The announcer's voice boomed across the arena, full of energy and showmanship. The crowd's excitement built up again as the participants finally took their seats.

Ahrie clenched his fist, grinning faintly—he could already feel the tension in the air.

Min, on the other hand, sat awkwardly, one leg up, fidgeting nonstop. His eyes darted between the massive arena and the roaring audience, clearly nervous but trying hard to look composed.

"And with that…" the announcer raised his voice, "Let's start the first match!"

The entire coliseum erupted in cheers. Horns blared, banners waved, and the vibration from the noise alone could be felt through the floor.

"For our first match," the announcer continued, "introducing a young man who strives for greatness! With his mighty battle axe—every enemy before him will be shattered in half!"

The crowd's excitement grew louder.

"Originating from the southern outskirts of Embergarde—introducing… Felix! A level 2 warrior!"

Felix stood up slowly, brushing the dust off his armor. The arena lights reflected off the edge of his axe, making it gleam under the moonlit glow… ike it was thirsting for blood. He rested it casually on his shoulder, smirking as if he already knew the outcome of this match.

the weapon clanging lightly against his armor. When he reached the center, he spun the axe once, burying its blade into the ground with a dull thud.

"Let's make this quick," he muttered under his breath—just loud enough for the front row to hear.

And his opponent… the announcer raised his voice, dragging the moment out just enough to stir the crowd's anticipation.

"A young lord from the prestigious House Darkinn! Originated from the lands of Glimmerfen… the heir himself—young master Jufus Darkinn!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and whispers. A noble, joining a level-2-and-below bracket? That alone turned heads.

Jufus emerged from the opposite tunnel, his cloak fluttering lightly in the night breeze. His black uniform shimmered faintly under the arena lights, the crest of Darkinn stitched proudly across his chest. In his hand, he held a slender, curved sword—its dark silver edge almost blending with the shadows.

The announcer's voice carried again, "Wielding the Darkinn swordsmanship passed down through generations—will this young lord prove his name worthy? Or will he crumble under the strength of the mighty Felix?"

Felix cracked his neck, laughing. "What's a pampered boy doing in a man's league?" His voice echoed through the coliseum, dripping with mockery.

Jufus's expression didn't flinch. He calmly unsheathed his sword, the sound slicing through the noise like silk tearing. "Shut the fuck up, barbarian-looking shit," he replied, his tone cold but sharp enough to make a few spectators gasp.

The air between them tightened.

Felix grinned wider, pointing his axe toward Jufus. "Ohh, I'm gonna enjoy breaking that noble jaw."

Jufus twirled his sword once, taking a stance. "Try it, commoner."

The crowd roared. The referee raised his hand.

The energy in the coliseum swelled.

A loud gong echoed throughout the coliseum heavy enough to silence the roaring crowd for a heartbeat.

The match had begun.

Jufus wasted no time. He dashed forward, the tip of his sword cutting through the air with a faint hiss. Felix met his charge head-on, planting his feet and gripping his massive axe like it weighed nothing.

Jufus came down first—an overhead slash aimed straight at Felix's shoulder.

Felix read it. With a grunt, he dropped his axe low, twisting his torso before swinging upward in a brutal counter.

The sound of steel clashing against steel rang through the arena. Sparks scattered in all directions. Jufus gritted his teeth as the impact sent tremors up his arm. He quickly twisted his wrist, adjusting the angle of his sword mid-swing to soften the force—but the sheer power behind Felix's strike still overpowered him.

His blade was forced upward, his stance broken—his chest exposed.

Felix saw it. His grin widened, feral. "Gotcha," he muttered, pulling back his free fist, ready to drive it into Jufus's ribs.

But before he could connect, Jufus pushed off the ground, flipping backward and landing several steps away. His boots skidded against the stone floor, sparks trailing beneath his heels.

Felix lowered his axe slightly, taunting. "Tch… is that all you got, pampered boy?"

Jufus straightened, breathing steady. His lips curled into a small, defiant smirk.

"Keep talking," he said quietly, eyes narrowing.

"Oh?" Felix tilted his head, lowering his axe again, that wicked grin stretching wider across his face. "Then let's see if your mouth moves faster than your blade."

Without warning, he charged. The sound of his boots pounding against the stone floor.

The announcer's voice boomed over the chaos, riding the rhythm of the fight.

"Felix rushes in again—look at that speed! The young noble's cornered already—can he even react in time!?"

Jufus exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. He waited until the very last moment—then sidestepped… the hem of his cloak fluttering just past Felix's axe. The weapon cut through the air where he'd just been standing, the gust strong enough to sting his cheek.

He spun on his heel, his sword flashing in a quick counter. A thrust. A slash. Another thrust.

But Felix deflected each one with terrifying ease, his axe spinning in his grip like an extension of his arm. Sparks burst as steel met steel again and again, their clash filling the arena with the sound of grinding metal.

Felix barked out a laugh, unfazed. "Not bad, noble boy! But your arms—" he swung again, forcing Jufus to block—"they're too damn soft!"

The crowd erupted, as the two continued to circle each other.

Jufus, breathing hard, adjusted his stance. The frustration in his eyes melted into something colder—focus. His grip shifted, his movements growing sharper, deliberate.

Felix smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Finally done dancing, pretty boy?"

Jufus didn't answer. He simply turned his back to Felix.

The entire coliseum went silent.

"What the hell is he doing?" one spectator muttered.

Even the announcer hesitated before speaking again. "Wait… could that be—?"

Jufus inhaled, lowering his blade. His voice was calm, almost reverent.

[Darkinn Swordsmanship : First Form… Obvertus.]

The words carried weight.

"To turn one's back is not to flee—but to strike from unseen angles."

Felix frowned, confused. "You're wide open—!"

Before he could finish, Jufus twisted. His entire body spun in a blur—grace and fury combined. The blade carved through the air in a crescent arc, so fast it shimmered under the arena lights.

A flash.

A deep, clean sound of steel cutting through flesh.

Felix's grin froze. His body staggered, the air leaving his lungs as he stared down at the fresh wound across his chest. Blood dripped onto the ground.

Jufus finished the motion with perfect control, his back still turned.

The crowd erupted.

Felix fell to one knee, gasping. He looked up at Jufus, disbelief written across his face.

"The… hell was that…"

Jufus glanced back, eyes calm, voice quiet.

"Darkinn Swordsmanship."

Jufus's eyes narrowed, the sneer frozen on his face. "Foolish commoner… I'll end this so you won't suffer for your embarrassment any longer."

He drew in a deep breath and readied his final strike. He threw a clean, downward slash, aiming straight for Felix's head.

Felix's grin widened, his eyes darkening with anticipation.

[Phantom Counter!]

Type: Defensive / Teleportation

Effect: The user enters a stationary stance, becoming intangible. Any attack that would hit them passes harmlessly through their body. Immediately after, the user blinks behind the attacker and can launch a counterattack.

Debuff: If two or more enemies attack simultaneously during the stationary stance, the user may randomly blink into one of them, risking mispositioning. If no attacks are received for 3 seconds, the user becomes unable to move for an additional 3 seconds, leaving them temporarily vulnerable.

Duration: Until the counter is executed or the stance is broken.

In an instant, Felix's body stiffened, settling into the stationary stance of his skill.

Jufus's sword sliced through Felix's body, or so he thought. His eyes widened in shock as his slash passed clean through—Felix had vanished.

Before Jufus could react, Felix reappeared behind him in the blink of an eye. The arena seemed to pause for a heartbeat as Jufus instinctively turned… but it was already too late.

Felix's fist slammed into his gut with brutal precision. The sheer force of the punch knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled to his knees, gasping in pain. The crowd's roar grew louder, sensing the sudden turn of events.

Felix didn't pause. With calculated brutality, he followed up with a downward strike, his axe flattened and swinging with the weight of his full strength. Jufus barely had time to flinch before the heavy blow hit, forcing him fully to the ground.

The referees rushed in, quickly assessing the situation. One of them raised a hand and nodded. "He's unable to continue!"

The announcer's voice thundered over the coliseum… carrying the news to every corner.

"Ladies and gentlemen… the victor of this match… Felix!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, some stomping their feet, others waving their banners wildly. Felix stood tall, chest rising and falling, a faint grin on his lips. He'd turned the fight around with skill, speed, and sheer cunning, leaving Jufus defeated and the audience in awe of his Phantom Counter.

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