After saying that Aren and the others were about to leave. But Someone picked Aren's collar.
"You little punk, How dare you! You ignore me."
Flex was angry and his face became reddish with high blood pressure.
"Leave me now. I said "leave my collar."
Aren screamed aloud. Everyone went silent after hearing that.
Shinma called a man and asked him to ask for help from Ezra. Because he is the only one who can use magic and the situation of the guild's have changed. There might be a fight.
Flex punched Aren's face. Richard was about to hit Flex. Aren stopped him.
"Little brother, don't do that. He is my prey. And how I stay calm after humiliating myself in front of my dear brothers."
"Wow! He is in his character. He plays Zion's role perfectly."
Stuart mumbles to himself.
Aren grabbed Flex collar and brought him outside of the guild.
"What is it again? Flex, I challenge you to defeat me."
"Aaaa; You little punk, who do you think you are? I will kill you in front of everyone."
Flex was angry and accepted the challenge.
In the meantime Elia swept the floor of the small shop, her thoughts drifting back to the man she had encountered earlier—a fleeting moment that ignited a spark she had never expected. The blush crept back to her cheeks as she recalled their accidental kiss, a collision of lips that had left her breathless and embarrassed. It had been her first kiss, and now, as the scent of wood and incense enveloped her, she felt both warmth and shame.
Suddenly, the door swung open, the chime ringing insistently. Loky burst in, eyes wide with urgency.
"Sir, Ezra, are you in the shop now? There will be a fight between Flex and a newcomer. Flex challenges him with his holy sword!" His excitement barely contained, he clasped his hands against his knees.
Ezra emerged from the back room, his brow furrowing at Loky's words.
"What are you saying?"
Before Elia could voice her concern, Ezra was already hurrying out, Loky at his heels.
"Come on, Elia! You should see this!"
As they rushed to the clearing outside, Elia hesitated, torn between the thrill of adventure and the embarrassment of her earlier encounter. The air was electric, tension palpable as onlookers gathered.
From the crowd, she spotted the newcomer, a tall figure gripping a sword with a stormy determination in their eyes. Her eyes widened. She saw the man she met before and his companion was also there. A shiver ran down her spine. This was no ordinary fight. Flex, infamous for his prowess, would not hold back.
Though her heart raced, a stronger force propelled her forward. She had to see it; she had to confront her own emotions in the chaos. As she stepped into the light, the echoes of fear and excitement mingled, and for the first time, courage roared within her.
In the heart of the sunlit arena, the air buzzed with anticipation as the crowd surged with excitement. Flex, a seasoned warrior clad in golden armour, stood poised at one end, gripping his ornate holy sword that shimmered beneath the midday sun. Across from him, Aren, a rogue with a reputation for cunning and agility, smirked as he twirled his simple, blackened blade.
With a deafening clang, the first clash of steel echoed through the arena as Flex lunged forward, channelling his energy into each strike. His sword, blessed by the high priestess, was said to cleave through darkness itself. Yet, as the blades met, a perplexing realisation dawned upon Flex; Aren remained unfazed, his body seemingly untouched by the glowing edge of Flex's weapon.
"What foul sorcery is this?"
Flex muttered, his brow furrowing in disbelief. Aren merely grinned, his movements fluid and taunting, darting in and out of the range of Flex's holy sword.
The crowd, a sea of eager faces, watched intently as the two warriors engaged in a dance of combat—Flex's strikes were powerful yet futile, while Aren's dodges were effortless, mocking Flex's every attempt. As sweat beaded on Flex's brow, he drew on the last remnants of his energy, thrusting with everything he had. But with every attempt, Aren's laughter spiralled through the air, infuriating and disheartening him.
With each swing of Flex's sword, it became painfully clear his holy weapon was no match for Aren's deceptive agility. Still, determined to prove his strength, Flex summoned a surge of energy from deep within. The glow of his sword intensified, and he unleashed a flurry of strikes, each one laced with desperation. He was a warrior of the light, after all how could he lose to a mere rogue?
Yet, no matter how valiantly he fought, the energy he drew proved insufficient. With a swift sidestep, Aren evaded another strike and retaliated. Fluid and quick, he spun around, delivering a precise stroke that sent Flex's sword clattering away. Gasping, Flex stumbled back, the weight of defeat settling heavily on his shoulders.
Aren, now in full control, approached Flex with a disarming swagger.
"You fight well, Flex. But it seems your light is dimming."
With a flick of his wrist, Aren broke through Flex's defences, landing a final, non-lethal blow to his opponent's shoulder.
Flex crashed to his knees, panting heavily as silence enveloped the arena. The crowd had witnessed what seemed like an impossible turn: Aren's victory, carried out without so much as breaking a sweat. The tidal wave of clapping erupted immediately. The applause filled the air, overwhelming Flex's ears, ringing in his mind like a cruel reminder of his failure.
Strengthened by the fervour of the spectators, Aren basked in the glory, raising his blade high in triumph. But deep down, he understood that true strength was not just in the ability to fight; it was also in the art of evasion, wit, and self-control.
As the applause thundered around him, Flex realised that this defeat was not the end but rather an opportunity for growth. He could refine his skills, learn from the rogue who had bested him. The arena faded from his mind as a new resolve stirred within the next time they would meet, he would wield not just energy, but wisdom.
"To be continued
Stay tuned"