Percival's gaze lingered on the shattered iron finger claws scattered across the arena floor. A faint, almost wistful sigh escaped him as he muttered, "The claws… they were far better." Slowly, he lifted his hand, each finger cracking one by one, veins bulging beneath his skin, a subtle testament to the strain of his body now unbound from their restraint.
Across the arena, Ronald planted his feet firmly into the cracked stone, shield angled to absorb any incoming force, sword pressed against its surface. He took a deep breath, feeling the lingering hum of mana in his body, the echo of Guardian's Retort still thrumming faintly in his veins. Damn it… I only have enough strength to use Guardian's Retort once. I can't afford to rely on it again, he thought, adjusting his stance to maximize balance and control. His eyes narrowed, focused entirely on Percival, reading his opponent's every twitch, every shift in weight.
Percival's eyes flicked toward Ronald, narrowing with a mixture of challenge and calculation. "What's that going to do?" His voice was calm, yet threaded with sharpness, testing whether Ronald could maintain composure under the weight of his presence.
Percival raised his left hand, his fingers stretching wide, each tipped like a sharp, natural claw. In an instant, he surged forward, closing the distance with predatory speed, and reappeared directly in front of Ronald. His clawed hand descended in a brutal strike, aiming squarely at Ronald's shield.
A sharp clang rang through the arena as the shield took the brunt of the blow, tiny cracks branching across its surface like frozen lightning. Sparks scattered from the impact, and Ronald grunted, teeth clenched, "I… couldn't even react…" His stance wavered slightly as the shock ran up his arms, forcing him to brace harder against the sheer force of Percival's strike.
Percival pressed his left hand harder against the shield, each clawed fingertip digging in as the pressure caused tiny cracks to spiderweb across the surface. The shield groaned under the strain, and Ronald grunted, muscles tensing. With a sudden, powerful pull, he channeled all the mana he could muster into his sword, the blade glowing faintly as he thrust it forward.
A gale of wind erupted around the strike, howling through the arena, and the sound of metal scraping metal rang sharply. Percival met the attack head-on, his metallic teeth clenching with an audible crack. The force splintered Ronald's sword where Percival bit, yet the boy didn't even flinch, standing firm as if the attack were nothing more than a gentle push.
Ronald's chest heaved, eyes narrowing as he studied Percival, realizing the sheer resilience and raw ferocity of his opponent. Sparks and fragments of cracked steel scattered across the ground, and the crowd's collective gasp filled the air — a testament to the intensity of the duel unfolding before them.
"Brother… is this how a noble should fight?" Ronald asked, his voice steady despite the grinding shards embedded in the arena floor.
Percival's jaw clenched as he bit down on the splintered fragments of Ronald's sword, the metallic taste sharp against his tongue. "Brother… don't say such things," he replied through gritted teeth, eyes glinting with resolve. "This is the path I've chosen."
Without hesitation, he dug his left hand deeper, claws raking downward with unrelenting force. The shield that had defended Ronald moments ago splintered entirely under the pressure, and the gauntlet and forearm of his right arm tore apart, shards of metal scattering across the ground.
"What are you going to do now?" Percival's voice carried a calm, almost aristocratic challenge as he advanced deliberately, each step measured and precise, the faint crunch of stone under his feet marking the inevitability of his approach. His eyes gleamed, calculating, as though weighing every possibility before striking.
Ronald let out a quiet, confident chuckle, settling into a poised stance. Left hand extended gracefully, fingers curled slightly, right hand drawn back with his knuckles just behind his shoulder, knees bent in controlled readiness. "I… suppose I'll just go with the flow," he said, his voice light, almost playful, but the glint in his eyes betrayed the steel of his resolve.
A faint smirk touched his lips as he added, "When a knight has no sword or shield, he must trust in his body… his reflexes… his wits. Come, brother. Let us see which of us the Fates favor."
Percival's metallic grin widened, fangs catching the light as he bared them with noble ferocity. "I shall savor tearing you apart," he replied, each word deliberate, almost ceremonious.
Then, like a predator springing from its lair, Percival propelled himself forward. Both hands slammed into the polished stone of the arena, fingers digging in like talons tearing at the earth, sending shards scattering as he accelerated with terrifying precision. Each movement was a study in power and grace—the way his body twisted, every muscle taut, his veins standing out as though carved in bronze, his momentum unyielding. Dust and pebbles erupted from the floor, a fleeting storm marking his advance, and his eyes never left Ronald, calculating, assessing, anticipating.
Ronald's gaze sharpened. He allowed a controlled breath, grounding himself, feeling the vibrations of the earth beneath his feet, the rhythmic cadence of Percival's approach. Every step, every shred of stone torn from the arena was a note in the symphony of this duel, and Ronald would not falter.
As Percival closed the distance, a low grunt escaping his throat, he swung his left hand upward with precision. Ronald barely twisted aside, the edge grazing his stomach and leaving shallow, stinging cuts. "As I thought," Ronald muttered, eyes narrowing, "you always favor the left."
With no hesitation, Ronald countered, his left fist driving toward Percival's exposed chin in a swift, calculated strike. Percival's lips curled into a metallic grin. "Because I know you were expecting my left," he replied, his voice calm but edged with lethal intent.
In the same instant, Percival's right hand, the claws gleaming, smashed into Ronald's ribs. Ronald grunted sharply, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth, yet he refused to falter. Instinctively, he raised both hands, clasping them together as he swung downward onto Percival's shoulder, intending to push him back.
But Percival's grip only tightened, his iron-like strength refusing to relent. "Ackkk," Ronald growled, sensing the strain as he prepared for another downward strike.
Before he could recover, Percival twisted with fluid power, his arm snaking around Ronald's torso. With a calculated force, he slammed Ronald onto the stone arena floor, dust and small fragments scattering around them. Ronald gritted his teeth, bracing against the impact, his body aching under the force—but his gaze remained fixed on Percival, every muscle ready for the next exchange.
Percival released his grip, rising to his full height so Ronald could see him clearly. "Don't worry, brother," he said, a faint, almost playful grin on his face, "I have no desire to strike a fallen knight."
Ronald froze. The words struck him with a strange familiarity. He remembered a similar voice from the past, echoing in his mind: Relax… I have no interest in striking a corpse.
Gritting his teeth, Ronald struggled to rise, blood streaking his face, and muttered through the pain, "But… they're my friends in arms—the ones I dedicated my life to protect. They were like family… far better siblings than you could ever be."
Percival's brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes. "What are you saying?" he asked, stepping back slowly, giving Ronald space.
Ronald's chest heaved as he stood, tears mingling with the blood on his cheeks, his hair gradually taking on an ethereal azure hue. Determination blazed in his eyes.
From the sidelines, Lionel's gaze remained fixed on the arena. A screen materialized beside him, flickering with luminous text:
[Original Skill Awakened: The Guardian's Ascendant]
[For those who belittle the lives of his trusted comrades, who fail in the sacred duty to protect the ones they trained to call family… the Guardian's Ascendant awakens, a testament to the knight's unwavering dedication and the immeasurable weight of loyalty and sacrifice.]
Ronald straightened, the azure hue in his hair glowing faintly with his rising mana. His voice echoed through the arena, firm and unwavering, carrying the weight of years of buried emotion.
"Are you ready, Percival?" he called out, each word resonating like steel. "The grief I've carried… I will no longer let it chain me. Every ounce of frustration I've restrained for years… all of it… will be unleashed upon you."
He tightened his fist, the aura of the Guardian's Ascendant radiating outward, the air around him crackling with energy. The ground beneath his feet seemed to pulse in response, as if acknowledging the awakening of a knight's true resolve.