The crowd buzzed with eager anticipation as Leonel Graythorn and Zellan Darius Ironwood took their positions. The two fighters stood in stark contrast—Leonel's calm, measured presence against Zellan's hulking frame and the heavy weight of his enormous sword.
Zellan grinned, his confidence radiating like the heat shimmering off the arena floor. He stepped forward, his sword resting on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.
"So this is it?" Zellan sneered, his voice loud enough to ripple through the arena. "The great Leonel Graythorn. I expected more, but I suppose it's fitting. A mere entry-level Sword Initiate dares to stand in front of me?" He lifted his free hand dramatically to gesture toward the crowd. "Let it be known that today, I—Zellan Darius Ironwood—will remind everyone of the difference between a mid-level Sword Initiate and a child playing swords."
The crowd let out a mixture of murmurs, some laughing at Zellan's bravado while others watched Leonel closely. Leonel, however, stood still, his sword relaxed at his side. His gaze never left Zellan, as if he were studying the wind itself.
Zellan's smirk widened as he took another step forward. "What's the matter? No witty comeback? Are you scared? Or are you just too weak to speak?"
Still, Leonel said nothing.
Zellan barked out a laugh. "So that's it, huh? Silence? You're not even worth the energy it takes to mock you."
Finally, Leonel tilted his head slightly, his calm voice cutting through Zellan's bluster like a dagger. "You talk too much."
The words were simple but struck harder than a sword. A ripple of shock ran through the crowd, and laughter erupted across the stands. Even some of the elders seated above exchanged amused glances.
"W-What did you just say!?" Zellan stammered, his grin twisting into a scowl.
Leonel shrugged nonchalantly, his tone as unbothered as the breeze. "I said you talk too much. Are we here to fight, or are you here to bore me with speeches?"
The arena fell silent for a beat before exploding into laughter. Zellan's face flushed red with embarrassment and anger, his fists tightening around the hilt of his sword.
"You'll pay for that!" Zellan roared, his voice trembling with fury. The crowd's laughter only seemed to add fuel to the fire of his rage.
Zellan's Fury: Titan's Sword Technique
Zellan planted his feet, his heavy blade now gripped firmly in both hands. The ground beneath him cracked from the sheer weight of his stance.
"Titan's Fury: First Form—Ground Splitter!"
With a roar, Zellan swung his massive sword downward, the force of the attack shaking the very earth. A shockwave burst outward as the ground split in a jagged line, tearing toward Leonel in a furious display of power. Chunks of rock and dirt flew into the air as the attack hurtled forward.
Leonel's eyes narrowed. In a single, fluid motion, he stepped to the side, his movements so clean and precise that it looked almost lazy. The shockwave missed entirely, leaving a deep trench carved into the arena floor.
The crowd gasped.
Zellan snarled, veins bulging on his forehead. "Stop dodging and fight me!"
Leonel offered a faint smile. "Stop missing, and maybe I will."
Zellan's anger reached a boiling point. He adjusted his stance, muscles flexing beneath his armor as his sword began to hum with power.
"You want to see what happens when I stop holding back? Fine!"
"Titan's Fury: Second Form—Stone Avalanche!"
Zellan swung his blade in a wide arc, releasing a shockwave of raw energy. The sheer force of it sent pieces of shattered stone flying toward Leonel like a barrage of arrows. The wind itself howled in protest as the attack tore through the arena.
Leonel moved.
He ducked low, stepping through the gaps between the flying debris with eerie grace. Each movement was precise, his feet skimming the ground as he wove through the chaos. The stones crashed behind him, harmlessly striking the far wall of the arena. When the dust settled, Leonel stood exactly where he had begun, completely unscathed.
The crowd was silent, their disbelief palpable.
Zellan's chest heaved, his sword trembling in his hands. "How... how are you dodging everything!?"
Leonel tilted his head. "You're predictable."
Zellan's teeth ground together audibly as his fury boiled over. His sword began to glow with a crimson aura, the air around him crackling with raw energy.
"You think this is over? I'll show you what real strength looks like!"
The Third Form: Colossus Fall
Zellan lifted his sword high above his head, the blade humming with power as crimson energy spiraled around it.
"Titan's Fury: Third Form—Colossus Fall!"
He leapt into the air, his massive frame casting a shadow over Leonel. The power radiating from the descending strike made the arena floor tremble.
The elders leaned forward, their expressions tense. Even the normally stoic Darian Graythorn narrowed his eyes as he assessed the devastating technique.
But Leonel did not move.
The moment Zellan's blade began its descent, Leonel exhaled softly. His calm voice cut through the tension like a razor.
"Graythorn Sword Art: Second Form—Gale Shadow Strike."
In an instant, Leonel disappeared. A powerful gust of wind erupted from his position, swirling through the arena like a phantom. The crowd could hardly follow what happened next. Shadows flickered, afterimages of Leonel dancing like wraiths across the arena.
Zellan's sword struck the ground with the force of a falling mountain, shattering the earth in a massive explosion. Dust and debris clouded the air, obscuring the fighters from view.
And then it cleared.
Leonel stood behind Zellan, his sword lowered and his breathing steady. Zellan, on the other hand, was frozen mid-kneel, his blade embedded deep into the ground. His body trembled, sweat dripping from his brow as he realized what had happened.
"How..." Zellan rasped, his voice barely audible. "How did you...?"
Leonel turned slightly, his voice calm. "Speak less next time, brother."
The arena fell deathly silent.
The crowd erupted into stunned applause. The Graythorn elders exchanged glances of astonishment, their previous doubts about Leonel evaporating like mist. Even the stoic Darian allowed himself a nod of approval.
From above, Lady Seraphina Graythorn's lips curled into a proud smile. "He's better than I expected."
Beside her, the First Elder, Valtor Graythorn, chuckled softly. "Perhaps he's finally showing us a glimpse of his true potential."
Amidst the roaring crowd, a small voice suddenly rang out, high-pitched and full of excitement.
"Beat him, brother! Smash him to bits!"
The arena fell silent for half a second before bursting into laughter. The source of the voice was none other than Selene Graythorn, Leonel's five-year-old sister, who was jumping up and down enthusiastically in the stands. Her tiny fists were clenched, and her pigtails bobbed wildly as she shouted again.
"Go, big brother! Make him cry next time!"
Leonel pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head with an exasperated smile. Even Zellan, still kneeling on the ground, let out a reluctant laugh.
Lady Seraphina hid her amusement behind a hand, her eyes twinkling. "That girl will be trouble one day."
"Too late," Darian muttered with a smirk, earning another wave of laughter from the elders.
The Quiet Triumph
As Leonel walked off the arena floor, he glanced back at Zellan, who was still catching his breath. For all his arrogance, Zellan had fought well. But this was only the beginning.
The whispers from the crowd grew louder. An entry-level Sword Initiate defeating a mid-level opponent? It was unheard of. And yet, Leonel had done it, with a grace and precision that left no room for doubt.
In the shadows of the elders' podium, Valtor Graythorn watched closely, a gleam of intrigue in his ancient eyes.
"Interesting," the First Elder murmured to himself. "Very interesting."
The path ahead was clear—but for Leonel Graythorn, this was only the first step.