The clash between Leo and Rio had begun, and the arena seemed to tremble under the weight of their intent. The air was charged, almost heavy, as both fighters locked eyes, neither willing to give an inch. The grip each man had on his sword was not just firm—it was unshakable, as if their entire willpower was being funneled into that weapon.
Rio was the first to move, his body surging forward with a burst of raw speed. His blade cut through the air with a sharp whoosh, aiming directly at Leo's midsection. The force behind it was enough to split through reinforced wood, but Leo tilted his body with precision, letting the attack slide past him by the smallest margin. The tip of Rio's sword barely brushed the fabric of his clothes, yet Leo's eyes didn't even blink. His expression remained calm, unshaken.
Without giving Rio a chance to follow up, Leo's own sword swept outward in a counterattack. The sound of metal striking metal rang out like a bell in the silent tension of the crowd. Sparks scattered into the air, bright against the backdrop of the arena, each one flashing briefly before fading into nothingness. The collision echoed, the force pushing both fighters back a single step, but neither was willing to break the rhythm.
Rio tightened his stance, adjusting his footing on the stone floor. His breathing was measured, but his eyes blazed with determination. He had been improving steadily—each exchange of blows was sharper than the last. Every strike he made now was cleaner, faster, and more precise than the one before. The growth was visible to anyone watching, but to Leo—who could measure it with each clash—it was strikingly clear.
Leo parried another swift strike from Rio, the motion smooth, almost casual. As the blades locked for a brief instant, Leo's gaze narrowed. He could feel the subtle increase in Rio's strength and timing. It wasn't enough to overwhelm him, but it was enough to make him acknowledge it.
"What a genius," Leo thought, his mind calm even in the heat of battle. "Even with the system, his growth speed cannot be compared to mine—but still, this rate of improvement in such a short time is impressive."
They broke apart again, the distance between them resetting for only a heartbeat before Rio lunged forward once more. His blade came down in a vertical arc, but at the last second, he twisted his wrist, changing the direction mid-swing to aim for Leo's side. The movement was fluid, controlled, and showed a level of adaptability that hadn't been there at the start.
Leo caught the strike with the edge of his own sword, tilting it just enough so that Rio's momentum slid off harmlessly. The impact still sent a subtle vibration through his arm, but his footing didn't falter in the slightest.
The next exchange came in a flurry—sword met sword in rapid succession, the sharp clang-clang-clang of steel echoing with each contact. The rhythm between them had changed; Rio's movements were no longer predictable, and his footwork had become more refined. He was reading Leo's counters faster, adapting after each failed attempt.
But Leo, with his unmatched composure, seemed to almost toy with the situation. His parries were perfectly timed, his counters deliberate, his eyes tracking Rio's movements with unwavering clarity. It wasn't that Rio was weak—far from it—but Leo's control over the battlefield was absolute.
The air between them grew heavy with the scent of sweat and the sharp tang of metal. Every strike carried intent, and every defense was executed with near-perfect precision. The crowd, which had initially been roaring, had grown quieter, entranced by the intensity of the duel. The sound of their swords colliding was like a steady drumbeat, marking the relentless pace of their contest.
Rio tried a sudden feint, shifting his body to the left before lunging to the right in an attempt to bypass Leo's defense. For a moment, it seemed he might succeed, but Leo pivoted, his sword sweeping up in an effortless motion to block the incoming strike. The force of the block made a sharp ring echo in the arena, and the pressure pushed Rio back a few steps.
Instead of looking frustrated, Rio's expression hardened with even more determination. His grip on the hilt tightened, the knuckles whitening as he prepared for another assault. He was adapting to Leo's style, learning as he fought, improving at a speed that might have rattled anyone else.
But Leo was unshaken.
He straightened slightly, his breathing still steady, his stance unbroken. His mind was calm—calculating, assessing, and ready for whatever came next. Even as Rio's strikes grew more aggressive and precise, Leo's defense remained flawless. Each clash between them sent shockwaves through the arena floor, dust rising with every heavy step they took.
Their swords locked again, this time with more force. The sound of the grinding blades filled the air, the tension between them almost tangible. The strain in Rio's arms was visible, but he refused to back down. He pressed forward with everything he had, his eyes fixed on the single goal of breaking through Leo's guard.
But with a sharp twist of his wrist, Leo disengaged the lock and stepped to the side, letting Rio's momentum carry him forward into empty space. The crowd gasped at the display of control, but Leo didn't press the advantage immediately—he allowed Rio to regain his stance, almost as if testing him further.
Rio came at him again, faster, sharper, more relentless than before. His swordsmanship was growing before everyone's eyes, his strikes weaving together with fewer openings and more intent. But no matter how many times he attacked, Leo's blade was there—blocking, deflecting, countering—without the slightest hesitation.
The part of the battle was drawing towards its peak, the tension climbing with each clash. Every movement, every exchange was sharper, heavier, and more intense.
And through it all, Leo's calm expression never wavered.
Rio's breathing had grown heavier, but his eyes never lost their fire. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, yet his grip remained solid. He had already crossed that invisible threshold where most fighters began to falter, but instead of slowing, his strikes only became sharper, as if his will was pushing his body beyond its limits.
He lunged again, his foot slamming into the ground with enough force to send a faint vibration through the arena floor. His blade came in low, then twisted upward in a sharp arc aimed at Leo's neck. The movement was fluid, practiced—but in that single moment, Leo stepped in, closing the gap faster than Rio expected. The clash rang out, the blades grinding together for a fraction of a second before Leo tilted his sword, redirecting the attack entirely.
Rio stumbled half a step back, but recovered instantly, spinning into a backhand slash aimed at Leo's ribs. Sparks exploded into the air again as Leo blocked it with a minimal motion, the strength behind his defense unshakable. His expression didn't change—not even the faintest flicker of surprise or struggle.
The crowd watched in silence, their earlier cheers replaced by tense anticipation. Every eye followed the rhythm of the duel, the clang of steel against steel serving as the heartbeat of the arena. The tension was almost suffocating, as if the world outside this battle had ceased to exist.
Rio's next strike was faster—much faster. His sword blurred, the angle unpredictable, his footwork cleaner than it had been even minutes ago. This wasn't the same Rio who had entered the arena. He was evolving mid-battle, every failed strike teaching him something new.
And yet…
Leo met every blow as though he had already seen it before it was even thrown. His blade intercepted Rio's attacks with perfect timing, and his stance never broke. Not once. His movements were so efficient that not a single breath or muscle twitch was wasted.
They exchanged another flurry, blades colliding so rapidly that the sound blurred into a constant metallic rhythm. Leo's strikes were deliberate and controlled, each one carrying the weight of precision rather than raw force. Rio, on the other hand, fought with an almost reckless determination, pouring every ounce of strength into breaking through the wall that was Leo's defense.
In a sudden shift, Rio lowered his center of gravity and attempted a sweeping strike at Leo's legs, but Leo leapt lightly backward, letting the blade pass beneath him before landing with impeccable balance. Without hesitation, he pushed forward, his sword flicking out in a short, sharp cut aimed at Rio's shoulder—not to wound, but to force him off balance.
Rio blocked, but the impact jolted through his arms. His stance wavered for just a heartbeat. That was all it took for Leo to step in closer, their swords locking once again, their faces only inches apart.
"You've grown in just this fight," Leo said quietly, his voice calm but edged with a subtle weight. "But growth alone won't be enough."
Rio gritted his teeth, forcing more strength into the lock. "I'll make it enough!"
With a surge of will, Rio broke free and unleashed another series of strikes, each one faster than the last. His blade moved like a storm—erratic, forceful, and unrelenting. The pressure he exerted now was leagues above what he had shown at the start. For anyone else, it might have been overwhelming.
But Leo's eyes stayed locked on him, clear and unwavering. He parried high, blocked low, sidestepped at just the right moments. Each movement was so precise it looked effortless, though the impact of each clash sent tiny vibrations running through the ground beneath their feet.
The storm of steel finally slowed as Rio's breathing grew ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His arms trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer effort of sustaining such relentless attacks.
Leo, on the other hand, still stood as though untouched by exhaustion. His breathing remained calm, steady. His gaze never broke.
Rio tightened his grip once more, refusing to back down. He charged again, shouting as his sword came down in a powerful overhead strike, the kind meant to end the fight in a single blow.
Leo raised his sword in a single, fluid motion, catching the attack cleanly. For an instant, the arena fell into silence except for the grinding sound of their blades pressed together.
Then—clang!—Leo twisted his wrist, forcing Rio's blade aside with a controlled burst of power. The force pushed Rio back several steps, his boots scraping against the stone.
Leo didn't advance to press the attack. Instead, he straightened, his sword held calmly at his side. "You've reached your limit for today," he said, his voice even, carrying no mockery—only certainty.
Rio stood panting, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his jaw. But in his eyes, there was no defeat—only the burning promise that this wouldn't be the end.
The tension between them lingered in the air like a final note of a song, echoing in the minds of everyone present. The battle was over, but its impact would not fade so easily.
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End of Chapter
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