Chapter 5 — Rome, One Year Later (continued)
León and Arthur moved through the streets of Rome with silent purpose. The drizzle had turned into a steady rain, slicking the cobblestones beneath their feet, yet neither of them slowed.
Inside León, Haki pulsed faintly, steadying him. Armament Haki lay dormant, ready to reinforce his strikes or his weapon when called. Observation Haki tickled at his senses, alerting him to every passerby, every subtle motion, even things too small for normal detection. Beneath it all, a faint Conqueror's Haki simmered—just enough to give off a quiet, commanding presence, though he hadn't needed to use it yet.
Arthur noticed nothing specific, but the weight in the air was undeniable. To anyone else, León was just a teenage boy walking through the rain. To León, the world was transparent—every motion, every breath, every heartbeat readable in the tiniest fraction.
"We're close," Arthur murmured, breaking the silence. "The intel says he's in this sector. His aura—strong, disciplined, but not reckless. Likely aware of his heritage, but untested beyond that."
León's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Then it'll be interesting." He kept his hands empty; Remolus Nemea's axe rested unseen in the void, summonable whenever he willed it. "Let's see if the boy can keep up."
By the time they reached a quieter street, the faint sound of training—a rhythmic clash of steel—drifted through an open courtyard. León slowed his steps, senses sharpening. Observation Haki tingled faintly; he could sense a presence strong enough to challenge him, disciplined, and proud.
"There," he whispered, gesturing toward a young man practicing with a spear. Tall, athletic, eyes sharp, his movements deliberate, controlled. A warrior in the making.
Arthur's gaze followed. "Theron Leonidas," he confirmed. "The blood of a king."
León's smirk widened. He remained calm, hands empty, but the faint aura of Haki hinted at what was hidden beneath. "Then it's time to meet him properly."
Every step now carried the weight of a mid-class devil, trained, proud, and dangerous, though to the world he appeared as a teenager. Remolus Nemea could appear in his hands at any moment, ready to strike—but for now, it stayed hidden, a secret edge waiting to be revealed.
And soon, Rome would feel the presence of León D. Nemea, and the first sparks of a legend would ignite.
León moved first, stepping forward as faint Haki coated his fists. Every muscle was tense, every sense alert. Observation Haki flickered through his mind, mapping the subtle movements of Theron's body—the tilt of his shoulders, the angle of his grip, the slightest weight shift.
Theron lunged, spear aimed at León's side, precise and disciplined. León pivoted on his heel, Armament Haki reinforcing his forearm, and the impact sent a shock through the air as steel met hardened aura. Sparks and a faint tremor marked the contact, but León barely flinched.
He retaliated with a swift jab, Observation predicting Theron's counter. The Spartan dodged smoothly, stepping to the side, then spun to strike again. León's smirk widened. The boy was good, fast, disciplined—but predictable if you knew how to read him.
A flick of his hand, and Remolus Nemea materialized in his grasp, the axe shimmering faintly with Armament Haki. He swung low, the edge slicing through the courtyard floor, splintering stone and wood alike. Theron blocked with the spear just in time, sparks erupting as metal clashed with aura-reinforced weapon.
León's movements became a blur. Armament Haki wrapped around every strike, Observation predicting each of Theron's defensive maneuvers. Conqueror's Haki pulsed subtly, enough to make the air feel heavier, pressing slightly against Theron's focus without fully overwhelming him.
Theron leapt back, rolling to dodge a spinning swing that could have crushed him. He recovered instantly, spear angled to intercept, but León was already shifting, feinting one attack and delivering another from a completely unexpected angle. The Spartan's eyes narrowed—this wasn't normal.
The courtyard shook as Remolus Nemea's axe bit into stone, the impact throwing up debris, dust, and the scent of scorched metal. León didn't pause. Every motion carried precision, power, and pride, the kind of calm arrogance that made his presence feel heavier than a mid-class devil should allow.
Theron adapted, each strike and block tighter, more disciplined. His lineage was evident in every movement—controlled, sharp, unyielding. But León's Haki, combined with the Sacred Gear, made him something different: unpredictable, overwhelming even without trying to kill.
León's smirk grew wider. His eyes glimmered faintly under the rain, observing, calculating. One more feint, one more calculated swing, and the boy would realize the difference between potential and absolute presence.
The clash continued, neither willing to give an inch. Sparks, shockwaves, and splintered stone marked every exchange, each strike a test of skill, endurance, and willpower. And all the while, León's presence—bold, proud, and dangerous—hung over the courtyard like a storm ready to break.
León's smirk widened as he gauged Theron's stamina. The Spartan's attacks were precise, disciplined, and strong—but predictable if you knew how to read him. He did.
Focusing inward, León allowed a faint surge of Conqueror's Haki to pulse outward. It wasn't enough to knock Theron down completely, but it pressed against the boy's mind, a silent warning, an invisible weight that made his heart beat faster and his movements tighten instinctively. Theron staggered slightly, forced to readjust, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his eyes.
León didn't relent. Arrogance dripped from every movement. He feinted a heavy overhead swing with Remolus Nemea, then pivoted smoothly, striking low to the side. Observation Haki guided the attack; every twitch, every shift in Theron's stance was already anticipated.
The Spartan blocked the swing with his spear, sparks erupting at the impact, but León was already moving again, fluid, confident, teasing him. Each attack carried a message: I am stronger. I am inevitable. You are here to prove your limits.
León's grin widened faintly as he toyed with the pace, accelerating, pausing, then striking from angles Theron hadn't expected. Every step, every swing, every Haki-infused punch or kick screamed pride. The aura of mid-class devil power radiated from him, a dangerous arrogance no one in this world had seen before.
Theron's breathing grew heavier, sweat mixing with the rain, but he didn't falter. He countered, blocked, and dodged, each motion precise, every strike a testament to the Spartan blood coursing through him. But León's subtle Conqueror's Haki nudged him past the edge of comfort, forcing him to fight harder, anticipate faster, and push beyond his limits.
León's axe shimmered faintly with Armament Haki, each strike leaving cracks in the courtyard stone. He didn't summon Remolus constantly—he waited for the perfect moment, letting his presence, his aura, and his calculated movements dominate the rhythm of the fight.
And through it all, his smirk never faded. Silent, proud, arrogant—and completely in control.
The clash of weapon and aura rang through the courtyard, rain mixing with debris, each strike a demonstration of raw skill, Haki, and calculated pride. Theron Leonides was strong—but León D. Nemea, mid-class devil, Haki user, and wielder of Remolus Nemea, was stronger, and he knew it.
León's smirk widened. He had been testing the boy, gauging his strength and precision. Now it was time to end it.
Observation Haki flared, mapping every micro-movement of Theron's stance. Armament Haki infused every fiber of Remolus Nemea, coating it in an invisible, unbreakable force. Conqueror's Haki pulsed through the weapon, fusing his will, pride, and presence into a single lethal strike.
León raised the axe high. The air itself seemed to tremble, rain scattering under the pressure.
Then, in a single, fluid motion, he swung.
Divine Departure.
The axe struck with overwhelming force. It didn't matter if Theron blocked. The combination of Armament and Conqueror Haki infused into the swing crushed everything in its path. Shockwaves erupted, the ground cracked, and debris flew as Theron's body slammed into the courtyard wall and was sent flying through the rain-soaked streets.
He landed hard on the stone, sliding to a stop, battered and bleeding. His spear clattered from his grasp. His chest heaved violently, limbs trembling, his vision fading.
León remained calm, axe lowered, aura simmering. He stepped closer, gaze cold but proud. "Remember this," he said quietly, voice steady, arrogance lacing every word. "This is the difference between you and me."
Theron's eyes fluttered, then slowly went dark.
León glanced over at Arthur. "Pick him up. Let's go to our camp."
Arthur moved swiftly, kneeling beside Theron and lifting him over his shoulder.
León's gaze shifted toward the forest edge. "Le Fay (13) will take care of him," he said.
Arthur nodded, carrying Theron as they moved toward the hidden camp, the rain washing over the aftermath of the battle.
León followed silently, pride radiating with each step. Theron would recover—and he would understand what it meant to
Theron's eyelids fluttered open. Pain radiated through his body, but the warmth of the campfire and the soft glow of Le Fay's magic made him realize he was alive.
Le Fay knelt beside him, hands glowing faintly as she channeled her healing magic. Her movements were precise and calm, each pulse knitting muscle and bone, closing wounds, and soothing his battered body.
Theron tried to push himself up, but León's calm, commanding presence stopped him. "Relax," León said, his voice carrying quiet authority. "You're safe. She's taking care of you."
León's smirk never left his face, pride radiating in every motion. "You fought well. But you're not ready to match me yet. Consider this… a lesson."
Theron's chest heaved as the pain faded, replaced by the steady warmth of Le Fay's magic. His eyes darted from León to Arthur, and finally to Le Fay, who gave him a small, reassuring nod.
León stepped back, arms crossed, watching. "You'll need to decide where you stand. Side with us, or walk away. But know this—if you stay, you'll be stronger than you ever imagined."
Theron swallowed, still catching his breath, feeling the weight of the words and the presence of this human who wielded a power beyond ordinary. Slowly, he nodded. He had seen the difference between himself and León. He had been humbled… but not broken.
León's smirk widened ever so slightly. "Good. Then you're coming with us. Arthur, help him up. We move out soon."
Arthur lent a hand, and Theron rose shakily to his feet. He glanced at Le Fay once more, gratitude in his eyes.
León stepped forward, axe resting calmly at his side, Haki pulsing faintly. "Remember this feeling," he said quietly. "The difference between you and me. Train hard, and one day… maybe you'll reach it."
Theron nodded again, determination slowly replacing the shock and pain. He had been beaten, yes—but he had also been shown a path. And now, he would follow it.