The prince tightened his grip on his radiant golden sword, the faint hum of mana vibrating through the air. His gaze sharpened — calculating, imperial — before he lunged.

The first strike came from the left, a clean horizontal slash fast enough to whistle. Theo raised his right arm almost lazily, palm open. The blade froze midair — not because it had stopped, but because space itself refused to let it move any further. The air rippled, faint light distorting around Theo's hand.

Without pause, the prince twisted his wrist, bringing the sword down vertically in a brutal overhead swing. The sound split the air — KRRANG! — yet again, the edge halted inches from Theo's skull, the distortion shimmering between them like heat waves over a desert.

The prince exhaled sharply, stepping in closer. His armor clanked as he shifted into a heavy diagonal slash from shoulder to hip. Theo sidestepped half a pace, the sword slicing cleanly through the air but not through him; its edge flickered, warping mid-arc, diverted by a subtle bend in reality. The light from the sword bent unnaturally, like water poured over glass.

The prince growled — annoyed now — and spun, bringing his sword upward this time, a rising cut meant to catch Theo under the chin. Theo ducked low, his hand swiping across the air in a small motion. The swing connected — but not with him. The force redirected into the ground beside him, cracking the floor in a jagged line.

Theo straightened slowly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. He hadn't moved more than a few steps.

The prince, breathing heavier, reset his stance. His expression hardened, sweat beading beneath the rim of his golden helm. He lunged again — faster this time, slashing in a tight flurry: one, two, three strikes in rapid succession, each aimed with deadly precision.

Theo shifted, weaving between the arcs as though he were dancing through them. His left palm flicked the first aside. The second swing bent away at the last instant, slicing through nothing but air. The third blow came so close it tore a strand of his hair, yet Theo didn't even flinch.

"Impossible…" Avin murmured under his breath from the benches, his crimson eyes narrowing.

Then, for the first time, Theo moved forward.

He stepped in — not fast, but decisive. His fist drew back, and space itself shuddered around his knuckles. Rings of warped air expanded outward as though reality were being pulled inward toward his hand.

He punched.

It wasn't wild or loud — just precise, direct, perfectly aimed for the prince's chest.

The prince reacted instantly, crossing his sword in front of him like a shield.

BANG!

The fist met metal. A burst of air exploded outward, shaking the arena. The golden-clad prince was hurled backward several meters, his boots gouging deep scars into the floor as he tried to stop his momentum. Sparks of gold mana flew from his armor.

Avin's eyes widened, his body leaning forward in disbelief. "What the hell…?" he whispered. Theo stood there with his arm still outstretched, perfectly composed, not a tremor in sight.

He was far stronger than he looked.

The prince stopped his sliding by pressing his weight into the ground more; the ground was left with a short trail carved into it. He bent his knees, shifted himself, and held his sword tighter with both arms. Suddenly it started glowing brighter, and a huge burst of energy erupted behind it like a rocket launcher. The prince stood firm so as not to be thrown backward. His armor opened two vents along the back, and the same burst of energy roared from there too.

Avin squinted, baffled. "How does he have such mana to waste… and why is his medieval armor behaving like a mech suit?"

The glow behind the prince grew, heat distorting the air, a low hum filling the arena. Then — boom! — he dashed forward with immense speed. The wind from his charge slammed against the benches, almost knocking Henry off; he caught himself at the last second, clutching the seat, eyes wide.

The prince swung the sword at Theo. Even before it connected, the sheer pressure of the swing pressed the air flat. It was clear that even without touching, the impact alone could shatter bones. Theo should have been crushed.

But he wasn't.

At the last split second, he stepped back — smooth, effortless — and raised both arms, palms open.

The air twisted.

A massive door materialized between them, tall and dark, etched in faint, glowing lines. The sword struck it — and vanished through, as though swallowed whole.

Above them, two more doors flared into existence, facing each other horizontally.

The prince shot out from the left door, a golden blur, and into the right one — then back again, ricocheting between them like a streak of light. Each pass came with thunderous force, golden energy flashing brighter and dimmer with every impact. The air howled with every collision.

Avin's eyes followed the blur overhead, his heart pounding.

The rhythm slowed. The roaring energy faded.

The prince emerged from the left door one last time — slower, drained. His armor's golden glow sputtered and went dim. He crashed down hard, his boots cracking the ground as he landed. He managed to stay on his feet, but his breathing came in ragged bursts.

The doors above groaned, turning until they faced straight down.

Avin's eyes widened. "No way…"

From the twin doors came the same blinding torrent of golden energy that the prince himself had unleashed moments ago — all of it redirected, collapsing downward toward him.

The prince looked up, his sword lowering. His shoulders slackened. He knew he couldn't stop it.

But just as the radiant explosion would have struck, a smaller door opened directly above his head.

Every bit of golden energy vanished into it — gone, absorbed without a sound.

The arena went still.

Theo lowered his hands, exhaling softly as the last traces of the glowing doors dissolved into dust.

The prince stood frozen, chest rising and falling, armor cracked in places, his once-brilliant sword dim.

He sighed, his voice barely audible under the weight of his defeat.

He had lost.

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