Adlet watched duel after duel unfold beneath the roaring crowd.
Blades clashed, Aura flared, fists shattered stone—
Yet none of it compared to Polo's battle.
His friend's victory still echoed in his bones.
Just witnessing that display of instinct and willpower had stirred something deep within him — energy simmering under the surface, urging to be unleashed.
Every time the announcer called new names, Adlet leaned forward, gaze sharp, breath controlled.
I'm ready.
He wasn't nervous.
He wasn't excited.
He was simply — prepared.
The 19th duel ended. Cheers rose and faded like crashing waves.
Then—
"TWENTIETH DUEL!"
The voice thundered across the arena. The crowd hushed instantly.
"First participant…"
A pause stretched — dramatic, deliberate.
"Ad… let!!"
Adlet rose in a single, fluid motion.
He had been waiting for that name.
For this moment.
As he stepped toward the stairs leading down from the tribune, he barely heard the second name — not because he missed it, but because the arena itself erupted.
"Gillan… HORUS!!!"
The stands shook. Protectors shouted. Spectators stamped their feet.
The announcer didn't stop there — sensing the frenzy building like a storm.
"Ladies and gentlemen, witnesses of greatness — rejoice! Today, a Protector of a noble family enters the arena!"
A roar. A tidal wave of admiration.
"And not just any lineage! House Horus — where blood means nothing, and only the strongest of a generation earn the name!"
More cheers. Deafening. Reverent.
Adlet did not flinch.
Names. Titles. Prestige.
None of it mattered in the center of a battlefield.
Only strength did.
He moved forward — each step grounded, controlled. The path narrowed to a long stone corridor leading to the arena floor. Light from the Stars above carved sharp edges along his silhouette.
A new battlefield.
A new unknown.
A new test.
He embraced it fully.
—
The battle stage felt larger than during Polo's duel — not by size, but by the aura of expectation saturating the air. The pristine white tiles bore cracks and gouges, stained with proof that the fights before this one had been far from gentle.
Gillan emerged at the same time from the opposite side — tall, broad-shouldered, skin sun-kissed like copper under the glow of the Stars. His short black hair and the powerful frame of his arms and neck radiated controlled brutality.
A warrior sculpted for combat.
They walked toward each other — stopping only a few meters apart.
Two predators
Testing the atmosphere
With nothing but silence.
Gillan nodded once, sober, respectful.
"Let's give everything we've got."
Adlet's lips curled in a sharp smirk.
"I like that idea."
The referee's voice fell only as a whisper among the anticipation.
"Combatants ready…"
A breath held by thousands.
"…Fight!"
—
They launched — twin comets colliding at the center.
Aura against Aura
Black against orange
Shockwaves cracked from each clash — fist to forearm, knee to elbow, shoulder to shoulder. They traded dozens of blows in mere seconds — a blur of instinct and rhythm, neither landing clean nor backing down.
Not a strike wasted.
Not a breath misused.
This wasn't a brawl — it was calibration.
Both evaluating the other's power.
Speed.
Reaction time.
They broke apart simultaneously — a silent agreement that this warm-up had ended in a draw.
Adlet didn't hesitate. He tore up a loose floor tile with a burst of strength, hurling it forward as he dashed in its shadow — closing the distance behind his own projectile.
Gillan reacted instantly — orange aura igniting.
A massive scorpion pincer erupted beside him, sweeping the stone aside in an explosive arc…
…but the real threat had already arrived.
Gillan pivoted sharply and — THUD — a brutal roundhouse kick slammed into Adlet's ribs, stopping his advance just short of striking range.
Adlet hit the ground hard, aura softening the impact just enough to keep him moving.
He grinned.
Perfect.
He'd forced Gillan to reveal the nature of his Guardian.
A scorpion Guardian.
Predator of the desert.
Built for killing.
Perfect.
He rushed again.
Aura condensed along his right arm — surging, twisting—
A horn erupted from his forearm, black, sharp, and alive with power.
He swung — a brutal horizontal slash meant to tear through Gillan's guard.
Gillan braced, pincer intercepting with a thunderous clang.
Adlet didn't slow.
Left, right, downward, upward — savage blows raining with relentless momentum. Tiles shattered. Dust swallowed the arena floor. The crowd gasped at every collision — a whirlwind of horn and steel-like aura.
Then — an opening?
Adlet sent a tile exploding upward with a kick — debris cloaking him in a storm of broken rock as he attacked through the chaos.
Except—
A second pincer — larger — tore through the dust with violent force, aiming straight for his side.
Adlet barely twisted away — another inch and he'd have been crushed.
Two arms.
Two weapons.
And they float independently…
He felt his heartbeat accelerate — not fear, but thrilled recognition.
A real challenge.
Gillan stepped forward now — stride confident, aura shimmering around both massive spectral weapons. A fortress advancing.
No weakness on the surface.
No hesitation in his step.
Which only made Adlet hungrier.
He cracked his neck.
"…More."
He invoked a second horn — jet-black aura spiraling into lethal form along his left arm.
A wave of surprise swept through the stands.
Two horns.
A level of mastery rare for someone so young.
Gillan's eyes sharpened — acknowledgment, respect… and caution.
The scorpion pincers snapped forward again — faster, heavier, determined to crush Adlet's advance.
Clang — Clang — Crack —
The impacts sparked through the arena. Horn against pincer. Their steps clashed as fiercely as their weapons.
Each strike heavier, faster — neither willing to yield even an inch.
The arena floor became a tornado of destruction, a storm centered between two fighters who refused to bend.
Adlet's thoughts sharpened, instincts aligning with intent.
Attack.
Adapt.
Dominate.
But Gillan changed tactics—
He maneuvered to close the gap, pincers moving like predators — one biting forward, the other curling around Adlet's blind spot.
Adlet sensed the trap a split second too late—
Behind you—!
He reacted with pure instinct — materializing a horn beneath his foot and launching himself skyward like a black rocket.
Gillan followed instantly — leaping with terrifying power, orange aura swirling like desert winds.
Adlet barely crossed his arms in time —
BAM!
Gillan's fist, coated in Aura, smashed into him midair.
The collision cratered the arena floor when Adlet crashed back down, pain lancing through his ribs and spine.
For the first time — he felt danger claw into him.
He dragged breath into his lungs.
Then stood.
Because he still had two legs under him.
And that was enough.
Gillan hit the ground too, rolling once and pushing upright with a powerful stride.
They advanced toward each other again —
Two horns
Two pincers
Two wills unshakeable.
Their collision this time was worse.
More violent.
More personal.
Gillan's aura surged — his tail materialized now, arcing high over his back. Long, armored, and ending in a lethal stinger shaped like a spear.
Adlet's eyes widened.
Three weapons at once—
This Guardian wasn't just versatile — it was a death machine.
The tail snapped down — a strike fast enough to skewer his spine—
Adlet willed a horn into existence behind him — intercepting the sting at the last instant, sparks of aura crackling around the clash.
A new threshold.
A new weapon point.
He shoved forward, using the recoil to launch an explosive kick into Gillan's side. Gillan flew backward across the stage — sliding but recovering before hitting the ground.
Still standing.
Still dangerous.
Adlet's breaths deepened — maintaining two horns demanded focus, not fear. Sweat slid into his eyes, but he barely blinked.
His mind sharpened, instincts blazing.
He sprinted.
Gillan didn't retreat — he lunged as well.
A cyclone of pincers and horns and stingers — each attack meant to end it, not prolong it.
Gillan's weapons swarmed from every angle — Adlet's horns answered with narrow deflections, micro-adjustments of aura, and death-defying footwork.
The crowd forgot to breathe.
Then —
There.
A mistake.
A shift in Gillan's balance.
Adlet dove in.
He planted a horn beneath him and blasted forward like a fired ballista. Pincers clamped inward — he grabbed both with his bare hands, fingers burning, pulling himself along the attack rather than away from it.
Gillan's eyes flared wide.
Adlet's final weapon ignited—
A horn from his forehead, bursting forward like a charging stag's lance.
It slammed into Gillan's gut with brutal force.
Gillan coughed blood — the impact ripping him upward, legs kicking emptily as he was thrown into the air.
Adlet didn't hesitate.
He roared — a primal sound tearing from his throat — and ripped up multiple stone tiles with both horns, hurling them after Gillan like a meteor shower.
One.
Two.
Ten.
Twenty.
Every hit hammered Gillan farther, stone after stone, until—
his silhouette was swallowed by dust and distance,
lost somewhere beyond the impact zone.
Silence.
Every last piece of shattered stone fell still.
Adlet's knee hit the ground.
His aura sputtered… then faded completely.
His breath was ragged — throat burning — vision flickering in and out like a failing flame.
He forced his head up.
Through the blur, he saw Gillan land far away, stumbling as he barely regained his footing.
The crowd rushed back into his awareness — a tidal wave of noise he had shut out for the entire fight.
They were roaring.
Cheering.
Celebrating.
Of course they were.
The match was over.
He had lost.
A hot tear slid down his cheek before he even realized he was crying.
I wasn't strong enough…
I couldn't beat him…
I'll have to try again next year…
His chest tightened, shame and exhaustion crushing him harder than any blow Gillan had landed.
Footsteps approached — steady, respectful.
Gillan's shadow fell over him.
"You… are incredibly strong," Gillan said between deep breaths.
Adlet swallowed hard, tears still burning in his eyes.
"Thank you…" His voice cracked.
"But unfortunately for me… you were stronger."
Gillan frowned.
"What are you talking about? You won."
Adlet stared at him, stunned.
Gillan lifted a hand and pointed toward the edge of the platform.
"You knocked me out of the arena with that final attack. The referee declared your victory. Didn't you hear?"
Adlet's heart stopped.
His eyes widened.
Slowly, he looked around — finally registering the scene he had refused to believe:
The referee's raised arm
The arena staff signaling
Thousands of voices chanting one name
His name.
He… won?
He rose shakily to his feet, disbelief shaking his entire body.
A wave of euphoria threatened to crash into him — but then came the sting.
Hard. Sharp. Crushing.
Victory.
It didn't feel like victory.
I didn't overpower him.
I didn't prove I was stronger.
This outcome… isn't mine to be proud of.
"This isn't right…" he muttered, voice breaking. "I wasn't good enough. I… I don't deserve this win…"
His voice cracked — frustration mixing with disbelief.
Gillan held his gaze — not mocking, but unwavering.
"You earned this. We both know the rules. And we both earned the title today… but only one gets it."
A pause.
A breath.
Adlet's fists clenched — not in anger toward Gillan, but toward himself. Toward his limits.
Then slowly… fiercely…
He exhaled once, slow. The bitterness didn't fade — it sharpened him.
Not joy.
Resolve.
"…I'll consider today my loss. And I'll use it to get stronger."
He lifted his chin.
"And when I do — I want a rematch."
Gillan's answering grin was wide, bright, alive with the same fire.
"Anytime. Once I earn my own badge — we'll settle this properly."
He pressed his fist to Adlet's chest — a warrior's promise.
Adlet mirrored the gesture.
The crowd howled with approval.
Two prodigies.
Two monsters in the making.
Two storms destined to collide again.
Adlet turned toward the exit… legs shaking, vision blurred… but heart burning like a rising star.
This was not the end.
It was merely the beginning of something frightening —
and wonderful.
He would become someone who deserved the cheers.
Someone who deserved Gillan's respect.
Someone who deserved every victory.
Even if it meant tearing through the world itself.
He stepped off the arena floor…
Ready for the battles yet to come.