Azrael feels a chill run down his spine when he hears his name, but even so, he steadies himself and takes a step forward.
"Destroy him, Azrael!" James and Sara shout from the stands, their voices filled with faith.
As Azrael enters the stadium, he hears the announcer begin to introduce both him and his opponent.
"On one side of the battlefield, we have Azrael, a swordsman from the slums! And on the other, we have David, from the prestigious Jones family—the family with the most powerful sword technique in the region!"
After the introduction, the whistle announcing the start of the battle echoes throughout the arena. Azrael is the first to attack, but his strike is easily dodged. He tries again, but this time David withstands the blow and counters with elegance.
"Hahaha, seriously? You think you can fight using sword techniques like those?" David says with a sneer of contempt as he adjusts his guard.
"Seriously? And when are you going to stop running away from me?" Azrael retorts, though a grimace of pain crosses his face as he struggles to maintain the intensity of his assault.
Angered by the accusation, David's eyes flare as he increases the intensity of his attacks, his movements forming a silver whirlwind.
"You really think I'm running away from you? Don't make me laugh! Do you honestly believe you can defeat me with techniques that basic?" David says, belittling him as he advances.
"Hahaha, you'll see. With these techniques, I'll either defeat you… or leave you gravely injured," Azrael says confidently, even as fatigue begins to weigh heavily on his arms.
Sensing that the fight is dragging on longer than expected, David begins preparing a decisive attack to finish Azrael, who is enduring far more than his calculations had predicted.
"This ends here and now!" David roars as he lunges forward in a lethal motion.
With an unexpected reflex, Azrael manages to evade the core of the attack, though the sword's tip slices off a lock of his hair. Seeing that David lowers his guard for an instant after expending so much energy, Azrael seizes the opportunity and counterattacks with a basic technique—one he had practiced to exhaustion. The strike lands with brutal precision, rendering David's arm useless.
"Ahhhhhh! The pain! My arm!" David screams, writhing in agony as he switches his sword to his other hand, his sleeve soaked in blood.
"I told you. Even a basic technique practiced a thousand times is more lethal than an advanced technique left untrained," Azrael says, his tone filled with pride born from countless hours of solitary training.
"Seriously? You think you've beaten me? Don't joke around—that was pure luck," David snorts, having managed to stop the bleeding with a quick emergency bandage.
The battle resumes, but this time David initiates the assault, unleashing his most devastating family techniques. Azrael tries to keep up using his basic movements, but he is completely overwhelmed. With no other choice, Azrael decides to resort to one final technique—basic in form, yet terrifyingly effective—that he knows will push them both to their limits.
"I'll have to use it. I don't have any other option," Azrael murmurs weakly, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes before being buried beneath absolute determination. Without hesitation, he sets his body in motion.
Azrael begins coughing up blood, a macabre sight that strikes David as strange and fills him with doubt. But when Azrael rasps the words "Void Sword!", the ground seems to give way beneath David's feet. He never expected such a legendary attack—a technique said to destroy everything in its path. Trapped in midair with no foothold, he cannot evade it. The shockwave slams into him head-on, hurling him against the wall and leaving him on the brink of death. What astonishes everyone present is that Azrael remains standing—miraculously. After a moment of stunned silence, the announcer declares him the winner.
"I won…" Azrael gasps, but the words barely leave his lips before darkness claims him and his body begins to fall.
Azrael remains standing for a second despite losing consciousness, near a growing pool of his own blood, which continues to pour relentlessly from his wounds. James and Sara leap over the barrier and rush toward him at full speed to provide medical aid. But before lifting him, in a final act of defiance, Azrael—half-conscious—raises his hand with great effort and shows his middle finger to David, who lies on the ground. Desperate, Sara begins casting healing magic, but its effects are minimal given the severity of his injuries.
"Hold on just a little longer, we're almost there," James and Sara say in unison, their voices trembling as they carry him away, terrified by the overwhelming amount of blood staining everything red.