Young Master Shin collapsed to the ground.
His sword slipping from his hand as his body finally gave out. The mighty heir of the Ludwig household lay motionless, unconscious from the pain and exhaustion of the duel.
The prisoner Shin, though victorious, was barely standing himself. His entire body throbbed with pain from the relentless onslaught he had endured. The heavy strikes of the young master's blade had taken their toll, and the internal damage left him gasping for air.
With trembling hands, Shin released his grip on his sword. The weapon clattered to the ground beside him as his legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees. Every breath felt like a battle of its own, his ribs aching from the strain of blocking such ferocious attacks.
The Colosseum, which moments ago had been roaring with tension and anticipation, fell into a stunned silence. Both warriors lay defeated in their own way, their battered bodies testament to the grueling clash.
Although the crowd masked their expressions, a palpable sense of satisfaction lingered in the air. The sight of Shindred Ludwig finally receiving a semblance of the punishment he deserved brought an unspoken joy to the people.
Deep down, they wanted to cheer for the young prisoner who had dared to challenge the oppressive heir. However, the imposing presence of Duncan von Ludwig kept their emotions in check, silencing any outward display of their happiness.
Duncan, standing tall and commanding as ever, surveyed the aftermath of the duel. His sharp eyes took in both combatants—his son lying unconscious and the battered prisoner barely clinging to consciousness. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"The duel is over," he declared, his tone firm yet calm. "The prisoners have won."
A wave of shock rippled through the Colosseum. Duncan turned to the soldiers and ordered, "Take both contestants to the doctor. Ensure they receive proper treatment."
The crowd held its breath as he continued, "And as per the terms of the duel, the prisoners are now free. They have earned their freedom."
With that, Duncan began to descend the steps of the Colosseum, his presence radiating authority. His every step echoed loudly, filling the tense silence. The people remained still, watching him leave with a mixture of awe and respect.
As soon as Duncan exited the Colosseum, the atmosphere changed. A thunderous cheer erupted, the crowd roaring in support of the prisoner who had dared to stand up to Shindred Ludwig. Cries of admiration and gratitude filled the air, their voices a tribute to the one who had given them a moment of justice.
"Shin! Shin! Shin!" they chanted, their cheers shaking the very foundations of the Colosseum. It was a moment of triumph for the people, and for the first time in years, they felt hope bloom in their hearts.
As the event concluded, the crowd began to disperse, leaving the Colosseum one group at a time. Conversations buzzed among the departing spectators, their voices brimming with relief and satisfaction. For the first time in years, a sense of justice had touched their lives.
"Did you see that final slash?" one man exclaimed, his eyes still wide with excitement. "It was incredible! That prisoner truly gave it his all."
"Finally, that tyrant got what he deserved," another chimed in, shaking his head. "I thought we'd never see the day."
Word of Shindred Ludwig's defeat began to spread rapidly throughout the county. From the bustling marketplace to the quiet corridors of the castle, whispers of the duel and its outcome reached every corner. The servants in the Ludwig household exchanged knowing glances, their once-muted whispers growing bolder.
"Did you hear? Young master was bested in front of everyone," one servant said, barely concealing a grin.
"It's about time someone put him in his place," another added with a nod.
Across the county, there was an air of celebration, though subdued in some places out of respect for Duncan's authority. People who had long endured Shindred's tyranny allowed themselves to feel a flicker of hope, knowing the one who had caused so much suffering was finally humbled.
For years, they had waited for a moment like this—a chance to see the tyrant brought low. And now, with the duel over and justice seemingly served, they clung to the possibility of a brighter, more peaceful future.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, a man in the throng spoke up, his voice tinged with confusion. "I still don't understand... why did Duncan, the Mountain, let that happen to his own son? He could've stopped it."
Another man nearby, older and with a grave expression, turned to answer. His tone carried the weight of experience. "You must not know Duncan von Ludwig," he said, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "He's a man of his word—a man of true honor. To him, the rules are absolute. If his son dishonors the family, he won't shield him from the consequences. That's the kind of man he is."
The first man frowned, still trying to process the idea. "Even if it's his own son? That's harsh."
"Harsh?" the older man replied, his voice firm. "No, that's justice. A leader like Duncan knows that power without accountability leads to ruin. His strength doesn't just come from his fists but from his ability to uphold what's right—even when it costs him dearly."
The crowd around them nodded in agreement, their respect for Duncan growing even more profound.
"But why did Duncan insist on a sword duel when the Ludwig faction is famous for using magic?" one person in the dispersing crowd asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
A nearby man scoffed, crossing his arms. "You don't even know that? What are you, new here or something?"
"Well... yeah," the first man admitted, shrugging awkwardly. "I came from another land."
The local gave him a knowing look before leaning in to explain. "Let me tell you, then. The Ludwig faction might be known for their magic, but they've had a bad reputation for how they used it in the past—sacrifices and all that. Ever since those dark days, they've been trying to move away from relying on magic, little by little. They're shifting their focus to swordsmanship instead. It's part of their effort to clean up their image and show they're just as strong without it."
The newcomer tilted his head, intrigued. "And they're still able to maintain their position at the top?"
"Absolutely," the local replied with a proud smirk. "That's what makes them terrifying. Even without magic, they're still the strongest. It's a testament to their discipline, skill, and sheer willpower. Duncan von Ludwig is proof of that. He doesn't need magic to crush his enemies—his sword is enough."
As the crowd continued to chatter and disperse from the Colosseum, their voices echoing with excitement and relief, a different scene unfolded in the quieter halls nearby. Both Shin, the young prisoner, and Shindred Ludwig were being carried away by soldiers, their battered and bruised bodies en route to the doctor's chamber.
The mood was somber. Shindred's unconscious form, draped limply over the shoulders of two guards, painted a picture of humiliation. His once-prideful aura was reduced to silence, his wounds a testament to his downfall. On the other hand, Shin, though barely able to stand, insisted on walking with the support of a soldier. His determination to remain upright despite the pain showed the strength of someone who had fought for not just his own survival but for something far greater.
At the hospital...