Henry stood frozen for a brief moment, his eyes locked onto the shattered remnants of his once-unbreakable tower shield. The realization of Stallion's sheer power sent a cold chill down his spine. Kaiser, still weary from his grueling battle against Navid, could only watch in shock. His body ached, and exhaustion clung to him like a heavy cloak, but seeing Henry's shield break made his pulse quicken.
From the side of the arena, Bjorn remained silent as always, standing beside Elric and Espada. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, noticing something unusual. The bandit audience was beginning to stir, many of them moving toward the exits. Without a word, he nudged Espada, drawing her attention to the commotion.
Espada furrowed her brows, listening carefully to the distant sounds beyond the arena. Her eyes widened as she turned to Elric.
"I've heard rumors... that the townsfolk were planning to revolt, to reclaim Gessa Town from the bandits. If that's true, then it might be happening right now," she said in a hushed yet urgent tone.
Elric considered her words, then clenched his fists. "If the townsfolk are really attacking, we need to confirm it. We can't afford to be blindsided."
He turned to Bjorn, ready to suggest they all investigate, but before he could speak, Bjorn lifted a hand, stopping him. Without saying a word, Bjorn gave Elric a firm nod.
Elric immediately understood.
Bjorn would go alone to confirm the situation while Elric and Espada remained in the arena. If something truly dangerous was unfolding, they needed to be ready.
"Be careful," Espada said as Bjorn turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the arena's corridors.
Back in the center of the arena, Henry slowly steadied his breathing. His shield was gone, but his spirit was not broken. Stallion, standing before him, grinned—a twisted, knowing smirk.
"You're still standing? Impressive," Stallion said, gripping his long black scimitar tightly. The inscriptions along the blade pulsed with an eerie lavender glow.
"But it doesn't matter. You all are going to die today."
Henry clenched his fists. He may not have his shield anymore, but he still had his gauntlets, his training, and his unwavering determination.
Henry lunged forward with relentless aggression, his fists striking through the air with sheer force. He threw a straight punch aimed at Stallion's face, but the dark figure tilted his head effortlessly to the side, avoiding the blow easily with precision. Undeterred, Henry followed up with a brutal elbow strike, only for Stallion to lean back, just out of reach.
"You're too slow," Stallion taunted, his voice laced with amusement.
Gritting his teeth, Henry roared and launched a wild haymaker, the sheer force enough to shatter bones had it connected. But Stallion merely pivoted his body with effortless grace, letting the strike pass harmlessly by. Undeterred, Henry immediately transitioned into a spinning back fist, putting all his weight behind it.
The blow met nothing but air.
As his fist cut through the empty space, a heavy presence suddenly loomed over him. Henry barely had a second to react before he felt it—a pressure unlike anything he had ever known. It bore down on him, pressing against his chest, making it hard to breathe. Stallion activated king's presence - again. The air grew dense, thick with malice. His body instinctively tensed, but his limbs refused to respond properly. It was as if a crushing weight had settled onto his shoulders.
His eyes locked onto Stallion, whose piercing gaze seemed to tear through his very soul. His scimitar hummed with energy. Then came the words, a whisper that felt louder than a war cry.
"Fear me."
A violent shiver crawled up Henry's spine. His knees buckled, and for the first time, Henry dropped to the ground—not from pain, not from exhaustion, but from fear.
He clenched his fists, trying to fight it, trying to push back against the overwhelming presence suffocating him. But no matter how hard he willed himself to move, his body refused to obey.
Stallion tilted his head, watching with mild curiosity. "So even the mighty Henry Guhn succumbs to fear... how disappointing."
Henry gritted his teeth, his pride screaming at him to stand. His muscles twitched, his breath ragged. He forced his trembling hand against the ground, attempting to push himself up.
"I...won't..." Henry growled, his body shaking under the pressure. "I won't fall... to you."
Stallion smirked. "Then prove it."
Henry willed himself to stand, his muscles screaming in agony, his breaths ragged. His body wanted to crumble under the immense pressure of the Stallion's King's Presence, but he clenched his fists and forced himself forward. His vision blurred for a moment, but he didn't stop. With every ounce of strength left in his battered body, he threw a wild punch.
The punch barely had any force behind it, but it connected.
A dull thud echoed through the arena as Henry's fist met Stallion's jaw. The impact was weak—practically nonexistent compared to what a real punch should feel like—but for the first time, Stallion's head tilted slightly to the side. It wasn't pain. It wasn't damage. But it was something. A brief moment where the indomitable force in front of him had reacted.
Even Henry himself couldn't believe it.
Stallion slowly turned his head back toward Henry, his crimson eyes burning with pure, unchecked rage. His scimitar, which had been in his hand this entire time, was sheathed in a single motion. Then, without hesitation, Stallion surged forward.
A savage punch crashed into Henry's gut, knocking the wind out of him instantly. His feet left the ground as he was lifted into the air, only to be slammed down violently onto his knees. Before he could recover, another blow—a sharp uppercut—snapped his head back, nearly making him black out.
Then came the storm.
Stallion rained down a flurry of blows, each strike heavier than the last. Left, right, hooks, elbows—Henry could barely register what was happening as his body was battered relentlessly. His arms instinctively rose in defense, but Stallion's fists broke through every guard he tried to put up.
A brutal right hook sent Henry spinning, and before he could even fall, another gut-wrenching strike landed in his ribs, sending shockwaves through his entire torso. Blood splattered from his lips. His body felt like it was breaking apart.
Yet he refused to fall.
Stallion's attacks were relentless, but Henry forced his shaking legs to keep him standing. His vision swam, and his breathing was erratic, but he still clenched his fists.
"Why... won't you just fall?" Stallion growled, his voice laced with irritation and fury.
Henry spit out blood and smirked, though his face was swollen and battered. "Because... I'm not done yet."
Stallion narrowed his eyes, his anger boiling over. "Then I'll make sure you never stand again." He launched another brutal punch straight at Henry's skull.
Henry lay sprawled on the ground, his body battered and his vision blurry from the sheer force of Stallion's relentless assault. Blood dripped from his split lip, and his breathing was ragged. The Grimknights watched with worries, sensing the brutal finality of the flurry.
Stallion took slow, deliberate steps toward Henry's fallen form, his scimitar still sheathed across his back. He crouched beside him, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Is this all the so-called warrior of the Grimknights has to offer? Pathetic."
Henry coughed, spitting blood to the side, his muscles refusing to obey him. His fingers twitched against the cold arena floor, grasping at nothing but dirt.
Stallion continued, his tone growing darker. "When I'm done with you, I'll slaughter each of your friends, one by one. Then, I'll turn my blade on the people inside the fort—men, women, children. I will make sure none of them leave alive."
A chill ran through the arena. Even the few bandits left watching from the stands flinched slightly at Stallion's words.
Something inside Henry snapped.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his throat, and suddenly, a force unlike anything before erupted from his body. The air trembled as an immense pressure shot out from him, thick and heavy like an unrelenting storm.
Stallion's smirk faltered, and he instinctively took a step back.
The ground beneath Henry cracked. His arms trembled as he tried himself to move, his body wracked with pain, but something new surged within him. His fists clenched as the invisible force of his King's Presence washed over the entire arena like a tidal wave.
"W-what is this...?" a bandit in the stands stammered, his knees giving out beneath him.
Even the veteran fighters among the bandits hesitated, their bodies involuntarily stiffening in response to the sheer dominance pressing down on them.
Henry was still lying on the ground, barely conscious, but his very existence radiated a pressure none of them had ever felt before. His King's Presence—unlocked for the first time—was not just awakening. It was roaring.
Stallion's eyes narrowed as he clenched his fists.