Chapter 14 - Victory In Defeat


    Lukas forced himself onto his knees, his arms trembling under his own weight as he fought to stay upright. His vision wavered, the world around him swaying, but he refused to collapse. The arena was in chaos, the deafening roar of the crowd ringing in his ears.


    From his high seat, Kenwick rose, speaking into his enchanted crystal. “Congratulations, young fighter,” his voice echoed through the colosseum, smooth and commanding. “You have done well… and have made it to the second and final round.”


    A ripple of confusion spread through the crowd. Cheers faltered, replaced by murmurs of uncertainty.


    Kenwick descended the stairs at an unhurried pace, his every step deepening the uneasy silence settling over the colosseum. Then, as he stepped onto the fighting stage, he spread his arms wide, his grin sharp and wicked.


    “Your final opponent,” he announced, savoring the moment, “is none other than me.”


    Lukas’ breath caught.


    The arena erupted. Cheers and boos clashed in a cacophony of voices, some thrilled by the spectacle, others furious at the obvious manipulation.


    From the stands, Mary shot to her feet, fists clenched. “That cheating bastard!” she spat, her face contorted with rage. “He was never going to let us have Snow, was he?”


    Luchs remained silent, his eyes locked onto the stage as Kenwick strode toward Lukas, completely unfazed by the outrage around him. If anything, he drank it in, relishing every second. The crowd’s fury, their passion, their conflicted emotions—it all fed into his performance.


    “Do you hear that, boy?” he mused, his voice thick with amusement. “They’re here for us. They love us. They hate us. They feel for us. Their anger, their sadness, their joy—all of it, for the glory of the fight.”


    He lifted a hand, fingers waving through the air as if conducting a grand orchestra.


    “It’s magical, isn’t it?” he murmured, his eyes alight with twisted delight. “Like a wild symphony.” Then, with a sudden shift, his expression turned deadly serious. “Now stand, boy. Stand so we can give them the final act.”


    Lukas remained on all fours, his fingers digging into the rough stone beneath him. Wisps of steam still poured from the cursed armor strapped to his body, each second leeching away more of his life force. His breath came in ragged gasps, muscles quivering on the edge of failure.


    The crowd continued to boo, their voices blending into an unrelenting storm of jeers and curses. Kenwick, unfazed, strode toward a fallen longsword lying on the stone ground. He bent down, picked it up, and inspected the blade with casual interest before turning his gaze back to Lukas.


    “Your initial weapon of choice was a longsword, yes?” His voice was calm, almost taunting. Without another word, he tossed the weapon in front of Lukas, the metal clattering loudly against the stone as it slid before him. “Pick it up.” His tone sharpened as he unsheathed his own sword.


    Yumiko sat frozen, watching Lukas with wide, anxious eyes. Her hand clutched at her chest, as if trying to hold down the panic rising within her. She could see it—Lukas was barely holding himself together. He was on the verge of collapse.


    “Lukas… Please…” She begged to herself. It took everything she had to prevent herself from getting up and joining the fight. She shook her head, “No… He needs me!” She said, standing with a fierce fire in her eyes.


    Kenwick’s blade snapped toward her, stopping her in her tracks. “Should you enter the arena, he will be disqualified,” he warned, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “I remember you, girlie. You’re part of his party.” He lowered his weapon slightly, shifting his attention back to Lukas. “Despite breaking the rules, I allowed you two to fight. Consider this his second chance to fight for his little friend.” He said, glancing at Snow.


    Silence settled over the arena as Kenwick studied Lukas, who still hadn’t moved. The younger fighter’s arms trembled, locked in a push-up position, his body paralyzed by fatigue. His fingers dug into the ground as his teeth clenched, his frustration boiling over. He had won. He had done everything that was asked of him. And yet, here he was, forced into another battle, another trial, another cruel twist of fate designed to break him.


    “You’ve already chosen death by continuing to wear that armor,” Kenwick stated, his voice unwavering. “The steam that is escaping from that chestplace is your life slipping away.” His expression darkened. “I’m giving you this chance, boy - a chance to go down fighting rather than on all fours. Pick up the sword.”


    Lukas barely heard him. His entire body screamed in protest, aching from every wound, every movement. But when he looked up, his eyes burned with something more potent than pain—hatred. A raw, unfiltered rage radiated from him, an expression Yumiko had seen before.


    Kenwick smirked. “My, that’s quite the face,” he mused. “Now fight. Give the crowd what they came here for!”


    Without warning, Kenwick drove his boot into Lukas’ face. The impact sent him skidding across the arena floor, a sharp gasp rippling through the spectators. His body finally came to a halt, motionless for a moment. Then, slowly, painfully, he tried to push himself up again. But his limbs refused to cooperate.


    Kenwick sighed, picking up the sword he had offered moments ago. He walked over and loomed over Lukas, looking down at the beaten fighter. “Fight,” he commanded, his voice turning cold. “Or I’ll kick you off the stage and watch as the last of your life is sapped away.”


    Before Lukas could react, Kenwick’s foot drove into his stomach. The force sent him tumbling backward, skidding dangerously close to the edge of the arena.


    From the edge of the platform, Yumiko clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Her heart pounded in her chest as she whispered, “Please… please don’t die…”


    Kenwick strolled forward, stopping just in front of Lukas. He tossed the sword down once more, the blade clanging as it hit the ground. “Give the people what they want,” he said, his tone carrying a cruel amusement. “Show them what kind of person you really are.”


    Lukas coughed violently, a fresh splatter of blood staining the ground beneath him. Kenwick chuckled from above. “So, you really are out of strength,” he remarked. “The armor has drained every last bit of fight from you, hasn’t it?”


    The crowd fell silent, holding their breath, waiting for what would come next.


    Then, with a sharp, brutal kick, Kenwick sent Lukas sliding even closer to the edge.


    From the stands, Mary gripped the handrails, her knuckles turning white as she ground her teeth in anger. She could hardly stand watching it. Kenwick was torturing Lukas.


    Luchs narrowed his eyes, watching Kenwick approach Lukas. "What are you doing, Kenwick…" he muttered, his face unreadable.


    As Kenwick stood over Lukas once more, voices erupted from the crowd.


    "Mercy! He has earned it!"


    "Screw you, Kenwick!"


    "End it now!"


    Kenwick remained unmoved, gazing down at Lukas, who struggled for breath. "They demand I finish you in disgrace," he said, shaking his head. "But I know the truth—you’re already a dead man. So rise! Give them joy—show the crowd your final moments with honor!" His voice echoed through the arena, but Lukas barely stirred.


    A tense silence followed before Kenwick sighed dramatically. "Very well… Then I shall turn my attention to your friend.” He said, looking back at Snow, “A giant wolf will make for a thrilling spectacle next month. I can see it now: ‘How many men can a beast hold off?’" He extended his arm, as if presenting the tagline for a grand event.


    Lukas clenched his teeth, his fists trembling against the ground. The roar of the crowd blurred in his ears, his own labored breathing drowning them out. But amidst the chaos, something cut through—the mournful sound of a howl.


    Snow threw her head back, her voice carrying across the arena in a long, haunting cry.


    A hush fell over the audience. Yumiko’s heart pounded, her anxiety surging. This wasn’t just a howl. It was a cry for Lukas. A desperate, piercing lament that filled her with dread.


    Yumiko pushed herself to her feet, determination flaring in her eyes. "I don’t care what happens next… I won’t watch him die!" she declared, moving forward.


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    But before she could take a step, a voice whispered in her ear. "Wait! Let him fight. Trust him. Believe in him. Believe in Lukas," Sofia’s soft voice urged.


    Yumiko looked up, “Sofia? What’s going on?”


    Back on the stage, Kenwick chuckled, unfazed. "What a beautiful howl. A shame she couldn’t be tamed. Some noble family could’ve had quite the exotic pet." He smirked, then added, "I hear they recently captured another such beast in the east by—"


    He stopped abruptly. Something had changed. A deep hum filled the air as large amounts of steam erupted from Lukas’ armor, spilling out in thick, violent waves. Kenwick’s smirk faded as his eyes flickered with sudden concern.


    “I’m tired… Tired of guys like you…” Lukas said, seething in anger.


    Kenwick stood still, watching Lukas with a hint of caution. The atmosphere was changing. For some reason, Kenwicks entire body yelled at him to ready himself.


    Then, without warning, a blinding flash split the arena, followed by a deafening explosion as a bolt of lightning came striking down. The ground shook as debris shot into the air, sending waves of dust and shrapnel outward. The crowd screamed in horror as the ground shook.


    Kenwick barely had time to react before he was caught in the blast. He threw himself to the side, rolling across the stone floor before springing back to his feet. His sword flicked up defensively as he peered into the swirling smoke.


    "What…" he muttered, his blade aimed at the seething cloud, waiting for whatever would emerge. “Was that boy using lightning…” He said, his eyes wide with shock. He shook his head, “No… Lightning users don’t exist… Not anymore…”


    As the dust and smoke finally settled, Lukas stood in the center of the arena, his body rising and falling with each labored breath. Wisps of smoke curled off his battered armor, faint sparks dancing across its surface before vanishing into the air. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, its blade reflecting the flickering energy coursing through him.


    The crowd erupted. The roar was deafening—louder than anything that had come before. Their cheers shook the very foundations of the colosseum, their excitement spilling out into the city beyond.


    Kenwick’s eyes narrowed as he studied Lukas. His mind barely registered the hysteria of the crowd. Something was wrong. The armor Lukas was wearing was never designed to have sparks or electricity. Small arcs of static leaped between the plates, hissing softly like restrained lightning.


    Kenwick’s grip on his sword tightened. “What the hell did you do…?” he muttered under his breath, watching the wounded fighter. It was like watching a wounded rat backed into a corner.


    Lukas slowly raised his blade, falling into a combat stance. His eyes locked onto Kenwick with unwavering determination. The moment crackled with tension.


    Kenwick exhaled, adjusting his grip. “I won’t lie—I don’t know what kind of trick you just pulled, but don’t think you will have the upper hand, boy.” A grin crossed his face. “Now come—”


    Before he could finish, Lukas vanished, thin trails of lightning where he stood flickered.


    Kenwick barely had time to register the shift before a shockwave of movement sent his instincts into overdrive. His sword shot up just in time as Lukas reappeared in front of him from thin air, catching Lukas'' strike at the last moment, sending sparks as their blades clashed. A strange hum filled the air, resonating from the armor.


    “What trickery is this?” Kenwick thought, gritting his teeth as they locked in arms. “How did he disappear so quickly?”


    Lukas pushed on Kenwick, making the man stagger for a moment before disappearing once again.


    Kenwick’s eyes darted wildly. He pivoted, blade raised, his heart beating quickly. He could only see flicks of movement. Lukas was moving too fast for him to keep track of properly. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. In an instant, Kenwick turned just as Lukas reappeared, his attack slamming down like a bolt of lightning. The force rattled Kenwick’s arms, his feet digging into the ground. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. This wasn’t just speed—this was something else entirely.


    From the edge of the arena, Yumiko clenched her fists, anxiety welling from within. “What’s going on? What did he just do?”


    A voice whispered in her ear, calm and knowing. “He is finding his true self. His real power,” Sofia murmured.


    The arena became a battlefield of flashing steel. Lukas and Kenwick moved like blurs, their strikes ringing out like thunderclaps. Each collision sent crackling bursts of energy into the air. Kenwick gritted his teeth, his breath growing heavy—Lukas wasn’t just keeping up with him, he was overwhelming him.


    Suddenly, Lukas broke the quick rhythmic secession of strikes, his fist connecting with Kenwick’s jaw like a battering ram, sending the seasoned warrior hurtling backward. The sheer force twisted him in midair, but Kenwick reacted quickly—flipping into a desperate somersault before landing unsteadily on his feet.


    His balance barely returned before Lukas was on him again. Their swords met in a violent flurry, Kenwick was the one on the defensive. His movements turned frantic—his form, once confident, now desperate. He couldn’t land a hit.


    From the stands, Mary’s eyes widened in shock. “How the hell is Lukas doing that? I’ve never heard of Gerold armor doing anything like this….”


    Luchs leaned forward, watching intently. “I don’t think it’s the armor…” His voice was calm, yet something in his gaze sharpened, as though he recognized something others did not.


    Mary swallowed, gripping the railing. “Whatever it is… Lukas is fighting on equal ground with someone a full rank above him in the guild…”


    Luchs’ gaze flicked to Yumiko on the sidelines before returning to the battle. Then, unexpectedly, a quiet chuckle escaped him. A smirk tugged at his lips. “So… this is what they meant by the outcome of the battle.”


    Mary shot him a sharp look. “What the hell’s so funny? You’re laughing in the middle of this?”


    Luchs waved a hand dismissively. “Forgive me, but there’s a certain irony to it. You’ll understand soon enough.” With that, he turned and started toward the steps.


    Mary frowned. “Where are you going? The fight is still going!”


    Luchs paused, glancing back at her. “My dear, the fight is over.” His tone was calm, certain. “As for where I’m going, I simply wish to stretch my legs.”


    Mary’s glare hardened. “What do you mean it’s over? It doesn’t look that way to me.”


    Luchs chuckled. “Perhaps… but it will end soon, and not in the way you expect.” His gaze flickered toward the arena, an almost knowing glint in his eye. “I’ve dreamed of this moment before. A shadowy figure will rise on top, while the showman takes his final bow.”


    Mary shook her head, frustration mounting. “What are you even talking about?”


    Luchs only smiled. “Just watch. Observe. Maybe you’ll see it before the grand finale.” He turned to leave, his parting words hanging in the air. “The fight will be won by a single step.”


    Mary furrowed her brow as she watched him disappear down the stairway. A single step? Her eyes darted back to Lukas and Kenwick, the battle raging below.


    She murmured the words under her breath. “The fight will be won by a single step…” A chill ran down her spine. What did he mean by that?


    On the arena floor, Kenwick fought desperately, his arms burning as he parried each of Lukas’ rapid strikes. The crackling hum of energy filled the space between them, sparks flying with every collision of their blades.


    “I will not… lose to the likes of you!” Kenwick roared, forcing all his strength into one powerful counterattack. The strike sent Lukas stumbling backward, giving Kenwick a brief moment to breathe.


    Lukas caught himself, standing tall once more, but the momentary pause betrayed his exhaustion. His chest heaved, sweat dripping from his brow. Instead of immediately launching forward, he planted his sword into the stone floor, leaning against it as he gasped for air.


    From the commentator’s booth, Remos shot to his feet, not knowing exactly what happened, hardly able to see the quick flurry of the fight. His voice carried over the roaring crowd. “By the gods! It was as if their movements vanished into thin air! That armor must have given the Golden Warrior an edge—but does he have anything left to give?”


    Kenwick steadied himself, gripping his sword with renewed determination. His muscles ached, his breathing ragged, but he refused to let up. He raised his blade before charging straight for Lukas, his strike aimed to end the fight. But just as his weapon came crashing down—Lukas vanished.


    Gasps erupted from the stands as the battle became a blur of motion once more. Sparks filled the air, each burst of light illuminating the frenzied clash. Kenwick twisted and turned, barely keeping up, his instincts the only thing allowing him to block each lightning-fast attack.


    From Lukas’ perspective, the world had slowed to a near standstill. The dust in the air, the shifting of the crowd, even the flickering torches around the colosseum all seemed frozen in time. Everything moved sluggishly—except for Kenwick. The man was a powerhouse.


    Somehow, the veteran warrior was still reacting, still anticipating every strike. Lukas gritted his teeth as he continued to push past the pain. He darted around him, pushing his body to its absolute limits, searching for an opening. As the flurry of attacks continued, one thing was apparent: Kenwick was slowing down.


    After continuing the strikes, Lukas finally saw it—an opening. A gap in Kenwick’s defenses. Lukas lunged, seizing the chance.


    Kenwick turned, catching only the faintest blur in his peripheral vision. His pulse spiked—his body screamed at him to react. He tried to lift his sword—but it was too late, Lukas was upon him. Kenwick braced for impact, his muscles tensing, his mind already preparing for defeat. He closed his eyes waiting for the end—


    But the strike never came. Instead, a deafening silence fell over the colosseum.


    Kenwick’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Lukas still standing—or rather, barely holding himself upright. His body swayed unsteadily, his muscles quivering, steam pouring from the cursed armor like a dying engine spilling its last breath. His head lolled back, unfocused eyes rolled to the whites, lost somewhere beyond consciousness. For a fleeting moment, he remained upright, as if sheer defiance alone kept him from falling.


    Then, his fingers went slack. His sword slipped from his grip, the metal ringing sharply against the stone floor. And with that final surrender, his body crumpled, collapsing forward like a puppet with its strings severed. The impact sent up a small cloud of dust.


    For a long, terrible moment, no one soul spoke.


    Yumiko’s breath hitched in her throat. Her entire body frozen in place. The sight before her was the image of the very nightmare she had. Lukas lay still, his blood slowly pooling beneath him, dripping onto the cold stone.


    Across from him, Kenwick stood rigid, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. His fingers trembled around the hilt of his blade, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. He couldn''t believe it. Just a second ago, he had been staring death in the face, his own demise nearly sealed. And now, the one who had nearly ended him lay unconscious at his feet.


    In an instant, Lukas’ body vanished from the stage, teleporting him off stage.