Hector brought his sword down in a vertical strike aimed at Cercius's unguarded upper body.
Cercius reacted instantly. He hastily raised his shield and intercepted the blow at the last moment—the sword crashed violently against his defense.
The impact sent Cercius flying several meters backward; his shield shattered beneath the Swordmaster's power as if it were made of paper.
He hit the ground of the arena and felt the pain shoot through his arm.
Not only had his sword been knocked from his hand—he had now lost his shield as well. He hadn't been able to block the attack completely, and although the blade hadn't struck him directly, sharp pain coursed through his arm.
He couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed. This was a battle of life and death, and he acted accordingly.
Cercius jerked himself upright, ready for the next clash. But it didn't come—Hector merely stood there, staring at him, making no move to attack, as if deliberately waiting for Cercius to rise again.
Cercius frowned in confusion, but before he could ask why, Hector spoke.
"Pick up your sword, so that we may continue!"
After a brief moment of bewilderment, Cercius quickly understood.
His opponent was truly an honorable warrior who, even in a fight to the death, preserved the pride of a knight and swordmaster, refusing to strike a defenseless foe.
Cercius hurried to his gladius and picked it up.
Once he had assumed his stance and nodded to his opponent, the confrontation began anew—two warriors, ready to fight.
Since Cercius did not attack first, Hector once again took the initiative. He stepped forward—and vanished.
In the next instant, he reappeared right before Cercius and swung his blade.
This time, however, Cercius had anticipated it and was prepared. He dodged the strike just in time.
He realized that his opponent—for reasons unknown—was using only ordinary sword swings.
Yet how Hector still surpassed him in strength, and how his movements seemed almost imperceptible, remained a mystery to Cercius.
Until he uncovered that secret, he resolved to maintain his distance and avoid direct confrontation.
He hastily retreated, narrowly evading the next strike as well.
Hector frowned in displeasure, pursued him relentlessly, and pressed him with a torrent of simple sword attacks.
For a while, Hector drove him mercilessly across the arena until Cercius found himself forced to the very edge.
The Swordmaster's blade rose once more.
Cercius saw no other choice now but to meet him head-on. Yet knowing his opponent's strength, he would not hold back—he would give it everything.
Body Reinforcement!
Mana surged through his body like a flood, empowering every single cell. With a swing of his sword, he unleashed another ability, imbuing the blade with mana.
Cutting Wind!
His sword hurtled forward with unmatched speed, splitting the air toward his opponent's blade.
Hector's eyes widened at this sudden display of power. Nevertheless, he didn't alter his approach and merely followed the path of his sword.
BANG! The two blades collided, creating a deafening crack. When the dust of their clash finally settled, no victor had yet emerged.
Their blades pressed against each other, both struggling for dominance.
Cercius clenched his teeth. His whole body trembled under the strain, muscles taut and burning. A level of exertion unlike anything he had ever felt coursed through him.
He couldn't believe his opponent could stop his strike despite the power he had unleashed. By all rights, Hector shouldn't have been able to withstand such force—and yet, he couldn't overpower him.
"Hm~" Hector let out a deep sigh. "A pity. I expected more, but if this is all, then the battle ends here."
He drew his sword back, raised it high, and struck.
Despite his seemingly slow speed and simple movement, Cercius failed to react in time and received a deep slash across his upper body.
He staggered back, eyes wide, and collapsed into the dust.
W-what… was that?! He was utterly speechless and in shock. Overwhelmed by both his opponent's actions and his words, he barely felt the pain of his wound.
There he lay, in the center of the arena, a deep cut marking his body and bleeding endlessly.
Then, his eyes began to glow with a strange light, as though he had suddenly realized something fundamental.
Suddenly, his body sprang upright as if pulled by invisible strings, landing firmly on both feet. Like a machine, he pressed a hand against his wound, channeling mana into it to prevent it from worsening.
He tightened his grip around his sword, as if to make sure it was still there. His gaze never left his opponent.
Hector met his eyes with calm indifference, yet he waited patiently for Cercius to rise again.
Though he had meant to end the fight with that last strike, Cercius proved more resilient and stubborn than expected. Hector couldn't help but respect him—and to feel a spark of excitement he hadn't known in ages.
"Are you…"
Before he could finish his words, Hector saw Cercius shift into a battle stance—utterly focused, surrounded by an aura of realization and unshakable resolve.
Seeing this, Hector couldn't help but smile faintly. He, too, readied himself for battle. Then he took a step forward and swung his sword.
At the same moment, a never-before-seen aura erupted from Cercius, overwhelming and radiant, empowering his lightning-fast movements.
He reacted at the perfect instant and swung his sword. This time, he wouldn't meet force with force.
Knight's Sword – Third Form: Passionate Counter!
With all his might, Cercius succeeded in parrying and deflecting his opponent's sword.
He moved with astonishing precision and control.
It was as if he had become one with his blade—as if it were part of his body, an extension of his arm. The moment he countered his foe's strike, his counterattack followed—not too fast, not too slow.
Cercius's movements flowed perfectly with the rhythm of the battle, and his strike landed cleanly upon his opponent. His blow was deeper and far more devastating than the one Hector had dealt him before.
Through this seamless sequence and the way he wielded his sword, Cercius gained a new ability—though to call it merely an ability would be too shallow. He had attained enlightenment and reached a new stage of swordsmanship: One with the Sword.
This was the very state—if it could even be called a technique—that his opponent Hector had been using all along in their duel. There were no special tricks, no magic, no supernatural powers. Only the sword—and he himself was that sword.
Struck by a critical blow, Hector fell backward to the ground without releasing his weapon. His eyes were wide open as he hit the arena floor, just as Cercius had fallen before when struck by him.
Breathing heavily, Cercius watched his fallen foe. His chest rose and fell sharply.
It seemed he had won.
That was harder than I expected… I have barely any mana left, and every muscle in my body screams… Cercius clenched his teeth, considering what would come next.
At this rate, it's impossible for me to endure another round—especially if the next opponent is even stronger than this guy!
He quickly realized how dire his situation was.
Even this round had been sheer torment, and he had survived only because he had attained enlightenment mid-battle and become one with the sword.
He had simply been lucky to pass this trial.
While it would raise his swordsmanship to a permanently higher level, it didn't change the fact that he had little left—and with no idea who his next opponent would be, he could only expect defeat and dread the final round.
Both Cercius's stamina and mana were almost completely exhausted.
Roughly estimated, he had perhaps two-tenths of his original strength remaining.
Hector coughed blood, gasping for air as he lay on the ground, struggling to look up at Cercius. "T-that was… a good fight… now I can die in peace…!"
Cercius looked down at him—not with hatred or arrogance, but with pure respect for having faced a true warrior.
"But before I go… let me give you some advice…" Hector murmured weakly.
"Regarding… the final round… cough... don't try to defeat him—just endure!"
Having offered his final counsel and thanked Cercius for the battle, Hector closed his eyes and passed away. Shortly thereafter, his body—like that of the undead before him—crumbled to dust and vanished, carried away by the wind.
[You have successfully cleared the fourth round, "Master of the Sword." The next round will begin in one hour.]
When Cercius read the expected notification of his victory, his eyes widened. He had indeed anticipated a waiting period, but since the previous break had lasted only five minutes, he hadn't dared hope for much.
An hour, however, far exceeded his expectations and filled him with renewed hope. He immediately sat down in the center of the arena, crossed his legs, and began to meditate.
He circulated his mana and slowly began to restore his strength.
Whatever the reason for this lengthy pause, he was grateful for it and intended to use it well.
It was quite possible that the waiting time grew longer depending on how injured or exhausted he was—but that no longer mattered.
Shortly after Cercius began his meditation, his mana materialized around him.
It swirled like a storm, wrapping around him, embracing him, aiding his healing.
It was a truly magical sight.
At the same time, strange magical phenomena began to appear throughout the arena—manifestations of Cercius's controlled yet uncontrollable mana.
The cracked ground of the arena first split wider, then closed again completely, as if time itself had been reversed.
The Colosseum returned to its pristine state.
A strong wind swept across the arena, stirring up dust. Curiously, it didn't come near Cercius—it only circled around him.
During his meditation, Cercius's complexion improved; color returned to his face.
His major wounds vanished, leaving only a single large scar across his chest. Even the blood on his body was cleansed by his mana. Though he still looked like a warrior who had fought through endless battles, he appeared far less weary and much more composed.
[The fifth round of the Colosseum begins: "Hunter in Moonlight."]
Thus, the one-hour waiting period came to an end.
It felt as though only a few minutes had passed since Cercius had begun meditating, yet now the fifth and final round of God's second trial was about to begin.
Cercius, emerging from his meditation, stood ready for battle in the center of the arena.
In his hands he held his gladius and a golden shield, likely granted to replace the one shattered in the last round.
After his meditation, he had recovered a little over 30 % of his strength, placing him at nearly 50 % of his original power.
That would have to do—for now. He waited eagerly for his opponent.
Cercius's eyes fixed on the opening iron gate, eager to catch the first glimpse of the foe to come.
As the gate opened, a mist-like darkness suddenly poured into the arena.
Within seconds, it filled the space with a dense black fog in which one could hardly see a hand before one's face.
What is this? Where's my opponent? I can't see anything! Cercius's thoughts raced as he realized he would have to fight in this darkness—against an enemy whose form and abilities were completely unknown.
At once, he spread his mana through the fog to search for signs of life, to locate his opponent within the misty arena.
Yet even after some time, he sensed nothing, though his mana had already expanded across most of the field.
When he recalled the title of the round—"Hunter in Moonlight"—he concluded that his opponent must be especially skilled at hunting in the dark.
It was probably a monster or a special beast capable of hiding within the shadows, perhaps even evading mana perception entirely.
Just as he was about to move, he felt something behind him. He spun around and instinctively raised his shield to block an incoming strike.
In the next instant, for the briefest moment, he caught sight of a massive beast.
With its claw, it slashed at Cercius—but he blocked the blow with his shield.
Tshhht! Sparks flared through the darkness.
It was a wolf—over three meters tall.
Its dark black fur seemed to devour the darkness itself.
Glowing orange eyes pierced through the gloom, and its razor-sharp claws marked it as a merciless predator capable of cutting through iron.
Yet its claws managed only to scratch Cercius's shield lightly.
The moment Cercius saw the creature, he knew instantly what he was facing.
"Lycaon!" Cercius gasped as the wolf vanished seamlessly into the darkness, as if merging with it and gliding through it like a shadow.