This was the third arena. It had the same circular structure as the others but with a wider, flat central floor of compacted sand. Stone seating surrounded the arena in tiered rows that rose steeply, designed perfectly for large crowds. Scar stood on one of the stairways that divided the sections.
Down on the compacted sand, Julien and his opponent were going at it, neck and neck, at each other's throats.
His opponent had an Inheritance that let him manipulate his hide, making it as hard as a rhino's, an Inheritance from the lineage of Strength of Hercules, one of the Founders of Magic. But it wasn't clear if he could copy other hides or just a rhino's.
His Inheritance was impressive. Judging by his elegant movements, those who wielded the ability before him had clearly put in serious effort to refine it, though his own hard work showed through.
Scar's eyes, however, were locked on Julien. He hadn't given it much thought when Julien mentioned his Inheritance, Blood of Zion, but seeing it in action proved the talent lived up to its name.
The boy could manipulate even a single drop of blood into something as huge as a spear.
Obviously, he understood his Inheritance, though whoever had it before him did little to improve it. The control was sluggish. He always had to regroup after his weapons shattered against his opponent's hide.
'Tsk. I'm in no position to speak... I can't do jack shit.'
Though Julien's Inheritance was severely underdeveloped, his raw strength compensated. The aggression in his eyes, the full weight from his waist up driving each swing. It was relentless.
The impact sound alone said everything. Against anyone without that reinforced hide, Julien would've broken ribs easily.
Their fatigue was obvious now. Julien couldn't swing as hard or fast as before, and his opponent's hide was breaking down, legs trembling like the punishment from earlier was eating him alive.
Before long, both Julien and his opponent hit the ground, barely conscious. A few minutes later, Julien dragged himself to his feet.
There weren't many in the crowd, most people were waiting for their own duels like Scar, but the handful watching began clapping for Julien while his opponent seemed to have nothing left.
Soon enough, the winner was declared. Without wasting a second, Scar's name was called, followed by his opponent, Amell.
Scar panicked. His grip tightened on his sword's hilt, his gaze forced into confidence, but the trembling in his hands would've given him away to anyone watching closely.
Dain, the one he loathed most, wasn't here. But then again, he couldn't use his Inheritance either. Walls had ears.
Scar soon stood before a gentlemanly figure who bowed his head right away, signaling for a good, fair fight.
'That's the spirit! He's an innocent one. Now all I have to do is cheat and win. Like Isaac always said: Do it first… apologize later.'
He wore a big grin as he drew his sword. Scar felt even more grateful for Isaac at the sight. The blade was glass-like—sky blue and translucent. It looked like it would burn through things rather than cut, like some kind of laser.
Amidst his thoughts, though, something caught his eye, and the old man ceased to exist in his mind. White hair, pale skin, drawing every gaze. Haven. His crush!
'What?! She's looking at me! I can't lose!'
He wore a practiced smile, his heart hammering aggressively against his chest despite his bravado.
'Come on, Scar… you didn't swallow that pervert's insults for eight years just to fall here.'
"Okay, fight!"
The moment the words left the referee, Scar charged at Amell, but before he could close the distance, something shaped like a bullet and almost as fast shot toward his head.
His body moved on instinct, narrowly dodging it. He had barely a moment to breathe before another came at him.
Too fast.
He needed his sword to deflect it, yet it still left a cut on his face. Out of panic, he immediately created distance between himself and Amell.
He sneered.
Taking one of those directly would've killed him on impact.
'Honorable, my foot.'
He looked pathetic in Haven's eyes, and he knew it. Flames of the Unknown could easily handle those attacks, but he couldn't trust anyone with his Inheritance. Not even her. She'd come here just like that… what if she was a spy?
He snorted and assumed his stance.
Amell didn't break a smile as he flickered his fingers. The sand below formed into bullet-like weapons, slightly larger this time. He launched them without a flinch, and Scar had to sprint across the field to shake them off.
But before Scar knew it, Amell had conjured two more already hurtling toward him. This pushed him beyond anything he'd ever done, and he barely escaped by deflecting with his sword.
In the moments that followed, Scar was kept at a distance while Amell relentlessly attacked. For someone who wanted a fair fight, he reeked of bloodlust. Every strike was aimed directly at Scar's head.
Scar, despite being a heartbeat from death, kept checking to see if Haven was still around. Whatever her presence fueled him with worked.
He figured Amell could create only two sand bullets at a time. Using that to his advantage, he took a reckless, bull-like approach and charged Amell head-on. The guy didn't even hesitate. Scar could have sworn Amell had killed before, but that was the least of his concerns right now.
Facing Amell head-on, let him parry the attacks easily, and though one misstep could mean death, he made damn sure not to slip.
In no time, Amell trembled for the first time. He attempted to retreat, but it was too late. Scar was already before him.
A powerful strike to the jaw, one to the gut, a devastating kick to the balls, and Amell was on the floor, struggling to stand.
With a big grin, he turned to get Haven's reaction, but she was already walking away. His mouth fell open as though his jaw had left its socket.
'Was it because I kicked him in the balls?'
He barely heard the referee announce the winner; his mind was in complete disarray. This was no different from heartbreak.
Then again, he knew exactly what was at stake.
As Isaac's son, it was only natural that he'd mask his feelings with sarcastic humor. But that didn't dull his edge, not in the slightest.
This was only the beginning, and if Amell could create even larger and faster bullets, the duel would have killed him.
Of course, his predecessors had learned something. Constantly fleeing from their worst enemy, the Ruler of Zeus, helped them develop a few tricks over the centuries, which were passed on to him. He had the memories, sure, but couldn't use them unless he tried.
Even so, this wasn't enough to save him. He knew it. More danger was coming.