Chapter 9 – The First Arena Battle
The massive gates of the arena slowly creaked open.
A thunderous roar surged through the stone stands as banners fluttered high above, the air thick with anticipation and excitement. Thousands of eyes were fixed on the sand-covered battlefield as Kurogane Arin took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The moment his boots touched the arena floor, the noise intensified.
Beside him, Elina Frostveil advanced with calm, confident strides. Light glinted off her armor, the blue crystal embedded in her chestplate pulsing faintly, as if responding to the battlefield itself. A few steps behind them, Leon Valen remained alert, his sharp gaze already locked onto their opponents, analyzing every movement.
"This is it," Leon said quietly. "Our first match. Stay calm. No reckless moves."
Across the arena, their opponents took their positions.
The team known as the Black Claw.
Ragnar stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the sand. Metal claws extended from his gauntlets, catching the light as he flexed his hands. To his side, Silas lingered like a predator, light on his feet and ready to strike from the shadows. Brakk cracked his knuckles impatiently, a savage grin spreading across his face.
The tension was unbearable.
Then—
The horn sounded.
The battle began.
Ragnar charged straight at Arin, raw power behind every step. His strike came fast and heavy—but Arin shifted half a step to the side, the blade of his sword flashing as steel rang through the arena.
Elina moved at the same time.
She intercepted Brakk without hesitation, her stance flawless, every motion controlled and precise. His brute strength met her unyielding defense.
"You're wide open," she said coldly.
With a swift maneuver, she disrupted his balance, forcing him back a step.
Leon still hadn't attacked.
Instead, he watched Silas carefully, tracking the assassin's subtle movements. Then he raised his hand slightly.
"Now," Leon called.
Arin seized the moment.
He pressed Ragnar—not with overwhelming force, but with perfect timing. Each move was deliberate, calculated. The crowd erupted as momentum shifted.
Silas attempted to slip behind Elina, but Leon's voice cut through the chaos, warning her just in time. In that instant, everything aligned.
Arin advanced.
Elina closed the escape route.
Leon directed their flow like a conductor guiding a deadly symphony.
For several tense seconds, the outcome hung in the balance.
Then Ragnar stepped back.
He had seen it—the coordination, the control, the gapless formation. He clenched his jaw, realizing the truth far too late.
The referee raised his hand.
"Victory!"
The announcement echoed through the arena.
The crowd exploded into cheers.
Arin exhaled slowly, lowering his sword as he glanced toward Leon. Elina turned slightly, her expression calm but resolute.
"This is only—" she began.
"—the beginning," Leon finished, allowing himself a faint smile.
They walked off the battlefield together.
The tournament had truly begun.
And their legend had taken its very first step.