Hael recalled Anthanasia's words just before the match began. She had warned him not to underestimate Damas, despite his effortless victory in the earlier rounds. "That slap was impressive," she had said, "but you still need to be careful with Damas. He's known for using dirty tricks."
She also told him that while she wasn't concerned about his strength, the crowd was.
"There are a lot of eyes on you, Hael. It's important to give the people a show, make them happy."
Hael wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea. He wasn't a showman by nature, and the thought of putting on a spectacle didn't appeal to him. But Anthanasia had reassured him, "You don't need to perform theatrics, just give your opponent a good fight. At least five moves to get the crowd excited, then you can knock him out. Trust me, Hael, the people will love it. The winner gets the reward, but this fight, and the festival, are about showing the people you appreciate them. Making them happy is the top priority."
Hael nodded, understanding her reasoning. He decided to take her advice to heart.
Standing across from Damas, he tried to size him up, looking for any advantages he could use to his benefit.
As soon as the horn sounded, Damas wasted no time. He kicked his feet high into the air with such force that a cloud of sand was whipped up around him. The sand swirled in the air, creating a makeshift wall that, aided by the wind, obstructed Hael's vision and hindered his movement.
The crowd murmured in confusion. Damas was known for using his infamous wall of sand, but he typically reserved it for the later stages of a fight. Everyone wondered why he had chosen to use it so early in the match.
Anemone, who had been watching the match intently, couldn't help but comment on the unexpected turn of events. "I see that he recognizes this white-haired fellow as a strong opponent, potentially a threat. Using his strongest card right at the start," he muttered, observing Damas' strategy.
Ceremus, though outwardly appearing as if he hadn't heard Anemone's musings, had actually taken them in. He somewhat agreed with the assessment but felt that there was more to it than met the eye. Damas, despite his flashy appearance and tendency to favor showmanship, was a shrewd strategist.
There had to be a reason he used his trump card so early in the fight—something beyond simply recognizing Hael's strength.
As the sand wall swirled around him, blocking his vision, Hael remained unfazed. Where most warriors would panic or struggle to see through the sudden obstruction, Hael maintained a calm, almost serene expression. He closed his eyes, trusting in his heightened senses to detect the movements of his opponent.
Damas, believing he had the upper hand, readied himself for one of his signature deadly kicks, a strike so powerful that it could send a man to the afterlife. He gathered his strength, preparing to strike, confident that his opponent wouldn't be able to counter in time.
Damas, expecting to land his foot squarely against Hael's torso, was taken aback when his strike was stopped cold by a strong, unyielding arm. His eyes widened in shock as he realized that his infamous kick—one powerful enough to crush most opponents—had been blocked so easily. Damas hadn't expected to kill Hael with just that one blow; the wall of sand had been a test, a way to gauge his opponent's abilities. He needed to figure out just how strong this man was, but so far, Hael was a complete enigma. Damas couldn't get a clear read on him, and that uncertainty was frustrating.
The fact that Hael had been able to block his attack was surprising enough, but what truly left Damas speechless was the sight that greeted him as the sand cleared.
Hael was standing there, his eyes closed.
The silence that followed was deafening. The sight stunned Damas, and the spectators gasped in disbelief. How could he block such a powerful strike without even seeing it coming?
From his seat, Ceremus found himself involuntarily smiling at the spectacle, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"H-He had his eyes closed!" a voice from the crowd exclaimed, and it sent a ripple of astonishment through the audience. People murmured in confusion, unable to grasp how Hael could fight so confidently without even opening his eyes.
Though Damas was momentarily taken aback, he quickly regained his composure. Time was of the essence. He couldn't afford to hesitate or waste any more opportunities. With a fierce resolve, he launched into a barrage of attacks—a flurry of jabs, kicks, and strikes aimed at Hael from every angle. The crowd watched in awe as the white-haired warrior deftly blocked and dodged each blow with uncanny ease, his movements fluid and precise. It was as if he had no need for sight at all, anticipating every strike before it even came.
The fight had turned into a mesmerizing display of skill, and the crowd was on the edge of their seats, captivated by the extraordinary battle unfolding before them.
Damas started to grow frustrated with the man.
"Why won't you attack?" He yelled. "All you're doing is dodging. Is that all you're good for?"
The moment those words left Damas' mouth, he immediately knew he would regret them. He had underestimated his opponent, and now, he was about to pay the price.
Hael, who had been on the defensive, suddenly stood tall, his posture shifting with an air of quiet power. He extended his right arm, and with a fluid motion, swung it around—ten times. To everyone else, it looked as though he had only swung it once. His speed was that incredible.
Damas watched in wide-eyed trepidation, his throat going dry. He felt the weight of his mistake pressing down on him as Hael powered up, preparing to strike. Panic flickered in Damas' chest, and for a fleeting moment, he considered running. But he was a seasoned warrior, bound by pride and honor. Forfeiting would be a disgrace to his name. So, he steeled himself, bracing for the oncoming storm. He could only hope that he wouldn't be knocked out by a single blow.
"That was five moves," Hael's voice came, calm and measured, as if he were simply stating a fact.
Before Damas could process the words, Hael's fist connected with his chin in a powerful uppercut. The force sent him flying into the air, his body weightless for a brief moment. Before he could even think of regaining his footing, Hael followed up with a swift back kick, striking him mid-air.
The impact was so brutal that Damas didn't have time to react. He crashed to the ground with a resounding thud, the force of the blow leaving him dazed and helpless. The crowd went silent, stunned by the raw power of Hael's strikes.
Just like his previous fights, his opponent was sent flying in the air, but this time he exuded so much force into that kick, that as Damas flew, the crowd could hear a swooshing sound—as if he had cut through the air. The outcome was obvious, and the spectators watched as the previous Battle Olympia champion crashed into the wall, this time breaking it as he hit the ground with a loud thud.
The crowd was so still, so eerily silent, that one could hear the faintest sound of a pin dropping—if there had been one to drop in that moment. The tension hung in the air, thick and palpable, until it was shattered by a loud cheer from the upper deck on the opposite side of the arena, away from where the royals and nobles sat.
A tall young woman, her long hair flowing behind her, jumped up and down with unbridled enthusiasm. Her sparkling eyes glinted with excitement as she screamed at the top of her lungs. On her shoulder sat a bird, equally as animated, flapping its wings in sheer joy.
"Yay Hael! The ultimate warrior!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the stadium.
Her exuberance was contagious. Slowly, others began to stand, joining in her fervor. The crowd erupted, their cheers swelling in volume, celebrating Hael's victory. The announcer, once again caught off guard by the turn of events, stood there, momentarily speechless. He had to gather himself before finally declaring the winner.
Ceremus, watching from his seat, studied Hael's reaction to the crowd's uproar. The new champion didn't smile or boast; instead, his expression remained unreadable, almost blank, as if he couldn't fully comprehend what was happening around him. It was only when Hael's gaze met the woman's—followed by the bird perched on her shoulder—that his demeanor softened.
A gentle look passed over his face, his features relaxing into something that could almost be described as warmth.
Mhm. What a curious fellow, the king thought to himself.