired with a longer-than-standard longsword made her silhouette unmistakable: a juggernaut.
Her form was graceful, her steps practiced. Even under the weight of that armor, she moved fluidly—a testament to the training it must've taken. And despite being fully encased, the armor still managed to accentuate her figure, which Dante begrudgingly noted with mild appreciation.
"Attention to detail... nothing more," he told himself dryly.
"The Bael Clan welcomes Valeria. From the far corners of the Murmur Territory, Valeria has stood above her peers in strength and conviction. Not long ago, she alone escorted over a hundred refugees through enemy lines to the safety of Agares. Now under the protection of House Gremory, her people hail her as the 'Juggernaut of the South.' The Bael Clan welcomes you."
Dante's brows lifted slightly. Murmur. That was deep enemy territory. Sirzechs had mentioned this. The girl before him had fended off enemy inquisitors for three days straight, ensuring the safe passage of innocents. She was, in every sense, a survivor... a protector.
The irony that she now stood across from a Gremory, the very house that gave her people sanctuary, was not lost on him.
"Well... there's a joke in here somewhere," Dante muttered, driving his swordspear into the ground and leaning on it lazily. He gave her a smirk, eyes gleaming with dry amusement. "Just so you're aware, I won't be holding back like I did with the last two."
Her response was a light chuckle, oddly delicate for someone wrapped in steel. The voice modulator inside her helmet added a subtle edge to her words. "I'd be insulted if you did, Lord Gremory. I didn't train day and night just to be treated like a child."
"Judging by your title, I'd say you're far from that... Juggernaut of the South."
She sighed—subtly, but enough for Dante to catch. "I didn't ask for such a barbaric name."
That caught him. A woman rejecting her own moniker?
"Do the people you protect rally behind it?" he asked casually.
There was a pause. Then she nodded.
"They do."
"Then don't hate what brings them hope," Dante replied simply, without pretense. "At the moment, hope is what gives your people reason to push forward. Build on that."
"T-thank yo—" she began, but he cut her off, raising his blade.
"Don't thank me yet." His voice lowered, becoming focused. "While your people may see you as a juggernaut... I only see Valeria of the South."
With a swift motion, Dante dragged his fingers across the flat of his onyx-black blade. Crimson lightning hissed to life, crackling along the edge like chained fury. The clouds overhead dimmed, reacting to his presence. The crowd gasped, stirred by the raw pressure rolling off him.
He dropped into his favored stance, his blade shimmering with barely contained voltage. To the crowd, it was a stance that had become mythic. Dangerous. Defining.
His lips curled into a confident grin as he motioned with his free hand. "Now come, Valeria of the South. Prove to me you're worthy of your title. I will test your strength."
Valeria tensed—but it wasn't fear. It was resolve. Dante could see it in the slight shift of her stance, the grounded determination behind the visor. Even if her face was hidden, he could feel the smile that played on her lips.
He had expected another challenger. But what he saw now was something more—someone more. A symbol made flesh.
He'd read about heroes. Studied their stories. Most of them didn't seek glory. They didn't fight for fame. They acted on conviction, for people who couldn't protect themselves. And while the world shouted their names in praise, most bore the weight of that praise like chains.
Valeria was one of them.
And so Dante would treat her accordingly.
He jabbed lightly toward her shield, a casual feint meant to test reactions—not strength. As expected, she blocked it with practiced ease. But the crackling lightning that licked off his blade fizzled harmlessly upon contact.
Dante blinked.
'Resistant to demonic conduction?' he thought, already adjusting strategies.
He continued to probe, each attack measured and designed to test angles, guard recovery, stance transitions. And through it all, Valeria weathered his strikes like a fortress—redirecting, parrying, absorbing.
She was steady. Unshaken.
Time for a faster pace.
In a sudden blur of motion, Dante dashed around her flank, blade angled for a precision strike at her shoulder. With surprising speed, she pivoted and slammed her shield into his weapon, knocking it aside.
He absorbed the momentum with a smooth pivot, allowing the blade to slide through his grip until he held it by the pommel. He spun, turning the deflected blow into a powerful backhand slash.
Valeria, mid-counter, had anticipated a delay. Her body froze for a split second at the unexpected recovery—and that was all Dante needed.
WHAM.