Kael's fist smashed into Rikuya with immense force, but Rikuya met it head-on, pushing back just as fiercely. Their fists collided in a thunderous clash, the ground beneath them shaking. Yet, Rikuya's strength was undeniable. He overpowered Kael, landing five quick, precise strikes to Kael's body before the larger fighter even realized what was happening.
With his opponent dazed, Rikuya didn't let up. He feigned a movement to the left, but in an instant, his right knee drove into Kael's ribs, the sharp impact knocking the wind from his opponent. Rikuya spun gracefully, following up with a vicious hook that struck Kael square on the jaw, sending him stumbling back.
As Kael tried to regain his footing, Rikuya sidestepped his next attack, using Kael's own momentum against him. With a swift, seamless movement, Rikuya grabbed Kael's arm and threw him effortlessly over his shoulder. Kael hit the ground hard, the jarring impact leaving him off-balance and gasping for breath. Before Kael could recover, Rikuya was already upon him, charging in with a powerful punch that landed directly in Kael's face. The force of it reverberated through his entire body, leaving him reeling.
Kael barely managed to get to his feet before Rikuya was at him again. With a calculated sweep, Rikuya took Kael's legs out from under him, lifting him off the ground and sending him crashing back down. Kael grunted, his body aching from the brutal throw.
The moment Kael tried to push himself upright, Rikuya was already on him, his foot shooting forward in a punishing kick to Kael's chest. The blow was forceful enough to knock Kael off balance, sending him stumbling backward, unable to find his footing.
Kael, now visibly frustrated and disoriented, swung at Rikuya in a desperate attempt to strike back. But Rikuya was faster. With a swift pivot, he planted a brutal reverse punch to Kael's chin, snapping his head back. The blow left Kael momentarily stunned, his body swaying as he struggled to stay on his feet.
Before Kael could gather himself, Rikuya closed the gap, landing a rapid jab that stunned him further. Kael's guard weakened, and Rikuya pressed on with relentless speed, keeping the pressure on his opponent without giving him a chance to recover.
Kael tried again to swing, but Rikuya reacted instantly, blocking his incoming punch with one arm and stepping in closer, using the brief moment of vulnerability to land a powerful roundhouse kick to Kael's side. The kick struck with brutal precision, cracking ribs and sending Kael spinning to the side, struggling to maintain his balance.
Kael's body staggered, barely able to stand. Rikuya seized the moment, dropping low and executing a flawless takedown. With a swift motion, he lifted Kael off the ground and slammed him back down, the impact rattling Kael's senses and leaving him vulnerable.
To end it, Rikuya stood over Kael, delivering a quick, decisive strike to his throat. The sharp blow left Kael gasping for air, unable to continue, his body finally succumbing to the relentless assault. Rikuya stood victorious, calm and unyielding, as the crowd erupted into applause.
But just as the referee opened his mouth to declare the victor, a blur of silver and violet flashed across the stage.
"Sylinara Velith!" the announcer shouted, his voice cracking with both awe and panic. "Elven blade-dancer of the Moonvale Woods!"
Like a whisper through moonlit branches, she appeared—graceful, dangerous, and faster than the eye could track. Her twin blades shimmered like threads of starlight as she dashed toward Rikuya. He barely managed to dodge, but even then, a thin red line appeared across his cheek. A whisper-cut. A warning.
Rikuya narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensing.
But Sylinara just giggled—a musical, lilting sound completely at odds with the deadly weapons she wielded. She twirled on her toes, blades flashing in playful arcs around her. "Oh my, did I ruin your victory moment? So sorry... not sorry," she teased, sticking her tongue out mid-spin.
She lunged again, her strikes fast, elegant, and just a touch theatrical—like a deadly ballet set to the rhythm of mockery. Every time Rikuya sidestepped or parried, she'd make a show of gasping dramatically or pouting.
"Careful, hero," she cooed, slashing just inches from his ribs. "You're leaking. That little cut? Moonvale girls call that foreplay."
She ducked under his guard and tapped his chest with the flat of her blade, then leapt back like a teasing cat. "Tag, you're it! Or is this how you always greet forest royalty?"
The crowd roared with laughter and confusion, not sure whether to fear her or cheer her on. Rikuya, ever composed, stared her down—his lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk.
"You done dancing, or do I gotta put a leash on you?" he growled, cracking his knuckles.
Sylinara grinned. "Only if it sparkles, darling." Then she pirouetted again, blades flashing, her assault continuing like a storm wrapped in silk and sarcasm.
Rikuya stood still for a moment, watching Sylinara's graceful, teasing movements—each step a taunt, each flick of her blade like a smirk made flesh. His eyes narrowed, blade humming with restrained power. He whispered under his breath, voice barely audible.
"…I still don't get it. But—let's try it."
He moved.
Rikuya's body blurred in a blink, a streak of blue mana trailing behind. The crowd gasped as he vanished from sight and reappeared beside Sylinara. She reacted fast, slashing toward him with her elegant twin blades—but he had already pivoted, narrowly dodging with a breath's distance. Mana surged into the edge of his blade, refining it into surgical sharpness.
Then came the clean arc.
From her shoulder to hip, Rikuya's strike traced a single flawless line. No blood. No pain.
Only snaps.
Leather tore. Buckles gave way. Her ornate belts unraveled. One by one, her gear collapsed around her. The right shoulder plate dropped to the floor. A thigh guard spun off and landed with a metallic thud. Her twin blade holsters slid down, barely catching on her hips. A sigh passed through the crowd.
Rikuya landed silently behind her, crouched, his blade pointed low.
"Zantetsu… severed."
Sylinara blinked. Her hand instinctively reached for her gear, but her fingers met empty space—nothing left to grasp. Her armor hung askew, loosened and parted in just the wrong places. She turned slowly, pink dusting her cheeks, lips slightly parted in flustered disbelief.
"Wh—what…? That… that's cheating…!"
She tried to pull a strap up, but it slipped again, revealing just enough creamy skin to make the crowd roar with laughter and whistles. Her thighs squeezed together slightly, clearly aware of just how much had been exposed.
"P-pervert," she muttered, face burning.
Rikuya stood up straight, glancing over his shoulder with a calm expression.
"I just cut the unnecessary weight."
Sylinara stomped a foot in protest, barely holding up her half-falling top. "Y-you're not supposed to win like that!"
He turned fully now, blade vanishing. "I said I didn't get it," he said with a faint smirk, "but I'm learning."
Sylinara grit her teeth, cheeks still flushed from the humiliating precision of Rikuya's strike. Bits of her once-pristine armor clung awkwardly to her body—her shoulder bare, the curve of her waist exposed, the strap of her top dangerously slipping with every breath.
She raised her blades again, clearly rattled but forcing a stance.
"I-I'm not done yet," she stammered, trying to mask her flustered state with bravado. "That trick won't work twice!"
Rikuya didn't even lift his blade. He simply tilted his head, eyes calmly sweeping over her figure—not with lust, but quiet, amused awareness. His gaze lingered just long enough to make her twitch.
"You sure you want to move?" he said, voice low and teasing. "One step, and that strap might not hold."
Her arms instinctively folded over her chest. "Y-you…!"
Rikuya took a slow step forward, eyes never leaving hers. "Your blades are shaking. That blush still from the heat of battle?"
She stepped back.
"Or is it the breeze?" He smirked faintly as another buckle slid off her hip with a soft clink.
Sylinara's face turned scarlet. She backed up further, swords drooping.
"Th-this is indecent!"
"You stepped into the ring dressed like a goddess," Rikuya murmured, "I just trimmed the wrapping."
Her grip faltered.
The audience was half-silent, half-chuckling, watching this one-sided psychological war unfold.
Sylinara let out a frustrated noise, spun on her heel, and stormed out of the ring—arms wrapped around herself, long silver hair hiding her face.
"Y-you're a menace!" she yelled behind her.
Rikuya shrugged, turning away calmly.
"Victory's still a victory."
The arena grew quiet again as a shadow loomed near the edge of the ring.
Heavy boots thudded against the stone floor.
A towering figure emerged—muscles like boulders, scars like war paint. His massive frame cast a long shadow as he stepped into the ring. The crowd murmured in awe.
Jarek "The Wall" Dendros.
Known for never speaking.
Never smiling.
Never needing to.
But now, he stopped just a few feet from Rikuya, arms crossed over his barrel chest. The silence between them stretched thick—until, to everyone's shock, Jarek… spoke.
"...That was amusing," he rumbled, voice like rolling thunder.
Rikuya blinked. "You… talk?"
Jarek tilted his head slightly. "Not usually. But that elf girl's face... worth it."
Rikuya chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Wasn't trying to humiliate her. Just… trying a new move."
"She'll remember it," Jarek said. "We all will."
He uncrossed his arms and looked Rikuya in the eye. "You're not just fast. You're clever."
Rikuya's smile faded slightly, his voice lowering. "I'm just trying to survive."
Jarek nodded. "Good. But in the north, clever breaks before strong. Let's see how you hold up."
He turned, walking to his side of the ring, massive back rippling beneath a fur-lined mantle.
Rikuya watched him for a moment. "He talks once and now I gotta fight him… Great."
The bell rang.
No tricks.
No mana.
No dodging.
Just two men—Rikuya and Jarek—standing tall in the center of the ring.
The crowd held its breath.
Then—
CRACK!
Jarek's fist crashed into Rikuya's jaw, snapping his head to the side.
Rikuya stumbled, spit flying from his mouth—but he didn't fall.
He turned back with a grin, wiped the blood from his lip, and answered with a hook to Jarek's ribs that echoed through the arena.
Jarek didn't flinch.
BOOM!
His palm slammed into Rikuya's chest like a battering ram, lifting him off the ground for a second.
The crowd roared.
Rikuya's feet skidded back, chest heaving, pain screaming through his ribs. But he stepped forward again.
Thud. Smash. Crack.
Fist after fist, blow after blow—neither man dodging, neither backing down. Each punch was met with another. Cheekbones swelled. Eyes bruised. Blood dripped from cut lips and split brows.
They fought like warriors of old.
The referee looked stunned, unsure whether to step in or let history write itself.
"Ref ain't stopping this," one spectator whispered.
"They don't want it stopped," another replied.
Rikuya's nose bled freely now. He took a straight punch to the forehead that made his vision blur—but he roared and answered with a liver shot that made the giant grunt for the first time.
Jarek smiled.
A rare, grim smile of respect.
"You're still standing," he said through bloodied teeth.
"So are you," Rikuya growled, fists up.
The crowd was on its feet now, chanting their names, the arena alive with thunderous cheers.
Man to man.
No magic.
No armor.
No mercy.
Just grit.
And fire.
Jarek's punch thundered into Rikuya's jaw—CRACK!—but Rikuya didn't fall.
He staggered.
He spat blood.
And he smiled.
"That all?" he muttered, eyes burning like fire.
The crowd gasped. Jarek blinked. Then grinned.
Another swing from the giant—this one heavier, meaner—but Rikuya stepped into it, letting it slam into his ribs.
"HHRAAAH!!"
Rikuya roared as he absorbed the hit, then retaliated with a brutal uppercut that lifted the titan's chin. He followed with a hook to the gut that echoed through the stadium.
WHUD.
Jarek grunted, knees bending—but he didn't drop.
SLAM.
Another blow from Jarek.
CRACK.
Another from Rikuya.
Neither dodged. Neither blocked. Just raw, savage willpower.
Fist to face. Chest to chest. Roar to roar.
The arena was on fire with energy, the crowd standing, screaming names.
"JA-REEEK!!"
"RI-KU-YA!!"
Blood splattered the mat. Muscles swelled. Both men were covered in bruises, yet still they stood.
Then, with one last thunderous left hook, Rikuya sent Jarek stumbling back. The giant's legs wobbled. He dropped to one knee—panting, shaking—eyes wide with disbelief.
Rikuya didn't move in for the kill.
He stood, towering, his mana blade still sheathed. Chest rising. Shoulders squared.
"I don't fall," Rikuya growled.
"I rise."
The crowd exploded.
Jarek, still on one knee, looked up at Rikuya. A deep, rumbling growl came from his chest as he slowly rose to his feet. The crowd hushed, anticipating the next moment—the final, decisive move.
With a grunt, Jarek cracked his neck, then took a wide, deliberate step forward. His massive hand swiped at the air as he wound up—the ground trembled. He was gathering all of his strength, every ounce of his might for a single, earth-shattering blow.
"Golem Slam!" Jarek roared, charging forward with terrifying speed for his size. The ground beneath his feet cracked and crumbled as he swung his fist down, aiming for Rikuya's head. The force was nothing short of a landslide.
But Rikuya, like a beast in the wild, knew—he could sense the deadly intent. His legs coiled, his muscles tensed like a spring.
With a blur of motion, Rikuya dashed forward, his body moving like lightning to meet Jarek's devastating strike head-on.
BAM!!
The sound of their collision echoed through the arena. Rikuya's body slammed into Jarek's with bone-crushing force, but instead of being flattened, Rikuya's movements were fluid, dodging at the last second—just enough to avoid the full brunt of the Golem Slam.
Jarek's fist struck the ground with such force that it created a massive crater, shaking the entire ring.
Rikuya, now inches from the giant, snapped his fist out—a punishing counter—he drove his knuckles into Jarek's abdomen with everything he had. The power behind it left Jarek gasping for air, but he wasn't finished.
Jarek let out one final roar.
With every ounce of his remaining strength, he tried to lift his massive arm once more—but it was too late. His knee buckled under him. He collapsed forward, crumpling into the dirt with a final grunt.
The audience gasped.
Silence.
Jarek was down—but Rikuya, standing tall, chest heaving, his glare unwavering, had won.
The referee's voice broke the tension. "Victory to Rikuya!"
The crowd erupted into wild, thunderous cheers.