The golden light of Max's "Radiant Dawn: Final Illumination" bathed the arena in an almost blinding glow as he advanced toward Grim.
Grim remained on one knee, Echo's tip embedded in the arena floor. Sweat trickled down his face, his breathing ragged. Mana exhaustion had pushed him to his absolute limits. His muscles trembled with the effort of simply remaining upright.
The crowd had fallen silent, an entire arena holding its breath. In the imperial box, even the Empress leaned forward slightly.
"Yield," Max demanded again, his voice carrying across the hushed arena. "You've fought well, but it's over."
Grim's gaze remained fixed on the ground.
For a moment, he considered it. Yielding would be the rational choice. He was spent, his reserves nearly depleted. Max was injured from the Seven Sword Strike, but still standing, still capable.
But then his eyes caught sight of Julius Luminaris in the stands, watching with unconcealed satisfaction.
