"Like every year, the rules of the Battle Olympia remain simple," the announcer called out, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he surveyed the crowd.
"Two warriors will face off, and the fight will end only when one is unable to continue or concedes. The winner will be decided by elimination—meaning, once you lose, you're out. If you win, you move on to the next round. Sounds straightforward, doesn't it?"
The crowd erupted in cheers, and the announcer flashed a grin. "Let's not waste any more time—bring out our first contenders!"
And with that, the fight began.
As Ceremus watched the duels unfold, his boredom grew with each passing fight. The matches seemed to drag on, each one blending into the next, more repetitive than the last. After witnessing ten fights, the King decided to close his eyes and rest, tuning out the noise until the final battle. His mind wandered back to the previous night and the persistent nagging of his advisor, Anemone.
"I insist that you at least show up for the first few duels," Anemone had insisted, watching the King pour himself a drink.
"What?" Ceremus had raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested.
Anemone had swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his nerves, but he pressed on, knowing he had to make his case.
"At least ten fights, Your Majesty. Then I promise not to schedule any meetings for the next week," he had said, his voice steady despite the anxiety creeping in.
Ceremus had paused, looking at him with surprise. He set his cup down and regarded his advisor more seriously. "Really?"
Anemone had nodded, and Ceremus had stared at him for a moment longer before letting out a long sigh. "Fine. Ten fights, then I do whatever I want," he had agreed.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
With that deal struck, Ceremus had lost all interest in the tournament. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise of the crowd. But suddenly, everything went quiet. The usual hum of excitement faded, and an unsettling silence filled the coliseum.
Curious, Ceremus opened his eyes. The silence wasn't natural, and something about it felt off. He turned his gaze toward the arena, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the man who had caused the crowd to fall completely silent in awe.
The man entering the arena was a sight to behold—towering in both height and breadth. His frame was massive, not only long but broad, with a body that resembled that of a gladiator.
Each muscle seemed sculpted by the hands of a goddess, defined and powerful. There was an aura around him, almost monstrous, yet his face—handsome and chiseled—was nothing short of angelic. Its perfection was so striking that it almost seemed to blind those who looked upon it.
His warm caramel skin provided a mesmerizing contrast to his stark white hair, which shimmered with hints of silver in each strand. But what truly captivated the crowd, and even Ceremus from a distance, were his piercing blue eyes. They gleamed with such intensity that they appeared as though one were staring into the depths of the ocean.
He stood in the middle of the arena, awaiting his opponent. The minute his opponent saw him, his body started to tremble but he covered up his instinctual fear by putting on an intimidating look in order to save face. The other man looked strong, his muscles tight and brimming with energy. He held a long sword in hand, brandishing it in front of the white-haired man.
"Where is your weapon?" the man demanded, his voice heavy with expectation. The white-haired warrior glanced at him with an indifferent gaze, barely registering the challenge before answering lazily.
"My fists are enough."
The comment seemed to strike a nerve with his opponent, who took the words as a taunt. The crowd's excitement swelled, sensing the tension in the air. The atmosphere shifted, charged with anticipation.
From his seat on the royal deck, Ceremus watched the exchange with a faint smile, amusement playing across his features. He couldn't help but be entertained by the sheer audacity of the white-haired man.
"Ha!" The man scoffed. "So pretty boy here thinks he's tough shit huh? I'll show you the consequences of your arrogance, boy!" He yelled.
Hael simply stared at his opponent, saying nothing as he assumed his fighting stance. Throughout their brief exchange, Ceremus couldn't take his eyes off the white-haired man.
The horn sounded, signaling the start of the match.
The fight was over in less than three seconds. The man charged toward Hael with a fierce shout, sword raised, aiming to slice him into pieces. But before he could strike, Hael raised a single hand and delivered a casual slap.
The crowd gasped in unison as the slap sent the man flying across the arena. He crashed against the wall with a deafening smash, leaving a massive crack in its surface. The impact caused the man's eyes to roll back, and he crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, knocked out cold.
For a moment, the arena fell into complete silence. Not a sound was heard—not even the children in the crowd could muster a reaction, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. The stillness stretched on, stretching what felt like hours.
Then, like a dam breaking, the silence erupted into a deafening roar. The crowd cheered wildly, their excitement and astonishment overwhelming the atmosphere. The announcer, still stunned by the spectacle, forced himself to step onto the stage to declare the winner.
"T-The winner of this round goes to contestant number 84!" He stammered as the crowds continued to cheer for him.
Hael gave the crowd a brief glance before turning and walking out of the arena. Ceremus, who had watched the entire fight from start to finish, was left stunned. The other royals and nobles seated behind him shared the same stunned expression, none more so than Anemone, whose mouth hung open in shock.
"Who was that?" Ceremus asked, his gaze still fixed on Hael's retreating figure.
The question seemed to snap Anemone out of his stupor. "I—I'm not sure, Your Majesty. They don't announce the contestants' names until the final round, but I can look into the man's identity if you wish."
Ceremus shook his head. He knew this already, but the question had slipped out nonetheless. His initial surprise faded, replaced by his usual blank expression. "No, it's fine. I don't want to waste my time learning the name of a man who might not even make it to the final round." He said languidly.
Anemone regarded the King as if he had horns growing out of his head. How could a man who defeated a warrior with a mere slap not win?! Is what he thought but kept his thoughts to himself.
*
The rest of the matches proceeded as expected, with each fighter giving their all in the hopes of avenging the humiliation caused by the white-haired man who had defeated his opponent with nothing more than a slap. But no one who faced him managed even a single hit. Hael's dominance in the arena was clear.
Finally, the last bout arrived—the final round to determine who would be crowned champion. The spectators buzzed with anticipation as they waited for Hael's next appearance. This time, he would face none other than the previous holder of the ultimate warrior title: Damas.
Damas was a fan favorite, a man who exuded both strength and charm. He walked confidently through the arena, his giant smile lighting up the coliseum. His long red hair was neatly braided and adorned with golden rings and threads that shimmered in the sunlight. His piercing amber eyes, like the smoldering embers of a fire, scanned the crowd before settling on the royal deck. Ceremus, his usual disinterest momentarily fading, met Damas' gaze.
Seizing the opportunity, Damas gave the King a quick wink—a bold gesture meant to catch his attention. The crowd gasped in shock and delight, whispering excitedly as they watched Damas use his charm to seduce the King with a mere glance.
Despite the dramatic gesture, Ceremus paid him no mind. His gaze shifted, his attention now on Hael, who stood calmly observing Damas' spectacle, unmoved by the theatrics unfolding around him.
He couldn't help wondering if all men in Trojas were like this. Damas gave the man a smirk, looking him up and down before assuming a fighting stance.
Hael did the same, and the two waited for the sound of the horn before they started their fight.