This feels different than the other matches. Arthur takes another deep breath and looks at his own shaking hand with narrowed eyes. In the previous fights, he was focused on improving his newly acquired [Stinger] Martial Art, so he didn’t think much about who he was fighting. But now it’s difficult not to when his opponent is letting out such obvious bloodlust.

Marcus has his eyes on him, both of them sitting on benches at opposite sides of the waiting room. Marcus is grinning, apparently because he’s simply unable to contain it.

“Thank you for making it to the finals. I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am.” He had said. That was roughly 20 minutes ago. The two of them have been resting in the waiting room and they should call them for the final fight in any minute now.

Arthur checks his gear once more. The longsword is still in good condition and so is the backup short sword. He’s been able to escape all his fights so far unscathed, so there’s no problems with his gambeson, boots and gloves either. But it’s not like they’ll make much of a difference in this fight.

Marcus’ arrows will be able to pierce through his clothes and flesh without issue. And since Arthur has no ranged attacks of his own, his only choice is to close the gap between them and fight up close. That means avoiding his push.

He groans internally. There’s always the possibility that Marcus simply won’t do the same thing again. But Arthur can’t prepare for something he doesn’t know. He’ll just have to play it by ear. He now has a tool to attack and close the distance, but he also has something he hasn’t shown yet. His Arcane Art, [Blast].

A short-range explosion of prana, roughly double the size of an adult man’s head, right in front of his hand. That’s without a doubt his strongest move right now. Perhaps he could…

“Mr. Arthur and Mr. Marcus. Please make your way to the arena.” Says one of the guards.

This is it, then.

Arthur stands up and looks at his hand one last time. His heart is pumping wildly, and his hand won’t stop shaking.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Radiant Castle is proud to present the Knight Selection Tournament Grand Finals.” The referee says, yet his voice is solemn. Not a single soul other than him is speaking. “We’ve been witnesses to the strength of many capable warriors today, but in the end, only one of them will earn the honor for joining the Radiant Knights. It is something every man and woman in this tournament has to grasp for themselves, and the two men here are the ones who’ve made it to the end.”

With a quick, snappy move, the referee points his hand towards Marcus.

“In the blue entrance, we have the wild hunter of Planta Village. He’s shown us time and time again his prowess with the bow. His arrows won’t miss their mark. Ladies and Gentlemen: MISTER MARCUS!”

The crowd cheers wildly. They clap and yell his name. They scream for him to show them his marksmanship again.

“In the red entrance, we have the young swordsman of Yellowseed Village. If there was anyone who doubted his abilities, they won’t dare question them now. This young man has proven that his skills and power are true. Ladies and Gentlemen: MISTER ARTHUR!”

The cheers of the crowd make Arthur flinch. They’re loud. They scream his name. They cheer him on. They know him and want him to win. They want him to catch the elusive hunter and strike him down.

Arthur swallows as a warm feeling settles in his chest.

“Both of these contestants are a deadly combination of power and skill. Which side wins? Nobody knows! LET’S GET IT ON!”

The intense warmth of prana flows through Arthur’s body as he charges in an instant. His longsword in a tight grip, he closes the gap in but a second. His own prana signal clashes with Marcus’ wild one. Yet for some reason, right here and now, Arthur doesn’t feel like backing down. The wild and dangerous wolf is baring his fangs at him, but Arthur’s soul is welcoming it.

He swings his sword from below, trying to catch the fingers of Marcus’ right hand that are gripping his bow with the tip of the blade. But of course, the man is quick to react with an efficient step back.

And it’s as Arthur is trying to follow him that he sees it. Marcus immediately steps back in, his palm aiming at Arthur’s chest. He manages to catch the incoming wrist in his hand, gripping it tightly, but Marcus doesn’t stop.

His knee makes contact with his stomach, and Arthur feels the flow of magical energy. Marcus releases the Martial Art, his knee hitting him with enough force to knock the air out of him, making him release his grip on his opponent’s wrist and sending him flying back, rolling several times across the ground until he crashes against the wall.

Arthur’s breathing is caught due to the blow, but he knows he needs to move. He knows what’s coming next. He can’t get out of the way. The arrows will come and pierce his body. But he refuses to let it end like this.

His vision is blurry. He can’t see straight, but that’s irrelevant. He knows the arrows will come. No, the sound of the bow string tells him they’re already coming. Arthur extends his hand towards the incoming arrows and prana gathers in his arm. This time it’s quicker than at the forest.

“BLAST!” He manages to get the word out along with the explosion of prana in front of him and the booming noise that comes with it. He starts to stand up, legs shaking, and just now does he realize he lost the grip on his longsword as well.

His breathing is coming back, his vision is stabilizing. He sees four arrows scattered around him. He reacted in time. His [Blast] blew them off course before they could reach him, but Marcus is already drawing another set of arrows.

Arthur draws his backup short sword and makes a run towards his opponent. There’s a full 20 meters between them. The arrows fly towards him, but he grits his teeth and Blasts them away again with an explosion of prana as he swats his arm.

He starts feeling lightheaded. It’s the first time he’s used the Arcane Art twice in succession, but the exhaustion of the day is finally getting to him as well. He’s practically spent all day either fighting or practicing. If he had only saved his strength…

…

If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to stand here. Anything less that 100% would’ve meant elimination in one of the earlier rounds. There’s no use in making excuses. This is the final fight. He’ll give it everything he has to win, sparing no effort.

With that in mind, he keeps running at full speed.

An Arcane Art. He hadn’t shown it before, and considering he was struggling to perfect a simple Martial Art, Marcus didn’t consider he’d had one in his repertoire of skills. He hasn’t learned one himself, yet. But while it effectively renders his arrows useless, it’s only so long as he can react. Besides, how many more times can he do that?

Marcus takes a deep breath to calm his eager heart. Not yet. This is only starting.

Arthur is closing in at speeds that surpass every previous fighter in the tournament. He’ll be here soon, but Marcus still needs to test more of his skills. He draws and shoots a single arrow this time, but Arthur’s reactions are good enough to side step it. It did slow his charge, though.

Should he do it once he gets here? It’s hard to keep suppressing the thirst in his soul after so many dull fights. None of the nobles had the desperate need for survival that animals and monsters have. None of them fought like their lives depended on it. And while the same could be said of Arthur, Marcus knows there’s more to that guy than this. His body was shaking just like his own, after all.

Marcus sees Arthur’s stance lowering as he picks up his longsword while he runs. He clicks his tongue. His thoughts distracted him, making him miss a perfectly good spot to aim for.

He’s here already.

Arthur kicks off the ground and swings his longsword. The blade travels from below Arthur’s armpit and up, clearly aiming for his neck.

Marcus grins in approval.

He jumps back, and his back meets the wall of the arena. He kicks the wall for a second jump, aims his bow down and shoots two arrows that hit the opponent’s back cleanly. Arthur lets out a loud grunt, and Marcus takes his chance to quickly step back and maintain the distance between them.

He narrows his eyes. Those shots were shallow. He had to shoot fast, so he didn’t draw the bow to its fullest, and as a result the arrows lacked speed.

He’s aiming his bow again, but something makes him stop. He sees Arthur turn towards him while reaching his hand to his back. He takes both arrows out of his body, all the while gritting his teeth. His eyes are locked on Marcus’, glaring with the same intensity he finds in cornered monsters.

Yes. This is the time. Marcus can’t stop the excitement building in his heart. His soul demands this. The addictive feeling of being alive that’s only born from risking your life. The high resulting only from deadly combat. That’s what moves Marcus’ body every morning. The need for that feeling.

His body is shaking. Because the look on Arthur’s eyes tells him he’ll give him exactly what he wants.

It’s like he’s being read. It’s frustrating beyond belief. Arthur grits his teeth as he pulls the arrows out of his back and glares at his opponent. And here he thought his gambeson wouldn’t be helpful. The many layers of linen cushioned the impact of the arrows, and although they still pierced skin, it’s far from anything lethal. It also helps that the arrowheads seem to be of low quality iron. It hurts, but he can still fight.

But he still needs to find a way to actually land his own hits. So far, Arthur has been able to get by in his fights because of superiors physical abilities. If his swordsmanship is about equal to others in the tournament, then it’s his enhanced speed and strength that allowed him to win without a scratch.

But in this case, Marcus is the same as him. Their souls are about equal, which means their physical abilities are as well. The gap between them is due to both experience and judgment. Marcus has fought monsters that want him dead, while Arthur mainly sparred with his mother and fought the occasional weak monsters that got close to the village.

So if Marcus is more experienced, how can Arthur close the gap now?

An idea comes to his mind. He remembers his first fight of the tournament, against the Mercenary named Jiv. All of a sudden, that guy became stronger and faster by running more prana than was safe through his body.

What if Arthur were to do the same?

These thoughts are interrupted by a new arrow flying at him. He dodges to the left, but realizes his mistake immediately. That first arrow was meant to lead him here. The second arrow is coming at him and he can’t move fast enough to dodge.

But as he sees the arrow coming for his throat, the image of his mother thrusting a wooden staff at the same place replaces the image of the arrow. Arthur swings his sword by reflex, yet with extreme precision. The arrow shaft is cut in half, and he has to force himself to ignore the ‘ooohs’ of the crowd.

Luck or skill, it doesn’t matter so long as the arrow doesn’t hit him. But there’s something strange. Marcus just lowered his bow. He doesn’t seem like he’ll shoot again.

Why?

Is he… waiting?

Arthur clicks his tongue and bites his lip. He understands that Marcus is more skilled than he is, but… to be looked down on is… insulting.

And with that, Arthur’s muscles tense as he increases the amount of prana that enhances his body. It’s not the first time he’s done this. In fact, he’s done it several times over the years. Every time his soul starts burning and hurting his body.

If he and Marcus are equal in terms of power, then Arthur will go a step beyond.