"Ad…"
The announcer's voice echoed across the arena.
For a heartbeat, Adlet's stomach tightened.
Seriously?
"...ana!"
His pulse stalled.
Polo inhaled beside him — mentally bracing for the obvious.
Adlet let out a quiet exhale — a subtle smile breaking over his lips.
"Adana," he whispered. "Well… you know what you have to do."
Polo nodded, determination sharpening in his eyes. Adlet extended a fist.
"Try to make this quick."
A confident grin answered him.
"I'll do more than that."
Their fists met with a soft thud — a simple motion filled with promise.
Then Polo stood, straightened his merchant jacket, and walked toward the arena.
A ripple of murmurs followed his approach — not because he was known…
but because his appearance certainly was.
Who wore a tailored brown coat, a fine vest, and polished boots…
to a promotion tournament?
Protectors in the stands exchanged curious looks.
Who is this guy?
Is he lost?
Is that… a merchant?
Polo ignored every eye on him.
He walked with confidence — because doubt was bad for business.
He reached the center of the arena just as the stone floor trembled lightly.
From the opposite entrance, his opponent rose into view — lit by the luminescent glow of the Stars above.
A young woman in her early twenties stepped into the arena.
Long brown hair tied in a high ponytail.
Light leather armor fitted for speed.
Eyes sharp and unblinking.
Adana.
Her steps were silent but certain — a predator's rhythm.
She halted at a respectful distance.
Both fighters bowed their heads slightly.
No words.
Just acknowledgment.
The announcer raised his hand.
"Combatants… begin!!"
A thunderous clang of excitement erupted beyond the closed walls — Protectors eager to witness talent in its purest form.
Polo struck first.
Four azure aura tentacles burst from his back, smashing into the tiles and launching him forward with explosive propulsion.
The stone cracked beneath his takeoff — a blue streak surging straight at Adana.
But she reacted instantly.
Her aura flared bright yellow, spreading into translucent wings that buzzed like a giant hornet's.
She shot backwards, her aerial retreat swift and precise.
Polo's eyes narrowed.
You can fly.
He extended one tentacle like a spear — the flexible limb coiling, compressing, and snapping outward like a catapult string.
The tip snagged her ankle mid-air.
Got you—
A shimmer.
A gleam.
A flash of yellow.
Adana formed an aura stinger over her fist — more than a meter long — and slashed.
The blade-sharp tip severed the tentacle cleanly.
Blue aura evaporated into particles.
Adana landed gracefully, unharmed.
Both Protectors froze — instinctively reassessing.
We were both forced to reveal too much, too soon…
But she… can cut my aura.
A disadvantage Polo couldn't ignore.
Adana dashed forward — wings beating in bursts to augment her steps. Strikes came swift and relentless: fists, elbows, kicks — each enhanced by those lethal stingers.
Polo's tentacles whipped from all angles to intercept, but every time—
Slice
Slice
Slice
Aura cut away faster than he could recreate it.
Polo clicked his tongue.
Definitely not a good matchup for me…
But quitting?
Not an option.
He retreated a step, thinking fast — observing every micro-movement of her strikes.
He saw it.
The danger is only at the very tip.
If he could avoid the razor-pointed edges…
He could bind the stinger. Trap it. Counter.
He braced, waited, then—
CLAMP
A tentacle wrapped around her forearm — just below the deadly tip.
Got it!
Adana tensed, but rather than retreating—
She smirked.
A second stinger burst from her knee — and ripped through Polo's binding limb.
He recoiled in shock.
Multiple stingers… everywhere on her body.
Polo's aura drained at a terrifying rate — each destroyed tentacle costing energy and time.
Adana pressed harder, sensing blood.
Her aerial control wasn't perfect — she couldn't fly freely — but she could leap like a weaponized grasshopper.
Every bounce off the ground launched her into unpredictable angles.
Her stingers struck with assassin-level precision.
And Polo?
Could only defend.
Dodge.
Recreate.
Repeat.
He gritted his teeth — mind racing.
Come on… think…
Then instinct took over.
He crouched low—
—and spun.
Tentacles snapped outward in a wide, furious rotation — a whirling barrier of bladed aura.
Adana's eyes widened. She kicked off the ground, leaping back to avoid the unpredictable sweep.
Polo finally drew a breath — just one.
That bought me a moment… but not a win.
Adana didn't give him time to rest. She lunged again — faster, tighter angles. Her stingers slashed the air in relentless succession, every strike threatening to end him if he misread even a fraction of a second.
For long minutes, she dictated the rhythm — circling him like a predator, using bursts of speed to attack from all directions. Her mobility was irregular, chaotic — a pattern impossible to anticipate.
Polo was forced into pure defense. Tentacles parried — barely. His steps shifted — barely. Every dodge brought him closer to the edge.
And still… he found no opening.
Think…
His foot landed — and stuck.
Just like that, the world stopped.
Polo looked down.
A thick smear of viscous yellow liquid clung to his sole — stretching like glue as he tried to pull free.
Panic hit. He tried again — harder.
Nothing.
And then he understood.
She had been laying a trap all along.
Every suppressed strike into the floor…
Every shattered tile leaking that resinous secretion…
She'd been herding him into a cage he couldn't see.
His head snapped up —
SPASCH—
Agonizing pain exploded through his thigh.
A stinger had pierced deep into the muscle — clean through. Blood surged hot down his leg as Adana pulled back, landing light and balanced a few steps away.
A stinger pierced his thigh.
Polo gasped — a sharp inhale of pure pain as blood sprayed across the stone.
Adana pulled back, landing safely at mid-range.
"That's enough," she declared, voice cold. "You've lost."
She wasn't wrong.
If killing were allowed…
he'd already be dead.
But Polo's mind flashed with a single image — a boy with messy hair, who laughed in the face of despair.
Adlet would never give up.
He forced a grin, tapping his bleeding thigh.
"You'll need more than a hole in my leg to make me surrender."
Adana's eyes narrowed.
"Fine. Next strike — I take the entire leg."
Adana leapt back, wings beating in sharp bursts as she widened the gap. This time, she didn't rush. She studied him — really studied him.
A wounded opponent, pinned in place, still refusing to break.
Her jaw tightened.
He shouldn't be standing.
He shouldn't still be looking at her like that.
Like he believed he could still win.
She knew the truth: hitting him now would be harder. Even immobilized, Polo still had those four tentacles — annoying, stubborn limbs blocking every critical angle.
If she misjudged the strike, she could be trapped again.
So she made a decision.
Without hesitation, she poured everything into her legs. Aura flared so intensely the stone beneath her cracked like brittle ice.
Her wings snapped outward — not for flight, but acceleration.
The world blurred.
Her body became a living projectile — one leg extended forward, a stinger three times larger than any she'd shown until now forming at its tip. Deadly, precise, unstoppable.
This was her finisher.
A technique too powerful to control safely.
One she only used on slow or helpless targets.
She could have played it safe.
Waited.
Worn him down.
But the audience's eyes — every Protector watching — burned against her skin.
And Polo's stare — that stubborn, fearless challenge — struck deeper than any blade.
Fine. She would show all of them.
Show what she was capable of.
She shot forward — the fastest she had ever moved.
In normal circumstances, Polo would have been annihilated before even understanding what hit him.
But he knew exactly where she was aiming — his trapped leg.
The leg she promised to take.
Time stretched thin.
He felt the stinger closing in — death in a needle point.
But he also felt his aura — every thread of it — sharper than ever.
His tentacles snapped into position like steel cables — wrapping around the stinger's shaft, never the tip, coiling with breathtaking precision.
Layer by layer.
Loop after loop.
A spiraling fortress of raw instinct.
And then—
Impact.
A force like a hurricane punched against his defense — a collision meant to rip through stone, flesh, and bone.
Pain roared through Polo's body.
His wound flared white with agony.
But he didn't let go.
He held.
He resisted.
He refused to break.
Adana's eyes widened in horror as the unstoppable force finally found somewhere to go:
Back the way it came.
Reversal.
Her momentum snapped, body whipping backward — wings unable to stabilize, vision spiraling.
She careened across the arena — slamming into the far boundary with brutal force.
Stone shattered.
She flipped once—
twice—
then was violently flung beyond the fighting stage.
Her head struck the ground.
And everything went dark.
Silence.
Protectors stared, motionless — stunned by the impossible reversal they had just witnessed.
Even Polo stood frozen — breath ragged — blood dripping — brain struggling to process that he was somehow still alive.
Then—
A single voice.
Adlet's.
"WOOOOHOOO!!"
A thunderclap of celebration, shattering the silence — triggering a wave of astonished cheers.
Not admiration.
Not praise.
Pure respect.
For a merchant who had just refused to die.
Polo wobbled slightly — adrenaline evaporating — before a victorious smile pulled at his lips.
He had done it.
He had truly done it.
Medical teams rushed in — stabilizing his wound and checking Adana's state. She would recover — though probably with a bruised pride and a story that would spread like wildfire.
Polo inhaled deeply — tears swelling, unhidden.
Winning was one thing.
Earning respect was another entirely.
He looked up into the stands — searching for the one face that mattered.
Adlet grinned at him with pride blazing in his eyes.
You did it.
Polo nodded weakly.
Yeah… I did.
He was now—
A Master Protector.
Adlet remained seated, energy buzzing inside him.
He wanted to run down there.
Lift Polo into the air.
Celebrate like idiots.
But he couldn't.
Because at any moment…
his name could be called.
The taste of battle lingered like iron on his tongue.
His aura stirred —
quiet, coiled, waiting.
Whenever they call me…
I'll be ready.
The announcer returned to the stage.
The next duel was about to begin.