As he committed to the next attack, Kamo felt a small, uncomfortable tug—like a thread slowly unraveling inside him. For the first time, Kamo wondered if Haruto's dismissive certainty might hold a kernel of truth. Surely Haruto could assume Ketsuen's goals, considering how accurately celaris had avoided even the chance of them coming true.
He buried the thought violently, the mission might have failed, but Kamo had not—not yet.
Across the arena, the air exploded with splintering stone. Fūregen and Takumi danced between savage eruptions, their battle a distant storm at the edge of Kamo's focus. Spikes of rock shattered against invisible defenses, scattering debris like lethal rain. Kamo saw flashes of Fūregen's crimson mask darting through the chaos, a relentless force of precision against Takumi's stalwart ferocity. He quickly looked away, returning his attention to the immediate threat—but a sharp sting remained surrounding the fact that Fure even needed to physically engage with this issue. These.. lessers.
They weren't even celaris — why should our leader be forced battle against some second rate guard.
Focus. Kamo sharpened his internal voice, forcing the creeping doubts into silence. His shadows surged again, reforming and attacking with mechanical precision. Nagitsu charged, wielding brute strength to force Haruto into a retreat, but the silver-haired guard maneuvered effortlessly, slipping past each strike like a dancer.
Haruto's calm gaze dissected every motion, taking the thoughts fresh out of Kamo's mind. "You want to take his place?" His voice was conversational, almost amused. "You believe he is above fighting this battle and that you should in his stead right? Is your own value that difficult to discern without another's approval?"
Kamo bristled inwardly, teeth grinding together behind his mask. The provocation found a weakness—a raw nerve too sensitive to be ignored. Still, he buried the reaction, choosing calculated silence as his only reply. But the calm he had once commanded now felt tenuous, slipping through his mental grip like grains of sand.
Kamo's constructs regrouped, flowing like liquid darkness. It jabbed twice, two quick feints that forced Haruto to weave between the strikes.
Simultaneously, Nagitsu rushed back to Haruto's center, stomping at the guard's thigh while Kamo's other shadow descended from above with crushing force.
Haruto remained on the defense, his tactical awareness screaming at him that he was being slowly overwhelmed. He tracked the descending shadow, jumping slightly into the air to meet it. But Nagitsu's aggressive positioning allowed him to passively take Haruto's landing space, forcing an awkward landing and sending the guard stumbling somewhat sideways, directly into the path of the other shadow's well timed hook.
The blow caught Haruto square on the jaw. Unprepared for the impact, he was thrown sideways, his body through the air before crashing against a far wall. The elegant, untouchable fighter was momentarily reduced to a sprawling heap on his back, a stark contrast to his previous tank-like durability.
Nagitsu pressed the opening, launching himself forward to tackle Haruto. With nearly ten meters of momentum, Nagitsu's mid two-hundred-pound frame moving at full speed, should have driven any normal man through the wall, maybe even a room across. The royal guard member locked eyes with him, returning to his feet in a scramble.
Nagitsu crashed into Haruto, but instead of the expected impact, Haruto hardly moved. His elbow, a blur of repeated motion, caught Nagitsu's back multiple times. Suddenly, Nagitsu lifted the man, then throwing him aside as a singular, thick stake of iron erupted from the ground beside him.
Nagitsu's hands wrapped around the iron stake, muscles straining as he tore it from the obsidian floor. Chunks of stone cascaded around his feet. The makeshift weapon had to weigh well over a hundred pounds, minimum—a solid pillar of iron from base to tip, blunt as a club but dense enough to shatter bone. He hefted it onto his shoulder like a baseball bat.
"No more games," Nagitsu muttered, his voice a low growl from across the room.
Haruto watched with a detached, calm interest, brushing the dust from his uniform. "Creative little brute."
Nagitsu lunged forward, the iron stake arcing toward Haruto's ribs in a devastating horizontal sweep. The guard sidestepped, letting the weapon pass inches from his chest, its momentum carrying it onward. He closed the distance while Nagitsu quickly recovered his balance. His open hand connected just above Nagitsu's chest. The masked fighter doubled over, a strangled gasp tearing through the fabric of his mask.
The stake clattered to the ground as Nagitsu crumpled. Nagitsu's cry of pain pierced the room, igniting something deeper within Kamo—not compassion, but frustration at his partner's incompetence.
Yet Haruto's clinical gaze returned, pinning Kamo with a knowing look. "It's frustrating, isn't it? To carry dead weight. Your leader surely knows how that feels."
The implication was clear, sharp as a blade. Kamo felt his fists tighten involuntarily. A surge of anger crackled beneath his skin, not yet overpowering but dangerously close. He wasn't Nagitsu. He wasn't dead weight. Fūregen had personally chosen him, groomed him to be indispensable. Haruto's words were meaningless—but his calm certainty scratched at the very foundations of Kamo's identity.
Haruto steadied himself, carefully adjusting the cuffs of his uniform as he observed Kamo's heavy breathing and fractured focus. Behind him, the ongoing battle between Takumi and Fūregen echoed violently, stone and earth rupturing as primal forces clashed. The symmetry wasn't lost on Haruto—two strong men engaged in a brutal dance of dominance. Exactly as it should be.
"I don't need your lectures," Kamo snapped, his voice brittle. "Your precious kings hide behind pawns. You're nothing but their puppet."
Haruto's eyes sharpened, something genuine—almost angry—flashing behind his composed mask. "You think I serve blindly?" He shook his head, a flicker of disdain crossing his features. "The Kings stand at the apex because their strength maintains stability. Chaos like yours—" He gestured contemptuously toward Kamo in a disgusted fashion, "—is a waste of potential."
Kamo scoffed. "Stability?"
He hadn't been fully prepared, but when Haruto returned his focus to him, Kamo made sure that his soldiers were attacking in tandem. But also Haruto moved differently now—less reactive, more controlling. He didn't just dodge the first shadow's punch; he caught its wrist, using the construct's own momentum to spin it into the path of the second. The two figures tangled, their forms wavering and flickering as Kamo's concentration fractured under the strain.
Kamo and Haruto traded a series of blows, a tactical dance far more complex than any boxing match. For the first time, a sliver of an excuse formed in Kamo's mind. His arms felt heavier, sluggish. It didn't take any more effort to throw a punch, but each strike that connected felt weak, disconnected. And worse, it was inconsistent. Every punch that felt clean and powerful, Haruto would dodge outright. So Kamo could only judge by the blows that were blocked, landing with a baffling softness, making his head spin. Haruto slipped a hook by a mere centimeter, slightly stepping back with a grip on Kamo's opposite hand. He yanked Kamo back with him and followed up with a straight that hit Kamo square in the nose.
"True strength demands responsibility—something your leader understands yet squanders on fools like you." Haruto's voice was low, carrying a quiet intensity. "That is why I follow our Kings. They lead because they are strong, they aren't strong only because they lead."
Kamo surged forward, rage bleeding openly into his attacks. His shadow constructs lunged wildly, aggressive but unfocused. Haruto sidestepped one blow, caught another shadow's wrist, and casually dissipated it. The motion was effortless, as if disciplining a petulant child.
"That man," Haruto continued calmly, evading Kamo's frantic swings while pointing briefly in Fure's direction. "is strong. But he is no better than you cowards who fear the only process that can give you the necessary direction."
Kamo's chest tightened painfully, a lump of anger and uncertainty blocking coherent thought. Every word felt like a barb aimed directly at his insecurities, dismantling carefully constructed rationalizations.
"Your an idiot. In what way can you deem a direct challenge to be fear?" Kamo spat, defensive and uncertain even as he spoke.