VIP section above the arena.

  “Why did you give it back to him?” Herling hissed. Tim didn’t give her any attention, continuing to sip his wine.

  “Relax… it is not like we actually need the weapon.” Tim smiled. “Just the brain of the inventor.”

  The door suddenly opened with a deafening bang.

  Tim and Herling looked at the figure coming inside.

  He was a tall man, easily over two meters. His face held no emotions, yet the bodies of the unconscious Kris soldiers behind the door told a different story.

  Tim knew him all too well. Clark Ferrum, the current Head of Clan Ferrum.

  “What does that mean, Tim?” His presence was heavy. Literally. Normal Named would have felt like a whole house was on top of them.

  Yet Tim Kris was only amused.

  “No idea what you are talking about, Clark.” Tim tried sipping again. The next moment, the glass was on the wall, shattered, wine dripping from the wall. “That was my favorite glass…”

  The movement was so fast Herling didn’t even see it.

  Members of Clan Ferrum are supposed to be slow damage sponges. How did he move so fast?

  “You are awfully arrogant for someone who just became a Clan Head.” Clark looked down on Tim, then his eyes shifted to Herling. “With the help of a non-native.”

  Tim stood up, wiping his hands.

  “Say what you want, Clark.” Tim looked into Clark’s eyes. “But Laurent himself agreed. And since when are you worried about a piece of scrap metal.”

  The next second, Tim was pinned to the wall with Clark holding his throat. Tim didn’t show any kind of discomfort.

  “You take that back!” Clark shouted. His saliva flew onto Tim’s face.

  “Madame Herling, please, don’t,” Tim said. Clark looked down to see a dagger right next to his throat. The woman was on him.

  I didn’t hear or feel her coming this close. She is dangerous…

  “Trying to kill one of the Ten?” Clark smirked. “Try it.”

  “You are the aggressor here.” Herling smiled. “It is obviously self-defense.”

  “Let’s calm down, both of you.” Tim said. “I understand your love for the boy, Clark. But you have to let him try himself out.”

  Clark’s grip loosened. Tim immediately cleaned his face. “Laurent will not lose. But the power you gave him… that’s the real threat.”

  Tim smiled.

  Of course he would only care about Laurent. Not a word about Illian.

  ***

  The Yumaki VIP room.

  Mizuki leaned on the couch; her hands covered her face.

  “So, these are Noll and X?” Genichiro’s voice reached her ears. It was somewhat judgmental.

  Mizuki’s silence was answer enough.

  “Well, that makes our job easier.”

  “If they win, all accusations are lifted, right?” Mizuki leaned forward.

  “I am not sure about that…” Genichiro frowned. “They are facing Laurent. People call him ‘The unofficial number six’ after all.”

  “Have you seen Noll’s disk? That thing blocked Laurent’s strike. I assure you, I have never seen it break.”

  “Whatever you say, sis.” Genichiro turned to look at the arena. Nobles were waiting for the carnage. It was less of a battle for innocence, and more of an entertainment. “Even if they win, the public doesn’t care. They will believe what they want to.”

  “Doesn’t that defeat the whole point of this?” Mizuki angrily pointed at the arena.

  “It does…” Genichiro held his chin. “Still, why is Illian involved?”

  “Who?” Mizuki tilted her head.

  “Illian Kris. The tall one with glasses.” He looked at Mizuki, who was still confused. “The one who challenged them to a battle.” He saw how her face changed with realization. “He is favored by the current Head of Clan Kris. Yet I have never seen him fight before.”

  “Something is up with this.” Mizuki crossed her arms. “Feels like a setup.”

  “Agreed.” Genichiro nodded, then looked at Mizuki. “Why is it pink though?”

  She shrugged. “Ask him.”

  Mizuki looked down at the arena as four figures emerged from opposite sides.

  “Took them long enough.” She scanned the massive circle. The vast space was ideal for the kind of maneuvers Noll would do.

  Laurent and Illian stood on one side, X and Noll on the other. X was in line with Illian, Noll with Laurent.

  Illian shot Laurent a look. Laurent sighed, and they swapped positions, aligning themselves with their chosen targets.

  X pulled out his longsword, glancing sideways at Noll. “You aren’t going to use your blaster, right?” he whispered.

  “I will not give him the satisfaction.” Noll stepped forward, his hands empty.

  “Well, let’s start.” Illian raised his hand.

  Mana surged. Blue particles swirled violently beneath his palm, coalescing into a humming sphere of light.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Going in strong, I see?” Laurent scoffed from the sidelines.

  “Just want to end things quickly.” Illian leveled his palm at Noll. The sphere pulsed, unstable and bright. That should be enough.

  The sphere collapsed into a singular, blinding beam.

  CRACK!

  A pink disk materialized inches from Noll’s face just as the ray struck. The impact bloomed into an explosion, kicking up a massive cloud of dust that swallowed Noll whole.

  The stadium went silent. Thousands held their breath, waiting for the air to clear.

  “Everyone wants to see a corpse,” X muttered, gripping his sword. “The rules forbid killing, but they’ll make an exception if the victim isn't a Named.”

  “That’s why he aimed for the face,” Laurent growled, his fist tightening.

  Neither he nor Laurent moved. Both waited for the dust to clear.

  Illian, however, closed his eyes. He clapped his hands, a sharp, mocking sound in the silence. “Well, that was easy.”

  ZIP—CRACK!

  A streak of pink light tore through the air, faster than blinking. It smashed into the arena wall behind Illian and vanished instantly.

  Illian froze. He felt a wet warmth sliding down his neck. He reached up, his fingers brushing against raw flesh.

  His ear was gone.

  A second later, the pain hit. Illian screamed, clutching the side of his head as blood streamed between his fingers.

  The entire arena gasped.

  The attack had come from the dust cloud just as it settled. Noll stood there, completely unharmed, his clothes not even singed. In his hand was a glowing pink longbow, which flickered and dissolved into light.

  “You ought to try smarter than that.”

  X smiled. Bastard… using a bow just to look cooler. He probably just sent the projectile, made it disappear, and then summoned the bow just as the dust settled.

  Laurent cracked his fist. Expected nothing less from my ultimate wall.

  He turned to X. He didn't look at his eyes; he stared at his body, his muscles, the way he held his sword. He was analyzing the structural integrity.

  “You're a big one,” Laurent breathed, his voice dropping an octave. “Thick muscle. Heavy bone density. A proper wall.”

  He took a step forward. CRACK. The stone floor spider-webbed under his boot.

  “I’m going to enjoy finding your cracks.”

  X frowned. The intent behind those words wasn't just aggression; it was something slimier. He’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve.

  Laurent kicked off the ground. The stone beneath his boot exploded into rubble.

  He shot forward like a cannonball, winding up. Just before his arm fully extended, his skin rippled. His fist turned a dull, metallic gray—the same color as his sword.

  X sidestepped.

  Laurent’s fist hit nothing but air, yet the force sent a shockwave blasting outward. X dug his boots into the ground, barely managing to keep his balance against the sudden gale.

  Wind magic? X narrowed his eyes. No… just a punch so heavy it displaced the air itself.

  “Aren’t you gonna stand there and take me like a good boy?” Laurent shifted his stance, a disappointed pout on his face.

  X didn’t wait. He pivoted his hips, using the full torque of his body to drive the longsword forward.

  Laurent didn't flinch. He simply raised his forearm. The skin rippled, instantly hardening into that dull, metallic gray.

  CLANG!

  Sparks showered the ground. The blade struck Laurent’s arm as if hitting an anvil. Not a scratch.

  Laurent stood there, smiling through the sparks.

  Before X could retract the weapon, Laurent’s left hand—still metallic—snapped forward, gripping the sharp edge of the blade. He clamped down, locking X in place.

  Laurent stepped into the opening. He wound up his free fist and drove a piston-like punch into the center of X’s chest.

  At the exact moment of impact, he released the sword.

  THUD.

  X’s eyes bulged. Saliva sprayed from his mouth as the force lifted him off his feet. He flew backward across the arena, slamming into the stone wall with a bone-shaking crunch.

  X peeled himself from the wall, his legs still shaking from the impact.

  He checked his body. Ribs intact. Sternum whole. Aside from the shaking and a minimal throb in his lower back, he was fine.

  He looked up. Laurent was standing there, gazing at his right hand with a strange, nostalgic expression.

  “Not big enough to make me feel it.”

  Laurent dropped his hand and turned away, dismissing X entirely to look at the other side of the arena.

  Illian and Noll were, well, exchanging pleasantries.

  Illian had stemmed the bleeding in the most brutal way possible: he had grown a jagged blue crystal directly into his own ear canal. His face didn’t show a shred of fury, yet the sheer volume of lasers he unleashed suggested otherwise.

  Dozens of crystal lances and beams materialized in the air, striking at Noll from every conceivable angle.

  Noll maneuvered through the barrage, surfing through the air on his pink disk like it was a hoverboard.

  Laurent giggled. He lunged toward them, the ground exploding into rubble behind him.

  X cursed and sprinted after him, desperate to keep up.

  Illian, focused entirely on Noll, suddenly felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder. The weight behind it was light—perhaps seventy kilograms. But the crushing grip could only belong to one person.

  “Laurent…” Illian hissed, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Fight your own—”

  “Move.”

  The word was flat, absolute. It carried the finality of a closing door. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

  Illian glanced back. Laurent’s eyes were wide and hollow. “And what if I refuse?”

  Laurent didn’t answer with words. He simply leaned.

  Instantly, that seventy kilograms spiked to half a ton, the mass concentrated entirely into the palm of his hand.

  CRUNCH.

  Illian didn't even have time to scream. He was plastered into the floor, his body embedding into the stone as spiderweb cracks shot out from beneath him.

  Laurent didn't stop. He stepped directly onto Illian’s back, using his teammate as a stepping stone, and walked over him.

  His eyes were locked on Noll. Laurent shifted his weight, sliding into a fluid, classic boxer’s stance—left fist extended, right guarding the jaw.

  Noll stared down from his disk just as X caught up to them.

  “Sorry, big guy,” Laurent said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You are tight… but you absorb the shock. It’s dull.”

  He turned his gaze fully to Noll, a hungry grin splitting his face.

  “But that pink thing? That was so hard it made my bones vibrate. That is the wall I want to break.”

  Noll frowned. He tilted his feet, angling the disk to drift backward, putting distance between him and the monster. He rose slightly, catching a thermal draft to gain height.

  Laurent didn’t move. His eyes darted left, right, then locked onto Noll’s hips.

  “You aren’t flying,” Laurent noted, his tone clinical. “You’re drifting. Like a leaf on a stream. You need momentum to turn.”

  X lunged for Laurent’s exposed back. “Don’t ignore m—”

  BOOM.

  Laurent vanished.

  He didn't turn to fight X. He didn't even acknowledge him. He simply dropped his weight to normal, kicked off the ground with explosive force, and launched himself like a cannonball.

  He didn't aim for Noll. He aimed for the empty space behind Noll.

  Noll’s eyes widened. He predicted my drift?!

  Because Noll was surfing, he couldn't stop instantly. His momentum carried him right into Laurent’s path. Laurent had cut off the "wave."

  Mid-air, Laurent’s grin widened.

  “Gotcha.”

  His fist pulled back. In a microsecond, his density shifted from feather-light to pure lead.

  Noll’s hoverboard warped, extending upward to create a solid pink shield mere inches from his face.

  The impact wasn't a thud; it was a detonation.

  The sheer kinetic energy of Laurent’s fist ignited the air, creating a blinding flash and a shockwave that roared like the air itself screeched.

  Noll was blasted backward like a ragdoll. Mid-air, he frantically gestured. The pink disk beneath him liquefied and expanded, transforming instantly into a massive, marshmallow-soft plushy.

  Noll slammed into the plush cushion, bouncing safely across the stone floor instead of breaking his spine. He skidded to a halt, his mind racing faster than his heart.

  He turned his whole body into steel the millisecond before contact.

  Noll stared at the monster emerging from the steam.

  Conservation of momentum dictates that if mass increases, velocity must decrease. But he didn't slow down. He kept his speed while multiplying his weight. He just created energy out of nowhere. That violates the laws of physics.

  Laurent crashed to the ground, his boots pulverizing the stone into a fresh crater.

  His face was twisted in pure euphoria as he clutched his right wrist, savoring the violent buzzing that rattled his bones.

  He spun around, scanning the VIP box above until his eyes locked onto the man he wanted. He threw his arms wide in a twisted, theatrical embrace.

  “Look at me, Clark! This is the true power of Heavy Metal!”

  His voice cracked, shifting from a roar to a desperate, high-pitched scream.

  “Aren’t you proud of me?!”

  His voice echoed into silence. Suddenly, Laurent’s legs gave out. Before he could even realize what was happening, he collapsed to one knee.