The charge was suicidal.

Any warrior in the arena with a shred of combat sense knew it. A newly ascended 5th Order charging a 6th Order Warlord was like a moth throwing itself into a blast furnace.

But Leona ran anyway.

Her boots tore up the permafrost, kicking up shards of ice as she accelerated. T

he red mist of the [Unbound Beast] Intent trailed behind her like a comet of blood, screaming with defiance.

"Die!"

She swung her right fist, every ounce of her new strength reinforced with a crushing aura.

King Scar didn't bother to raise his sword. He simply lifted his free hand, palm open, as if catching a ball.

BANG.

Leona's fist collided with his palm.

The resulting shockwave stripped the snow from the ground for fifty meters in every direction.

The impact carried enough kinetic energy to shatter the iron gates of a fortress.

Yet Scar remained rooted to the ground, immovable as a mountain.

"Weak," Scar sneered.

He squeezed his hand.

CRACK.

"Argh!" Leona gritted her teeth, a guttural noise escaping her throat as the bones in her hand ground together.

Ignoring the agony, she spun, whipping the Void Gauntlet around in a hook aimed directly at his temple.

This time, Scar moved. He tilted his head slightly, letting the black metal claw pass mere millimeters from his nose.

"You rely too much on that toy," Scar lectured, his voice bored.

He drove his knee into her stomach.

WHAM.

Air left Leona's lungs instantly. Her eyes bulged, vision swimming. The force of the blow was so violent it lifted her feet off the ground.

Before she could collapse, Scar grabbed her by her white mane and slammed her face down into his armored knee.

CRUNCH.

Leona stumbled back, blood pouring from a broken nose, blinding one eye.

"Is that the anger you spoke of?" Scar asked, casually flicking her blood off his thigh armor.

"Is that the vengeance for your father? It seems pathetic."

Leona spat a mouthful of red slush onto the ice and reset her stance, her legs trembling.

The gap... it's too big.

A 6th Order Warlord possessed Mana Skin, a passive layer of elemental energy fused with the body.

Scar wasn't just wearing armor; his very skin was harder than Star-Metal and hotter than lightning.

I can't break his defense with brute force. I need to focus everything on one point.

The Void Core in her left hand hummed violently. It was overheating, the metal singeing the bandages.

Trying to digest the ambient 6th Order lightning in the air was pushing the device to its absolute limit.

"One hit," Leona whispered to herself, blood dripping from her chin.

"Just one!"

She roared and charged again.

"Fool," Scar sighed. He raised Nightfang.

"Thunder Art: Flash Cut."

The black sword vanished.

SLASH. SLASH. SLASH.

Three lines of blood erupted on Leona's body, one across her chest, one on her thigh, one on her human shoulder.

But she didn't stop. She endured the cuts, letting the searing pain fuel the fire of her Berserk Aura.

She dove under the fourth swing.

She was inside his guard.

Scar looked down, genuinely surprised by her ferocity. He prepared to blast her back with a pulse of aura.

"NOW!" Leona screamed.

She thrust the Void Gauntlet forward. But she didn't punch. She opened the claw and grabbing the breastplate of his Dragon-Scale armor.

VVVVVMMMM!

In an instant, she reversed the flow of the Void Core!

Instead of absorbing, she expelled every ounce of stored energy, Prince Gorn's lightning, the Shaman's magic, the ambient mana, into a single, microscopic point of contact.

"Void Art: Rejection!"

BOOM!

A sphere of purple and black energy detonated point-blank against Scar's chest.

The explosion engulfed them both in a blinding flash.

Leona was thrown backward, tumbling across the ice like a ragdoll until she slammed into the barrier wall, sliding down in a heap.

Smoke cleared from the center of the ring.

King Scar was still standing.

But he wasn't pristine anymore.

He looked down at his chest. The indestructible Black Dragon-Scale armor... had a crack.

A hairline fracture ran down the center of the breastplate. And beneath it, a single drop of royal blood trickled down his skin.

The crowd gasped.

"She... she hurt him?"

"A 5th Order scratched a 6th Order!"

Scar touched the drop of blood. He looked at it on his finger, glistening in the magelight.

Then he looked at Leona, who was trying to stand up on trembling legs.

The arrogant smirk vanished from his face. His eyes went completely black, void of any humanity.

"You..." Scar's voice was no longer mocking. It was a low, vibrating growl of pure malice.

"You broke my armor."

The air in the stadium grew heavy, suffocating. The static electricity intensified until sparks danced on the metal railings of the stands, hair standing on end for miles.

"Playtime is over."

Scar raised his sword high. The sky above the volcano opened up. Dark, swirling clouds descended, responding to his call.

RUMBLE.

"Ancient Art: Thunder God's Hammer."

A bolt of black lightning the size of a castle tower descended from the clouds, striking Scar's sword.

He caught the energy, compressing it, condensing it until the blade shone with the brightness of a dying star.

Leona looked up. She couldn't move. Her body was broken, her mana drained by that last desperate attack.

I'm sorry, Young Lord, she thought, watching the death blow charge up.

I couldn't take the throne.

I couldn't avenge my father..

"Die!" Scar roared.

He swung the hammer of lightning down.

KA-BOOM!

The arena exploded.

A crater fifty meters wide was vaporized instantly. Steam and debris shot into the air, obscuring everything in a cloud of destruction.

When the dust settled, the silence was deafening.

In the center of the crater, Leona lay pinned to the ground. She wasn't dead yet, but body and pride where stattered.

Scar stood over her, the tip of Nightfang pressed against her throat.

"Look at her!" Scar shouted to the silent, terrified crowd.

"Look at your 'Hero'! Broken! Defeated!"

He pressed the blade deeper, drawing a thin line of blood on her neck.

"This Mak'gora is over. The White Lion line ends today."

Scar raised the sword for the execution strike.

"Goodbye, Niece."

He swung.

WHOOSH.

Just as the blade was about to sever her head, a massive shadow flew across the arena.

CLANG!

A colossal stone totem, carved from the trunk of an Iron-Wood tree, slammed into the ground between Scar and Leona.

Scar's sword hit the stone, burying itself deep in the wood but failing to cut through.

"What?!" Scar roared, looking up.

Standing on top of the totem was a massive figure.

He was old, his fur grey and matted, his tusks chipped from a century of war. But his eyes were clear, and his aura was heavy with the weight of the earth itself.

Elder Torrum, the Mammoth Patriarch.

"That is enough, Scar," Torrum rumbled, his voice grinding like tectonic plates.

"You dare interfere in a Mak'gora?!" Scar screamed, veins popping in his forehead.

"This is treason! I will kill you too, old man!"

Torrum jumped down, landing softly beside Leona's broken body. He looked at the King with profound sadness and disappointment.

"There is no Mak'gora," Torrum announced, his voice carrying to every ear in the stadium.

"Because a Mak'gora is a duel of honor."

Torrum pointed a massive, accusatory finger at Scar.

"And a kinslayer who poisons his own brother... has no honor."

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