The battlefield was in ruins.
Garrik was an unstoppable force, his potion-fueled strength turning every attack into a shockwave. Isolde was ruthless, her glacial sword humming with ice magic so potent that the ground itself had begun to freeze over.
And Kalem?
Kalem was pushing himself.
His twin blades blurred through the air, intercepting Isolde's precise strikes and deflecting Garrik's monstrous blows. He was fast—faster than either of them. But speed could only do so much against overwhelming force.
The moment came in an instant.
A miscalculated step. A shift in pressure.
Garrik struck.
Kalem brought both swords up to block, but—
Crack.
The force of Garrik's armored fist shattered Kalem's blades on impact.
The fragments flew. Metal shards embedded into the frozen ground.
The shockwave sent Kalem skidding backward, the force rattling through his arms.
Silence.
Then murmurs.
The crowd had been silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what they had just witnessed.
Then came the roar.
Some gasped in shock, others cheered. A few even laughed, believing that Kalem had made a critical mistake.
Garrik straightened, shaking the remaining impact from his fist. A smirk played at the edge of his lips.
Kalem, however, only sighed.
"Hmm, you should really think before using stuff like this."
His voice was almost amused as he examined what was left of his swords.
Garrik let out a short, booming laugh. "Well, you should've taken it seriously from the start."
A pause.
Isolde remained silent, but her icy gaze flicked between Kalem and his destroyed weapons. She had seen the way he fought before, precise, measured. He wasn't the kind to be careless.
Which meant—
He was holding something back.
Her grip tightened on her sword. She wasn't going to wait and find out what.
A gust of wind howled through the arena, sending frost-laced dust into the air.
Ice.
Isolde moved.
Fast.
Her greatsword descended in a sweeping arc, the sheer cold radiating from its edge distorting the air. The ground beneath her crackled, ice spreading with each step she took.
Kalem reacted—barely.
A swift twist of his body, a calculated slip between her blade's path.
Her sword sliced through his coat, but it didn't reach flesh.
He landed lightly, a few meters away.
This time, he didn't move to dodge again.
Instead—
He reached behind his back.
A black sheath.
Simple. Unadorned. Deceptively ordinary.
The crowd noticed.
And so did his opponents.
Garrik's smirk faltered. His instincts told him to brace.
Isolde's eyes narrowed. The air grew colder, her magic intensifying in response to the unknown.
Kalem's fingers curled around the hilt.
Slowly—deliberately—he unsheathed his new sword.
The first thing that struck them was the shape.
A sleek, curved edge.
It wasn't like the twin blades he had used before—this was something else entirely.
The second thing that struck them—
The hum.
A faint, resonant vibration, so subtle yet unmistakable, rippled through the air.
Garrik felt it in his chest.
Isolde felt it in her bones.
Even the audience **felt something—**a barely perceptible tremor, a sensation that something was moving just beyond what the eyes could see.
Kalem took a single step forward.
A slow, deliberate swing.
The air itself trembled.
The blade's arc left a lingering distortion, an unseen ripple of force that shuddered through the frozen battlefield.
A second swing. Faster.
The vibration extended outward, carrying the force forward.
Garrik shifted his stance instinctively, muscles tensing in preparation.
Isolde's fingers clenched tighter around her sword. She recognized a threat when she saw one.
The resonance crystal embedded in the hilt flickered, runes along the blade pulsing as they channeled its latent power.
Kalem tilted his head, as if getting a feel for it. Testing.
The crowd wasn't sure what they were seeing, but they knew one thing:
This was different.
This wasn't just another sword.
It was something else entirely.
But before diving in, Kalem took a cautious approach.
He tested the weapon.
A light swing— a pulse of force cut through the frost-covered ground, leaving a faint line etched into the stone beneath.
A second swing— this time, aimed at the air itself. The vibration carried forward, sending a subtle shockwave that rustled Isolde's coat and made Garrik adjust his stance.
Interesting.
Kalem adjusted his grip, testing the balance.
The weight distribution was slightly tip-heavy, making wide slashes natural, but fine control would take precision.
Another step. His eyes flicked between his two opponents.
Garrik was focused now. His usual bravado had dimmed slightly.
Isolde's magic was intensifying, a frost-covered aura slowly building around her.
Kalem smirked. "Alright then."
Now that he had tested the feel of the weapon—
It was time to use it.
The Nobles' Stands
Among the watching nobles, whispers turned into a quiet uproar.
"What kind of blade is that?"
"It doesn't look enchanted… but—"
"He's using something dangerous."
Even those unfamiliar with magic could feel it.
One noble, older and sharper-eyed, watched closely.
"That is not just a sword."
His companion frowned. "Then what is it?"
The noble's gaze darkened. "A risk."
Back on the Field
Isolde took in a slow breath, her expression unreadable.
"…I see."
Garrik cracked his neck, shaking off the tension. "Heh. Fine. No more holding back, then."
Kalem lifted his sword just slightly.
He smiled.
"Good."
And then—
He moved.