"Ladies and gentlemen! Today's match is going to rewrite history once again!"
The anchor's voice erupted across the arena, booming through the vast coliseum as he delivered his commentary. His words rolled over the roaring crowd, echoing from stone walls and high arches. For a heartbeat, the audience filled the pause he left behind.
"DARK PRINCE! DARK PRINCE!"
"DRACO! DRACO!"
The cheers thundered through the stadium, the fighter's name already shaking the arena even though he had not yet appeared. The air vibrated with anticipation.
The anchor continued, his voice rising above the noise.
"Ladies and gentlemen, today's fight is between your favorite—the Brute, Draco—who crushes his opponents between his palms like he's breaking watermelons. Please welcome… Draco!"
The crowd exploded.
At one side of the coliseum, a heavy gate groaned open. Dust burst upward the moment it moved, rising in a thick cloud that swallowed the figure emerging from within.
For a moment, the audience could see nothing.
Then a step landed.
The ground seemed to thrum beneath it.
Whatever was coming out was anything but ordinary.
The crowd held its breath as a massive silhouette began to take shape through the drifting dust. Slowly, the towering form stepped forward into the light.
Draco.
He was enormous—easily eight feet tall—but his height was not the most terrifying thing about him. His body was built like something monstrous, muscles swelling across him in thick, brutal layers. He looked less like a man and more like an ogre forced into human shape.
A savage pair of shorts hung from his waist, making him appear even more primitive and wild. His hair was braided tightly, and tattoos crawled across his body—especially across his face—dark patterns that only made his presence more intimidating.
He looked anything but normal.
As he stepped fully into the arena, Draco lifted his gaze toward the audience, his face splitting into a wide, thirsty smile—like a beast that had finally been let loose.
Then he raised both arms and released a deafening shout.
"AAAAAAHHHH!"
The crowd answered him instantly, their voices surging together into a colossal roar that rolled through the entire stadium.
"DRAAAAAACCCCCOOOOOOO!!!!"
Delighted, Draco slammed his hands against his chest like a gorilla, the heavy thuds echoing through the arena. Then he lifted his arms again, basking in the thunderous cheers of his fans.
The anchor continued, his voice rolling across the roaring arena.
"And that's Draco for you—the Brute. And today will be a match that decides his fate. A fate of freedom. A fate of wealth. Because today he will fight the match that will determine whether he can win his twentieth consecutive victory. He has already failed at three streaks, and this one will be his fourth attempt."
The crowd murmured with excitement, the tension in the arena tightening.
"But this match will not be easy," the anchor went on. "Because his opponent is none other than—the Dark Prince… the ladies' man!"
At the opposite side of the coliseum, another gate slowly opened.
Unlike Draco's entrance, no cloud of sand burst upward. No heavy tremor followed. There was simply… nothing.
Then Kael stepped out.
He walked calmly into the arena, wearing gold-rimmed trousers and a sleeveless tunic that only seemed to enhance his already striking appearance. The fabric clung lightly to his frame, making him look even more handsome beneath the bright arena light.
As he emerged, he lifted one hand and waved toward the crowd.
The shouting returned instantly.
But this time, the voices of women rang louder than the rest.
"KYAAAA! DARK PRINCE, LOOK AT ME!"
"NO, NO—LOOK AT ME, MY PRINCE!"
"GIVE ME A CHILD, MY PRINCE!"
Many of the men in the stadium glared at Kael with open fury, their expressions dark as though he had stolen their wives—something that, for some of them, was not entirely untrue.
But Kael paid little attention to it.
He was already in his acting mode.
By now, he had a rough understanding of what kind of arena this was. In many ways it felt similar to wrestling or other competitive spectacles from his past life.
Except here, it was far more brutal.
And the contenders were far more powerful.
Both him… and the man standing before him.
Seventy-Six.
The anchor continued, clearly enjoying the crowd's frenzy.
"And that's the Dark Prince for you—a true ladies' man! Today's match will also be his attempt at a twentieth consecutive victory, with his fate hanging on the line as well. So today's fight will be anything but gentle!"
The crowd roared again.
"On one side, we have the skillful Dark Prince! And on the other, the master-smashing brute—Draco!"
The anchor's voice rose to a dramatic crescendo.
"Let's see who wins and who loses! The match begins now! The timer has started! Finish the match within thirty minutes… or both sides lose!"
A deep metallic clang rang out as the invisible clock began its merciless count. Sand shifted beneath two very different silhouettes. The arena held its breath.
Draco looked at Kael with a crazed expression, his eyes burning as he spoke, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.
"Looks like the women like that handsome face of yours. Don't worry. After today's fight, there won't be any prince left on you."
Kael met his gaze and answered with an easy smile.
"Don't worry. Nothing will happen to this handsomeness of mine. Though I will say, they were really right—you look like a pig-faced orc."
He let out a small chuckle as he said it.
The women in the crowd immediately erupted into another wave of cheers at the sight of him laughing.
Draco, however, looked anything but pleased.
His face twisted with rage as he roared back.
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING AN ORC?! It's OGRE! OGRE!"
Kael only smiled wider.
"Yeah, orc. I know."
For a moment Draco stood frozen, trembling with fury. Then whatever restraint he had left snapped.
"AAAHH! I WILL KILL YOU!!"
With that roar, the match truly began.
Draco lunged forward in a frenzy.
Yet despite the relaxed smile still resting on Kael's face, he was anything but happy inside. What he saw rushing toward him looked less like a man and more like a living bulldozer charging straight at him—like a freight train bearing down without slowing.
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