Eliot stands up from his seat in a hurry. Even he can clearly feel the power coming from Mr. Arthur. A prana signal so intense that’s almost oppressing. And even if he couldn’t sense it, he’d still be able to notice. There’s something like steam coming from him, creating a faint, but clearly visible aura of pure prana.

“W-What is this…?” He mutters.

Sir Samuel sighs. “He’s getting desperate. But it’s not like that’s always a bad thing.”

“He’s done.” Sir Kain says, sounding disappointed. “He’ll rely on power and lose immediately.”

“Let him try a desperate last stand before he gets defeated.” His brother Ivan smirks.

“Why do you think he’ll lose?” Eliot asks.

“What he’s doing now is nothing special.” Ivan clarifies. “Run more prana through your body, enhance it beyond its limits and make it stronger. It’s that simple. But it’s also a very stupid thing to do.”

“W-Why?”

“Because you’ll simply run yourself dry even faster and pass out, if not outright die.” Ivan shrugs. “Although it IS strange how the prana is clearly visible.” He says, narrowing his eyes.

Eliot turns to Sir Samuel with a worried look, but the vice-general has a calm smile on his face.

“That’s correct. But I wonder if that will be the case here.” He chuckles.

Thirty seconds. While he could probably push himself harder, that would be beyond simple recklessness. At best, we’d be severely weakened. At worst, he’d pass out or die. Thirty seconds of an output near his maximum is definitely his limit. But in return, he can already feel the strength in every fiber of his body.

He holds his longsword tightly and grits his teeth.

It won’t be enough. It’s true that, right now, he’s stronger than Marcus, but that won’t be enough. So Arthur will steal yet another idea from that mercenary.

Is this suicide or a calculated move? Marcus doesn’t know, but neither does he care. This sort of desperate move is exactly what he was hoping for. He can’t contain his excited grin. His grip on his bow tightens as he waits for Arthur to make his move.

But… what is he doing? Marcus senses more prana gathering in Arthur’s arm. But at this distance!? No, his arm is extended, but his palm is pointing down.

“BLAST!” The boy yells.

And with that, the explosion of prana lifts a thick cloud of dust around him.

A stupid move. Everyone is the arena can still tell where he is by that stupidly intense prana signal, but Marcus can even tell his exact location. To make matters worse for himself, Arthur can’t see Marcus, so even if he can feel him, he won’t see the arrows coming his way.

Then, a blur. Something comes out flying from the dust cloud.

A sword!

From there, Arthur hurled his backup short sword with all his strength, and the thing is coming directly at Marcus, spinning rapidly. But that’s still not enough. Even if it’s coming at high speed, he simply swats it away with his bow.

But it’s the moment he does that he realizes his mistake.

The dust cloud is blown away the moment Arthur kicks the ground. His form that of the [Stinger] Martial Art, his body is launched faster than an arrow. Marcus’ body is open from having blocked the sword.

With a loud battle cry, Arthur’s sword pierces into Marcus’s right shoulder. He doesn’t restrain himself, driving it almost to the hilt.

“GAAAAAAH!!” Marcus lets out a loud, pained scream. His furs were not enough to stop the powerful charge, and they become stained with his own blood.

“Blas-!” Before Arthur can finish him off with a blast to his chest, Marcus grits his teeth, drops his bow and manages to punch him in the face just in time, sending Arthur back a couple of meters away.

There’s a lull in the fight, not longer than a second. Yet with their adrenaline as high as it is now, it feels like a full hour. Marcus looks to the ceiling and grins. The sharp pain in his shoulder is keeping him wide awake. His heart is pounding like mad.

This is what he wanted. This is why he accepted that knight’s invitation. Everything for a fight like this.

When he looks back down at Arthur, he notices the boy recovered his short sword and is already in a fighting stance, holding the weapon in front of himself with one hand. His eyes are wary of him, but they’re not afraid.

“Good…” Marcus chuckles. “Very good. This isn’t over yet.”

He takes a step forward and grabs the blade of the longsword with his left hand. His instincts finally start kicking in for real. The pain, although still there, starts to bother him less and less. He slowly pulls the sword out of his shoulder, all the while staring directly into Arthur’s eyes.

“Give me MORE!”

His eyes are wild, yet focused. They’re attentive to every single one of his moves. His prana is different as well. Not any more powerful, but now clearly carrying the feeling of a violent, wild beast. The feeling of danger creeps up Arthur’s back, but he doesn’t intend to back down. The moment he steps back, he will die.

Marcus throws the sword away, and instead draws his long knife. He holds it in a reverse grip with his left hand. His stance lowers, like a wolf ready to pounce even with his right arm hanging uselessly.

Arthur feels his own heart pounding, thundering in his ears. This guy is completely mad. His thirst for violence is palpable, yet obviously not for violence’s sake alone. He swallows.

‘Is that what his soul demands of him?’

He can’t get distracted. There’s only 23 seconds left until this super enhanced state is over. He needs to push this advantage while he can. Marcus has his back to the wall, Arthur’s weapon is longer and his physical abilities are higher.

Then why? What is this feeling in his gut that he’ll die the moment he steps forward?

The sweat in his forehead and the back of his neck feels like ice. It’s Marcus who lunges first. He pounces on Arthur without regard for his own safety. Arthur thrusts his sword, and thanks to the strength behind it, it manages to pierce the furs Marcus is wearing. The tip of the blade pierces into his ribcage, but the wild beast doesn’t care. He grunts in pain, but he swings his knife nonetheless.

The sharp blade of the small weapon manages to cut through the layers of linen and make a shallow cut into Arthur’s chest. Then, a head-butt. Marcus slams his forehead against Arthur’s, and the young man is stunned for a moment.

He swings his sword blindly, succeeding in making Marcus step back. He shakes his head to clear his mind, and he’s quickly coming back to his senses. The magically enhanced flow of blood to his brain helping that.

What’s more, that last blind attack told him something. Even if Marcus is pushing through the pain, he still feels it. He hasn’t become completely suicidal.

Arthur’s heart pounds wildly, and a grin creeps up into his face. He swings his sword first this time, and while the first strike is parried, Marcus can’t react to the second one coming from above.

The blade of this short sword is not sharp enough to cut through the furs Marcus is wearing, but he still receives the full impact of the strike to his forearm. Arthur doesn’t relent. He takes advantage of his enemy’s recoil to punch the wound on Marcus’ shoulder with all his strength.

“GAAAH!!” Marcus screams and gasps for air, and after a moment keeps swinging his knife wildly in front of himself, hoping it’ll reach Arthur.

The boy steps back, but Marcus follows him in an instant. He starts pushing recklessly. Swinging his knife and making Arthur retreat back to the center of the arena.

‘He just won’t go down!’

He receives another cut on the chest that slices through his gambeson and into his skin. Then, something he didn’t expect.

“AAAAH!!” A punch to the face from Marcus’ right hand which was supposed to be useless. Blood drips from his shoulder, yet he managed to make a fist nonetheless. The punch is followed by a thrust of the knife directed at Arthur’s face. He can’t parry that in time.

So he drops his sword, and with his free hand grabs tightly onto the knife.

“!!?” Marcus gasps and his eyes widen. Right now, Arthur’s grip is stronger than Marcus’ pull. The sharp blade still cuts into his hand, but Arthur dismisses it. He clenches his left fist and punches Marcus’ right shoulder again, making his gasp in pain instead of surprise.

He then hooks his leg behind Marcus’ knee and throws him to the ground with a strong push. He steps hard on the wrist holding the knife, making him lose his grip on it and kicks the weapon away.

Yet Marcus’ eyes haven’t lost their fire, making Arthur falter. He swallows hard... and steps back. He grabs his short sword while Marcus stands up. He points the tip of the blade at his enemy… no, his opponent.

“Last chance, Marcus!” Arthur growls, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What will you do!?”

Five seconds left. In five seconds, Arthur will be forced to end this burst of energy, or he’ll pass out. Why did he let him get up? He could’ve ended the fight there. He could’ve.

But he didn’t want to.

Why?

If Marcus stalls, Arthur will be too exhausted to properly fight back. The tables will turn, even if Marcus’ injuries are worse. He will not stop, and Arthur will lose. All Marcus needs to do is stay there for 5 more seconds, and the fight is his.

But he won’t. Arthur knows this, because if the situation was reversed, he wouldn’t either.

Marcus’ left hand is shaped like a claw and he lowers his stance. He will pounce at any second, aiming to rip Arthur apart with his bare hand. What will he aim for?

Marcus charges, and for s split second, Arthur can see the path his hand will take. His throat. He swings his sword down with all his might, with every single ounce of power his body has left.

His blade reaches Marcus’ left shoulder before his hands can reach his throat. Again, the dull blade can’t cut into the thick furs, but the strong impact is enough to bring Marcus down. He gasps one last time, and his body falls face down to the floor.

…

The burst of energy ends, and Arthur feels like his body weights 5 times more than usual. He falls to his knee as the world spins around him. His lungs plead for air, his throat is dry and a dull pain assaults his chest.

He barely hears the referee calling his victory and urging the staff for the doctors. He doesn’t hear the crowd at all. His vision is getting blurry and his breathing is getting heavier. The dull pain in his chest is… getting sharper. His body… starts burning.

Shit. Not again. Why now?

“GAAH!” He groans loudly, putting his hand in his chest. The pain is getting worse, and Arthur has nowhere near enough energy to run prana through his body to calm it down. If he does, he’ll die for sure.

“W-What’s going on!?”

Someone says. Arthur doesn’t know who. He doesn’t care. Every time he feels like he’s about to lose consciousness, the pain wakes him back up.

“Get them both to the infirmary! Quickly!”

Someone is putting their hand on his shoulder. He feels like pushing them away, but his body can’t move anymore. He’s paralyzed.

He’s put on a wooden stretcher and carried out. From there on, he can’t distinguish anything anymore. All he feels his pain, and all he hears are his own screams.

“What the hell?” Prince Ivan mutters, his expression as shocked as many of those around them. It’s probably one of the rare times when Prince Eliot and Prince Ivan are equally in the dark about something. “Sir Kain! What happened there!?” The older prince demands.

“I admit, I do not know, Your Highness.” Sir Kain sighs, frustrated. “Samuel?”

“It’s the same as when I met him.” Samuel bites his lip. Memories of the night three years ago quickly coming back. He remembers yellow eyes, red hair and uninhibited aggressiveness, but those are not present this time. However… “This could be bad. Excuse me, Prince Ivan, Prince Eliot.” Sir Samuel bows. “I must see to this. Hopefully it won’t be anything serious, but I’d rather not take chances.”

“Go, Sir Samuel.” Prince Ivan allows, then narrows his eyes. “I expect to be informed of this later.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Samuel bows again and leaves the balcony. Soon, Sir Kain catches up to him.

“So that’s the condition you spoke about?” He asks as the two make their way to the infirmary.

“Yes. When I brought him back three years ago, I had the doctors look at him. They said there was nothing wrong with his body, but that his soul was… murky.”

“…Is that so?”

“They couldn’t get a clear look at it. Just like you and me.” Samuel nods.

“So that’s why you think the kid’s a demigod.” Sir Kain realizes.

“It’s still not definite proof. There have been others with souls with rare properties. But that day… I saw a glimpse of his potential.”

“Oh?” Sir Kain mutters in amusement.

“If Arthur could control and develop the power that sleeps within him, he could become one of the kingdom’s greatest assets.”

“I see.” Sir Kain chuckles. “Good thing he won, then. Now we have to make sure he stays alive and that we look after his growth.”

Samuel nods silently.