Waton was afraid. He bit his lip, staring at Amon in front of him and in that instant, he understood what it felt like to face death.

In his heart, he felt all the ways he could die. In his mind, he saw every possible way it would happen.

Waton was a prince of Valtheron. Among all the emperor's children, he was the only one who shared the same attribute as his father, the Time Attribute.

He had time… yet it was never enough. Waton was a slow learner. His other siblings were brilliant, eloquent, and filled with talent.

Waton was the one exception. What his siblings could grasp in minutes, Waton would take days to understand.

He tried gods, he tried staying up longer, working harder. But he was always the laggard, the one who was too slow.

He could still remember the disappointment in his father's eyes, the whispers in the palace. No one respected him.

'You will never accomplish anything of worth.'

And as time passed, his siblings earned accolades, fought battles, grew stronger while no matter how hard he ran, Waton could never catch up.

That was why he wished for time to stop.

"Stop time…" he muttered.

It was a bad habit of his. Every time he felt afraid or inadequate, he'd whisper those words, a prayer that time would halt. But even with the Time Attribute, time never listened.

The hourglass was beyond his control.

And when it finally stopped, that would mean his own time had ended, for time was all he had. Time to study when no one was watching. Time to try harder and still be called incompetent.

Amon's faceless form turned from Damon, walking toward Waton. A terrible killing intent washed over him.

His knees trembled.

Life truly was flashing before his eyes as tears streamed down his face.

His father had told him not to come to the war games. Said he wasn't a fighter. That he should leave the real battles to warriors.

Waton's heart pounded painfully in his chest.

"I'm… too dull to be a scholar… yet too weak and cowardly to be a warrior…" he whispered, his lungs filling with the metallic scent of blood, every word soaked with years of buried grief.

"I always try my best… I always give my all… but I'm never enough. I'm used to losing. I'm the oddball who never fits in. I have no one who genuinely sees value in my life… I can never accomplish anything."

He wanted to move, to scream, to run and hide but his body refused to listen. His legs felt frozen to the ground, heavy as lead.

A cold sensation crawled through his veins, as if his limbs no longer belonged to him.

Bitter tears spilled down his cheeks. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live but he was sick and tired of living as if he were already dead.

Maybe that was why he'd come to like Damon. It wasn't just because Damon had flattered him or played nice.

It was because Damon simply did whatever he wanted. He was fearless, reckless, someone who laughed in the face of reason and followed his own ideals.

Waton had never been like that. Damon was more than brave, he was defiant. Someone who refused to bend or conform to the world.

There was madness in it, yes… but seeing it had awakened something inside Waton.

Amon raised his sword of ice. Of everything that had happened in this battle, this was the one thing that confused him most, so he asked.

"Why?"

Waton sniffed, his hand trembling, his face pale. He had only survived this long thanks to Matia and Wendy protecting him.

"He said… we were friends…"

His voice cracked. "I've never had a friend... What greater accomplishment could be nobler than giving my life for a friend?"

No one had ever called him that before.

Amon froze. And Damon, lying on the ground covered in burns and blood, felt his eyes widen.

A memory flickered in his mind, a certain girl he had once been exploiting, who had shed tears for him… and called him her friend.

Leona.

She had been the first genuine thing he'd ever had in this world, the storm that brought rain to the desert of his heart.

Hearing Waton, someone he had merely intended to use stand up for him, something stirred in Damon's chest.

"Hah… ahahahaha…" Damon chuckled softly, forcing his battered body to rise.

"Right… we're friends."

When Damon stood, Waton was no longer afraid. He believed no, he knew his friend would save him.

The audience erupted in cheers when Damon got back on his feet. Renata, still locked in battle with a demon kin beside the priestess, couldn't intervene for this part of the plan.

Damon raised his hand, launching a magic missile that seared through the air toward Amon.

Amon slashed it apart with his sword, but the explosion sent shockwaves all around him.

Damon took a step forward, grabbing Waton and moving him out of harm's way.

"Are… y-you okay?" Waton asked weakly.

Damon sneered. "Do I look okay? I'm in pain, dammit. But way better than you looks like you almost pissed yourself. Show-off."

He glanced at Waton. " You'll die someday, but today isn't that day, that I promise you.

This was the promise Damon made to the foolish prince who had become his friend.

Damon was smiling. Really smiling. It wasn't his usual manipulative grin, this one was real.

"Can… you beat him?" Waton asked, more out of worry for Damon than fear of the outcome.

'Ahh… this guy. He really grew on me. Well, I don't mind keeping him alive.'

Waton didn't know what Damon was thinking.

"Do I look like someone who loses?" Damon replied with a smirk.

"You were losing though," Waton muttered, raising a hand, only for Damon to smack it down.

"I was setting a trap, idiot! One you just ruined. Just step back, I'll end this now."

Amon shook off the blast and charged toward Damon.

"Time to end this," Damon said, pressing his palms together.

Balls of mana began to appear all around him, the energy colliding and folding into itself as the air distorted under the pressure. The spheres turned into glowing runes, and the runes spelled a single word: sword.

Hundreds of black, shadowy blades made of pure mana materialized in the air.

Damon raised his hand.

[Magical Arsenal]

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