A shady-looking guy stood far from the crowd, half-hidden behind a pillar.

His black cloak blended perfectly with the shadows, face almost invisible except for the sharp grin stretching across it.

Another cloaked figure slid beside him, eyes locked on the collapsing prince's silhouette.

"Keke… job complete," the first whispered.

They bumped fists, Their shoulders relaxed, smug and satisfied.

Around them, chaos rippled through the spectators.

Some crowds bolted for the exits, pushing and tripping over benches. Others froze in place, mouths open, desperately trying to process what they saw.

"Did… did someone just kill the prince?!"

"What the hell is going on!?"

A handful stood rooted, staring at the royal box in sheer disbelief.

Then—

Crack.

A thin fracture appeared on the prince's balcony floor.

Everyone stopped.

Crack… crack… crack-crack.

More lines tore across the stone like something was clawing its way out from underneath.

Gasps erupted as the cracks spread upward across the throne, the railings, even the air around it—like reality itself was splitting open.

"H-Hey… what is that…?"

The shady figures froze.

With a thunderous shatter—the entire cracked layer around the prince exploded outward, disintegrating like fake glass props on a stage.

Dust burst into the air. Light flared.

And standing perfectly fine inside the broken shell—

Was the prince.

Untouched.

Alive.

Right beside him, his royal attendants stood calmly, dusting off their cloaks like this was mildly inconvenient, not a full-blown assassination attempt.

The crowd went dead silent.

Even the assassins stopped breathing.

"Eh? The prince is… fine…?"

A wave of confusion rolled across the entire coliseum.

"How—? Didn't he just get shot?

People leaned over railings, eyes wide, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

The prince stood there without a single scratch, brushing a bit of dust off his sleeve.

Across the arena, hidden behind a stone pillar, the two shady-looking figures who fired the shot watched everything unfold.

Their grins evaporated instantly. One of them actually took a step back.

"H-How…? That shot hit him. I saw it hit him," the first muttered, voice shaking for the first time.

The second one clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. "No… something's off. That wasn't a shield… it wasn't magic either… That whole thing—those cracks—"

The first assassin swallowed hard. "Aboard… aboard missing…"

His tongue stumbled—panic creeping in.

"A—Abort mission! ABORT!" he finally hissed.

But it was too late.

The entire crowd was standing now, pointing toward their direction, murmuring louder and louder.

"There! Someone's there!"

"Those two—were they the ones who shot!?"

"Guards!"

The shady duo stiffened.

Then the prince slowly lifted his head…

And locked eyes with them across the arena.

Both assassins froze, every drop of confidence drained from their faces.

"How…?" the first whispered again, stepping back as if the prince's stare alone could reach him.

"What… is that guy…?"

They climbed off the roof, boots thudding lightly as they prepared to bolt.

They were about to jump—ready to ditch the rooftop entirely and vanish into the maze of alleys—but the moment they pushed off, something yanked them back down.

Their feet didn't move.

A wet, sticky sound echoed under their boots.

Both assassins looked down.

A dark, musky substance—thick like tar, but pulsing faintly like it was alive—coiled around their ankles.

It clung to them like shadow made physical, dragging their feet deeper the more they struggled.

"The hell is this!?"

"Get it off! GET IT OFF!"

They clawed, pulled, twisted—nothing. Their legs wouldn't even budge. Panic sharpened their breaths.

A heavy clank echoed from behind.

Then another.

And another.

From the far end of the rooftop, a tall man in full knight armor stepped into view—slowly, almost casually, like he had all the time in the world.

The moonlight caught the edges of his steel plating, giving him a chilling silhouette.

Each step he took made that metal groan—like a warning.

The assassins' hearts pounded harder the closer he came.

"W-Wait—who the hell are you!?"

"Let us go, damn it!"

The man didn't answer.

He stopped just a few feet away, the tar-like shadows crawling behind him like obedient pets.

He tilted his helmet slightly—just enough that they could feel the weight of his gaze even though they couldn't see his eyes.

"Uh-uh…" he said, voice low, calm, almost bored.

"You're not going anywhere."

The shady-looking men in cloaks struggled wildly, panic rising in their throats as the dark musky substance crawled higher up their legs.

"No… no, no— fuck! What is this!?" one hissed.

But the more they fought, the deeper they sank, the darkness swallowing them inch by inch.

The knight simply watched.

They looked up at him with terror in their eyes.

"Stop! Stop! Pull us out!"

The knight didn't bother answering. Instead, he lifted his gauntleted hand, letting a thin trail of shadow slide off his fingertips and slither into the musky pool below.

"Ahh… don't worry about it," he said casually.

The cloaked men froze as the substance climbed to their waists.

The knight lowered his hand.

"Well…" he smiled behind his helmet, voice almost gentle.

"See you later."

The musky darkness surged upward, swallowing the first man with a muffled gasp. Then the second.

Their screams were cut off as their bodies sank completely, vanishing without a trace—as if the rooftop itself had devoured them.

The knight turned away and gave a casual wave toward the prince, as if he hadn't just erased two assassins from existence.

The prince, still seated in his elevated booth, stared back with an expression that was… less than impressed.

A raised brow. A sigh.

As if the knight had just overstepped again.

But then the prince shifted his gaze toward the coliseum. Thousands of people were frozen in fear, half-standing, half-ducking, all unsure whether to run or stay. Torchlight flickered across pale faces and trembling hands.

And the prince—smiled.

He lifted one hand and subtly motioned downward.

Sit.

Slowly, uncertainly, people obeyed.

A handful… then the sections near the front… until the wave of returning confidence spread through the entire coliseum.

The prince made another gesture.

One of his court mages rushed forward and cast a spell, forming a floating orb of shimmering air beside the prince's mouth—a voice amplifier.

When he spoke, his voice boomed across the arena, steady and unwavering.

"We expected them to come," he said. "But not this boldly."

The crowd murmured, stiff with fear, unsure how to react.

"Nonetheless," the prince continued, his tone softening just a touch, "you may continue. You are all safe now."

His calmness settled over the crowd like a blanket. One by one, people exhaled and sank fully back into their seats.

"As expected of our prince…" someone whispered.

"Truly fearless…" said another.

"Thank you, Prince!" someone shouted loud enough for several rows to echo it.

The prince simply waved back, the faintest smile tugging at his lips—as if this was nothing more than an unexpected break in the entertainment.

Nothing worth panicking over.

Nothing he couldn't handle.

"Da fuck just happened…" Ahrie muttered, still wide-eyed, like his brain was buffering.

The announcer staggered back to his podium, legs wobbling.

"W-well… uh… we're… we're very sorry for the short delay…" He gulped.

"W-we'll continue our match now! N-next is… Min vs. Agus!"

Min stretched his neck. "Eh. Weird stuff happens, huh?"

"Yeah…" Agus exhaled.

Min pointed a dagger at Agus' face. "So, how do you want me to drop that damn face of yours onto the platform? Quick? Slow? Decorative?"

"Oho… you're starting again, aren't you?" Agus replied, tightening his grip on his spear.

They kept trading insults—loudly, stupidly, beautifully—until the crowd finally regained its lost heartbeat. Laughter echoed across the stands. People clapped. Some even whistled. The panic from earlier loosened its grip.

Even the prince, seated high above, let out a quiet chuckle as he watched them.

Good… keep the people steady, he thought.

But the match had been delayed long enough…

The anticipation built…

The announcer started, "Now, will Agus—"

He didn't finish.

Without a warning—not even a breath—Agus exploded forward.

His spear lunged, aimed right at Min's chest.

"WOAAA—!" the announcer yelped. "I— I wasn't done talking, but aight—BEGIN!"

Min twisted his body just enough for the spear to slice past him. Smooth. Effortless. Like he'd been waiting for that exact attack.

Agus clicked his tongue. "Tch… so you're that kind, huh…"

Min raised an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"The annoying kind," Agus said, spinning his spear again. "The one that acts like a clown but somehow dodges everything."

Min grinned, tightening his stance.

"Ohh? Then come find out how annoying I can really be."

The crowd roared as the real opening clash began.

Agus lunged again—this time with pure frustration fueling every step.

His spear blurred, splitting into afterimages as he unleashed a flurry of rapid strikes. Diagonal cuts, horizontal sweeps, sudden jabs—each one aimed to corner Min and pierce straight through him.

Clang.

Swipe.

Thunk.

Min dodged the first few, his footwork messy but strangely effective. Then he blocked the next ones with his newly crafted daggers—short, compact, and loud with every impact. Sparks scattered off the metal as he parried another thrust.

Through it all… Min kept smiling.

Not a confident warrior's smile.

Not a mocker's grin.

But the smile of an innocent child—someone who looked like he genuinely thought this was a fun game.

Agus's eye twitched. "You—"

Min leaned forward, hands behind his back, bending like he was inviting an attack.

"Come on, hit me~"

That was it.

Agus snapped.

He roared and unleashed an even faster barrage—his spear nearly vibrating from the speed. The crowd gasped. Some leaned forward. Others shouted warnings.

But Min?

He was glowing.

He danced through the spear's path, letting it pass his nose by a finger's width.

He rolled under a sweep. He sliced the tip off one arc midair. Every movement was risky, sloppy, but stupidly perfect.

Ahrie in the healer's seat clenched his fist.

"That's it… piss him off."

Koko laughed so loud the people beside her jumped.

"That idiot's rage-baiting him!"

And Min, still smiling sweetly, muttered loud enough for Agus to hear:

"Hoho… ragebaiting success."

Then he tilted his head smugly.

"Fuck off, Agus."

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