The arena trembled with a storm of voices—some mocking, others urging on—as Gray's body crashed hard against the dusty ground. Dirt rose around him, sweat and soil mixing on his face. His breath came in ragged gasps, every inhale feeling as though it was torn painfully from his chest.
Kota's laughter pierced through the crowd's noise:
— "Hahaha! Even old men rise faster than you, boy! Shall I lend you my hand to pull you up?"
He strolled forward leisurely, twirling his blade with ease. Suddenly, he pressed his boot against Gray's chest, shoving him back down into the dirt. Laughter rippled through sections of the audience, though others fell silent, their eyes fixed on what might unfold.
Gray clawed at the ground with trembling hands, planting his sword into the earth beside him, using it to push himself up. His movements were slow, heavy as mountains, yet his eyes never lost that burning spark.
Kota arched a brow mockingly, then with a casual kick, sent Gray's sword flying across the arena.
— "Can you still rise now, without a crutch? Hah! What a farce!"
His words struck like arrows at Gray's soul. And yet, within him… another window opened.
( Flashback )
In a humble home, his mother sat before him. Her smile was weary, but filled with warmth.
Gray's young voice trembled with resolve:
— "I have to win… I have to prove myself."
She looked at him with eyes full of love:
— "Prove yourself… to whom? Gray, we believe in you—even if you never win a crown out there."
But he shook his head stubbornly, cutting her off with iron will:
— "To myself. Winning is the fastest way out of our poverty. Time isn't on our side… We're a family of four. I can't afford to wait any longer."
( Back to the present. )
Gray opened his eyes to the roar of the crowd. His body screamed with pain, but that sacred memory rang in his heart like a battle hymn. With trembling hands, he reached out once more, struggling to rise.
Suddenly…
CLANG!!
The sharp sound of steel stabbing into the ground beside him echoed across the arena.
Gasps erupted everywhere.
— "A sword?! Where did that come from?!" the announcer shouted in shock.
All eyes turned upward.
There, in the royal stands, sat the fourth prince—Kin. He lounged back in his seat, a faint, smug smile tugging at his lips.
Darius rose to his feet in outrage, his voice booming:
— "Kin! What have you done?! This is blatant interference—it's forbidden!"
Even the king turned his sharp eyes upon his fourth son. But Kin only shrugged with careless amusement, his tone light, almost playful:
— "Oops. Guess I got too excited… Seems it slipped from my hand, hahaha."
A heavy silence fell—laden with suspicion and disbelief.
In the arena, Gray lifted his head. His gaze met Kin's across the distance. No words were exchanged, but that single glance carried a meaning that only the two of them could understand.
Gray reached out, wrapping his fingers tightly around the hilt of the new sword. With every last shred of strength, he planted his feet and roared from the depths of his chest:
— "The fight isn't over!!!"
His cry reverberated through the entire arena, shaking the hearts of everyone present.
Kota chuckled, still amused, twirling his blade.
— "Even with a new sword, your strikes are still the tantrums of a child."
But before he could finish, Gray surged forward with sudden, explosive speed. He drove his sword with all his might straight toward the same weak spot—beneath Kota's left arm.
CRAAACK!!!
The sound of shattering metal rang out like thunder. The armor split open, fragments bending inward, stabbing against Kota's flesh.
Kota froze, his eyes widening in shock. He looked down at his side as blood seeped out, staining his armor a dark crimson.
The audience fell into stunned silence—then the announcer's voice erupted, nearly breaking as he screamed:
— "Ladies and gentlemen! Can you believe your eyes?! The boy Gray… has pierced Kota's armor and landed a direct hit!"
Kota stood rigid, his body trembling as the blood dripped.
Gray stood before him, chest heaving like a furnace about to burst, sword gripped tightly in his hands.
A moment of silence… charged with awe, with disbelief, with tension so thick it threatened to snap—
End of Chapter