Then Jin-woo gaze shifted — steady, sharp — locking onto Yoda.
The old Grandmaster met his eyes with a slow, steady blink. He stepped forward slightly, his cane barely tapping the stone.
"No intent to kill us, you had," Yoda said, voice calm but weighted with understanding. "Instead… in your terms, or your language — to kick our asses, you came."
Jin-Woo exhaled softly behind the helmet, smirking . "Right you are. You Jedi… do-gooders. Make no mistake — you've done peace. Cold, structured, maybe even efficient peace. But somewhere along the way…"
"You crossed the borderline into morons."
A murmur stirred the audience — senators, citizens, Jedi alike. Some bristled. Some stayed still.
Yoda, however, only nodded slowly. "As always…" he murmured, "like Dooku, like Qui-Gon…Said , a habit you carry — of mocking others."
Then Yoda did something that silenced even the wind itself.
He stepped forward. His eyes, though old, gleamed with a strange curiosity.
"May I… look?" he said quietly. "Or perhaps… hold that sword?"
Gasps rippled across the stands.
A Grandmaster of the Jedi — asking permission? Asking to hold a weapon? A sword of myth no Jedi could comprehend?
From the upper gallery, Plagueis, still cloaked in his Hego Damask persona, leaned forward sharply. He seized the moment, shouting over the hush of the stunned crowd.
"What dishonor!" he boomed. "The Jedi Grandmaster — begging to touch the blade of a mercenary? A myth?! Is this the Order you all serve?!" His voice trembled with righteous scorn. "Does he dare take what is not his?! A weapon of the Armored Man?!"
But then— CLAP.
A single, echoing clap. Jin-Woo.
His hands came together once, then again. The sound cracked like a whip across the stone.
And with it — silence returned. All eyes turned to him..
"If Master Yoda wanted to take this blade," Jin-Woo said coldly, "he would've done it already. Back when I was surrounded — back when Windu still stood. He could have acted. He didn't."
He raised his hand, and in a single clean motion — fwump — he threw Excalibur Proto.
The sword sailed through the air, silent, elegant.
It landed with a CRACK — the point stabbing perfectly into the ground, halfway between him and Yoda, vibrating with a quiet hum.
Jin-Woo stepped back. "Its name," he said, "is Excalibur Proto."
"It is one of two — the Sword of Promised Victory. Once wielded by Arthur Pendragon… King of Knights. Knight of Sky Silver."
Yoda stepped forward — slow, deliberate — his ancient eyes locked on the blade now humming gently with light. The crowd hushed even more as he reached out, small three-fingered hand grazing the blade's flat edge. The metal pulsed in response — a soft gleam, like recognition.
But when Yoda's fingers touched the hilt— Nothing.
The sword did not budge. Not even a twitch.
Yoda stood there in silence for a moment, eyes half-lidded, then slowly withdrew his hand.
"Hmmm…" he murmured, "alive… it is. The sword . Power within… similar to the Force, but not. Different. Alien… yet familiar."
He turned toward Windu and nodded. "Right, you were. Sentience… it has. A will… it holds."
Jin-Woo folded his arms, his stance relaxed. "It was forged," he said, "by the Lady of the Lake . She gave it to its first wielder — and then to Arthur Pendragon, the King, the final wielder."
He glanced down at the blade. "The one I carry is not the original. It's a… replica. A copy."
He smirked behind the mask. "But with enough upgrades and energy compression, it might just surpass the original."
Just then — Morgan's voice rippled through his mind, laced with dry amusement.
"I'm the one who created it for you, you know."
"Since you asked so seriously back then… I made it. Personally. And don't forget — I still have, like, a dozen Rhongomyniads just lying around. You could've picked those too, my husband."
Jin-Woo mentally sighed.
"Shhh. I'm having my epic sword lore moment. Don't ruin the mystique."
"Pff. Nerd." [ morgan said ]
"Says the woman who forged an Excalibur copy just so I could monologue during a duel."
"…Touché."[ morgan said]
He turned back toward Yoda, voice steady.
"I've heard stories," Jin-Woo said, "that Arthur Pendragon is dead. Others say… he sleeps. Waiting. Resting in Avalon — that dream everyone wishes for but no one remembers."
Yoda's gaze drifted briefly to the clouds above, then back to the blade.
"Avalon…" he whispered. "Perhaps one day, talk… we might. Him and I."
Jin-Woo didn't miss a beat. He tilted his head slightly and said, "Sure... after we finish our gamble."
CLINK—SSSSHHHHT.
Excalibur Proto responded as if it had heard him, launching from the ground and spiraling back into Jin-Woo's armored grasp with a magnetic hum. The wind split around it, forming a brief tunnel of compressed pressure that snapped shut as his fingers curled around the hilt.
And that's when Yoda moved. A radiant surge of light exploded around him. Golden-white aura pulsed outward in steady waves — dense, luminous, and deeply rooted in the Force. His eyes sharpened as his feet shifted into a perfect triangle. Then he raised his saber.
Juyo-Kai.
The Form of the Unyielding Spirit.
A hybrid discipline born of centuries of introspection and battle-tested clarity. It fused the relentless aggression of Juyo with the absolute composure of Soresu. Serenity in the eye of fury. Control in the heart of chaos. Each breath was balance.
His movements began slow, deliberate — then shifted into a molten rhythm, flowing like liquid metal. Silent. Deadly.
Jin-Woo narrowed his gaze beneath the mask.
There it is… his trump card. The true Grandmaster's form.
He didn't move. Nor flinch.
Full Excaliblast won't work. Not against that. The First Sun of Xibalba was already nullified by Qâsh'Tai before. This… is no different. That calm aura, that balance—it'll disperse even light turned into wrath.
And yet, Jin-Woo's lips curled as he raised Excalibur Proto.
However This blueprint… belongs to Arthur. Not Artoria.
His voice cut through the charged air like a drawn blade.
"Seal Thirteen—Decision Start."
CLANK.
The wind groaned as Excalibur Proto began to glow. Rings of golden light snapped into being around the blade. Then—one by one—three distinct names echoed from the hilt in a distorted chant, like a warning or command:
"Palamedes."
"Lancelot."
"Gaheris."
CLANK—CLANK—CLANK.
Three restrictions fell. The glow intensified. The wind spiraled faster, carving grooves into the stone under Jin-Woo's feet. Pressure spiked as Excalibur Proto pulsed in his hand like a heartbeat made of war.
Yoda's eyes narrowed. He didn't hesitate. He moved.
The air behind him exploded as the Grandmaster surged forward, his green lightsaber blurring into a storm of light. Juyo-Kai activated in full — serenity inside fury, precision inside chaos. Each step was a lesson in tempo. Each swing a verdict.
Jin-Woo met him head-on.
The shriek of Excalibur Proto slicing through the compressed wind barrier screamed like thunder. Sparks flew as their blades met — again and again — each impact echoing like the pulse of a battle between Legends . Jin-Woo flowed into his technique.
[Dance of Ignorance].
Every slash from the Grandmaster struck nothing but manipulated air and shifting stance. It was as if Jin-Woo fought from beneath every move, weaving under prediction itself.
Not yet. I need more time. More seals. That's the only way this ends.
Across from him, Yoda's thoughts hardened with urgency.
Must end this now, I must. That blade… it feels like death. If complete, it will defeat me. Instantly.
The light of the Force thickened around Yoda's limbs. He pushed harder, faster, his saber flashing in unpredictable spirals — a storm of centuries refined into motion. But Jin-Woo refused to yield.
The Force surged around the Grandmaster, wrapping his limbs in light, amplifying his movement. His saber danced faster, unpredictable spirals whipping through the air — a storm shaped by centuries of mastery.
But Jin-Woo didn't break. He shifted, eyes narrowing beneath the mask. The rhythm of the Dance of Ignorance—the subtle steps, the measured flow—began to strain.
He's adapting. He's changing tempo.
Without warning, Jin-Woo kicked off the ground and launched skyward, wind blasting beneath him. The sudden leap shattered the rhythm of the duel. The sky cracked open as his form shot through the air like a comet.
To the astonishment of all watching, Yoda followed.
A streak of emerald light flared behind him, Force-enhanced speed propelling the Grandmaster into the heavens. The two clashed mid-air—Excalibur Proto roaring against the green saber like thunder tearing the sky in half.
BOOOOM—CRACK!
From the audience below, a wave of movement surged through the stands. Dozens stood to their feet in shock, mouths parted.
In the Mandalorian section, no one said a word.
They watched—warriors recognizing a battle far beyond even their creed.
In the senate viewing decks, the silence was total. Holo-cameras trembled, struggling to track the movement. Across a thousand live feeds, the same image was broadcasted: two legends warring in the sky. One cloaked in gold and purple. The other in green and light.
Padmé's eyes locked upward from her royal seat.
She didn't speak.
He's fighting for something I can't even see yet… but I know I believe in it.
Tarkin, seated beside her, didn't blink. Valorum leaned forward, hands clenched around the edge of his chair.
And in that sky, Excalibur Proto pulsed again. A new voice rang from the blade.
CLANK.
"Bedivere."
CLANK.
"…Kay."
The light doubled. The air warped. Golden energy flared outward, bending the clouds around the duel. Excalibur Proto's glow now rivaled a second Sky , suspended above Naboo.
Valorum finally spoke, voice low and tight.
"…He's not going to blow open the sky with that sword… right?"
Tarkin exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the clashing forms.
"I still prefer to call it a myth sword. And right now, myth is winning."
Up in the sky—high above Naboo—Jin-Woo and Yoda remained locked in a violent power clash, blades grinding against each other with pressure that made the clouds twist and the air howl.
Then Yoda, still pressing in, spoke—not in his usual broken cadence, but clear and direct.
"More seals will be unlocked, Armored Man?"
Jin-Woo let out a short, rough laugh between gritted teeth.
"Ahahaha—look at that. You're talking like normal people now."
And then it happened.
CLANK.
The air shuddered. Excalibur Proto's voice rang louder than before—solemn, final.
"…Arthur Pendragon."
The name echoed like prophecy. Jin-Woo's body and blade ignited in radiant gold—brighter than any light on the battlefield. Energy cocooned him in a luminous orb, raw power flaring in all directions like a miniature sun preparing to awaken.
But Yoda didn't hesitate. His form blurred as he raised both hands, then swept them outward in precise arcs.
Qâsh'Tai.
The legendary dispersion art activated at once—an elegant, controlled technique that unraveled Jin-Woo's golden barrier like threads torn from a tapestry.
Then Yoda was in front of him.
The clash was instantaneous.
BOOOOM—!!!
Excalibur Proto screamed against the green blade as Yoda poured all his Force Valor into the strike. Jin-Woo grunted under the pressure. Cracks formed along the left pauldron of his armor, sparks flashing as segments broke apart and scattered into the sky.
The wind howled. The sky dimmed. And Jin-Woo smiled beneath the mask. "I've got one last seal."
CLANK.
Excalibur Proto answered.
The voice that followed was different—whisper , regal, colder than snow.
"…Queen of Winter: Morgan."
The light changed.
Gold was overtaken by shadows streaked in black, emerald, and deep cold green. The blade roared, with the presence of a queen who ruled a Lostbelt, who conquered her own end time itself. Her name was now etched into the sword's essence.
Excalibur Proto no longer radiated mere victory. It radiated dominion.
The air around Jin-Woo distorted as if the sword now commanded reality to kneel. Below, the clouds recoiled from the energy. The sky turned darker, stained with green frost and gold cracks—like a myth rewriting the heavens in its image.
Then Jin-Woo moved. He raised the sword high.
And shouted—
"EX—!"
Yoda's eyes sharpened. He raised his hands, drawing the full circle.
[Qâsh'Tai.]
But nothing responded. There was nothing to disperse.
The energy was already there — around them. Encompassing them. Like a dome layered in time, perception, and judgment.
Yoda realized too late. He smiled anyway.
"Well played… Armored Man."
Jin-Woo's voice rang with finality.
"—CALIBUR."
BOOOOOOOOOM.
The sky disappeared. The heavens turned to light.
An explosion erupted in every direction . The training ground vanished under a pillar of incandescent judgment that blinded holocams, ruptured sensor feeds,.
For six full seconds, no one saw anything.
Then—The light died.
The ground returned. But it was broken.
The entire training arena now lay carved in overlapping craters, deep and spiraled like scars burned into marble. Dust covered everything .
"WHO WON?! HEYYY—WHO WON THIS BATTLE?!" Pre Vizsla's voice through the haze as he stood on from his seat , cloak torn, hand cupped around his mouth.
Jaster Mereel didn't even look at him. , his voice cold and focused. "Quiet down."
A gust of wind swept across the field. The dust began to dissipate.
A shimmer of light cut through the veil—and the first clear shape emerged.
The Armored Man stood tall, unmoving, his armor scorched in places, cracked along the shoulder and forearm. In his right hand, Excalibur Proto gleamed faintly, tip held inches from the throat of the Jedi Grandmaster.
The crowd gasped.
Then—another shimmer. Yoda. Still standing. Face calm, breath steady. His green lightsaber no longer in his hand—but floating.
Positioned. Behind Jin-Woo.
Pointed directly at the base of his armored neck.
The crowd went deathly silent.
The Twi'lek reporter raised her voice, struggling to process what she saw.
"The Armored Man—he's won—!"
"No…" Padmé's voice cut sharply, rising from the Queen's platform as she stood with both hands on the railing. "Look again. Look more closely."
All eyes turned to the frozen standoff.
Windu, now conscious, slowly pushed himself up with a wince, his eyes squinting through the thinning smoke.
"It's—It's—It's…"
Tarkin finished the sentence without hesitation.
"It's a draw," he said clearly. "The myth… and the Grandmaster. Equal."
Then— Clap. One person began. Clap. Clap.
More joined. The sound grew—first the Mandalorian section, then scattered Senators, then the Jedi themselves. Slowly, steadily, it built. a measured, rising ovation.
The crowd stood—not in awe of a victor, but of what they had just witnessed.
The greatest duel of their era.
A myth brought to life. A master who stood unbroken.