Chapter 94: Resolve and Reason.
At that moment, Jack charged in once again with his scythe. He swung it in a wide arc. Peter ducked down sharply, the blade whistling just over his head. But instead of retreating to create distance, Peter pushed forward and kicked towards Jack with full force. He was going to fight him at close range.
No one in the crowd knew what his plan was. Jack dodged the attack, moving a quick step backwards. He was confused by what Peter was doing. He was choosing to fight up close, where Jack was better. Jack then smiled, a flash of white teeth, and rested his scythe on his shoulder, waiting for Peter to attack.
Peter pulled his sword from his scabbard with a sharp *shing*. He was the first to draw his sword since the battle started. Jack's own sword was still hanging at his side; he had no plan of using it until he needed it.
A visible gust of wind began to swirl around Peter's sword, forming a spiraling vortex that spun at high speed with a low hum. Peter swung his wind-enhanced blade at Jack, who met the attack by swinging his own scythe in response.
The sword and scythe collided with a brilliant flash of green and silver light, and a shockwave of wind blew outwards, kicking up dust from the arena floor.
Then, suddenly, Jack sidestepped with blurring speed. His scythe vanished into motes of green light. Peter stumbled forward, off-balance. In that opening, Jack drove his knee hard into Peter's gut.
The air left Peter's lungs with a pained *whoosh*, and he gasped, doubling over. Before he could recover, a heavy kick landed on the back of his head.
He was sent flying forward, crashing face-first into the hard ground. A cloud of dust rose around the impact. When it settled, Peter was seen pushing himself up.
His clothes were covered in dirt and grime, and his breathing came in heavy, ragged pants. Jack slowly floated back to the ground, landing lightly a few meters in front of Peter, a calm smile on his face.
Furious, Peter conjured several beams of searing white light above him and launched them at Jack. The beams shot forward in an instant.
Jack used Flight to propel himself straight upwards, the light scorching the ground where he had just stood. As he twisted in the air, he saw Peter already charging towards him again, leaping high.
Jack's smile widened. He shifted his body mid-air and dove to meet the charge. Jack swung a newly-formed wind scythe, while Peter swung his wind-enhanced sword. Their weapons collided once more in a burst of shimmering energy.
The two became a blur of motion, clashing back and forth across the arena, the sound of their impacts echoing like sharp claps of thunder.
Then, once again, Jack gained the upper hand. He landed a solid punch to Peter's stomach. But when the punch landed, Peter gritted his teeth against the pain and grabbed Jack's wrist, clinging to it.
As he clinched the arm, brilliant white light gathered in Peter's other hand. Before Jack could pull free, two dense Light Rays shot out, piercing straight through the muscle of Jack's forearm.
Jack frowned, a real flicker of pain crossing his face. He kicked Peter away to break the hold. His arm was now marred by two clean, smoking holes. Blood began to well from the wounds, and the hand hung limp, clearly unusable.
Peter had fought Jack in close range just to get this one chance to cripple an arm. His plan had worked, but he himself was badly injured, clutching his own bruised stomach.
Jack looked at his limp arm, then back at Peter. "So this was your plan all along," he said. Then he smiled, though it was tighter now. "It was a good plan. But you still can't beat me. You don't have the resolve in you to beat me."
Peter heard this and felt a spike of irritation. He didn't fully understand what Jack meant, but he now felt more confident. With only one good arm, Jack could be fought evenly—maybe even overwhelmed.
Peter didn't reply. He charged at Jack once again. Jack also charged forward, and they met in another flurry of blows. After a few furious minutes, their weapons clashed in a final, powerful strike. This time, with a loud *crack*, Peter's sword shattered into pieces. Jack's wind scythe also dispersed into green mist.
Peter's expression darkened into one of dread. Jack could conjure another scythe in an instant, but he had no backup sword. Fighting Jack unarmed meant certain loss. Jack saw his dark expression and smiled again.
"Don't worry," Jack said, his voice carrying clearly. "I will not use the scythe again. I don't want you to make excuses when you lose to me." Peter felt a hot surge of anger at the words but said nothing. His only goal was to win, and if Jack's cockiness gave him an opening, so be it.
He took a fighting stance. Jack charged towards him. Jack threw a punch at his face with his right hand. Peter blocked it with his palm, the slap of the impact ringing out. Seeing an opening, Peter punched toward Jack's injured side, where he couldn't block with his bad arm.
But Jack bent his torso sideways with incredible flexibility, his captured punch still in Peter's grip. He twisted his whole body and landed a spinning kick straight into Peter's jaw. Peter stumbled back, clearly surprised by the move.
Jack landed back on his feet smoothly. "Tell me," he said, his tone shifting, "what is it that you are fighting for?"
Peter heard the question but didn't reply, thinking it was another mind game. But Jack had asked sincerely.
Peter charged again. Jack dodged effortlessly. "Tell me why you are fighting," Jack pressed, circling him. "What is the reason that you fight?"
Peter remained silent, attacking once more. Jack dodged and countered with a sharp punch straight to Peter's face.
He asked again, his voice firm. "Answer me. What is the reason you want to get strong?"
Peter groaned in pain, but for the first time, he considered the question. He looked at Jack with hard resolve in his eyes. "I want to get strong because I want to protect Lady Angela."
Jack heard this and shook his head, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. Then he moved. He began to attack Peter nonstop—kicks, punches, knees, and elbows. Even with one injured arm, his technique and speed were still superior.
Peter tried to block, but he could only stop some of the blows. A punch landed in his stomach, a kick cracked against his ribs. After a relentless barrage, Peter fell to his knees, exhausted and hurting.
Jack stood in front of him, looking down. "You don't have the resolve to defeat me," Jack stated, "and your reason to become strong is even more pathetic. With a reason like that, you will never beat me."
Peter heard this, anger boiling up, but before he could speak, Jack grabbed his jaw firmly and leaned close, whispering in his ear so only Peter could hear.
"If you really like Angela, then your reason to get stronger should be to become strong enough to ask for her hand, not to just protect her as her guard. What if her family gives her hand to someone else before you even get the chance to ask?"
These words hit Peter like a bolt of lightning. He felt what Jack said was absurd, but deep down, a cold truth settled in his gut. Peter was still trying to process the words when the referee arrived beside them.
Jack let his face go. The referee looked at both fighters, then nodded and announced loudly, "The winner of the first match is Jack Kensington!"
The crowd from the Wind Department erupted in cheers and thunderous applause, chanting Jack's name again and again.
Peter, still on his knees, snapped out of his daze. He looked up at Jack's retreating and called out, "What is the reason you want to get strong?"
Jack stopped and looked back. His eyes, which had been playful, turned cold and hard for the first time since the fight began. He walked back, leaned down, and whispered one word into Peter's ear: "Revenge."
He said this single, heavy word and then left the arena without another glance.
Peter was left confused and shaken by the final word as officials helped him up and guided him to the healing room. As he arrived in front of the door, he saw Angela standing there, waiting.
She looked at him, her expression gentle but worried. "You didn't have to go that far for my sake," she said softly. She had heard Peter's words during the fight and felt a pang of guilt.
Peter heard this and straightened his aching back. "It is my duty to protect you," he said firmly, "and I will fulfill it until my death."
Angela heard this and sighed. "Don't say that." Then she asked, curiosity in her eyes, "What did Jack whisper in your ear? I wasn't able to hear it."
Peter's expression stiffened for a second, but he quickly composed himself. "It's nothing," he said, turning toward the healing room door. "He just spoke some nonsense."
Angela nodded, accepting his answer. "Yeah, he's always like that."
Peter then entered the bright, sterile healing room to be treated. Meanwhile, back inside the main arena, the announcer floated high in the air, his voice amplified to fill the stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen," he boomed, "the second match of the contest is about to begin!"
Author's Note: Jack's victory was more than just a fight—it was a lesson in resolve. His cold whisper of "Revenge" has unveiled a deeper darkness. What tragedy fuels his strength? And with Peter's own motivation shaken to its core, how will this loss change him? The tournament has only just begun, and the real battles—both on the arena floor and within the fighters' hearts—are about to intensify. If you want to see whose resolve breaks next, make sure to add this story to your Collections!