What? Linda’s eyes widened. Everything’s slowed... so how is he faster than that?
In the next instant, he was behind her.
She barely turned before his elbow slamd into her back, sending her stumbling forward. She coughed blood, the pain searing through her ribs. Before she could recover, Asta stepped in close and struck her jaw with a controlled blow, forcing her head to snap back.
"I know what it ans to lose," Asta said softly, almost regretfully. "You shouldn’t have chosen this path. You’re an elf—one of the most beautiful and graceful beings in the world. To see that beauty covered in blood... it’s sad."
He sighed, lowering his sword slightly. "You were strong, Linda. But I was stronger."
Then, with a swift motion, he brought the hilt of his blade down on the back of her neck. Linda’s body went limp, her vision fading as darkness swallowed her. She fell silently to the arena floor.
"The winner is Asta!" the emissary declared.
The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices echoing through the vast arena. As the sound of applause filled the air, Linda slowly regained consciousness. Her body ached all over, but she forced herself to sit up, then to stand.
Asta turned to her with a faint smile. "Wow. You fell unconscious and still forced yourself to get back up. That was outstanding," he said. "But the match is over. The winner’s already been declared."
Linda managed a weak nod, her breath still unsteady. The crowd continued clapping and shouting her na as both fighters turned and walked toward the tunnel at the back of the arena.
When they reached the resting area, Linda walked slowly toward Nolan. Her head was lowered.
"Master," she said quietly as she sat beside him, "I’m... really ashad. Please forgive . I’ve let you down. Everyone knows I’m your disciple, and now—" her voice wavered, "—I might not even be able to live up to your image."
Nolan smiled gently and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"No, Linda. There’s no need to be ashad. You actually did really well," he said. "I told you before—Asta is strong. Really strong."
Linda looked up, her expression troubled. "Master... do you think I’ll ever reach his level? He was holding back, wasn’t he? I could feel it."
Nolan nodded slowly. "Yes, he was. But don’t let that discourage you. If you train seriously—seven or eight months of consistent effort—you’ll surpass him. When that ti cos, you’ll win."
Linda’s eyes brightened a little. "Okay, Master. I’ll do it. I’ll get stronger."
Celia leaned forward with a grin. "Well, I’m not going to lose like she did. I’ll make sure I win my match."
Nolan chuckled. "Losing isn’t bad, Celia. It helps you understand your weaknesses. That’s how you grow stronger."
"Yes, Master," Celia said, though her smile was full of determination. "But I’m still going to win."
They all turned their attention back to the arena as the emissary’s voice bood again.
"Wow, that was an outstanding match, everyone!" he announced. "Linda perford excellently, but Asta ca out on top! The outco wasn’t what we expected, but both gave us a fight to rember!"
The crowd cheered louder, clapping and shouting both fighters’ nas.
"Now," the emissary continued, raising his hand dramatically, "for our next match—Zevric versus Fenva!"
The audience roared in excitent once again.
"Wow," Celia said, leaning forward in excitent. "I wonder how this match is going to play out. Both of them are Tharion’s friends—and both are insanely strong."
"Yeah," Linda added. "We’ve only seen Fenva fight once, but his strength was incredible. He’s so huge and muscular. And the way he fights—it’s like watching a monk in battle."
Celia nodded eagerly. "The last ti he punched the ground, every stone in the arena scattered! The ground actually lifted up!"
Linda smiled nervously. "Yeah... and he mostly keeps his eyes closed, but sohow, it’s like he can still see everything. And he never talks. It’s creepy—but kind of cool."
Nolan listened quietly, his eyes fixed on the arena below.
Then the crowd began to roar again as Fenva stood up. His enormous fra blocked part of the light as he rose to his full height. Calmly, he turned and started walking toward the tunnel at the back of the arena.
The audience fell into a hush as his footsteps echoed—thud... thud... thud.
At the tunnel’s entrance, Fenva t Zevric. The two stopped, facing each other for a brief mont. There was no greeting—only a silent acknowledgnt between warriors who knew each other well.
Zevric smirked faintly. "So, it’s really you, friend?
Fenva didn’t say anything. His eyes remained closed. He stood tall, placing his palm flat against his chest as he took a deep breath, steady and calm.
"Now, for what you’ve all been waiting for—Zevric!" the emissary announced.
Zevric stepped into the arena with an air of confidence, the gate sliding open as the crowd erupted into cheers. He looked around, acknowledging the audience that chanted his na with excitent.
"And his opponent, Fenva!" the emissary continued.
Another gate slid open. Fenva walked out slowly, composed, his presence alone drawing silence before the crowd roared again. The two locked eyes at the center of the arena, waiting for the emissary’s signal.
anwhile, Nolan was distracted—soone was walking toward the seats near him. The figure was bandaged from head to toe, moving with the aid of a walking stick.
"Hey, Tharion, what are you doing here?" Nolan asked, recognizing him imdiately.
"Well, both of my friends are about to fight. There’s no way I’d miss this," Tharion said with a weak smile.
"Wow, you look miserable. Didn’t they heal you? The healers took care of you, right?" Nolan asked.
"They did," Tharion replied, chuckling softly. "But kyrion really did a number on . He destroyed several of my organs—my leg was cut off, and even my arm. It was... actually a crazy and fun experience."
"You’re insane," Nolan said with a sigh, then lifted his hand. A green light enveloped Tharion as Nolan cast a healing spell.
Tharion blinked, then looked down at his hands. "Wait... the pain’s gone. What did you just do?"
Nolan smiled. "I healed you completely."
Tharion tossed the walking stick aside, stretching his arms. "I can walk now. It’s like my body’s as good as new!"
"So, how was it, facing Kyrion?" Nolan asked. "It’s not like you—you’re not the kind of person to risk your life in a battle like that. I’m sure you could’ve died in that match."
Tharion nodded. "Yeah, you’re right. Normally, I’m not that type. But for so reason... even though I knew I couldn’t win, I just couldn’t stop. I wanted to keep going, to test my limits. Even though he overpowered , I wanted to see how far I could push myself."
He paused, his tone growing more serious. "But there’s sothing off about Kyrion. The spell he used—it wasn’t normal. I cut off his hand, and then it just... reattached. Instantly. That kind of magic shouldn’t exist."
Nolan frowned. "How do you know that for sure?"
Tharion leaned back slightly. "Because I graduated from the Adventurers Academy. I studied every officially docunted spell, every kind of magic known today. And what Kyrion used—nothing like that exists. Even more suspicious, his partner seems to have the sa kind of power. For a swordsman to possess magic like that... it’s unnatural."
Nolan smirked faintly. "Looks like you’re sharp enough to notice the odd ones." He turned his gaze toward the arena. "But for now, let’s just watch. I want to see how this match between Zevric and Fenva plays out."
The entire arena fell silent.
"Let the match begin!" the emissary declared.
Zevric drew his sword, his eyes sharp as he sprinted toward Fenva. But Fenva didn’t move. His eyes remained closed, his body calm and still, like a statue unmoved by the roar of the crowd.
As Zevric swung his blade toward him, Fenva shifted slightly to the side, dodging with effortless precision. The mont he avoided the strike, his massive fist shot forward. Zevric reacted quickly, bending his short sword to block it.
The impact was enormous. The raw force behind Fenva’s punch clashed against the blade with a thunderous crack. The shockwave pushed Zevric off his feet, flinging him across the arena until he crashed against the wall.
He groaned, standing back up and twisting his neck. "I knew you had inhuman strength," Zevric said, gripping his sword tighter. "But I didn’t expect that much." He smiled faintly. "Let’s do this again."
Once more, he charged forward.
Fenva swung another punch. Zevric dodged it by a hair’s breadth, countering with a slash that barely missed. Fenva weaved away again, calm and composed. Then, in a swift motion, Zevric twisted his body, raised his leg, and aid a powerful kick at Fenva’s head—
—but Fenva didn’t budge. His head didn’t even move.
Before Zevric could retreat, Fenva grabbed his leg with one massive hand, spun his body with frightening ease, and slamd him into the arena wall again.
The crowd gasped. The arena shook.
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