Clarence turned slowly, his breath steady—controlled—but his eyes razor-sharp with calculation. The cheering had died. A suffocating silence spread across the colosseum like a burial cloth.
The knights of Heilen advanced.
Steel glinted under the sun, drawing a tightening circle around him. Their footsteps beat as one—unyielding, unified. The weight of their presence smothered the arena like an omen.
This was no longer a duel. It was a declaration.
Clarence's hand inched toward his sword. Up in the stands, Lucian shot to his feet. His pulse hammered against his ribs. "What the hell is this…?" Dawn's expression dropped, all warmth drained. Her voice was cold steel."This… isn't part of the duel."
Knights poured into the arena, rank upon rank, their polished armor flashing with the crest of the crown. A fourth of Heilen's standing guard—assembled not for order, but for execution.
Clarence's gaze swept across them. Still calm. Unshaken. "...Eberhard," he whispered. This wasn't justice. This wasn't law.
This was a stage. And the message was clear.
The announcer's voice cracked over the tension-drenched silence: "Next bout—The Knights of Heilen… versus Clarence Cross of The Liberation Front!"
Dawn lunged toward the railing, white-knuckled. "Clarence! Hold them off—I'll be there in no—"
"No need." Clarence didn't look back. His voice cut through the panic, sharp and unwavering. "I'll handle them."
A knight lunged. Steel flashed. Clarence pivoted, parried, and answered with a single, lethal stroke. His blade carved through the knight's neck—clean, merciless. The head fell. The body collapsed.
Gasps tore through the stands like wildfire. And Clarence Cross, smirked.
They charged. Clarence tightened his grip. The Behaviour of Calmness enveloped him like a cloak. Clang! Steel met steel, but Clarence moved like smoke—slipping between strikes, gliding through chaos with terrifying precision. Every slash, every dodge, every counterattack was calculated down to the breath. Knights collapsed around him like wheat to a scythe.
One came in from behind—his blade was knocked aside, his skull shattered by a sudden spike of earth. Another knight dropped from above—Clarence blocked his overhead slash, then swept his leg clean off in one motion. The knight screamed before Clarence's blade silenced him with a strike through the heart.
Even outnumbered, even surrounded—they couldn't touch him.
But they had numbers. And desperation breeds escalation. The strongest of the knights converged, forming a tight ring. Their elements flared—earth, wind, fire, and water coiling around them in harmony. They thrust their blades forward in unison, and the elements fused—forming a titanic sphere of writhing, chaotic energy.
Clarence didn't see it at first. His blade was still singing through air and blood. But then—A shift in the wind. A flicker in his peripheral. He turned. And stared into the burning eye of the storm.
The Elemental Sphere shrieked toward him—swollen with the might of the kingdom's best. Clarence's eyes widened— And the battlefield shifted.
The sphere hovered before Clarence. He didn't move. He didn't flinch.His eyes narrowed, taking in every detail—the flickering flames licking its edge, the blades of wind circling its body, the rock core spinning violently within, and the razor-thin coils of water slicing through the air like orbiting scythes.
But the one in danger …wasn't Clarence.
A soft glow bloomed from his body—mint green, subtle yet profound. The kind of aura that didn't roar, but whispered truth. His voice, low and certain, cut through the chaos: "Equal... COUNTER!"
In that moment, the sphere vanished. Gone. For a heartbeat, the battlefield was silent. Then—BOOM—it reappeared. Only now, it was reversed—hurtling backward, back toward the elite knights who had conjured it.
The panic was immediate. "WHAT—!? The Behavioural Ability of Sensitivity?! HOW!?" But the answer never came. The sphere engulfed them. Gone. Annihilated. As if they had never existed. No ash. No scream. Just nothingness.
Clarence stood still, watching. Then, ever so slightly, he smirked. "Seems like you didn't do your homework." He stepped forward, blade still at his side. "The Concept of Liberty… what does that ring in your mind?"
A lone knight, trembling, staggered forward. "The… Conceptual Ability of Liberty… we should've known…" Clarence's gaze hardened. "That's right." His eyes flashed. "You should've." And then—he moved.
Like a ghost. Like a reaper. One by one, the knights fell—cut down before they could raise their weapons. Some tried to flee. Some cried out for surrender. Others simply froze. None of it mattered. Clarence carved through the ranks like wind through dry leaves. He didn't fight them. He erased them.
And when it was over… When only the corpses and cowards remained… The crowd—stunned to silence for mere seconds—erupted. The announcer, breathless and wild, screamed into the sky: "CLARENCE CROSS HAS WON! HE HAS—ACTUALLY—WON!"
Thunderous applause shook the colosseum. Dawn watched quietly, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile. Lucian exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Arlen? He didn't even blink. Like he'd seen this coming all along.
Julius—face flushed with pride—threw his fists in the air, laughing through his cheer: "That's our leader! CLARENCE FREAKING CROSS,EVERYBODY!"
Even King Alvaro Atlantes Baron leaned forward in his seat, intrigued. "Impressive…" he murmured. "So this is the second representative of The Liberation Front. The lad exceeds expectations." His advisor nodded in agreement, still stunned.
But General Jorg Zagyg? He rose to his feet, voice like thunder: "DISGRACEFUL!" He pointed a gloved hand at the battlefield, rage written across his face. "A quarter of Heilen's standing knights— massacred! This cannot be allowed to stand! Clarence Cross, you will face the consequences of your actions!"
But Clarence? Clarence didn't even glance at him. He simply turned away.
While, somewhere in the shadows of the colosseum… …Eberhard Blaze watched.And he smirked.