Shanon charged like a raging bull. This time—no testing.
He opened with straight punches. Heavy and explosive.
But William read them easily.
Left shoulder twitch—right cross coming.
Hip shift—hook next. He dodged cleanly.
Shanon laughed. "Still calm?"
His stance shifted.
Kicks followed. Then palm strikes. Then hybrid transitions.
Shanon wasn't just strong. He was experienced.
He layered attacks. And stacked pressure.
William saw every move. But seeing wasn't enough.
His body lagged behind his mind.
A palm strike slammed into his stomach.
Air burst from his lungs.
Shanon didn't pause. A knee to ribs. An elbow to shoulder. And a sweep.
William hit the ground.
Before he could fully roll—Punch. Kick. And back-fist followed.
In that short exchange—
More than ten hits landed.
Cracks echoed faintly. Two ribs fractured. Muscles spasmed. Vision blurred.
William barely stood. Blood spilled from his mouth.
The pavilion went silent.
Shanon stopped.
"You can give up," he said calmly.
"I don't go easy. Even for you."
William inhaled slowly. Pain flared through his torso. He rotated his shoulders subtly. Adjusted his spine alignment.
Micro-movements. And controlled breathing.
A recovery technique from another life.
He began jogging lightly in place.
The crowd stared.
His offensive transitions have openings, William calculated calmly.
Not in power. In rhythm.
He wiped blood from his lips.
"Is that all you've got?"
Shanon's grin widened.
"Good."
He attacked again.
High kick.
William ducked.
Low sweep followed.
William jumped.
Palm strike from above—
William twisted away.
This time he wasn't trying to counter immediately.
He controlled distance.
Shaved angles.
Forced Shanon to overextend.
He saw several "openings."
Ignored them.
Feints.
All feints.
Then—
There.
The transition moment.
Hand technique shifting to leg extension.
That micro-delay.
William dropped low.
Skidded across the dust.
Instead of punching—
He slapped sharply against Shanon's thigh.
Minimal force.
Maximum accuracy.
"Two."
Shanon stepped back instantly.
"I got careless."
William didn't respond.
He charged forward.
Direct.
Reckless.
Just like his old self.
The fight shifted again.
Now Shanon was defending.
William attacked relentlessly.
Ignoring pain.
Ignoring fractures.
Searching.
Searching.
Searching.
Then—
His left leg gave out.
A snap.
Audible.
The crowd gasped.
Shanon saw it.
Opportunity.
He lunged toward the injured leg—
"Haha. Got you."
William twisted violently.
The broken leg wasn't weakness.
It was bait.
Shanon couldn't stop his momentum.
William spun behind him—
Palm strike to the base of the neck.
Sharp.
Controlled.
"Three."
The pavilion erupted.
What they were seeing—
Was impossible.
This was supposed to be a cripple prince.
Shanon straightened slowly.
His eyes now held respect.
"You've already won, Seventh."
"We can stop."
William smiled.
"There are still five minutes."
"I'd like to humiliate you properly."
The elders froze.
Shanon's grin widened.
"Good."
William tilted his head.
"How about weapons?"
Shanon roared.
"Bring them!"
Pandit sighed.
With a wave of his sleeve—
Weapons materialized mid-air.
They fell like iron rain.
Swords. Spears. Sabers. Halberds. Axes. Whips. Daggers.
Steel embedded itself across the arena floor.
Shanon stepped forward and pulled free a long crimson saber. The blade gleamed under the pavilion light.
He tested its weight with a single swing.
The air shrieked.
"Perfect," he said.
He glanced at William.
"And yours?"
William's eyes scanned the field.
"All of them."
The crowd murmured.
Some scoffed.
Shanon's brows twitched.
"Arrogant."
"Or efficient," William replied calmly.
Shanon didn't waste another word.
He advanced.
The saber swept horizontally.
Heavy.
Precise.
William lowered his body and burst forward.
Not backward.
Forward.
On the way, he ripped a dagger from the ground.
The saber descended.
William stepped inside its arc.
Too close for a full swing.
The dagger thrust toward Shanon's thigh—
Clang.
The blade snapped on impact.
The sound echoed.
Shanon's body refinement was still monstrous.
William didn't pause.
He abandoned the broken hilt instantly and kicked off a fallen spear shaft, vaulting sideways.
Shanon pivoted smoothly, saber flowing in tight arcs.
This was no wild swinging.
It was disciplined battlefield swordsmanship.
William grabbed a short blade mid-roll.
Parried.
The weapon bent under impact.
He dropped it.
Grabbed a spear.
Used it not to stab—
But to vault and reposition.
Each weapon he touched became disposable.
Each one shattered or bent against Shanon's hardened body or powerful strikes.
The crowd slowly understood.
William wasn't mastering every weapon.
He was using them.
Shanon advanced, blade dancing.
William moved through the steel forest like a shadow.
Never committing.
Never clashing directly.
Then—
A miscalculation.
Shanon overextended half a step.
William didn't strike immediately.
He let Shanon correct.
Then attacked during the recovery breath.
He seized a spear.
Twisted.
Redirected Shanon's blade with the shaft—
Stepped inside—
The spear tip hovered one inch from Shanon's throat.
Stillness.
The Earth-Bound Domain flickered—
Then collapsed.
Time expired.
Silence.
"If this were real," William said evenly, "you'd have died several times."
No arrogance.
Just fact.
Shanon stared at him.
Then—
He laughed.
Loud.
Satisfied.
"Seventh… everyone thought you were the weakest."
He wiped sweat from his brow.
"I disagree."
He looked toward the king.
"Given time, even you might struggle against him."
He turned back.
"If you're free, come to my estate. We'll train properly."
He walked off the field.
The tension in the pavilion shifted.
Respect.
Fear.
Recalculation.
William scanned the elders.
Their smiles were different now.
Not mockery.
Assessment.
One of them tried to kill me.
And now they're measuring me.
King Midas stood.
"The duel ends with the Seventh Prince's victory."
"Dismiss."
The elders departed.
Only the royal family remained.
Midas' expression changed.
Serious.
"Seventh," he said quietly, "challenging your uncle in front of everyone was reckless."
He stepped closer.
"No matter how much you impress them… they will still stab you in the back."
William met his father's gaze calmly.
I don't even trust you.
This was never about impressing them.
"I know," he said aloud.