Nevil stood in the center of the arena, both swords resting steadily in his hands. One of them, the Kusanagi blade Ashan had lent him, caught the sunlight and reflected it in a cold silver gleam.
His face remained calm, composed enough that an outsider might believe he felt no pressure at all, yet inside his chest his heartbeat thundered like a war drum, echoing against his ribs with growing intensity.
Across the arena, Tyron casually spun his spear in wide circles. Each rotation sliced through the air with a low humming whistle, the shaft blurring slightly from the speed of his wrists.
The smirk on his face carried the confidence of someone who had already decided how the battle would end. He tilted his chin upward, looking at Nevil with thinly veiled contempt.
Elara stood near the front row of the audience, gripping her hands together so tightly that her knuckles had turned pale.
Ashan and Zevi had stepped closer to her without saying anything, both of them watching the arena with unwavering focus. Narasha was already standing just behind them, her eyes fixed on the two combatants with a sharp intensity that suggested she was analyzing every detail.
The referee raised his hand high above his head.
"Begin!"
Tyron moved first.
No, he didn't merely move.
He blurred forward.
The sand beneath his feet exploded outward as he launched himself across the arena, leaving a burst of dust swirling in his wake.
[POWER JAB]
His spear thrust forward like a bolt of lightning.
Nevil twisted his body to evade, but Tyron's speed exceeded his expectations.
A sharp tchhk! cut through the air as the spear grazed his shoulder, slicing cleanly through his jacket and carving a thin burning line of blood across his skin.
Tyron didn't slow down, he accelerated.
The spear flashed again and again, its silver tip darting forward like a venomous snake striking repeatedly.
"Don't run from me, coward!"
He swung the spear horizontally.
Nevil lifted his sword to intercept.
CLANG!
The collision rang across the arena, the shock vibrating violently through Nevil's arm. Tyron's raw strength surged through the weapon like a tidal wave, far heavier than Nevil had anticipated.
Tyron rotated his grip instantly, reversing the spear with fluid precision before unleashing a rapid chain of thrusts that forced Nevil backward step by step, as if he were being driven back by the relentless current of a raging river.
Shhk!
Shhk!
Shhk!
Nevil blocked one thrust. Dodged another. Slid beneath a third.
Every movement came dangerously close to failure. Each defense passed within inches of becoming a fatal mistake.
The pressure never stopped.
Within seconds he found himself being pushed toward the edge of the arena.
Zevi let out a low whistle.
"His spear speed… that's no joke."
Ashan didn't blink as he watched the exchange unfold.
"Nevil's already studying the rhythm," he said quietly. "Look at his eyes."
Tyron grinned wider, sensing the advantage as Nevil retreated.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he whipped the spear forward again until its tip hovered dangerously close to Nevil's cheek.
A thin red line appeared a moment later.
Nevil flinched.
Tyron snorted with open mockery.
"You're pathetic. No wonder Elara threw herself at you. Both of you are trash."
Nevil's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't respond. His gaze remained steady and controlled.
Tyron lunged again.
[IRON STANCE]
His posture suddenly shifted. His feet planted firmly into the ground as his body lowered into a perfectly balanced stance that radiated stability.
For a moment it felt as if he had become an immovable wall, one that just happened to be holding a spear capable of piercing through steel.
Nevil slashed downward.
CLANG!!
The impact rattled his arm violently.
Tyron seized that instant.
FWOOSH!
The spear shot forward and pierced through Nevil's left shoulder, carving a shallow wound deep enough to send blood spilling down his arm.
Elara gasped.
"Nevil!"
Nevil clenched his teeth as pain surged through his body. Blood trickled steadily from the wound before dripping onto the sand below.
But he did not retreat.
'I've endured worse,' he thought. 'Compared to the monsters I fought in the dungeons… this is nothing.'
Tyron stepped forward with arrogant ease.
"You can't win," he declared. "Your skills are inferior. Your movements are slow. This duel is already over."
Nevil lowered his stance.
He inhaled slowly.
When he exhaled, the emotion drained from his eyes.
Something changed.
Tyron didn't notice the shift.
But Ashan and Zevi did.
They recognized it instantly.
Nevil had entered the survivor's mindset; the instinctive state born from countless life-and-death struggles against dungeon monsters. It was the natural combat sense that awakeners developed only after surviving real battles.
His Threat Detection activated automatically.
His senses sharpened.
Every sound became clearer.
Every movement slowed.
Tyron's spear no longer looked like a blur of attacks.
Instead, Nevil saw patterns.
Angles.
Rhythms.
Predictable sequences hidden inside Tyron's aggressive style.
He could see through it.
Ashan murmured quietly.
"Now the real fight begins."
Zevi exhaled through his nose.
"That inexperienced idiot has no idea what's about to happen."
Tyron dashed forward again, launching another lightning-fast thrust.
But this time Nevil didn't retreat.
He rolled into the attack.
Tyron's eyes widened.
"What?!"
Nevil's shoulder slipped beneath the spear as he surged upward like a tiger bursting from tall grass.
KLANG!!
Sparks exploded as Nevil's sword slammed against the spear's shaft.
Tyron staggered half a step.
That was all the opening Nevil needed.
SLASH!
SLASH!
SLASH!
His dual blades moved like flowing wind, cutting from unpredictable angles—high, low, left, right—each strike blending seamlessly into the next.
Tyron gritted his teeth, forced onto the defensive as he jumped back and parried desperately.
The crowd erupted.
"He turned it around!"
"Where did that fighting style come from?!"
Zevi rubbed beneath his nose with smug pride.
Tyron finally landed several meters away.
For the first time, a crack appeared in his confidence.
Elara's legs trembled when she saw the blood soaking through Nevil's shoulder and side.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"This is my fault…"
Her voice trembled.
Ashan placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
"Relax," he said calmly. "The fight is almost over."
Zevi nodded with a grin.
"And he's about to win."
Tyron snarled and rushed forward again, his spear attacks becoming increasingly erratic as frustration seeped into his movements.
Nevil ducked, blocked, and parried.
Suddenly Tyron twisted his spear mid-swing, reversing the direction with startling speed.
Nevil's eyes widened. 'Too fast.'
PCHK!!
The spear pierced his side.
Blood splashed onto the sand.
The crowd gasped.
Tyron smirked viciously as he pushed the spear deeper.
"Got you."
Nevil staggered backward, gripping the wound.
Then,
he smiled.
"Yeah… you did."
Tyron froze. A cold chill crept up his spine.
Nevil's stance shifted.
His gaze dropped briefly.
Tyron followed it instinctively.
Realization struck him too late.
His attack had overextended. His weight leaned too far forward.
His stance was completely open.
Nevil exploded into motion.
His right blade locked Tyron's spear for half a heartbeat.
Tyron tried to jerk backward.
But Nevil's left leg was already chambered.
Tyron saw the kick aimed at his stomach and braced instinctively.
But Nevil's eyes glinted.
'That's not the target.'
His leg dropped lower at the last instant.
WHAM!!!
The kick connected squarely with Tyron's most vulnerable weakness,
his balls!
A horrifying sound echoed across the arena.
P O K!!
Tyron's face went pale instantly.
His pupils trembled.
His soul practically left his body.
The spear slipped from his fingers as he collapsed to his knees, both hands clutching the shattered remains of his pride before his body toppled forward into the dirt.
For one full second, the arena fell completely silent.
Then,
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The crowd exploded.
"He's dead!"
"That sound.. I'll never forget it!"
"Tyron's bloodline ends today!!"
Even the professors stared in stunned disbelief.
One of them slowly shook his head.
"…That wasn't a victory," he muttered. "That was a war crime."
Nevil stood in the center of the arena, chest rising and falling heavily as blood dripped from his wounds.
But he didn't collapse.
He simply lowered his swords and looked down at Tyron's unconscious body.
A faint shadow crossed his gaze.
"Zevi taught me something," Nevil murmured quietly.
"To win… you don't always need to cut the enemy."
He turned away.
"Sometimes… destroying their pride is enough."
Elara burst into tears, this time from overwhelming relief.
Ashan smirked.
Zevi whistled loudly.
"That was damn beautiful! Someone bring a dustpan; we've got trash to sweep!"
The referee swallowed hard before raising his trembling hand.
"W-Winner… Nevil Arashan!"
The arena erupted once more.
And standing in the middle of it all, bruised and bleeding, Nevil finally allowed himself a small smile.