The dust still hadn't settled.
Chunks of quartz fell in slow intervals, each crash echoing through what remained of the Colosseum. Cracks split the once-perfect arena like veins across glass.
Ren stood at the center.
Breathing steady.
Waiting.
Yun Shi approached.
Not hurried.
Not alarmed.
"You held," he said simply.
Ren wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Wasn't done."
Yun Shi's gaze shifted past him.
The Black Knight still stood.
But barely.
The sword in his grip trembled violently, metal twisting as if trying to escape his hand.
"Leave the rest," Yun Shi said.
The sword reacted.
It jerked upward, wrenching the Knight's arm back unnaturally. The metal screamed — a thin, living sound.
Yun Shi drew his blade.
Smooth.
Measured.
He stepped closer.
"Where," he asked calmly, "did you acquire that weapon?"
The Black Knight strained against it.
"…Market," he forced out. "Auction row."
Yun Shi's eyes cooled.
"You know the rules. Relics are prohibited."
"I didn't know it was one."
"That," Yun Shi replied quietly, "is not a defense."
He moved.
The exchange wasn't a battle.
It was dismantling.
One strike — the Knight blocked.
Second — redirected.
Third — disarmed his footing.
By the fifth movement, the Black Knight was on one knee.
Yun Shi rotated his wrist.
The sword slipped free.
It dropped—
Before it hit the ground—
A hand caught it.
Zenkyou.
Barehanded.
The blade thrashed violently, pressure warping the air around her palm.
The crowd tensed.
Zenkyou tilted her head.
"…Oh?" she murmured. "You're loud."
The sword vibrated harder.
She tightened her grip.
"Quiet."
It obeyed.
Silence fell.
Yun Shi watched her for a moment.
Then said evenly,
"Hey, Zenkyou."
She glanced sideways.
"Prepare yourself."
A pause.
"And don't forget that incident."
The air shifted.
Zenkyou's smile didn't disappear.
But it sharpened.
"…If he shows up again," she said quietly, "I'm not sure we can keep up."
For a brief second—
Neither of them looked amused.
Then Yun Shi exhaled lightly and looked away.
"Anyway," he said casually, shifting tone as if nothing had been said, "try not to break the next arena."
Zenkyou snorted.
"No promises."
Shura felt someone step beside him.
"Hey, Shura."
He jumped.
"—AH!"
Master Juro stood there calmly, hands behind his back.
"Hey, Yura," Juro added casually.
Yura smiled politely.
Shura stared. "Master… how are you—when did you—"
Juro looked toward the ruined arena.
"I know," he said mildly, "you have an unreasonable number of questions."
Shura blinked. "That's not even—"
"But first," Juro continued, eyes sharpening slightly, "let me see."
He vanished.
No sound.
No flash.
Just absence.
Shura stared at the empty space.
"…How fast are you?"
Yura tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Very."
Across the ruined arena, the air shifted again.
One by one, the rulers of the Six Kingdoms stepped forward.
Their presence alone steadied the crowd.
A voice echoed, controlled and resonant.
"There is no cause for panic. The situation is contained."
Murmurs softened.
"We apologize for the disruption."
A pause.
"There are three days remaining before our Eleventh Odyssey returns."
The words carried weight.
"He must defeat the Sentinel."
Silence deepened.
"So," the voice concluded evenly, "use these three days wisely."
The amplification faded.
Shura blinked.
"Odyssey… Sentinel… what?"
His brain hurt.
Beside him, Yura leaned closer.
"You know," she whispered softly, "I can read your mind."
Shura froze.
"…You can what?"
She broke into quiet laughter.
"I can't."
He stared at her.
"…That wasn't funny."
"It was a little funny."
"…It was psychological warfare."
Behind them—
Orin slung an arm around Ren's shoulder.
"HEY! Look at you!" she shouted. "Those oversized muscles nearly demolished a national monument!"
Ren scowled. "They're pure muscle."
Orin poked his arm.
Hard.
"It jiggles."
"It does not—!"
She poked again.
"It absolutely does."
"That's because you hit it!"
Zenkyou watched the exchange with visible disappointment.
"Children."
Ren glared. "You caught a cursed relic with your hand."
"Yes," Zenkyou replied flatly. "And yet I'm still less dramatic than you."
Shura sighed.
The arena was half-destroyed.
A relic had awakened.
Something called an "incident" lingered in the air.
Three days remained before something worse arrived.
And yet—
For one strange, stubborn moment—
They were laughing.
The world hadn't ended.
Not yet.