CHAPTER 42: THE PROVING PART 2

The remaining duo, the chain wielder of House Vincent and the scarred veteran of House Pyrestone had regrouped at the far end of the arena. Both turned toward the black-armored intruder, faces grim, eyes blazing with determination.

They exchanged a glance. Another silent pact, to defeat the ghost they underestimated.

Then they charged.

The chain wielder struck first, whipping his chains forward with practiced precision. Iron links whistled through the air like serpents. One chain snapped toward the Stranger’s legs, the other toward his throat, a pincer meant to bind and crush.

The veteran came from the opposite side, massive greatsword arcing wide in a devastating horizontal slash.

Trapped between them.

The Stranger didn’t retreat.

He jumped, actually leapt straight up, twisted in mid-air, and both attacks passed beneath him, missing by inches.

He landed between them, and before either could react, his blade was already moving.

A slash toward the chain wielder forced him back. A pivot, and his boot drove into the veteran’s knee. The massive man grunted but didn’t fall.

The chain wielder recovered fast, wrapping his chains around his fists like iron gauntlets, and swung hard. Metal crashed against the Stranger’s raised sword, sparks exploding.

The veteran charged again, greatsword raised high for an overhead strike meant to split stone.

The Stranger sidestepped... barely, and the greatsword slammed into the sand where he’d stood, sending up a spray of obsidian glass.

He was fast. Too fast.

But...

The chain wielder’s fist came from the side, wrapped in iron, and clipped the Stranger’s shoulder. The impact rang like a bell. The Stranger stumbled.

The veteran saw the opening and swung horizontally, aiming to cleave him in half.

The Stranger dropped into a roll, sand flying, and came up just as the chains lashed toward his face.

A blade flashed between them.

Steel met iron with a screech that split the air.

Jorel.

The dual-sword fighter of House Aetherion stood between the Stranger and the chain wielder, both blades crossed, trembling under the force of the chains. Blood trickled from his mouth. His legs shook. But his eyes burned.

"What—" the chain wielder snarled, yanking his chains back.

Jorel spat blood into the sand. "My fight," he rasped.

The crowd exploded into chaos, half screaming encouragement, half shouting in disbelief.

"HE RISES!" the Herald cried, voice cracking. "HOUSE AETHERION REFUSES TO YIELD!"

The Stranger turned his head slightly, regarding the battered warrior through his black visor.

Jorel didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed locked on the two opponents. "You’re the best I’ve ever faced," he said, voice rough but steady. "I want to fight you. Properly." His jaw tightened. "But I can’t do that with them in the way."

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then the Stranger laughed.

Not a scoff. Not mockery. A genuine, delighted laugh that cut through the roar of the crowd like a blade.

"I’m glad to hear that," the Stranger said, voice warm with approval.

He stepped forward, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jorel.

The chain wielder’s face twisted with rage. "You dare—"

"Together, then," the veteran growled, lifting his greatsword.

The four of them stood in a square of fire and shadow.

Then...

Chaos.

The veteran charged first, greatsword sweeping wide. The Stranger met him head-on, blade clashing against the massive weapon with a sound like thunder. Sparks flew. The veteran pressed forward, using sheer weight and power.

The chain wielder went for Jorel, chains whipping in a frenzy. Jorel parried, ducked, rolled, his dual blades a blur of silver. But he was slower now. Injured. Each movement cost him.

The Stranger deflected the greatsword high, stepped inside the veteran’s guard, and drove his elbow into the man’s ribs. The veteran grunted, swung a fist—

The Stranger caught it, twisted, and the veteran stumbled.

But the chain wielder was already there, chains lashing toward the Stranger’s back.

Jorel saw it.

He lunged, one blade cutting the chain mid-flight. It fell harmlessly to the sand.

The chain wielder roared, turned on Jorel with fury. He swung both chains like whips, relentless, brutal. Jorel blocked, parried, but one chain wrapped around his wrist and yanked him forward.

The Stranger spun away from the veteran and sliced through the chain with a single stroke. Jorel fell free.

They moved like dancers, covering each other, anticipating, flowing.

The veteran swung his greatsword in a wide arc. The Stranger ducked. Jorel vaulted over the blade, both swords stabbing downward. The veteran raised his arm to block...

The Stranger’s boot caught him in the chest. The massive man flew backward, crashing into the sand.

The chain wielder snarled, whipping both chains toward the Stranger’s head. The Stranger leaned back, let them pass—

Jorel’s blade cut one chain clean through.

The wielder staggered, off-balance.

The Stranger was on him in a heartbeat. A sweep of the leg. A twist. The chain wielder hit the sand hard.

But the veteran was already rising, greatsword in hand, eyes burning with desperation.

He charged, not at the Stranger.

At Jorel.

The wounded fighter, slower, exhausted.

Jorel turned, raised his blades to block,

The veteran feinted, pulled the swing, and drove his fist into Jorel’s side, where an earlier wound still bled.

Jorel’s scream cut through the arena.

He collapsed, swords falling from his hands.

The crowd gasped in horror.

"COWARD!" someone shrieked from the stands.

The veteran didn’t care. He raised his greatsword for the killing blow,

The Stranger moved.

Faster than thought. Faster than rage.

His blade cut upward, caught the greatsword mid-swing, and shattered it.

Shards of steel rained across the sand.

The veteran stared in shock.

The Stranger’s voice came low, cold, lethal.

"Disappointing."

He didn’t give him time to react.

A strike to the wrist. The veteran’s hand went limp.

A sweep. The man’s legs buckled.

A final, precise blow to the temple.

Out cold.

The chain wielder tried to rise, chains rattling—

The Stranger was already there. A boot to the chest. The wielder hit the sand and didn’t get back up.

Silence crashed down like a tidal wave.

Medics rushed in, while the Stranger knelt beside the fallen warrior, sheathed his sword, and gently lifted Jorel to his feet.

Jorel’s legs buckled. The Stranger caught him, supporting his weight.

"I look forward to our next duel," the Stranger said quietly.

Jorel managed a weak smile, blood on his teeth. "So do I."

The Stranger helped him across the sand, every step measured, until medics finally took him.

When he turned back to face the arena,

The crowd erupted.

Not just cheering. Roaring. Stomping. A sound that shook the very stones.

Even those who had booed now stood, shouting in respect.

Honor recognized honor.

---

The Stranger stood alone at the center of the obsidian sand, black armor gleaming in the firelight, surrounded by the fallen.

The Herald’s voice trembled as it echoed across the arena:

"THE PROVING IS COMPLETE! THE NEW WARRIOR STANDS UNDEFEATED!"

The nobles’ box was pandemonium. Gold and paper flew, bets screamed over one another.

In the Royal Pavilion, Eris rose slowly. Deliberately.

Her eyes never left the Stranger.

Every movement, every word of his, too intentional, too familiar.

And then, as the arena’s thunder swallowed itself...

Her gaze slid sideways.

To the seat beside her.

The Emperor’s chair.

Empty.