The crowd erupted in cheers, their initial skepticism transforming into awe. Chants of "Moon Fist! Moon Fist!" began echoing through the coliseum.
"A weaponless fighter just dodged Ragnar's ultimate technique!"
"Did you see those afterimages? What kind of skill is that?"
"This kid might actually have a chance!"
In the competitor's section, Mist leaned forward, his usual stoic expression cracking into a grin. "That's my student," he said proudly. "Finally starting to understand what real fighting is about."
Queen Hania watched with tears in her eyes. "He's beautiful," she whispered. "Like watching hope itself take physical form."
But Ragnar wasn't finished. The Blade Emperor's face was flushed with rage and embarrassment. In all his years of fighting, no one had ever made him look this foolish. He reached for his back, where his true weapon waited.
"You think countering one technique makes you special?" Ragnar's voice was low and dangerous. "Let me show you real power."
He drew a second sword, this one different from the first. Where his previous blade had been ornate and ceremonial, this weapon was pure menace. The metal was so dark it seemed to absorb light, and runes of power crawled along its surface like living things.
"Grim Sword," Ragnar said, his voice filled with reverence and fear. "My legendary blade. I've never had to draw it in the tournament before."
The moment the sword cleared its sheath, the temperature in the coliseum dropped ten degrees. The crowd instinctively drew back, sensing the malevolent power radiating from the weapon.
"That sword..." Mist's expression grew grave. "It's not just a weapon. It's a cursed artifact."
Krad felt it too, a presence that seemed to whisper promises of violence and death. But instead of fear, he felt something else entirely. Excitement.
"Now that's more like it!" Krad grinned, raising his fists. "I was starting to think this was going to be easy!"
"You're insane," Ragnar said, but there was a hint of respect in his voice. "Grim Sword has tasted the blood of a thousand warriors. It hungers for yours."
"Then it's going to go hungry," Krad replied. "Because I'm not planning on bleeding today."
Ragnar's stance shifted, becoming more fluid and dangerous. With Grim Sword in his hands, he was no longer just a skilled swordsman, he was a force of nature.
"Three sixty Degrees Slashes of Death!"
The attack was beyond anything Krad had faced before. Ragnar moved like a whirlwind of steel, his cursed blade cutting through the air with such speed that it left trails of dark energy. Each slash was perfectly placed, designed to flow into the next, creating an unbreakable chain of death.
But Krad was ready. Moonlight Step activated automatically, his body moving with supernatural grace as he wove between the strikes. The ghostly afterimages multiplied, creating a confusing maze of false targets that made Ragnar's precision worthless.
"First slash... second... third..." Krad counted in his head, his enhanced perception allowing him to track every strike. "He's fast, but there's a pattern. There's always a pattern."
By the twentieth slash, Krad had found his rhythm. By the fortieth, he was actually moving closer to Ragnar instead of away. By the sixtieth, he was inside the Blade Emperor's guard, so close that the massive sword strokes couldn't reach him.
"What?!" Ragnar's eyes widened in shock. "How are you inside my technique?!"
"Because," Krad said with a fierce grin, "you're not the only one who can count to a thousands, old man!"
His fist shot forward, aimed at Ragnar's solar plexus. The Blade Emperor tried to block with his sword, but Krad's punch carried such force that it shattered the defensive posture entirely. Ragnar stumbled backward, his breathing labored.
"Impossible," he gasped. "Grim Sword has never failed me before."
"Maybe it's time to try something new," Krad suggested, bouncing on his toes. "Like admitting you're outmatched."
But even as he spoke, Krad could see something changing in Ragnar's eyes, again. The rage was fading, replaced by something else. Something that looked almost like... relief?
"You want to know why I fight?" Ragnar said suddenly, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the crowd. "You want to know why I've spent years perfecting the art of killing?"
Krad's fighting stance relaxed slightly. Something in the Blade Emperor's tone had changed completely.
"I wasn't always like this," Ragnar continued, his grip on Grim Sword loosening. "Before the world changed, before we all became trapped in this game... I was just a man named Robert. I worked in IT, spent my days fixing computers."
The crowd murmured in recognition. They all remembered their lives before the transformation, when Earth had been normal and they had been human.
"I had a daughter," Ragnar's voice cracked. "Rora. She was eight years old. She loved fairy tales and ice cream and... and she believed her daddy was the strongest man in the world."
Tears began streaming down the Blade Emperor's face, cutting tracks through the grime of battle.
"When the world changed, when we all got pulled into this nightmare, she was... she was one of the first to die. A goblin raid hit the starter town where she spawned. She didn't even know how to fight back."
The coliseum had fallen completely silent. Everyone present had lost someone in the transition, but hearing it spoken aloud made the pain fresh again.
"I became strong to honor her memory," Ragnar continued. "I learned to fight, to kill, to never show mercy because the world had shown none to her. I thought if I could become the strongest, if I could make everyone fear me, then maybe... maybe I could protect the memory of the man who had failed to protect his little girl."
Krad felt tears stinging his own eyes. "But you didn't fail, old man," he said softly. "You survived. You kept fighting. That's what she would have wanted."
"Is it?" Ragnar looked up at him, and for the first time, Krad saw not the Blade Emperor but a broken father. "Or would she want me to remember how to smile again? How to fight for something other than death?"
"I think," Krad said, his voice gentle but firm, "she'd want you to be happy. To find people who care about you and let them in. To stop carrying all that pain alone."
Ragnar was silent for a long moment, then slowly began to laugh. Not the harsh, metallic sound from before, but something warm and genuine.
"You know what the really crazy part is?" he said. "I came here planning to defeat you quickly and move on to the next round. But somewhere along the way, I realized... I was having fun. Real fun, for the first time in years."
He looked at Grom Sword in his hands, then back at Krad. "You want to see something interesting? This cursed blade feeds on hatred and pain. But right now, fighting you... I don't feel any hatred at all."
As if responding to his words, the runes on Grim Sword began to flicker and fade. The oppressive aura around the weapon dissipated like morning mist.
"I forfeit," Ragnar said suddenly, lowering his sword.
The crowd gasped in shock. "What?!"
"I forfeit the match," Ragnar repeated, his voice carrying clearly across the arena. "Moon Fist is the victor."
The referee looked confused. "Are you certain? The forfeit penalty will still apply."
"I'm certain," Ragnar nodded. "And I know exactly what I want to lose."
He raised Grim Sword high, then threw it to the ground with such force that the cursed blade shattered into a thousand pieces.
"I forfeit my hatred," he declared. "I choose to lose my anger, my pain, my need for revenge. I choose to remember what it felt like to be Robert, who loved his daughter and believed in heroes."
The crowd erupted in cheers, but Krad barely heard them. He was already moving, crossing the arena to stand before Ragnar.
"You know," Krad said with a grin, "Tiger Squad could always use another member. Especially one who's figured out what real strength looks like."
Ragnar smiled, and for the first time in years, it reached his eyes. "I'd like that. Though I might need to learn how to fight without a sword."
"Don't worry," Krad laughed, throwing an arm around the older man's shoulders. "I'll teach you everything I know about punching things really hard."
"That's your entire fighting style?"
"It's worked so far!"
As they walked off the arena floor together, the crowd's cheers growing louder with each step, Krad couldn't help but think about what had just happened. He'd won the match, but more than that, he'd won something much more valuable, a friend who understood what it meant to fight for something greater than yourself.
"So," Ragnar said as they reached the competitor's section, "what's your real name? I figure if we're going to be teammates, I should know what to call you."
"It's Krad," he replied. "Krad Sebastian."
"Sebastian?" Ragnar raised an eyebrow. "Are you a Filipino?"
"Yeah, well," Krad shrugged.
"That explains everything..."