Chapter 15 - The Final Step


    Kenwick blinked, his mind struggling to process the impossible. The deafening roar of the colosseum crashed around him—a chaotic storm of jeers and cheers, anger and confusion colliding in an unrelenting wave. Yet, in that moment, he heard none of it. His gaze remained locked on the empty space where Lukas had stood mere seconds ago. His heart pounded in his chest, the ghost of his near-death still lingering in the air like a specter refusing to fade.


    For several long seconds, he remained frozen, unable to move, his body betraying him even as his mind clawed for an explanation. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he forced himself to breathe—to remind himself that he was still alive. His pulse still raced, adrenaline still burned in his veins, but he was here. He had survived. Gradually, the sounds of the crowd seeped back into his awareness—the roar of voices, the stomping of feet, the calls for answers.


    Yumiko pushed herself upright, her limbs trembling with exhaustion and pain. Her breath came in ragged gasps as her frantic gaze darted across the arena, searching—desperate—for any trace of Lukas. Where was he? Her stomach twisted with unease, a cold dread settling deep in her bones.


    “Sofia!” she cried out, her voice raw. “Where is he? You told me not to enter… I thought he was going to be fine. Where is he? Where did Lukas go?”


    Silence.


    No answer.


    The dread in her chest tightened into panic. Gritting her teeth, she pushed forward, forcing her battered body to move. She limped toward Kenwick, ignoring the fire in her muscles, her fists clenched at her sides.


    Kenwick stood tall, his posture the very image of composure, but Yumiko saw the truth—the subtle tremor in his fingers, the ghost of fear still lingering in his sharp eyes. He wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted to appear.


    “Where is he?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the noise. “What happened to Lukas? Where do the fighters go once they’re eliminated?”


    Kenwick barely spared her a glance before shoving her aside with a forceful push. Caught off guard, Yumiko stumbled backward, her knees buckling as she hit the ground hard. Her palms scraped against the rough stone, pain flaring across her skin.


    The crowd erupted in furious boos, their anger swelling at his blatant disregard.


    Kenwick, however, remained unmoved. With a slow exhale, he steadied himself and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small crystal. He held it close to his lips, his voice amplifying across the colosseum like a spell woven with practiced charm.


    “I can see that some of you are rather… upset with how that battle ended,” he said smoothly, his tone rich with charisma. “But tell me—was that not a fight worth witnessing? Did the Golden Warrior not deliver a spectacle unlike any other?”


    The hostility in the air wavered. The audience, so ready to turn against him, now hesitated, caught between their frustration and the undeniable thrill of what they had witnessed.


    Kenwick allowed himself a smirk. Turning on his heel, he strode toward the stairway leading off the platform, exuding confidence with every step. As he reached the edge, he lifted a hand to the crowd, his voice ringing with reassurance.


    “Fear not! Your bets will be finalized before my entry. Winners will remain winners.”


    The final echoes of outrage faded, giving way to scattered cheers.


    They were his again—right in the palm of his hand.


    Exhaling sharply, Kenwick wiped the sweat from his brow before sinking into his seat. His body still thrummed with adrenaline, though he masked it behind a composed exterior. Every muscle in his body was taut, every breath controlled.


    From the announcer’s booth, Remos cast him a wary glance, his concern evident. “Are you alright?” he asked carefully.


    Kenwick didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained locked on the bloodstained spot where Lukas had fallen, his mind replaying the final moments of their fight over and over. The clash of steel, the raw defiance in Lukas’ eyes, the way the battle had nearly ended in disaster.


    “It was closer than I thought…” he muttered at last, his voice quieter than usual. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers threading together in contemplation. “That man… he was a maniac. I truly thought I was going to lose in the end.”


    Even as the colosseum roared around him, their cheers swelling to a fever pitch, Kenwick barely heard them. His thoughts drifted.


    “I was so busy fighting for my life that I couldn’t take the crowd in and see how entertained they were through the fight. How were they?” he asked absently, his voice distant. “Were they enthralled?”


    Remos gave a slow nod. “The crowd was very pleased,” he said, though his eyes studied Kenwick’s expression—his clenched jaw, the tightness in his shoulders as he leaned forwards in his seat.


    Kenwick nodded to himself before exhaling, finally leaning back against the chair. His gaze flicked to the magical board on the far side of the colosseum, the grand display meant to showcase the victor’s name. He expected to see his own displayed in shimmering golden letters.


    But as the enchanted text solidified, his smirk froze. The name on the board was not his, but another’s.


    Contestant 261 - Congratulations! ‘The Ninja’


    Silence fell over the crowd. Confusion rippled through the stands like a slow-building wave. And then—an explosion of cheers.


    Kenwick’s grin vanished. His brows furrowed, his stomach twisting in disbelief. His mind rejected what his eyes saw, but there it was, in clear, undeniable letters.


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    His gaze snapped to Remos. “Remos!” he barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”


    The normally composed announcer was visibly sweating, shifting uneasily under Kenwick’s glare. “The arena… it’s protected by the goddess,” Remos stammered. “She is the one who pulls fighters from the battle when they’re critically injured or killed. S-so, she is the final judge.”


    Kenwick’s nostrils flared. His fists curled, and in one swift motion, he slammed a fist onto the armrest of his seat, the impact echoing over the din of the crowd. “I know the damned rules! I won fairly! How did that girl win? She exited the stage! I was the last one standing!”


    Remos hesitated, his mind piecing together the details even as he spoke. “Technically… she never left the arena,” he admitted. “She was standing on the top step, which is still considered part of the fighting platform. By the colosseum’s laws, she was never eliminated.” He swallowed hard. “It seems the goddess recognizes the ruling in the Ninja’s favor.”


    Kenwick’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. His vision blurred with fury.


    “Then she knows nothing!” he roared.


    A soft chuckle sounded behind him.


    Kenwick spun on his heel, his temper flaring, only to be met with a familiar sight—Luchs, standing leisurely with his arms crossed, amusement dancing in his sharp eyes. A grin tugged at his lips, equal parts playful and knowing.


    “Admit it, Gordon,” Luchs said, his tone teasing yet firm. “You lost.”


    Kenwick stormed forward, fury blazing in his eyes. “Luchs!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the fading cheers of the crowd. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you? Your freak of a group told you the outcome, didn’t they?” His hand shot out, gesturing toward the spot where Lukas had vanished. “You told me nothing of his power! That man nearly killed me! His strength—none of it added up, and you said nothing about any of those abilities of his!”


    Luchs, standing with his usual nonchalant air, arched a brow. “And how, exactly, would they know the outcome? I already told you how this battle could end, but you did not take my warnings seriously now, did you?” he asked, his tone almost amused.


    Kenwick pointed an accusatory finger at him, his hand trembling with barely contained rage. “Don’t pull that shit! I know they told you the outcomes of this battle! I bet that freak told you how this fight would end, didn’t he?” He pointed his finger toward the glowing board, his voice rising. “You told me I was going to win! You said nothing about that bastard’s power! And you never mentioned a girl entering the fight! You led me astray, Luchs!”


    Luchs raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, utterly unbothered by Kenwick’s outburst. “I told you that you would win against Lukas,” he said smoothly. “And you did. I knew nothing of his power, nor of the girl, but that’s hardly the point, is it? I gave you the cryptic message that was given to me… What was it again?” He tapped his chin in exaggerated thought before his gaze locked onto Kenwick’s. “Ah, yes. I told you, ‘The fight would be won by a final step’.” His smirk widened. “That little ninja was still on the last step of the battlefield when you walked off. A technicality, you could call it, but the fate of the battle was there before you. And despite knowing that, you walked off thinking the battle was already won. You only have yourself to blame.”


    Kenwick’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. “I bet you left parts out! I think you know more than what you are leading on!” he spat.


    Luchs tilted his head, his expression almost pitying. “Oh, come now. Call it fate, call it trickery—but isn’t this exactly what you love?” He gestured toward the roaring spectators, their excitement still lingering in the air. “The drama, the unexpected twist, the audience on the edge of their seats?” His gaze sharpened, the teasing edge in his voice hardening into something more pointed. “So tell me, Kenwick—wasn’t this the perfect ending to your show? Or are you just a small man who only enjoys the spectacle when it goes in his favor?”


    Kenwick’s fists trembled at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. “I’ll have a talk with them, and if I find out you left something out, it’s over!” he growled. “I’ll pull my resources if I have to. I won’t stand for this humiliation!”


    Luchs clapped a hand on Kenwick’s shoulder, his grin as sharp as a blade. “By all means, do. Just don’t forget to mention how you lost. Oh, and tell them I said hello.” With that, he turned, descending the steps at a leisurely pace.


    Kenwick stood frozen, his rage bubbling just beneath his skin. “Damn you…” he muttered, his voice low with resentment.


    Luchs suddenly spun back around, his eyes darkening. “Oh, and Kenwick?” His tone lost its playfulness, replaced by something far colder. “Should you go after that wolf, Lukas, or our little champion, there will be consequences.” His smirk faded, his gaze locking onto Kenwick’s with deadly seriousness. “I have plans for them—plans that outweigh anything your money can buy. If you lay a finger on them…” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I will return it to you a thousandfold. Do you understand?”


    For the first time, Kenwick hesitated. He met Luchs’ gaze, his fury still burning, but something deeper—perhaps wariness—flickered beneath the surface.


    Luchs smiled, slow and knowing. “I’ll take that as a yes. Ta-ta.” With a casual wave, he turned and disappeared down the steps, leaving Kenwick alone with his seething frustration.


    From the top of the stands, Mary watched, her arms crossed as her sharp eyes tracked Luchs'' every movement. Suspicion coiled in her gut. “What are you up to, Richie?” she murmured under her breath. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but the body language spoke volumes. They were closer than she had originally thought.


    Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the arena, watching as Yumiko hobbled off the stage. Remos’ voice echoed over the speakers, announcing the official ruling of the fight.


    “With a twist of fate… The Ninja has won! Justin Schwag, everyone!”


    The announcer’s voice thundered through the arena, igniting a deafening roar from the crowd. Cheers and applause crashed like waves, thousands of spectators leaping to their feet in celebration. The energy was electric, yet at the center of it all, Yumiko stood motionless, her entire body aching.


    She blinked, barely registering the chaos around her. Blood trickled from the cuts along her arms, her battered armor weighed heavy on her shoulders, and exhaustion clawed at her every movement. Her gaze drifted upward to the victor board, her mind struggling to process the name flashing across the screen.


    “How did I…” she muttered, her voice barely audible beneath the roaring crowd.


    Confusion twisted in her gut. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She hadn’t won through skill or strength—she had barely been standing. And Lukas… Her stomach tightened. Her friend had taken the brunt of it all, and for all she knew, he was seriously hurt or worse—


    No. She refused to think it.


    She forced herself to look down, staring at her trembling, bloodied hands. She was alive. She had made it. But at what cost? The celebration felt hollow, the cheers like distant echoes, meaningless in the face of her uncertainty.


    A breeze swept through the arena, cool against her fevered skin. And then—


    A whisper. Soft as the wind, yet cutting through the noise with eerie clarity.


    “Victory comes at a cost… But do not waver. Not yet. We will talk soon, brave one. ” Sofia’s voice whispered.


    “When can we talk again?” Yumiko asked quietly. “Please, tell me if Lukas will be okay.” There was nothing, not a response.


    Yumiko’s breath hitched as the presence faded, vanishing like mist in the morning sun. She swallowed hard, clenching her fists in frustration from the cryptic brief message. Whatever that message meant, she didn’t have time to dwell on it.


    With a deep, shaky breath, she steadied herself. Every part of her ached as she took a step forward, then another. The crowd’s cheers still rang in her ears, but their joy wasn’t hers to share.


    She needed to find her friend. She needed to find Lukas.