Across from him was Zellan Darius Ironwood.
If Leonel was like a soft breeze, Zellan was definitely a force of nature—sharp, overpowering, and unyielding. His wide chest covered a great area of the stone floor with his shadow, and the huge sword that he was carrying on his shoulder looked like it had been made from the very earth itself.
Every part of his body was muscular, and it was very visible even through his armor; the stones that he was stepping on reverberated with every heavy footfall he made.
Seriously, the difference between these two guys couldn't have been more obvious. Many from the crowd murmured that Leonel seemed like a total stranger who accidentally found his way into this arena.
Some laughed, while others showed their worry by frowning. But all of them looked without breathing.
Zellan absorbed all of it.
He smiled even more widely as he went forward, picking up his sword from his shoulder and swinging it with his usual skill. The sound of his voice was the same as a war drum of annihilation and it reached every corner of the arena.
"What? Is this all there is?" He said, spreading his arm to emphasize his point, "The great Leonel Graythorn. Frankly, I was expecting more. This kind of show is what the Graythorn bloodline has to give? Just a mere Sword Initiate of entry-level?"
Some of the audience chuckled. Several of them felt uneasy and shifted in their positions.
Zellan didn't stop there.
He faced the audience as if it were a theatrical performance and said,
"I, Zellan Darius Ironwood, hereby mark the day when I teach the world the difference between a mid-level Sword Initiate… and a kid who's just playing with a sword!"
The reaction of the crowd was a mixture of the different waves that the people made—some laughed, others murmured. The elders sitting on the balcony looked at each other without revealing anything on their faces.
Still, Leonel remained motionless.
His sword was hanging loosely from his hand, his breathing was calm and slow, and his eyes were locked on Zellan, not with terror but with something that was a bit more like curiosity.
As if what he was seeing was not a giant opponent who was going to stomp on him, but a puzzle that he needed to solve.
Zellan's smile dimmed a bit because of the reaction that he got none. He came closer, and as if addressing a small boy, he lowered his voice and said.
"Is something wrong here?" he questioned. "No witty retort? No trembling? Are you terrified? Or…" He was squinting as he said this, "Are you too feeble to speak?"
Leonel finally opened his mouth.
He even moved his head a bit, talking in a monotone voice and seeming to be quite uninterested.
"You are talking too much."
The sentence was uttered very quietly but exuded more power compared to any weapon.
What followed was a loud, unstoppable ripple of laughter all over the stands. Sly smiles were also there on a couple of the elders' faces. Zellan, however, was standing still as though he was hit by a fish.
"W-What did you just say!?" he stammered.
Leonel simply said,"You are talking too much. If it is your intention to bore me and then kill me, then maybe get started with the fighting?"
Then the crowd erupted.
Zellan's face brightened to the red from shame, and anger roared from deep down. He almost tore apart the huge blade he was holding with one hand by the tightness of his grip.
"You will pay for that!" he shouted.
ZELLAN'S FURY— TITAN SWORD TECHNIQUE
Zellan brought his feet wider apart, the stones creaking under the great weight of his stance.
His sword went down, drawing strength; a very faint ripple of power radiated from the blade as if it were breathing.
He shouted:
"Titan's Fury: First Form—GROUND SPLITTER!"
The sword slammed the ground with the force of a fireball.
The impact spread over the whole arena floor. The stone exploded with the sound of the violent tearing, a sharp crack extending towards Leonel as if it were a ravenous beast.
Dust and small pieces of rock were thrown up as the impact wave ran on the ground.
But Leonel was moving like he was very close to being able to do it with no effort.
A single step backward.
One breath.
The wave of shock passed him, cutting a trench several meters long while Leonel was standing totally safe, almost like he was calm.
The whole arena was filled with gasps.
"What…?""I think he wasn't hit at all!"That technique is strong enough to break stone! And still he didn't even raise his sword!"
Zellan growled, frustration gathering behind his eyes like a storm.
"QUIT DODGING AND FIGHT ME!"
Leonel smiled weakly. "Stop missing, and maybe I will."
Zellan's anger reached its peak. One of his powers was activated in his sword, the blade started to vibrate with energy, while cracks of stone appeared beneath his feet.
"OKAY! I'll do it! Titan's Fury-Second Form!"
He swung uselessly:
"STONE AVALANCHE!"
An uncontrollable, destructive force of a caricatured natural disaster, like a rockslide but made of living rock, was his weapon that it exploded the arena walls into severed pieces of stone, which were then thrown at Leonel with awful speed.
However, Leonel just moved out of the way.
He wasn't dodging. He was blending.
As stones were tossed in the air around, Leonel very strangely managed to be in the middle of them. He bent, took a step, twisted just enough for the rocks that were flying to come extremely close to him, but still, they could not touch him.
To the watching, what they saw was less of an escape from the hits and more the performance of a dance, one which the wind itself was the choreographer.
At the end of which dust was deposited, Leonel was standing there, in the very same spot.
Zellan's mouth was wide open as he stared, beads of sweat running down his forehead.
"H…How are you dodging everything!?"
Leonel pointed with his finger.
"Zellan… you're powerful, but it looks as if you're wielding a log when you fight. That's very easy to guess."
The serene advice only made Zellan more furious.
His sword started to radiate dark red, the glow coming and going like a heartbeat. Even the atmosphere around him was shaking with unrestrained power.
"Is that so? MY BEST then! ALRIGHT!"
He lifted his weapon to the sky, the red energy flowing around it as a vortex of blood-red wind.
"Titan's Fury: Third Form COLOSSUS FALL!"
Zellan jumped.
With his gargantuan body, he flew over, his shadow covering Leonel entirely. The air was shaking. All the elders at the same time leaned forward, sensing the threat.
Even Darian Graythorn's expression of indifference was slightly changed.
"With this move… he is going to wreck the whole floor of the arena."
But Leonel was not going to run away.
Neither was he preparing for the blow.
He didn't raise his sword. He just shut his eyes and took a breath.
He said it very quietly:
"Graythorn Sword Art… Second Form."
The air became very still. The light came from a different direction.
Leonel was gone. Well, not exactly, he moved so fast that he was practically invisible, a line of shadow carried by a gust of air.
"Gale Shadow Strike."
It hit the ground with a thunderous crack, throwing up a tremendous cloud of dust that choked the air and temporarily blinded everyone present.
For a brief moment, the view was completely obscured. After the smoke had dissipated, the scene stunned the entire crowd into complete silence.
Leonel was standing behind Zellan. He brought his sword down.
His breath was even.
Zellan was at the center of the broken rock, his sword inserted tightly into the earth, and he was shaking. Not out of pain, but out of the recognition that if Leonel had wanted to, that single strike he didn't even see could have killed him.
"How..." Zellan stuttered, his voice breaking. "How did you...?"
Leonel turned his face and looked at him, voice quiet and slow.
"Next time, don't speak so much.
The words penetrated his hearing like a sharper throw than any weapon would have done.
The arena loudened.
Yells. Laughing. Gasps. Surprise.
Some people were standing on their seats. Others were putting their hands over their mouths. A few were just staring, shocked, and not able to say a word.
The elders above the arena were looking at each other with amazement.
Lady Seraphina Graythorn otherwise very calm even during fights did not manage to hide the proud smile that spread over her face
"Far better than I thought," she said.
Next to her, First Elder Valtor laughed, a sound very much like cracking of ancient stones. "A glimpse," he whispered. "Only a glimpse... but the real thing is way beyond."
Even Darian Graythorn nodded slightly, and with his approval.
Just as the arena was about to burst into interviews with the amazed spectators, a shrill little voice came cutting through the air:
"BEAT HIM, BROTHER! BEAT HIM,"
The whole arena turned into statues of people. After that, laughter could be heard again.
The offender was jumping up and down in the stands, a tiny five-year-old girl with her hair tied in two identical bunches, and she was waving both her hands like she was the conductor of a parade.