Amid the confusion and agony consuming his body, Dasamuka struggled to remain standing.
Each breath sent hot streams of blood spilling from the fresh wounds across his shoulders and neck.
But the giant's suffering did nothing to slow the three Peregrine Falcons.
They dove once more.
Like three streaks of silver lightning, they twisted through the sky, climbed, then plunged at angles that were nearly impossible for the eye to follow.
Every strike targeted the tiny fractures hidden within Dasamuka's stone-like hide.
In the briefest of openings, they began attacking places that almost no creature could even perceive—
Hairline gaps between the layers of his rocky skin.
Minute cracks the giant had never once considered vulnerable.
"At this rate, if they keep attacking like that... we'll lose again."
A Minotaur in the Mythology stands let out a heavy sigh, shifting uneasily in his seat.
Yet those attacks were anything but reckless.
The birds moved with flawless rhythm.
Taking turns.
Covering one another's blind spots.
Weaving patterns no wild birds should have been capable of—
Especially on a battlefield this dangerous.
More and more eyes in the audience drifted toward Johan.
He stood perfectly still.
Far too still.
Even the President glanced sideways at his assistant, wondering whether he was somehow directing everything from behind the scenes.
Johan noticed every gaze fixed upon him.
An odd feeling welled up inside him.
Part confusion.
Part amusement.
With an easy yet composed motion, he raised both hands, palms open.
A silent gesture that clearly said—
I'm not giving them any orders.
Ironically, that simple motion only stirred the crowd further.
"If it isn't him... then who?" a centaur muttered.
"Those birds move like trained soldiers," whispered a female elf, narrowing her eyes.
Yet while anxiety spread through the Mythology faction and admiration grew among the humans...
Only one being remained focused on what truly mattered.
The Ancient One.
He leaned forward slightly.
His eagle eyes followed every movement of the falcons.
He wasn't watching Johan.
He was studying the birds themselves.
The way they read each other's movements.
The way they altered their attack angles within fractions of a second.
As though obeying commands no one else could hear.
"You're certain this isn't your doing?" the President whispered beside Johan, half joking...
Half suspicious.
Johan merely raised an eyebrow, suppressing a faint smile.
"If I were capable of controlling wild falcons like that, Mr. President..."
He paused.
"...I wouldn't be working as an assistant."
Below them, the three birds dove once again in perfect unison, forcing Dasamuka further onto the defensive.
Even from a distance, several pairs of eyes scattered across his monstrous body had begun to dim.
Some had gone completely blind.
The shallow wounds that had once seemed insignificant had become crimson trails where the giant's black blood steadily flowed.
No one in the stands had imagined that creatures so small could leave wounds even Titans could not.
The central head growled.
Its voice rumbled throughout the arena.
"We'll unleash our foul breath!"
"It'll weaken those cursed birds!"
All ten mouths slowly opened.
Like enormous caverns splitting open across the earth.
The sight alone caused many spectators from the Mythology faction to instinctively cover their noses and mouths.
Their expressions tightened.
They knew exactly what was about to happen.
From deep within Dasamuka's throats...
Green mist began to emerge.
It coiled outward like poisonous clouds awakening after a long slumber.
His foul breath.
A revolting miasma so vile that even the surrounding air seemed to ripple.
Unease spread throughout the stands.
"Damn... it smells worse than soaked gym socks!" grumbled a rugby player, pinching his nose with both enormous hands.
"No..."
A chef gagged beside him.
"It's more like rotten cheese forgotten in the freezer for a week."
A stadium janitor slumped against his seat.
"I clean public toilets for a living..."
"...and even I'm about to pass out."
Murmurs of distress swept through the audience.
Humans.
Elves.
Even creatures from the depths of the earth.
The putrid breath pouring from all ten mouths spread like a deadly fog—
A poisonous miasma capable of weakening...
Even paralyzing...
Anyone unfortunate enough to inhale it.
The giant mouths opened wider still.
Groaning.
Vomiting thicker and thicker waves of green mist.
The pressure from those ten colossal throats alone was enough to throw the three falcons off course.
Their wings trembled violently as they struggled to stabilize themselves against the blast of air.
The stench struck them almost like a physical force slamming into their faces.
Libra, who had remained motionless throughout the battle like a living statue, slowly turned her gaze toward the audience.
She saw young dragons covering their noses.
Dwarves pounding their chests.
Humans clenching their teeth to suppress nausea.
A quiet compassion crossed her thoughts.
With one graceful movement of her left hand...
Glittering violet dust drifted into the air.
It floated gently before spreading across the grandstands like flower petals falling one by one.
At once...
A soothing fragrance filled the arena.
Its scent was soft.
Warm.
Like blossoms blooming in spring.
Like a gentle breeze embracing every suffering soul.
The fragrance reached every corner of the spectator stands.
Every passageway.
Even the distant caverns where colossal beings watched the battle.
Only the battlefield itself remained untouched.
"I must commend your kindness, Lady Libra."
The Ancient One's deep, tranquil voice carried across the platform.
"I never imagined you would soothe the entire Colosseum."
Libra never looked toward him.
Her eyes remained fixed upon the gentle radiance surrounding her hand.
"It is simply my duty as the judge of this match, Ancient One."
Relief spread through the spectators.
Tense faces gradually relaxed.
Several creatures gazed toward Libra with undisguised admiration.
The woman born among the constellations seemed more graceful than ever.
Almost sacred.
Like a mother comforting every one of her children at once.
Yet that blessing ended precisely at the edge of the arena.
Within the battlefield...
Dasamuka's poisonous mist remained thick.
It slithered around tree trunks.
Leaves yellowed...
Then fell.
Grass withered.
Blackened.
Cracked apart like desert earth scorched beneath an unforgiving sun.
The lush forest slowly gave way to barren ground.
Swallowing the greenery that had sheltered the falcons only moments before.
Then...
From somewhere among the dying trees...
A low voice murmured.
Almost as though someone were speaking only to himself.
"I never expected that creature to resort to this."
There was no panic in the voice.
No fear.
Only calm certainty.
The certainty of someone who had patiently waited for the perfect moment to move the final piece in a long game.
Moments later—
BOOM!
The first explosion erupted.
One of the heads on Dasamuka's back was hurled violently sideways.
Its jaw shattered.
Bone splintered.
Black blood burst forth like water exploding through a broken dam.
The giant staggered forward.
The remaining nine heads whipped around simultaneously.
Their eyes widened in confusion...
And terror.
Before they could even comprehend what had happened—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
More explosions erupted in rapid succession.
They slammed into head after head.
Dark crimson sprayed through the air.
Fragments of bone scattered like stones launched from gigantic catapults.
The ten-headed giant reeled wildly from side to side.
His overwhelming stability was being destroyed by something he had never anticipated.
Three tiny white silhouettes continued bursting from the poisonous fog.
Charging like bullets.
Each carried a small bomb clasped firmly within its beak and talons.
The entire arena stared in disbelief.
"T-The birds...?"
"They're carrying bombs?!"
Meanwhile, Dasamuka continued roaring in agony, the combined cries of his ten heads sounding like ten elephant horns blaring at once.
Even the flow of his poisonous breath became erratic—
Caught somewhere between fury...
And panic.
A question finally echoed throughout the Mythology stands.
"Why aren't those birds affected by the foul breath?"
"Did Libra's protection extend to them as well?"
"If that's true..."
"...then this battle was unfair from the very beginning!"
An elderly ornithologist from the Human faction slowly stepped forward.
A thick pair of glasses rested upon his nose.
A scarf patterned with feathers hung around his neck.
He adjusted his collar before speaking, unable to hide the pride shining across his face.
"That's impossible."
He nudged his glasses into place.
"The explanation is quite simple."
"Peregrine falcons possess an exceptionally poor sense of smell."
Several mythological creatures seated across the iron barrier instinctively swallowed.
They felt admiration.
Unease.
And utter disbelief that such tiny birds could completely overwhelm a ten-headed giant.
From the observers' platform...
The Human President allowed himself a faint smile.
The smile of a man who knew...
They had chosen exactly the right representative.
Meanwhile, Johan continued watching the battlefield without the slightest change in expression.
Everything...
Was still unfolding exactly as he had calculated.