"So he finally showed himself... the first ti I’m seeing him," Nolan muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the hero as he stepped into the arena. The crowd’s roar swelled, a wave of excitent and reverence sweeping across the stands.
The hero raised his hand, waving to the people. Nolan tilted his head, skeptical. "Is it really a big deal?" he whispered. "Does the king really have to make an announcent just for him?"
"Yes," Linda replied softly, her gaze following the hero. "Having a hero matters. Even if he isn’t the strongest... the people don’t care about that. They need soone they believe can stand against the Demon Lord—soone who can fight if the darkness returns, like it did thirty years ago."
The hero’s cloak rippled as he moved, a symbol of authority and legend. Then, with a deliberate motion, he drew his holy sword, its polished steel gleaming in the sunlight. The crowd erupted even louder, a tidal wave of cheers and awe. Raising the sword high, he let the applause wash over him before bowing his head respectfully toward the two kings seated nearby.
Finally, he settled into the throne beside Prince Salaric, the weight of his presence still commanding attention.
The Emissary, now holding the wind-amplifying device, stepped forward. He raised it to his mouth, voice booming like thunder across the arena:
"Now... let the match begin!"
The sound of hundreds of voices rose as one, the cheer shaking the very foundations of the coliseum. Nolan’s eyes narrowed, a mixture of excitent and calculation forming in his mind. The tournant had officially begun.
Veltra and Asta stepped back, circling each other like predators assessing the hunt. Asta raised both fists, his body coiled, ready to strike. Veltra, in turn, drew his sword, resting it lightly on his arm, eyes locked on his opponent.
The crowd fell completely silent, holding their collective breath. Every spectator waited, wondering who would make the first move.
Then, in a sudden burst of speed, Veltra lunged forward, sword aid directly at Asta. In an instant, ice erupted from the ground, forming a jagged shield that split and shattered under the force. Veltra leapt back just in ti, narrowly avoiding a frozen trap.
Asta raised his hands high, sending shards of fire and ice flying toward Veltra. The flas hissed and the ice whistled through the air, each projectile precise and deadly. Veltra dodged with remarkable agility, weaving and sprinting to evade the barrage.
Seeing no escape, Asta slamd his fists into the ground. The impact caused the ice to rise violently, lifting him high into the air. The crowd erupted in cheers, awe-struck at the spectacle. Even Nolan and Linda clapped enthusiastically, impressed by the display of raw power.
From his elevated position, Asta extended his hands toward Veltra, launching razor-sharp ice shards that could pierce through armor if they struck. Veltra twisted and sprinted, narrowly avoiding each deadly projectile. Fire erupted from his sword in retaliation, lting ice midair and lighting up the arena with sparks and steam.
Realizing his usual evasive maneuvers weren’t enough, Veltra made a daring choice—he charged straight toward the jagged ice, climbing upward. But Asta anticipated him. With a swift motion, he transford the ice into hundreds of needle-like spikes, piercing through the path Veltra intended to use.
Veltra skidded back, landing on solid ground, the spikes narrowly missing him. Both combatants paused for a heartbeat, sizing each other up, the arena buzzing with tension. The clash had only just begun, and it was already clear—their fight would be a breathtaking storm of ice, fire, and steel.
Asta leapt down from the light ice platform he had created, sprinting toward Veltra with lethal speed. Veltra t him head-on, running forward with equal determination. Veltra raised his sword high, preparing to slash, while Asta ford a razor-sharp ice sword in his hand, its edges gleaming with cold intensity.
The two weapons collided with a deafening clang. Sparks flew, ice shards skittered across the arena, and the force reverberated through the crowd. Everyone gasped at the sheer power and speed, their eyes glued to the duel. The swords clashed again and again, faster and faster, a blur of steel and ice dancing through the air.
Finally, they both leapt back, montarily separating. Asta hurled his ice sword aside, raising both hands in a defensive and offensive stance. Veltra, sliding his sword back into its sheath, mirrored the gesture, his hands glowing as flas burst forth. Fire and ice surged toward each other, colliding midair in an explosion of steam and light.
The crowd erupted in awe. Each burst of magic t its counterpart perfectly, as if the two elents were evenly matched, neither gaining the upper hand. The arena was filled with the hiss of lting ice and the roar of consuming fire.
Both fighters jumped back once more. Veltra drew his sword again, ready for the next strike, while Asta conjured a new ice sword in his hand, its blade sharp and deadly. The tension between them was palpable, every movent precise, every attack calculated. The battle was far from over, and it was already clear that this clash would be rembered as one of the greatest displays of skill and power the arena had ever seen.
They continued, slashing at each other with relentless speed. Asta’s ice sword and Veltra’s steel blade clashed again and again, sparks flying, the sound echoing through the arena. The crowd was on edge, unable to look away from the display of skill and power.
Then Veltra decided to unleash a powerful attack. As he swung his sword, flas erupted from his back, forming the shape of a roaring lion. With his other hand, he pushed the fire forward toward Asta. The fire was enormous, larger than a human, and its heat distorted the air around it.
Asta’s eyes widened. He leapt back just in ti, narrowly avoiding the inferno. Then, deciding it was the mont to unleash his hidden strength, he focused all his power. Ice ford in the shape of a slender, serpentine dragon. He thrust his hands forward, sending it racing toward Veltra.
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