"I, Patriarch of the Ludwig faction, Duncan von Ludwig, have returned from my hunt," Duncan declared, his deep, commanding voice reverberating across the Colosseum like thunder.
His piercing gaze, sharp and unrelenting as if staring into the very soul, settled on Shin. In that moment, Shin could feel the weight of judgment pressing down on him like an unmovable mountain. Duncan's eyes were not filled with rage, but with something far more terrifying—the cold, assessing look of someone who saw only the end.
"And I have heard," Duncan began, his tone steady but carrying an undeniable edge, "what has transpired in my absence. I have been told by Randolph what my son has done while I was away from the county."
He took a step forward, his imposing figure making the very air feel heavy. "For his mistakes," Duncan said, his voice softening slightly yet losing none of its authority, "I deeply apologize."
The crowd froze, unable to process what they had just heard. The man who was called the Mountain, feared and respected alike, was apologizing. "I apologize," Duncan continued, bowing his head slightly, "on behalf of my son and for the harm he has caused in my absence. As his father, I bear responsibility for his actions, and for that, I offer my deepest regrets."
A stunned silence enveloped the Colosseum. People exchanged uncertain glances, their shock evident. This was Duncan von Ludwig, the man whose strength could crush armies, whose very presence silenced entire halls. And yet, here he stood, humbling himself before the masses.
In that moment, the people saw why both friends and foes respected and feared him. Duncan was not just a warrior or a leader; he was a man of unwavering principles, someone who understood the delicate balance of power and purpose.
He reminded everyone what it meant to carry the weight of authority—to acknowledge the wrongs done in your name and to uphold what was right, no matter the cost.
It was clear to all who witnessed it—Duncan von Ludwig was a giant, not because of his physical might, but because of his integrity.
"And as the son of the great God of Eternity," Duncan declared, his deep voice reverberating throughout the Colosseum like rolling thunder, "I hereby grant this young prisoner the right to a duel, as he has invoked her sacred name."
The prisoners, who had once felt the icy grip of despair, now looked at each other with newfound hope, a glimmer of relief flickering in their eyes. Many had already accepted their fates, and now, by some miracle, there was a chance—however slim—that they might escape death.
But Shin, frozen in fear, barely registered the excitement in the crowd. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and his face had gone pale as he stammered out, "B-bu-but, Father... I... I can't duel."
"Silence!" Duncan's roar cut through the air, an unmistakable command that crushed any further words from his son's mouth. Shin, intimidated and humbled, lowered his head, unable to look his father in the eyes. In that instant, all his bravado, his arrogant attitude, dissolved like smoke, leaving him a quivering shell in the presence of Duncan's overwhelming authority.
Duncan then shifted his gaze back to the prisoner, his piercing eyes unyielding and serious. "Since you have asked for a duel, you must know that a duel requires stakes. So let it be known: if you win, your life shall be spared, and you will walk free from this place."
His gaze intensified, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air as he continued, "But if you lose, you will forfeit your life. This is not a game or a chance for mercy. Understand that the consequences of failure here are final."
As the gravity of his words settled over the Colosseum, a hush fell over the crowd.
The prisoners huddled together in hushed whispers, their voices trembling with fear and uncertainty. The weight of their lives rested on the shoulders of one man: the prisoner Shin, who had been captured just the day before.
Their dilemma was clear—no matter what they chose, death seemed inevitable. The only question was how they would face it. Shindred Ludwig, though untrained for years and far from peak physical condition, was still of royal blood.
His lineage alone granted him strength and techniques far beyond the reach of ordinary people. Even in his weakened state, he was a formidable opponent for the average man.
The prisoners' faces were pale, their brows furrowed as they mulled over their options. Time ticked by painfully slowly, and their desperation grew. Finally, after several minutes of anxious deliberation, one among them broke the silence.
"If death is certain either way," he said, his voice trembling but resolute, "then we might as well choose the path where we have even the smallest chance of survival."
The others nodded hesitantly, their fear giving way to a fragile determination. One by one, they voiced their agreement.
With voices shaky but unified, the prisoners spoke in unison, "We agree to the duel terms."
Duncan, who had been silently observing the scene unfold, raised an eyebrow. A hint of amusement danced across his face, and the corner of his mouth curved into a small, approving smirk. "Fine," he said, his deep voice laced with intrigue. "So be it. Now, send forward whoever is going to represent the prisoners."
The Colosseum fell into an eerie silence once more. The weight of Duncan's words pressed down on the air, and all eyes turned toward the prisoners. The question hung heavily among them: Who would step forward?
"Before we begin, let me explain the rules," Duncan's booming voice echoed throughout the Colosseum. His presence commanded the attention of everyone, from the spectators to the prisoners trembling in chains. "No aura, no cheap tricks, no magic. This duel will be decided by pure skill with the sword. Agreed?"
A resounding "Yes!" erupted from the prisoners, their voices a mixture of desperation and determination. It was their only hope, slim as it might be.
As Duncan finished speaking, one of the prisoners, Shin—the same man who had dared to request the duel—stepped forward. His steps were slow but steady, his face pale but resolute. He made his way to the center of the Colosseum, where the duel was set to take place.
A soldier approached him, sword in hand. As the soldier handed him the weapon, he leaned in and whispered, "Destroy that motherfucker," his words carrying a venomous intent toward Shindred Ludwig.
Shin gripped the sword tightly, his knuckles white from the force. He nodded once, steeling himself for the battle that awaited.
Meanwhile, Duncan turned back to Shindred Ludwig, who was still standing at the edge of the Colosseum, his head bowed and his body visibly trembling. Duncan's piercing gaze bore into his son as he spoke in a tone heavy with disdain and disappointment.
"See this? This is what real power looks like—facing your problems head-on, not hiding behind status or abusing those weaker than you. Abuse will get you nowhere."
Shindred flinched but dared not respond. His father's words were like arrows piercing what little pride he had left.
Duncan straightened up, his voice rising to fill the Colosseum once more. "And now... Shindred von Ludwig, enter the ring!"
Shindred's body froze for a moment, his fear and shame locking him in place. The crowd watched in anticipation as the young noble hesitated. Finally, with his head still hung low, he began to descend into the ring, each step heavier than the last.
Shindred made his way down to the Colosseum ring, his head hanging low, each step heavier than the last. The crowd's watchful eyes followed his every move, but his focus was locked elsewhere.
As he approached the center, Randolph, the ever-loyal butler, stepped forward, sword in hand. Shindred took the weapon, but his gaze lingered on the old man's face, his eyes narrowing.
The young master's stare wasn't one of gratitude—it was filled with silent defiance and frustration. Randolph returned the look with his own subtle yet sharp expression, a warning as clear as words: Do not fail.
Shindred gripped the sword tightly, his knuckles whitening as he broke eye contact and stepped into the ring. Now standing opposite the prisoner, the world seemed to fade into silence. The tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation as the duel was moments from beginning.
Duncan watched with keen eyes, his curiosity piqued. This wasn't just a clash between two fighters; it was a test of who held more strength—the raw resilience of an ordinary man with his life on the line or the privilege and pride of noble blood.
"Are both warriors ready?" Duncan's voice boomed, his powerful tone demanding silence as it rippled through the Colosseum. The crowd stilled, all eyes fixed on the ring.
From one side, the prisoner known as Shin, hands slick with sweat, nodded anxiously. Every muscle in his body was tense, knowing he carried not only his life but the hopes of those chained beside him.
And from the other side, Shindred Ludwig stood, his face twisted in anger. His response was a single, biting word, "Yes," spoken through clenched teeth, the rage simmering beneath every syllable.
The Colosseum held its breath, waiting for the clash of sword and spirit to decide fate.
Duncan, his voice filled with excitement, shouted,
"Since both parties are ready—
Start."