Duncan, observing the intense stares exchanged between the two combatants, nodded solemnly.
"If both warriors are ready…"
Shin, the prisoner, gripped his sword tightly, sweat dripping from his brow as the weight of countless lives bore down on him. He knew failure meant death—not just for him but for all those who had placed their fragile hope in him.
Young Master Shindred Ludwig stood firm, his gaze searing with rage. For him, this was not just a battle but a matter of pride and authority. To lose meant disgrace—a fate worse than death for a noble of the Ludwig household.
Both stared at each other with unyielding determination, the air between them thick with tension.
"Start the duel."
As Duncan's command to start the duel echoed through the Colosseum, both combatants lunged at each other, their swords poised for a decisive blow. The sound of steel clashing reverberated, silencing the murmurs of the spectators.
Their blades locked, and the two combatants stood mere inches apart, their eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills. Sparks flew as the sharp edges ground against each other, the tension almost tangible.
In that intense moment, Young Master Shindred Ludwig sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.
"You thought you could beat me in one move?" he hissed through gritted teeth, leaning his weight into the clash. "Yesterday, I was caught off guard—I didn't think a commoner could bypass a knight. But today..."
He pushed harder, forcing the prisoner Shin to take a step back.
"Today, I'll show you why the blood of warriors flows in my veins."
His words were laced with pride, and the crowd erupted in mixed cheers and gasps as the duel continued.
Young Master Shin had always been hailed as a genius in swordsmanship. From a young age, his talent shone brightly, dazzling all who witnessed his skills.
When he was just a child, he could defeat cadet soldiers with ease, his every move fluid and precise. The people around him whispered in awe, calling him the prodigy swordsman and the child of God.
This constant praise inflated his confidence and pride to unimaginable heights. In his mind, he had already conquered the world. He began to see himself as invincible, untouchable, and above the need for hard work.
Believing that his natural talent was enough, he stopped training regularly. After all, why would someone as gifted as him need to hone his skills further? But as the years passed, his once unparalleled talent began to wane. His technique became sloppy, his movements slower, and his precision dulled.
The same people who once celebrated him started murmuring behind his back, their words cutting deeper than any blade. "He's not the genius he once was." "A prodigy wasted." The whispers of disappointment and ridicule followed him everywhere.
Overwhelmed by the mounting pressure and shame, Shin sought solace in food. Day by day, he ate more, using it as a crutch to escape the harsh reality of his fading reputation. What started as a small indulgence turned into gluttony, and his once lean, agile frame became buried under layers of fat.
Now, standing in the Colosseum, his current state was a shadow of his former glory—a reminder of how pride and negligence had led him to this pathetic condition.
Back to the present, Young Master Shin was steadily pushing the prisoner Shin back, his larger frame giving him an edge in strength. The clash of their swords echoed throughout the Colosseum, capturing the crowd's attention as both fighters refused to relent.
Young Master Shin smirked, his voice dripping with mockery as he said, "I must admit, you're not bad. To hold your ground against me for this long—no wonder you managed to get past my knight.
But this is as far as you'll go." His tone turned sharper, laced with arrogance. "If you think you can defeat me, you must be dreaming."
The young master's confidence seemed unshakable as he pressed forward, forcing the prisoner to step back with every powerful swing.
Despite his weight and lack of recent training, Shin's early years of swordsmanship still shone through in his calculated moves. He was relentless, his strikes aimed to overwhelm and exhaust his opponent.
Yet, prisoner Shin held firm, his eyes focused and his grip unwavering. Though clearly on the defensive, he refused to falter, his determination shining through every parried blow. It was evident he wasn't going to lose easily, no matter how much the young master pushed him. The battle was far from over.
But there was one pressing issue looming over Young Master Shin: time. His stamina was dwindling rapidly, a consequence of his bloated body and lack of proper training.
His breathing grew heavier, his movements slower. Sweat poured down his face, dripping onto the Colosseum floor with every labored step. He knew he had only a few more moves left in him—if he didn't finish this soon, he would surely lose.
The prisoner Shin noticed this. His sharp eyes caught the young master's huffing breaths, the trembling grip on his sword. Realization dawned on him—he didn't have to defeat the young master outright; he only needed to survive long enough. If he could stall the fight, the young master would crumble under his own exhaustion.
Young Master Shin, desperate to end the duel quickly, began swinging his sword with reckless force, pouring all his weight into each strike. The air hummed with the impact of steel on steel as he hammered down on the prisoner.
The prisoner Shin, however, bore the brunt of these attacks with gritted teeth and trembling arms. Each swing felt like a hammer blow reverberating through his body. His bones screamed under the weight, tiny cracks forming in his arms as he parried each strike with all his might. He was teetering on the edge, his body threatening to give out at any moment.
Yet, despite the agony, he stood his ground, knowing victory was within reach if he could endure just a little longer.
Young Master Shin's movements grew sluggish, each swing of his sword slower than the last. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body drenched in sweat, and his once-proud aura of superiority was crumbling. He could barely lift his blade anymore, each motion seeming to sap the last vestiges of his strength.
The prisoner Shin, battered but resolute, saw his chance. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Summoning all the courage he had left, he parried the young master's sluggish strike with a resounding clash. The force pushed both combatants back slightly, but the prisoner wasted no time.
In a swift and calculated move, he sidestepped the young master's weakened stance and lunged forward. His blade aimed straight for the stomach of the larger opponent. Young Master Shin, sluggishly aware of the impending danger, tried to block the attack, but it was too late.
The prisoner's sword found its mark, slicing through the layers of fat protecting the young master's midsection. While the cut wasn't deep enough to be lethal, thanks to the thick padding of flesh, it was enough to halt the fight.
Blood seeped through the wound, staining the young master's clothes, and he let out a howl of pain. His sword clattered to the ground as he stumbled backward, clutching his stomach in shock and agony.
The Colosseum erupted in gasps, the crowd unsure of what they had just witnessed. Young Master Shin, the so-called prodigy, had been brought to his knees by a mere prisoner.