''I don't expect your summon to do that, but having a strong summon alone won't be enough to survive in this harsh world.''

Despite saying that, deep down, she couldn't hide a flicker of jealousy toward Alaric. Feeling that discomfort twisting inside, she drew her sword from its sheath and lunged at him, wanting to defeat him before her summon was crushed by Khaled.

Alaric kept his focus and lifted his sword, bracing himself against Phyllis's assaults.

Even though Phyllis was a woman, she had a muscular build, and most of her strikes carried the style of a hulk-like fighter—slow but firm and deadly. Every slash of hers held enough strength to chop an opponent in half.

Meanwhile, Alaric, who had picked up his combat style from observing the slave demon, fought with slippery, fast movements. Somehow, the demon's technique fit him unnaturally well, as if it was made for him—not just for his slender frame but also his traits as a subtle swordsman who aimed for fatal, precise blows instead of wasting power like a brute relying on sheer aggression.

This battle could've been amazing to watch… if Alaric's skill had reached a decent level. But at the moment, he was completely a beginner; his technique and every swing were full of mistakes and openings.

Some professors began to show clear disappointment. But then, when they remembered Alaric's origin, none of them could stay disappointed for long. No slave in the world should've been capable of something like Alaric.

Alaric himself was a special case—his future growth was basically undeniable.

As time passed, something strange started to become obvious. Why hadn't Alaric lost yet? …Maybe their assumption from the start had been wrong.

"Phyllis… she's holding herself back. She doesn't want to finish the match… but why?"

A few professors muttered that after noticing Phyllis's maniacal, twisted expression.

They had no idea what was going on inside her head, but they knew one thing for sure—Alaric's loss, when it came, would be painful and miserable.

"Is that all you've got?"

Phyllis laughed loudly as she swung her massive battle axe at Alaric.

Meanwhile, Alaric gritted his teeth, forcing himself through the pain as he deflected her blows—barely easing the impact—and looking for any opening to counter.

He thrust his longsword toward Phyllis's chest, but it stabbed only through her afterimage. Out of nowhere, a brutal kick from nowhere smashed down into his right chest, sending him flying and cracking several ribs. He could practically hear his broken ribs screaming.

All he could do was stumble back, catch his breath, and ready himself for his next calculated move.

While he still controlled his broken ribs to avoid them stabbing his lungs from the inside—thanks to that breath style from the slave demon—he kept his vigilance up, ready to dodge again if Phyllis took the chance to attack him.

Just being cautious, even though he already knew that muscular bitch wouldn't do that… That was exactly how twisted her traits were.

She liked tormenting those weaker than her.

"You're still alive? Slave, why don't you surrender…? Hmm. But I suppose you won't."

Alaric ignored her mocking and forced himself to focus on the real problem right now. He still hadn't figured out Phyllis's weakness. That was very bad—exactly like Dana said.

He glanced behind him. His summon was overpowering the shadow knight. At this rate, Khaled would completely defeat it within five minutes… That was good news, but also bad news. Because the moment his summon won, he'd be crushed by Phyllis.

He could've ordered Khaled to hold back a bit longer, but it seemed useless. For sure, his summon was the unruly, disobedient type.

He had to find a way at any cost.

Suddenly, he caught a strange scent lingering in his nose, making him frown. The hissing sound of corrosive acid reached his ears. He flinched a bit, then quickly turned toward its source… his hilt.

"My blood?"

His blood leaked from his hand after taking that brutal, menacing force from Phyllis's attack while he was trying to keep his sword steady. His blood dripped over the hilt, staining it in a dark color after corroding the metal entirely, giving off a smell of unknown origin—as if it was the most poisonous thing in the world.

For some reason, he remembered his [Curse of the Demon King] and its description: The bloodline of the cursed one… which meant his blood was cursed as well. Technically, his blood carried his DNA… Yeah, for sure. That explained what was happening right now. Whatever the curse's mechanism was, he was certain the blood in his veins was utterly cursed.

In a sense, his blood was probably poisonous. With that in mind, another plan quickly formed in his head. Instead of searching endlessly for that muscular bitch's weakness, all he needed was to scratch her—just one wound. If his guess was right, the plan would work. However he wasn't sure his blood held poison because after all it was just a hypothesis he had to test it this way. Either way, it was the only method he had right now.

"If so…"

Alaric frowned as he looked at his longsword, then quickly cut his palm shallowly, letting his blood coat the blade. Pretty soon, the metal color shifted into a dead, disturbing darkness, whispering ghostly sounds around him—sounds only he could hear.

''Are you trying to act cool and mysterious?''

Phyllis lifted her eyelids in slight amusement at Alaric's weird actions and stepped forward, increasing her speed as she closed in on him.

Without hesitation, Alaric stayed focused and cautious, leaping into the air to evade Phyllis's assault. At the same time, the space around him felt as if it stopped—only for him. His thoughts, always prone to overthinking, slowed down like a drop of water falling steadily, yet packed with all the comprehension, experience, and swordsmanship he had accumulated since the slave demon's lesson.

"Balance… Speed… Strength."

His eyes locked solely on his enemy, ignoring the roaring screams of the arena's audience. His mind held onto just three words: Balance. Speed. Strength.

As if he had turned into a different person, he stepped once and launched himself toward Phyllis, murmuring those three words again.

"Balance… Speed… Strength."

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