The colosseum's energy shifted as the next match was announced.
"Kalem vs. Lucian Valehart!"
The crowd murmured in excitement. This wasn't just another match—this was a battle between a noble heir and a wildcard.
Lucian entered first.
His stance was poised, his steps deliberate. Clad in ornate silver armor with a black and crimson cloak embroidered with the Valehart crest, he exuded the confidence of a seasoned duelist. His sword—a masterfully forged longsword—rested lightly in his grip, its dark steel glinting under the sunlight.
His golden-blond hair was tied back neatly, and his sharp green eyes scanned the arena like a predator analyzing prey.
Then came Kalem.
And, as always, he came prepared.
Clad in his reinforced blacksmith armor, covered in etched runes, Kalem walked in draging a large crate —his personal arsenal.
The audience laughed.
Lucian sneered. "Are you here for a fight or a trade?"
Kalem smirked. "You'll find out soon enough."
Instead of drawing a sword immediately, Kalem flipped a dagger in his hand.
Not just any dagger—an erratic, rune-etched blade designed for unpredictable movements.
Lucian's expression darkened. He didn't like surprises.
The announcer raised his hand.
"BEGIN!"
Lucian rushed forward, sword raised in a flawless opening stance. His footwork was textbook-perfect, closing the distance in three swift strides.
Kalem sidestepped, flicking his dagger erratically, forcing Lucian to adjust.
Lucian thrust forward—
Kalem parried, twisting his wrist—
The dagger spun unpredictably, making it nearly impossible to predict the angle of deflection.
Lucian grimaced.
"Tch. What kind of technique is this?"
Kalem wasn't fighting like a swordsman.
He was fighting like a craftsman testing an experiment.
Lucian advanced again, his sword blurring in quick precise strikes.
Kalem twisted, ducked, and weaved, always a fraction of a second ahead.
Then, Lucian struck low.
Kalem's dagger was too short to block fully—
So he did something insane.
He let go of the dagger mid-parry, grabbed another from his belt, and countered from a completely different angle.
Lucian's sword slid past harmlessly.
The audience gasped.
Lucian scowled. "Are you just improvising?!"
Kalem grinned. "Yup."
Lucian took a deep breath.
"Enough of this."
With a shift in stance, he went all in.
Lucian's attacks became relentless—his longsword danced, a blur of refined technique.
Kalem was forced back, deflecting with precise, erratic movements—but he couldn't stay on defense forever.
"Alright. Let's step it up."
Kalem dropped his dagger.
Lucian's eyes widened. "What—?"
Kalem reached into his crate—
CLANK—!
Two swords.
Custom-forged, balanced for aggressive dual-wielding.
The moment Kalem grabbed them, his stance changed.
No more erratic parries.
This time—he attacked.
Lucian barely had time to react before steel clashed against steel.
Kalem's left sword locked against Lucian's, while his right sword lashed out in a fast, unpredictable arc.
Lucian twisted, parrying—but Kalem didn't stop.
He kept switching attack angles, alternating between both blades.
The rhythm was impossible to predict.
Lucian gritted his teeth. "You're not a swordsman."
Kalem laughed. "I know!"
Lucian's precision-based style was effective against structured swordplay—but Kalem wasn't following a standard technique.
He was mixing blacksmith practicality with combat improvisation.
And it was working.
Lucian was losing ground.
He needed to shift tactics—now.
With a quick feint, he kicked up dust, aiming to blind Kalem—
Kalem, already expecting it, stepped back and reached for another weapon.
Lucian froze.
The audience leaned forward.
What would he pull out next?
Kalem smirked, hand hovering over his crate. "Hmm… decisions, decisions…"
Lucian growled. "Are you playing with me?"
Kalem grinned. "Kind of."
Lucian lunged.
Kalem grabbed a war hammer.
BOOM—!
Lucian barely dodged as the ground cracked beneath Kalem's swing.
The impact sent shockwaves through the arena.
Lucian leaped back.
"What kind of madman switches weapons mid-fight?!"
Kalem adjusted his grip. "Alright, alright. Let's not break the arena."
He tossed the hammer back into the crate and pulled out his swords again.
Lucian exhaled sharply.
"I have to end this fast."
He lowered his stance.
His sword glowed faintly—a sign of mana infusion.
Kalem raised a brow. "Oh? You're finally getting serious?"
Lucian vanished.
In a blink, he was behind Kalem.
A clean strike to the back.
Lucian smirked. "Got you."
But his blade stopped inches from Kalem's armor.
A pulse of mana resistance rippled from Kalem's runic chestplate.
Lucian's eyes widened. "What—?"
Kalem didn't waste time.
With a full spin, he slammed his shoulder into Lucian's chest—hard.
Lucian stumbled back, his breath knocked out of him.
Kalem cracked his neck. "My turn."
Lucian barely had time to raise his guard.
Kalem's twin blades flashed.
Lucian blocked—
But Kalem flicked his wrist mid-swing, changing the attack angle entirely.
Lucian failed to adjust.
A shallow cut opened along his sword arm.
Lucian gritted his teeth.
Kalem smirked. "First blood. Your move, noble boy."
Lucian cursed. He could see it now—
Kalem was toying with him.
Not in arrogance, but in curiosity.
Like a blacksmith testing metal under pressure.
"He's still treating this like an experiment!"
Lucian refused to be tested.
He gripped his sword tighter—one final all-out strike.
Kalem exhaled. "Alright. Let's finish this."
Lucian lunged—
Kalem twisted, sidestepped—
And brought the hilt of his sword crashing into Lucian's stomach.
THUD—!
Lucian gasped, staggering.
Kalem caught his wrist—and flipped him onto his back.
The arena fell silent.
Lucian tried to rise, but Kalem's blade was already at his throat.
The announcer's voice boomed.
"Match over! Winner—Kalem!"
The colosseum erupted into cheers and laughter.
Kalem sheathed his weapons, offering Lucian a hand. "You're good. But you rely too much on fighting people like you."
Lucian scowled but took the hand, rising. "And you fight like an idiot."
Kalem grinned. "Hey, it works."
Match 6: Winner – Kalem!