Chapter 42:
Lucina
I watch as people around the arena place their bets on who will emerge victorious.
Confident in Haroun's abilities, I place my own wager on him. Certain he will win.
The anticipation in the air is palpable. The crowd buzzes with excitement as the next round approaches.
After a thirty-minute rest, the second match begins.
The atmosphere is electric. Tension mounts with every passing second.
My eyes fix on Haroun as he steps into the arena. His demeanor exudes confidence and focus.
Haroun faces his opponent with expertise and ease. His movements are precise. Almost poetic. He maneuvers gracefully, each strike calculated and powerful.
The crowd watches in awe, captivated by his skill and agility.
Before long, Haroun is the first to finish his match. Another victory secured.
My heart swells with pride and excitement. I cheer for him.
Beside me, Kai has been swept up in the fervor of the competition. His earlier reservations forgotten in the thrill of the moment.
"Your Haroun is really something else."
Kai admits it, unable to hide his admiration.
"He certainly is."
My eyes never leave Haroun as he acknowledges the crowd's applause.
The announcer takes center stage. His voice booms across the arena as he announces the top three contenders. Each is praised for their exceptional skills and performance.
The competitors draw lots to determine the hierarchy for the final matches.
Haroun is set to face the son of a duke from a renowned swordsman family.
Anticipation builds. The crowd buzzes with excitement.
Haroun steps into the arena. His demeanor is calm yet focused. His opponent, though skilled, is clearly outmatched. Yet he manages to push Haroun to take the fight seriously—a testament to his own abilities.
The duel is intense and captivating.
Haroun moves with precision and grace that leaves the crowd in awe. Each strike is calculated and powerful.
His opponent fights valiantly but ultimately cannot match Haroun's prowess.
With a decisive and expertly executed move, Haroun secures his victory.
The crowd erupts. Applause thunders through the arena.
The announcer steps forward to proclaim Haroun's victory.
Haroun motions for him to pause.
Curious murmurs ripple through the audience. The announcer bends to listen to Haroun. After a brief exchange, he straightens up and addresses the crowd once more.
"Our competitor here wishes to skip the rest time and have his match right now!"
His voice brims with excitement.
The arena explodes. Cheers and murmurs of surprise collide.
Haroun's bold decision captivates the audience. It adds an extra layer of intensity to the competition. The crowd's energy surges. Their admiration for Haroun grows with each passing moment.
The next competitor steps forward.
The crowd falls into hushed silence. Anticipation hangs thick in the air.
This final match promises to be the most thrilling yet. Everyone can sense it. Haroun's decision to forgo rest has raised the stakes, making the upcoming duel all the more exhilarating.
The two opponents face each other.
The tension is palpable.
The announcer's voice cuts through the silence, signaling the start of the match.
The final battle begins.
The tension between Haroun and his final opponent crackles like a storm about to break.
The young man standing opposite Haroun is no ordinary swordsman. He moves with grace and confidence that belies his youth.
I notice the barely noticeable twitch of Haroun's eye. The tightness of his jaw.
He's annoyed.
They clearly have history.
The match begins.
It becomes clear that this opponent didn't reach the finals by luck.
His movements are precise. His technique polished. Every swing of his sword, every step, demonstrates deep understanding and mastery of his craft.
Haroun—who normally dispatches adversaries with effortless ease—is forced to engage fully. His skills and reflexes pushed to their limits.
Had Haroun taken the rest period, this battle might have been less taxing.
But his decision to skip the break has leveled the playing field. The match becomes an even contest. This choice adds another layer of intensity, drawing the audience into the palpable tension.
The crowd is on edge. Collective breath held as they watch every thrust and parry with rapt attention.
From my vantage point, I see every nuance of Haroun's movements. His body language speaks volumes.
His opponent matches him blow for blow. Their swords clash with ferocity, sending sparks flying. Each strike meets an equally powerful counter. The sounds of combat echo through the arena.
My heart skips a beat.
Excitement and anxiety almost too much to bear. Even knowing Haroun's capabilities, the sheer skill of his opponent makes the outcome uncertain.
The arena supercharges with energy. Every spectator caught up in the high stakes of the duel.
Haroun's frustration is evident.
Yet he channels it into his fighting. His eyes flash with determination. His muscles coil with the promise of victory.
He digs deep. Summons every ounce of strength and technique to overcome this formidable challenger.
The crowd's roars and gasps amplify the intensity. Their emotions mirror my own.
Despite the tension, I have unwavering faith in Haroun.
Haroun's opponent,desperate to gain the upper hand—unleashes his sword aura.
Against the rules.
The intense pressure of the match has pushed him to this extreme. The air crackles with his blue-green energy. The crowd gasps at the audacity.
Haroun is undeterred.
He responds in kind. Releases his own golden-yellow aura.
The atmosphere becomes electric. Charged with the clash of their formidable energies.
The match transcends ordinary combat.
It becomes a spectacle of superhuman speed and dazzling flashes of color. Haroun and his opponent move so swiftly that their forms blur. Their swords meet with resounding clashes that send shockwaves through the arena.
A dance of power and precision. Each move calculated. Each counter precise.
Blue-green and golden-yellow auras swirl around them. A mesmerizing display of light and energy.
Despite his opponent's desperation, Haroun's skill and determination shine through.
His movements are fluid. His strikes powerful and unerring.
Each exchange of blows pushes him closer to victory.
I watch, impressed and captivated by his prowess.
The battle reaches its climax.
A breathtaking flurry of motions, too fast to follow.
Then stillness.
The dust settles.
Haroun stands victorious. His opponent defeated.
Haroun's chest heaves with exertion. Sweat glistens on his brow. He leans on his sword for support.
His golden-yellow aura fades.
He stands tall and proud amidst the cheers and applause.
The announcer steps forward.
His voice booms over the roar of the spectators. He extols Haroun's achievements, highlighting his extraordinary talent.
"Ladies and gentlemen! We have witnessed the prowess of the youngest five-star swordsman in centuries—at merely twenty-two years old!"
The revelation surprises me.
A piece of information I didn't know.
Haroun's oldest memories are of the underground battle arena. Even he didn't know his age a few years ago.
But now? Twenty-two.
And he's mine.