"A hero, huh?" Harrold laughed.
"What do you think you are? A noble knight?"
"..or is the saviour disguised as a mercenary?"
He pointed his hand straight at me.
"Charging out to protect that child looks impressive, too."
"Head down. Stand in front of the hammer. Perfect posture."
"It almost made me shed tears." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
I stood there, still. I didn't move at all. This seemed to annoy him.
"You're just a cheap mercenary!" he snarled.
"Pretending to be noble just to get the attention of the nobility? Wake up!"
His eyes bloodshot with anger, he took a step forward.
"Does any of those nobles remember your name?"
"Does anyone care about a common mercenary like you?"
I still didn't reply.
Harold gritted his teeth.
"You arrogant bastard! I swear I'll crush your skull!"
The hammer in his hand spun around.
The ground beneath his feet cracked. He charged forward.
Fast.
Faster than I thought.
The hammer swung down in a whirling arc, cutting through the air with enough force to shatter an iron shield.
I did not retreat.
I did not swing the axe.
I just took a slight step to the left.
RRRUMBLE!!
It brushed past me and hit on the ground right behind me.
The ground exploded. Debris flew up, and dust rose high.
Harold turned around quickly. His eyes were wide and trembling with shock. "Stand still, huh?!"
He aimed at my head at high speed.
I immediately put the black axe in my hand on the support.
Right afterwards, a tingling sensation spread along my arm, but it was Harold who was pushed back.
He staggered.
His blows were heavy.
His strength was considerable. But he was too hasty.
Too impatient.
Harrold... hesitated for a moment.
It was a brief moment, but it was evident that he was panicking.
His breathing was rapid, his shoulders were heaving, and he lost his gaze for a second.
I guessed that his mind couldn't possibly comprehend what had just happened.
Another strike swept across. An arc traced a faint circle of fire through the air.
The iron hammer glided past my back, but could not touch me.
I struck back!
The axe blade came down diagonally, aimed straight at Harold's right shoulder.
Harold quickly raised the hammer handle to block it. However, his arm trembles and the block is inaccurate. The sand under his feet sinks deeply due to the recoil.
He... was cornered by me, and he knew it, too.
"Damn it!" His face contorted with anger.
He didn't drop the hammer.
He refused to back down.
Suddenly, a flame began to blaze from the tip of the hammer.
The ancient runes carved into its handle glowed. Red light, like blood, ran along the carvings, then burst.
"Flare Tempest."
His voice hoarsened and his chest felt like it was about to explode.
"Burn that bastard!"
The fire erupted. It twisted and howled like a chained beast.
Rushing at me from all directions, it resembled a tsunami.
Finally, he unleashed all his strength.
It engulfed me.
The entire body was engulfed in flames.
The cloak was on fire.
The armour smoked.
The metal turned a dark shade of black.
If only I was a human...
My flesh had turned to dust.
Yet I was no longer human.
Besides...
This fire was just warmth.
I had fallen into depths a thousand times colder than this.
Harrold's eyes widened. He was scared for the first time.
"How could you .. ?"
I stepped out of the dying flames.
My armour was covered in ash.
The shoulders cast a shadow as dark as burnt coal.
I remained silent.
The sound of the burning armour resembles the crackling of rotting wood.
Harold swung the hammer wildly.
This time, he combined speed and fire.
With each strike, a explosion flashed — like a bolt of lightning striking the ground, fire flared up with each impact.
I began to move.
The black axe swung in short, rhythmic movements. There were no embellishments or frills.
Accuracy.
I targeted his most vulnerable areas: his ankles, wrists, and calves.
Each hit alone wasn't enough to take him down, but together they made him to bleed.
Harold's footsteps began to veer off course.
He can no longer dominate.
He had no strength left — not even magic could save him.
"I am the Holy Knight. I have been blessed!"
"The Goddess has chosen me!" His voice was full of indignation.
Then —
His gaze changed.
He was no longer looking at me.
"I don't need to kill you to win."
He looked at Chloe. The girl was lying motionless less than twenty steps away from him.
The girl's breath was weak. Her hands trembled and her cheeks were smudged with dirt. Small. Vulnerable. She could easily be crushed.
Harold curled his lip. A cruel, distorted smile stretched across his face.
"I just need to eliminate the reason you stepped out."
He turned around. He channelled all his remaining magic into the head of the hammer.
A black fireball gathered at the tip of the weapon, burning fiercely as if it were a nucleus waiting to explode.
The ground began to crack and red light spread out like a spider's web beneath his feet.
"Infernal Judgement."
The hammer shot straight towards Chloe. A piercing wind howled.
At that moment, a black aura burst out from beneath my feet.
My body dissolved into shadow and reappeared right in front of her.
There was no hesitation.
I dropped the axe.
I stretched out my arms and hugged Chloe.
BOOOOM!
The flames of hell erupted.
One corner of the arena glowed red, as if being pulled into the mouth of a volcano.
Blinding light!
The heat pushed the air away.
Everyone covered their eyes. Some people screamed.
The sky turned red, like an apocalypse.
When the vision returned...
The axe blade had melted.
The metal had drooped and warped to resemble mud.
All of my armour at the back had turned orange-red.
If there were any flesh, there would be a huge hole.
But I'm OK.
Chloe was still in my arms, and her face was only slightly dusty.
She didn't have a single wound. She didn't even groan.
She was just... asleep in the arms of death.
Harrold gulped with fear.
"You... what are you...?"
His voice was no longer that of a warrior. It had become the trembling tone of someone who had just witnessed something incomprehensible.
I still didn't reply.
I slowly stood up. My back is burning.
I stood there, empty-handed and glaring furiously.
On the stand,
Angelie shivered.
She sat there with her hands lightly resting on her knees, as if her body had forgotten how to move.
Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were chaotic. It was as if part of her mind had been ripped away from reality and thrown into an endless dream.
She had witnessed many battles, more times than she cared to remember.
She had seen countless knights fall.
Then stand up.
Then fall again.
But she had never seen anyone... survive a blow like that. And then walk out of the hell as if it were just a thin mist.
Didn't scream in pain or kneel in suffering.
Just calmly.
She used to think that she had this match under control.
Mercenaries liked Hades were pieces of chance.
They were used at the right moment. Placed in the right spot. Knocked down at the right time.
Everything had been calculated.
But now she realised.
There are no pawns surviving the fires of hell and stepping out as if carrying the light of the divine.
There are no pawns who can silence an entire arena just by existing.
Angelie looked at the man —Hades.
He did not raise his hand.
He did not roar arrogantly.
He just stood there, silent.
It was the silence that made him so frightening.
It was a kind of terror that did not stem from brute force, but from the feeling that he did not belong in this world.
Angelie thought: 'He's strong.', but she did not expect him to be so strong that he defied all her preconceptions.
With every movement and every step he took, it was as if he were declaring: "I don't need permission to exist."
A whisper rose from deep within her chest.
The words wanted to come out, but they were caught in her throat.
"That cannot just be an ordinary human."
Beside her,
Vinni Duke had been standing for long time.
The glass of wine in his hand shattered, the red liquid soaking down his sleeve like blood flowing from an invisible wound — but he didn't realise.
His face was pale.
His jaw was clenched so tightly that it trembled.
Not out of rage.
Not because he was publicly humiliated.
But out of fear.
The man who has just emerged from hell unscathed has no title, noble blood or rank.
He was just a mercenary.
Yet he overwhelmed a Holy Knight completely in front of hundreds of noble onlookers.
In the domain of Vinni.
In front of him.
Down in the yard, Harold was on his knees.
His breathing had weakened markedly.
Blood was leaking from his nose and his body was gradually collapsing like an empty shell.
I walked over to him.
A burning hand lifted him up as if he were a torn sandbag.
One punch — no fuss.
I finished him off.
Harold was thrown backwards.
He lay still, not getting up again.
"BROKE ..."
"YOU BROKE THE RULE!"
Vinni's voice rang out like thunder in the freezing atmosphere.
It was a roar that was both angry and desperate.
It was a roar meant to crush the gazes still fixed on the field, on that nameless figure who was being worshipped like a deity that had just been reincarnated.
"You! The Mercenary Knight!"
"You just interfered in an official match without permission from the Noble Council!"
"You have seriously violated the arena's rules!"
He pointed directly down to the field.
His fingers trembled slightly, and he spoke in a strained voice, as though hissing the words through clenched teeth.
"No one is to step onto the arena unless being called."
"You just broke the rules!"
Angelie, standing nearby, was momentarily surprised.
Not because of the accusation, though. It was because she could hear the fear cracking beneath Vinni's powerful façade.
Vinni tugged at the sleeves of his dark, wine-stained cloak. Then, with the force of a chop, he swung his hand, stopping all resistance.
"PEOPLE LIKE YOU MUST FACE PUNISHMENT!"
"Vinni Knight , EVERYONE FORWARD!"
The iron gate behind Vinni swung open.
The sound of armoured feet echoed out.
Hundreds of formal nights and elite cavalry poured out at once.
Gleaming silver armour. The bright emblem of the Vinni family was emblazoned on their chests.
They drew their swords from their scabbards. Their steel blades were pointed straight at Hades.
Angelie could no longer remain silent.
"Count Vinni."
Her voice rang out — not loudly, but clearly.
"He saved someone. That action cannot be considered a serious violation."
Vinni turned around immediately.
His eyes flashed with repressed anger, like a stifled fire in his chest.
"Angelie, don't try to justify that man."
"Rules are rules."
"And you..."
"You do not have the right to interpret it based on your feelings."
That statement was like a slap.
Not in the face.
It hit her power.
Angelie paused. In that moment, she felt her status — the role she once believed to be weight — just being dismissed with a few cold words.
Vinni turned back to face his army of knights.
He raised his hand high, as if ready to plunge everything into the abyss.
"All troops, advance!"
The air seemed to explode with the sound of dragging metal.
The knights of the Vinni family began to move.
"Enough!"
A voice rose up.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't urgent.
But it sounded like the cold blade.
Immediately, everything froze, and the arena felt as though all the oxygen had been drawn out of it.
A layer of silence enveloped us — not the usual quiet, but a collective holding of breath.
Hundreds of eyes turned towards the source of the voice.
On the top level of the stand, a man stood silently in the shade.
A long white cloak covered him from shoulders to heels. His hand rested lightly on the stone railing as though he had been standing there for a long time.
It was Cardinal Arlo.
Angelie held her breath.
Vinni turned pale.
He didn't represent any family.
He didn't have an army of his own.
He didn't belong to any faction.
And yet, all powers avoided confronting him.
Arlo took a step forward.
His voice rose, steady as a sentence read in court.
"If Sir Vinni wants to challenge the supervisory authority that I hold.."
"Then I will note that and forward it to the Holy Church."
A chill swept through the stands.
No one spoke.
Only Vinni gulped.
His hands were clenched, and he could no longer utter a word.
Arlo's gaze settled on me.
Just a glance.
I couldn't tell whether he was looking at me with fondness or caution.
"The knight's actions were an emergency intervention to save lives."
"There are not enough elements to constitute a violation of the rules."
Then he told Angelie.
"You don't need to speak up. I acknowledge that."
Angelie bowed her head. However, her bow was not just a sign of gratitude, but also of caution.
Arlo had just prevented a massacre, but Angelie knew:
He hadn't done it for no reason.
And that look he gave him just now wasn't out of compassion.
It was out of interest.
Arlo remained silent for a few seconds after that.
His eyes did not blink, as if he were contemplating not a decision, but its value.
"However..."
That slow, even voice rang out again.
"Even though his action does not constitute a violation of the arena rules..."
"It still seriously affects public order and disrupts an official match."
He raised his hand and drew an invisible line in the air.
"Therefore, I will apply clause 4 — the exception handling section."
"Knight Hades."
"From now on, you must fight three formal knights of the Vinni family."
"The punishment will last until you are defeated."
A stir flows through space.
What he just said... was no different from a form of direct execution.
I said nothing.
But Angelie could not stay calm.
"Sir!"
"This is a disguised punishment!"
"He only stepped out to save a child — we cannot accuse a person like that!"
His gaze remained unchanged. Still calm. Still cold.
"You do not have the right to question the supervisor's decision."
His words were light, yet they dismissed all protests.
Angelie fell silent.
She looked at Arlo, her gaze trying to pierce his mask, but she only saw endless indifference.
Three knights of the Vanni family swiftly stepped out below.
They wore heavy armour. Large shields. Their eyes, hidden behind their helmets, bore a look of disdain — not for an opponent, but for a condemned man.
The arena gate closed.
The trumpet sounded.
Shining silver in the sunlight, the three figures hold their shields high, forming a tight formation.
One of them hold a spear. Another carried a broadsword.
The third used an acceleration device attached to his gloves, which emitted a bright magical aura.
None of them are ordinary.
I just bent down to pick up the axe.
The blade was completely deformed and part of the handle had broken off. But it was still heavy.
No one signalled.
The battle began, as wars always do.
BOOM!
The spear-wielder lunged forward first, his spear tip darting straight towards my chest like a lightning bolt.
I simply kicked him.
He flew backwards, smashing into the stone wall and falling unconscious.
The spellcaster approached from the side.
His left hand launched a beam of light like a magical lamp — a classic blinding strike.
I closed my eyes. Just one breath.
Listen: the direction of the wind, the sound of movement. My right hand swung the axe backwards, snapping his wrist.
The magic glove exploded like a distorted explosive ball.
I didn't stop.
The second blow came in the form of the axe's grip striking him in the leg.
His knee joint dislocated and his screams echoed throughout the stands.
Two.
The last one to seize the opportunity.
He is the strongest.
The great sword's blade struck down immediately — a systematic and precise blow, delivered only by those trained in the forge of high-level knights. It was the first time I had been hit.
The heavy pressure bore down on my shoulder. I could hear the sound of ribs breaking. The sound was as clear as wood snapping.
But there was no pain.
I lifted my head.
I looked straight at him.
His eyes widened and his whole body froze, as if an invisible hand were choking him.
I moved slowly, as if I were stepping through a puddle and not through the middle of a battlefield.
My hand lightly touched his chest plate.
With just a touch, his body flew backwards and collapsed.
No one in the noble stands dared to breathe.
Then, from three directions, three more cavalry charged in, striking simultaneously.
It was a perfect encirclement, designed for killing monster.
I grabbed one end of the spear. I flipped it back.
The horse neighed loudly.
One person was thrown from the saddle. The other two did not have time to react. They did not understand what had happened when they fell off their horse.
Then the next three groups.
And the next group.
They kept steps forward.
And they kept failing.
I didn't need to change how I fought.
There was no need for strategy.
Magic wasn't necessary either.
All I needed to do was keep repeating.
Repeat until nobody else steps forward.
On the stand,
Vinni Duke's face was frozen.
The glass had shattered long ago. The wine had dried.
Angelie ground her teeth. Her hands were tense. Her gaze was fixed on the arena, but she couldn't tell whether she was seeing reality.
Arlo was the only one still standing there.
Silent. As if he had anticipated it all.
But... There was a glimmer of light in his cold eyes. A rare thing to see in someone used to controlling everything:
— a true interest.
A long horn sounded.
The coordinator's voice echoed from the high podium in the stands.
"According to the rules—"
"After Count Vinni has no more knights left to fight, the final victory will belong to Duchess Blade."
A sparse round of applause followed. Then it grew. Suddenly, like a storm sweeping through the arena, it burst forth.
I stood in the middle of the arena.
I didn't look up.
Nor did I bow my head.
I didn't raise my hand either.
Behind me, the Blade Family flag was raised. Amidst the echoing cheers, the silver sword in the flag's emblem appeared to be on fire.
It's all over.