Just then, Sanjo stepped to the edge of the stage, his boots clinking lightly against the wooden platform as he reached for a wooden sword. Moments later, Alex followed, calmly selecting his own. On the stage, two designated racks stood—one for Fighter One and the other for Fighter Two. Each rack bore exactly twelve wooden swords, neatly arranged on separate carriages. It was an unspoken rule, etched into the tradition of this trial: Fighter One must not touch Fighter Two's swords, and vice versa.
Sanjo gripped a sword from his side and immediately began spinning it through the air, showing off a series of flamboyant flourishes. His confident movements drew smirks and approving nods from the crowd.
"Yeah... that boy's gonna be torn apart," echoed the unspoken sentiment pulsing through the audience as all eyes turned to Alex, underestimating him.
Just then, a glowing barrier surged upward from the edges of the stage, encircling the combatants in a shimmering dome. It was the arena's defense system, designed to shield the audience from the shockwaves of the fierce battle that was about to unfold.
"Hey, kid. Don't say I didn't warn you," Sanjo barked, a sneer carved into his face. "If anything happens to you... well, just know it's because of your own stupidity."
"No need to worry. That kind of habit suits children like you," Alex shot back, a calm, mocking smile spreading across his lips.
The taunt pierced through Sanjo's pride like a blade. His veins bulged, muscles flexed, and his grip on the wooden sword tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"I'll cripple you before this is over, you pathetic worm! And when I'm done... you won't even have the strength to open that free-running mouth of yours!" he snarled, voice trembling with fury.
Alex didn't flinch. "I'll make sure to remind you that you said that."
At that moment, a man stepped forward from outside the arena—mid-thirties, clad in a dark cloak laced with ancient insignias. He was the stage instructor, the appointed judge of the duel.
As he walked into view, silence swept through the crowd like a cold breeze. All movement halted. Eyes fixed on him. The moment had arrived.
Raising one hand high into the air, the instructor stood still. Everyone knew the signal. When that hand dropped and straightened forward, the battle would begin—just as it had been done for centuries, even before the world was shattered by the Abomination Apocalypse.
And then... his hand fell forward.
Sanjo moved first.
Like a thunderbolt let loose from the sky, he dashed toward Alex, wooden blade drawn, eyes blazing with murderous intent. "DIE!" he roared, trying to carve fear into Alex's soul with a single word.
The suddenness of the charge caught Alex off guard—he hadn't expected Sanjo to explode with such ferocity from the start. But his instincts kicked in. With razor precision, Alex twisted his body, bringing up his wooden blade just in time.
GRAAAAAAIN!
The clash of wood against wood thundered through the arena, sending a visible shockwave that rippled along the stage floor. The barrier flared briefly, absorbing the impact and keeping the force contained. Still, the echo of the collision rang out, making the hearts of onlookers pound faster.
"I told you, didn't I?" Sanjo growled with a wicked grin, leaning close, breathing heavily.
Though Alex had blocked the strike, the sheer power behind it sent him sliding backward. His boots scraped along the floor—until he stabbed his sword into the ground, anchoring himself and softening the blow.
Alex bared his teeth. "Once again... I'll say it loud—you said that. Unless you break my jaw, I'll keep talking. And don't think a sneak attack makes you some kind of swift demon."
Sure, you're good at talking," Sanjo spat, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "I promise… that mouth of yours won't be the same once you crawl off this stage—if you can still crawl."
With that, the two launched at each other again, swords clashing with brutal intensity. Shockwaves rippled across the platform as the wooden blades met with a force that sounded more like clashing iron than simple practice swords.
GRRAIIIIAAANG! RAIINNG! CRAACK!
The sound echoed like thunder, bouncing off the arena walls and stirring a storm of silence in the crowd. Every swing sent gusts of air slashing past the barrier. Eyes widened. Mouths hung open.
"How… how is this possible?" Thoughts raced through the minds of the audience. "How can a low-ranked hunter go head-to-head with an elite—Level Six?! This... this defies everything we know!"
Among the onlookers sat a row of generals—stoic warriors who had witnessed countless battles—but now, even they were speechless. Not because of the spectacle alone... but because of something deeper. Something terrifying.
Despite all their experience, despite their enhanced senses and combat-trained instincts… they couldn't gauge Alex's strength. Not even a flicker of it.
It made no sense.
There were only two possibilities.
Either this boy possessed no measurable talent at all… or he stood beyond them all.
But how? How could a kid who hadn't even reached fifteen surpass fully-trained, elite-ranked hunters? And if he truly was that powerful, why had he been marked with a low-grade badge?
Something wasn't adding up—and the generals felt it.
Back on the stage, both fighters now bore visible injuries—cuts, bruises, and scraped limbs. Their breathing grew labored, chests rising and falling like drums of war. Their swords, once sturdy and smooth, now bore jagged cracks down their length. One more clash and they might snap in half.
Then, without a word, Sanjo reached up and tore off his shirt in a single, dramatic motion—leaving only his trousers. His muscles gleamed with sweat, and across his face, a devilish smile widened.
Gasps erupted across the crowd.
"He's serious...!"
"He's about to unleash his technique!"
"Alex is done for! That's the move Sanjo used to cripple a senior two years ago!"
But even amid the fear, other murmurs rose—ones of disbelief, awe, and curiosity.
"To think this no-name rookie pushed Sanjo this far…"
"He forced a prodigy to bring out his trump card…"
At the center of the chaos, Alex inhaled deeply, drawing in every ounce of source essence around him. The air shimmered faintly as energy gathered at his core, spiraling through his veins, concentrating especially in his arms and legs. His body tensed, veins lighting up like glowing threads.
Now's the time... now's the time, Alex, he whispered under his breath, voice barely audible—just enough for himself to hear.
Ahead of him, Sanjo stood grinning like a predator about to devour its prey. His voice rose, now louder, deeper... almost inhuman.
"Alex…" The name hit like a war drum.
"You're stronger than I expected. What a pity…" His eyes darkened. "Even if it breaks the law, I'm not letting you walk away alive."
His voice dripped with malice, every syllable soaked in killing intent.
It was like something else was speaking through him—his tone twisted, corrupted. The very air around him grew colder. He stepped forward slowly, dragging his sword in the air as if painting invisible symbols, each swing elegant, ritualistic… deadly.
The audience, generals, and even Alex could feel it—something ancient was about to be unleashed.
And there was no turning back.