Tharion steadied his footing, exhaling slowly. I have to give it everything I've got, he thought. He still hasn't used his full power. That speed from his last fight—the one where lightning danced around him—if he brings that out now… can I even keep up? I don't know. But I'm not backing down.

He gritted his teeth, lowering his stance, and sprinted forward with blazing speed.

Kyrion didn't move. He simply raised his sword, a faint glow flickering along its edge. "Imbecile," he said coldly. "You dare charge straight at me?"

Tharion dashed forward, closing the distance between him and Kyrion in an instant. Kyrion swung his sword in a horizontal arc, the blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. But Tharion dropped low, sliding past Kyrion's blind spot, moving so fast his image blurred.

As he pivoted to strike from behind, Kyrion spun with equal speed—only to find Tharion already turning, his sword flashing toward Kyrion's face. Kyrion ducked, the blade cutting through a few strands of his hair, and countered with a brutal punch aimed at Tharion's chest.

Tharion raised his arm to block, but Kyrion caught his wrist mid-strike, his grip like iron. With raw strength, Kyrion lifted Tharion clean off the ground and hurled him across the arena.

Tharion's body twisted midair, momentum carrying him backward. Just before slamming into the wall, he flipped, planting both feet firmly against it. The impact cracked the stone behind him, but he launched forward again like a projectile.

The crowd gasped as Tharion seemed to fly across the arena, his sword raised high. Sparks burst as their blades collided again and again, each clash louder and faster than the last.

The audience rose to their feet, their cheers echoing through the arena. Every strike sent shockwaves through the sand, and for a moment, the two warriors seemed less like men and more like forces of nature colliding.

I'm actually holding back, Kyrion thought, eyes narrowing. Even now, I'm nowhere near my full strength. But still… someone at this level shouldn't be able to keep up with me. Perhaps it's time I sharpen things up.

He leaped backward, his boots skidding across the arena floor, sparks flaring beneath his feet.

Tharion frowned. Why did he jump back? Is he scared? No… it's not possible. He's planning something.

And then he saw it—crackling arcs of lightning forming around Kyrion's legs, spreading upward like veins of pure energy. His sword hummed, glowing white-blue.

"Oh no…" Tharion muttered, taking a defensive stance. "He's about to use that move."

The air rippled. In the blink of an eye, Kyrion vanished.

The crowd gasped, unable to follow his speed. The arena fell into silence—until the sound of two blades colliding echoed like thunder.

There! Tharion thought, twisting his sword upward, trying to predict Kyrion's trajectory. He couldn't fully dodge it, but he adjusted just enough—placing his arm between himself and the incoming strike.

A flash of light burst between them.

For a split second, the two stood back to back—Kyrion facing forward, Tharion facing behind him. The audience held their breath. Then—something small hit the ground with a metallic clink.

Tharion's finger.

He looked down, then grinned.

And in that very moment, Kyrion's eyes widened in disbelief. His sword arm fell limp—then completely severed, hitting the sand beside him with a dull thud.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Kyrion staggered backward, staring at the arm on the ground, unable to comprehend it. How…? How did he predict that? My speed was beyond his eyes—beyond his reach. He shouldn't have been able to see it, let alone react.

But Tharion simply lowered his sword, the faint trail of energy still shimmering around its edge.

"You're not the only one who learns fast," he said quietly.

"Wow! Unbelievable!" the emissary's voice boomed through the arena. "Both fighters have sustained injuries—but Kyrion's wound is far worse! His arm is down, while Tharion's left hand has lost four fingers!"

The crowd roared. The cheering blended with gasps and shrieks of disbelief as the dust settled around the two bloodied warriors.

"I didn't expect Tharion to be this good," Nolan said, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing with interest.

"Yes," Linda nodded, still stunned. "Even I'm shocked. He actually managed to keep up and even sever Kyrion's arm!"

Lyra clasped her hands together. "Wow! He really cut Kyrion's arm while standing still!"

Damian crossed his arms, his tone calm but sharp. "Don't get too excited. If you look closely, you'll see—it was pure luck. That fighter they call Deadly Smile didn't outmatch Kyrion in skill. He just made a desperate prediction, and it paid off. Nothing more. And I doubt he'll get another lucky break like that."

Nolan smirked slightly. "Hmm, you're not wrong, Damian. Anyone capable of seeing through their movements would notice it too. Tharion's reaction wasn't random—he read Kyrion's movement. He knew the moment Kyrion stepped forward, the attack would come from that angle. So he raised his sword early, gambling everything on instinct."

Celia nodded, gripping the edge of her seat. "Still… luck or not, it was incredible. He proved he's not weak."

Down in the arena, blood dripped steadily from Kyrion's shoulder, painting the sand red. Tharion stood opposite him, breathing heavily, clutching his bleeding left hand as crimson ran down his arm.

The crowd's cheers shook the stands. The air pulsed with energy. Everyone could feel it—this fight wasn't over.

And now, the look in Kyrion's eyes had changed. The calm was gone. His rage was visible even through the pain.

Tharion bent down slowly, his breath heavy and uneven. He picked up the four severed fingers from the bloodstained sand, staring at them blankly before slipping them into his pocket with his uninjured hand.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, raising his left hand and staring at the stump. "It cuts deep… hurts like hell."

He clenched his teeth as blood streamed freely, dripping from his palm to the arena floor. "Maybe when this fight's over… if I'm still breathing… the healers can reattach them," he said with a strained smile.

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