At this mont, Alten took a step forward.
'I have to stop him. For his own good.'
He fird that in his mind as he clenched his teeth.
However, he was suddenly stopped.
He felt a hand tug on his shoulder.
Upon looking back, he saw that it was Leon.
"What are you doing? I must stop him from doing that. Do you know how many people he will offend?"
Alten tried to reason with Leon in a whisper, "I know that you hate nobles as well, but this is taking it too far."
Leon replied instantly, "This isn't about . I think... this is what Lyrian wants to do." He whispered.
"Well of course it's what he wants to do! He's doing it right now!"
"No... what I an is, I think he already thought of the downsides to this if he were to say it. It is best to trust his judgnt."
Alten hadn't thought of it that way yet.
He took a step back, both physically but also ntally.
"I guess... you're right."
Although hesitant, he decided to not do anything.
Just then, Lyrian said his final words in his statent, which everyone seed to be waiting for.
"If strength is what makes one greater than the other... then that ans that the beggar that you used in your example, is far greater than the lord."
"What?"
Masvidal squinted his eyes, and slightly tilted his head, as he walked closer.
"You said it yourself. Strength is what makes one greater than the other, what makes one a noble. Therefore, the beggar who defeats the lord is superior to the lord, and therefore, I, am superior to you."
Lyrian stared at Jalern as he said this with confident eyes.
As soon as he said this, a hush instantly fell over the crowd.
It was almost as though they needed ti to process what he just said.
Not many non-noble, normal citizens would call out nobles and fight back against the hierarchy.
Those who did were normally failures in life, who didn't have anything to lose anymore.
But here, Lyrian spoke with such conviction, reasoning, and confidence, that his words were almost believable for so reason.
Most tis, the students in this room were accustod to laughing such words off, but on such a stage, his words didn't feel like jokes to be laughed at.
His words actually held rit, as he was an MVP.
The entire audience, watching from the comfort of their hos, felt the sa disbelief.
"That kid... what is he saying so suddenly?"
"It's as if he's practically trying to piss off every power in the three kingdoms."
"Does he want to be on a hit list?"
People began to question from across the kingdoms.
"The hierarchy... he's publically shaming the system that the three kingdoms and even more are run on."
"Hahaha! I can't tell if he's retarded, or just really cool!"
At that mont, Lyrian mused to himself, 'Huh... now that I've said that, I'll have to look out for myself so more. I'll be out in the real world soon too, but... that will make my journey more fun.'
He smirked, "That's right! I, a peasant, am superior to you, and every other noble that I can crush under my foot in combat! Why? Because being a noble ans jack shit!"
As soon as he said this, the crowd gasped in astonishnt.
Drake chuckled under his breath as he nodded his dead left to right, 'He's just having fun with it now it seems...'
"You've gone too far! Peasant! I won't have you disgrace the system that has brought you up and that has run the entire three kingdoms!"
Jalern suddenly jumped onto the stage.
His expression was enraged. He imdiately unsheathed the spear on his back and slamd it into the floor next to him.
The spear was tall, with a black body and a silver-colored head.
Rotating across it was a red dragon shape, similarly colored with his own clothes.
The clash erupted with the sharp ring of unsheathed steel as Jalern Masvidal lunged at Lyrian Theageld, spear slicing through the air with lethal precision.
Lyrian, however, moved with the fluid grace of a shadow, effortlessly sidestepping every strike as if he could predict Jalern's every move.
Jalern, frustration etched across his face, increased the intensity of his assault, but Lyrian continued to dance around the attacks.
The audience, caught in the cadence of the battle, watched in awe as the peasant outmaneuvered the noble with an uncanny ease.
As Jalern's spear found only air, doubt began to creep into his eyes. "How... how are you dodging every move?" he grunted between thrusts.
Lyrian, his movents a blur, replied with a smirk, "When you're as slow as you, it's easy."
The air in the arena shifted, a subtle energy emanating from Lyrian.
His spiritual aura enveloped him, an unseen force that sent shivers down Jalern's spine.
A flicker of fear crossed Jalern's face, but he dismissed it, pressing on with renewed determination.
Lyrian seized the mont.
With a lightning-quick kick, he swept Jalern's legs out from under him.
The noble crashed to the ground, the impact resonating through the arena.
Lyrian wasted no ti, his foot pressing down on Jalern's chest, pinning him to the cold stage floor.
Jalern, gasping for breath, struggled beneath Lyrian's weight. "You think this makes you superior?" he spat, a defiant glint in his eyes.
Lyrian leaned in, his voice low and nacing. "It's not just about strength. It's about knowing when to yield." He shifted his weight, pressing harder on Jalern's chest.
Jalern winced, the pain evident on his face. "You-- you think this is enough to make give up!?" he grumbled through gritted teeth.
Lyrian smiled, unleashing his spiritual aura only toward Masvidal.
This aura was thick, and full of bloodlust.
Jalern's mind was overwheld at once, and his head felt like he was going to explode from taking it all in from such a short distance.
"W-wait!" He scread, but Lyrian didn't let up.
At that mont, Jalern felt his entire body begin to crumble. As if his bones were breaking from the inside, and his skin was being boiled in magma.
The pain was so abrupt that he couldn't hold it in any longer,
"ARRGH!" He scread in excruciating pain.
"STOP! I GIVE UP! I GIVE UP!" His voice broke and cracked as he begged for rcy.
Yet... Lyrian didn't stop.
That was when Jalern caught a glimpse of Lyrian's devilish eyes once more.
'Superior...' Jalern was barely able to muse.
"YOU ARE SUPERIOR! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP!"
The crowd, silent witnesses to the spectacle, erupted into a mix of gasps and murmurs.
Lyrian, victorious, stepped back, releasing Jalern from his grip.
The noble, with his entire body released from a hellish pain, lay there almost motionless.
Only his chest heaved up and down, panting with shock and trauma.
Lyrian, undeterred, addressed the crowd. "Strength is not bound by titles or bloodlines. It's forged in the crucible of battle. Rember that."
With those words echoing in the arena, Lyrian left Jalern, the defeated noble, amidst the resounding cheers and whispers of a revolution sparked by words and actions.
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