Martis’ chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, his muscles already straining. Edwin, by contrast, stood with his sword casually at his side, his golden hair unruffled, his breathing even.
Martis grit his teeth. He’s toying with .
With a roar, he lunged again, swinging in a flurry that blurred his blade into streaks of silver.
Edwin countered each one, sparks flying in rapid succession, their clash producing a sound like rolling thunder.
And then—Edwin moved.
In a flash, his sword slipped past Martis’ guard, the tip grazing his opponent’s cheek. A thin line of blood blossod.
The crowd gasped as Martis staggered back, his hand instinctively brushing his face. His eyes widened. That strike had been so fast, he hadn’t even seen it coming.
Edwin smirked faintly, his tone calm and confident. "You’re strong, Martis. But strength alone isn’t enough."
The words stung like salt in an open wound. Martis growled, his pride refusing to let him bow.
He surged forward once more, pushing his body to its limits. His sword ca down in an arc filled with raw determination.
And then—
Edwin’s aura shifted.
A low hum vibrated through the air, the faint glow of sothing unnatural beginning to flicker across his skin.
For a mont, the entire arena seed to shudder. And then, with a sharp whisper of steel, Edwin activated it.
The runes.
Symbols of ancient power lit up across his body in streaks of faint gold, pulsing with energy. His speed exploded—his movents so fast that the crowd could no longer follow them.
To the spectators, it was as though Edwin had vanished into thin air, only for Martis to suddenly stagger back, sparks exploding around him as his blade was struck from impossible angles.
The noise in the arena turned into chaos.
"What is this speed?!"
"Is he even human?!"
"I can’t see his sword!"
Martis’ eyes widened in shock as Edwin appeared and disappeared before him, the afterimages of his blade striking faster than thought itself.
His body scread under the assault as he desperately raised his sword to block—but each ti, he was too slow.
A cut opened across his arm. Another across his leg. Blood splattered onto the arena floor.
And Edwin? His expression was rciless.
There was no hesitation in his strikes, no room for restraint. His blade was a storm of precision, driving Martis into the ground inch by inch.
Finally, with a single flash, Edwin’s sword tore through Martis’ defenses, sending his blade flying from his hands. Martis collapsed to one knee, blood dripping from his wounds, his sword clattering across the floor.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Edwin stood above him, his runes still glowing faintly across his skin, his sword held calmly in victory.
His chest rose and fell only slightly, as though the battle had been nothing more than an exercise.
The announcer’s voice finally broke the silence.
"The victory—Edwin!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, so in awe, so in fear.
But not everyone was celebrating.
From the main stands, the subordinates of the Celestial Royal had leaned forward, their eyes narrowing.
They had felt it—that strange aura that flickered from Edwin’s body when he activated the runes.
It wasn’t just power. It was familiar. Too familiar.
The lead subordinate, a man with sharp eyes and silver hair, whispered to the others. "Did you see that? Those runes... the aura that flickered..."
Another nodded, his face dark. "Yes. It’s the sa as what we lost. The missing runes from the vault... I could feel their resonance."
The silver-haired man’s gaze stayed locked on Edwin, his suspicion growing with every second.
"Impossible. Those runes vanished several months ago. No trace. No thief. And yet..." He clenched his fist. "The way his aura pulsed—it matches. I’d stake my life on it."
As Edwin lowered his blade, basking in the crowd’s praise, he did not notice the eyes now trained on him with growing doubt.
The Celestial Royal’s n began to whisper, their suspicion turning into a quiet storm.
"Could he be the one?"
"No... but it’s too similar. We need to check on him."
"If he holds the runes, then..."
The silver-haired subordinate’s eyes hardened. He leaned closer to his companion and spoke in a voice that carried both weight and nace.
"We must report this. Imdiately. And until we know the truth..." His eyes narrowed, watching Edwin bask in the cheers. "...we cannot trust him."
The celebration of victory was already turning into the shadow of suspicion.
And Edwin, unaware, stood tall, his runes fading from sight. But the whispers had already begun.
As the crowd erupted in cheers for Elysia and Edwin’s victory, a sharp voice cut through the noise. One of the Celestial Royal’s subordinates stood, his expression stern.
"Silence!" he commanded, his voice booming across the arena. The cheers faltered, confusion spreading among the audience.
He pointed at Edwin, whose runes were still faintly flickering across his body.
"This is no true victory. The aura he released... it is not his own. It bears the mark of the Celestial Royal’s missing runes!"
A murmur of shock rippled through the stands. The celebration quickly soured into unease, whispers rising like a tide.
The subordinate’s words echoed heavily.
Edwin tilted his head just slightly, as though amused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Even with all eyes on him and the weight of accusation pressing down, he didn’t flinch.
"Are you accusing ... because I won?"
The words struck like a blade thrown across the silence.
The audience stirred, a ripple of whispers spreading through the stands like wind rushing through dry leaves.
So leaned forward in curiosity, others glanced nervously at the Celestial Royal’s subordinates. A few even dared to murmur, "Does victory itself invite suspicion now?"
Calvane, the silver-haired subordinate, narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in visible displeasure. His voice ca firm and sharp, laced with authority.
"Do not twist my words, Edwin. Your victory is not being denied. But the ans you used to achieve it—the flicker of aura that should not exist in your possession—that is what raises questions."
Edwin did not flinch, nor did his calm mask crack. He took a step forward, his shadow stretching across the arena floor, his tone still composed but sharpened, honed like a blade ant to cut through doubt.
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