The King sat upon his grand throne, his long blonde hair flowing past his shoulders and his thick beard making him look even older than his sixty years. His golden robes barely contained his round frame, but his sharp eyes glimmered with intelligence.
He turned to the man standing behind him. "Military General Ren, what do you think about this young fellow?"
General Ren, a man in his fifties with short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, bowed slightly. "My lord, he is either immensely talented or someone who has trained relentlessly."
The King stroked his chin. "And why do you think that?"
"To reach this stage in his twenties and be able to counter an opponent with far greater battle experience... That is not something an ordinary warrior can accomplish," General Ren replied. "After all, everyone here is supposed to be equal in power."
The King let out a thoughtful hum. "Do you want to take him as your disciple?"
General Ren hesitated. "I don't know, my lord."
The King chuckled and shifted his gaze back to the tournament.
The arena was filled with anticipation. Shin, the host, stood at the center of the ring. "Today marks the final day of our beloved festival, Ritterfest!" His voice echoed through the stadium. "We are honored to have the esteemed Guild Master, Rose Fermi, in attendance."
The crowd erupted in cheers as Shin continued, "Without further ado, let's welcome the two finalists of this grand tournament!"
From the left side of the arena, John emerged, his silver armor gleaming under the sunlight. His steps were steady, his presence imposing. From the right, his opponent stepped forward—a woman clad in crimson armor. Though her red helmet concealed her face, her imposing figure was impossible to ignore. Her posture was poised, her movements fluid, and her presence alone sent waves through the spectators.
John looked at her and asked, "What's your name?"
Her voice was cold. "Aurora."
John sighed internally. "Why does everyone here hate me?"
Shin's voice boomed once more. "Sir John is ranked D+, and Miss Aurora is A-. To make this fight fair, Miss Aurora will be equipped with an artifact to suppress her strength!"
They both nodded in acknowledgment.
"Then let the match… BEGIN!"
Neither moved. They stood, swords drawn, locked in an intense stare-down. The tension in the air thickened as they silently waited for the other to make the first move.
Then, in a blink—
CLANG!
Their blades clashed, sending a shockwave rippling through the arena. Again and again, their swords met, their speed increasing with each strike. John was fast, but Aurora was faster.
Suddenly, Aurora dodged and took five steps back. She closed her eyes, leaving herself completely exposed.
John gritted his teeth. "She's preparing something…"
He adjusted his stance, bracing himself.
Aurora took a deep breath. When her eyes opened again, they were no longer blue—they had turned pitch black. The very air around her distorted as she activated her sword skill—
'Blossom Sword Art.'
Her blade shattered into hundreds of glowing flower petals, swirling around her in a mesmerizing yet ominous dance. Then, with a mere gesture, she pointed at John.
John raised an eyebrow. "What now, flowers?"
The first petal drifted toward him, brushing his cheek.
SLASH!
A deep cut appeared instantly, blood trickling down his face.
His eyes widened. "Ah… I see now."
Before he could react, the petals swarmed him.
His armor shredded instantly, countless tiny cuts appearing all over his body. He coughed up blood, dropping to one knee, but his grip on his sword remained firm.
He took a shuddering breath and tore off the remains of his armor. "I need more speed."
In a burst of movement, he vanished—only to reappear inches from Aurora, swinging his sword upward with twice his previous speed.
Aurora, unphased, summoned a blossom-shaped shield. The impact sent vibrations through the arena, but she remained unharmed.
John retreated, his mind racing. "I can't beat her like this… not with ordinary means."
He tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening. Then, something changed.
A black aura seeped from his sword, crackling like living darkness. The sky itself responded—turning black, thunder rumbling ominously in the heavens.
Aurora's fingers twitched as she guided the swirling petals around her, their usual grace faltering for just a moment. The black energy seeping from John's blade sent a ripple through the air, distorting it like a heatwave. This power… it's unnatural. Even the King and General Ren stiffened in their seats.
General Ren's voice was low. "My lord… is this real? Does he truly belong to our kingdom? A swordsman of his caliber at such a young age?"
The prince, who had been watching in silence, finally spoke. "What is happening?"
General Ren exhaled. "Prince, when one reaches the pinnacle of their swordsmanship, they can change weather too, it takes decades—five, sometimes more. Only those with monstrous talent can achieve it faster. But John… he's in his twenties."
The King's lips curled into a grin. "Hahahaha! Finally! It has been fifty years since we have seen such a talent! General Ren, you were the last one to achieve this level, weren't you? With our support, he shall become the Sword of our Kingdom!"
General Ren's expression darkened. "But what if the Six Sovereigns come for him?"
The King's smile faded slightly. "You mean them? Hm… that is a concern. But we shall deal with that later. For now… let's see how this plays out."
John clenched his sword, the black aura intensifying. Blood dripped from his lips, but his eyes burned with resolve.
"It doesn't matter if I live or die," he muttered. "What matters… is winning."
With a roar, he swung his sword down—
A blinding arc of black energy shot toward Aurora, threatening to consume everything in its path.
The arena trembled.
The spectators gasped in horror.
And just as the attack was about to land—
BANG!
A resounding force shattered the energy mid-air. The black aura dispersed like smoke, and an immense pressure fell upon the stadium.
A figure descended.
An old man with long white hair and a beard that cascaded past his waist. His eyes were sharp, ancient, and filled with unfathomable depth.
The entire stadium fell silent.
The King's eyes widened. "That's—"
John's sword trembled in his hands as he stared at the old man, whose mere presence seemed to crush the stage under its weight.
And then, the old man spoke—his voice like rolling thunder.
"This match is over."