Igris rose from his throne with a slow, resonant scrape of metal, every movement deliberate. The crimson armor caught the faint blue light of the dungeon, giving him an almost regal silhouette. He stepped forward—one heavy, echoing stride at a time—until he stood in the open space before the throne.
Then, with a single fluid motion, he drew his greatsword.
The blade hummed, low and ominous.
Knox mirrored him without hesitation.
He walked forward, katana held loosely at his side, posture relaxed but eyes sharpened to a razor's edge. The weight in the air demanded seriousness—and he answered it.
When he stopped a few meters away, Knox lowered his head slightly, one hand resting near his sword's tsuba.
"…Knox Aznable," he said quietly, voice steady. "It's an honor to face you."
For a moment, the dungeon fell completely silent.
Igris did not speak—but he didn't need to.
He straightened his posture, the tip of his sword lowering just a fraction, and then he placed one gauntleted fist over his chest.
A knight's salute.
A gesture of acknowledgment… and respect.
Then, both fighters then raised their blades.
The duel had officially begun.
Knox didn't waste a breath.
The moment Igris shifted his stance, Knox launched forward—his body blurring like a streak of white fire. Six Aether Funnels burst into formation behind him, each one flaring to life with pale-blue sigils, humming like miniature reactors. With a single thought, they snapped into motion, circling him in a tight, controlled orbit.
Good. They're stable, he noted, eyes sharpening.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat.
"—Eight Leaves One Blade," Knox whispered, his katana igniting with a violent surge of heat, "Third Form: Karmic Flame."
His blade came down in a vertical arc—a blazing, punishing strike meant to crush defenses rather than cut through them. The air roared as the slash fell, a column of scorching energy tearing downward toward Igris's crimson armor.
At the same instant, the Aether Funnels fired, precise beams converging like disciplined artillery to lock Igris's movements.
The clash finally erupted.
Igris raised his greatsword in a clean, disciplined motion—catching the fiery slash head-on. Sparks and embers exploded outward, scattering like molten petals across the throne chamber. The shockwave tore through the hall, shaking dust loose from the ancient stone.
The Red Knight didn't budge.
Knox grinned—not out of arrogance, but recognition.
A worthy opponent.
Their blades collided again—metal against metal, sparks scattering across the throne chamber like fleeting fireflies.
Knox stepped in, chaining the momentum of his last strike.
Second Form: Gale—sweeping flurries of slashes—flowed seamlessly into Third Form: Karmic Flame, a heavy, blazing downward arc meant to crush through armor.
Igris endured it head-on.
The Red Knight slid back only half a step, cape stirring, his helm tilting ever so slightly—as if intrigued. A soft tremor of power rippled from him, a silent declaration: He was taking this seriously now.
Knox exhaled, tightening his stance.
The six Aether Funnels hovering above him rotated into a formation, releasing synchronized beams of light that forced Igris to block from multiple angles at once.
Igris answered with a sweeping counter of his greatsword—an elegant yet overwhelming arc of force that sent shockwaves tearing across the floor.
The pressure hit Knox like a hammer. He gritted his teeth, braced—
Then shifted.
A faint breath, a subtle lowering of his center of gravity.
Fifth Form: Morning Moon.
Knox let Igris's massive strike crash toward him and, in the smallest sliver of timing, redirected it—steel gliding across steel, his katana sliding up the greatsword's length in a clean, upward draw-motion that dissolved the force instead of resisting it.
The impact vanished as if swallowed by moonlight.
Knox glided past Igris's guard, turning the counter into a smooth transition—
"First Form: Helix!"
He spun, twisting forward with a drilling slash, his katana spiraling like a silver tornado while the Aether Funnels hammered Igris's flanks with coordinated shots.
For the first time, Igris was pushed back—boots grinding against the stone floor.
The knight lifted his head slightly, crimson visor gleaming with something unmistakable:
Interest.
Respect.
And a rising thrill.
A low, resonant pulse grew from within Igris's armor—the kind of pressure that made the entire chamber tense, as if bracing for a storm.
Knox's expression sharpened.
"…Alright," he murmured, katana raised, funnels orbiting tighter around him.
Igris stepped forward with a force that shook the crimson chamber.
No warning.
No hesitation.
Just a clean, lethal downswing—faster and heavier than anything he'd shown before.
Knox's eyes widened a fraction. This… is the real him.
Steel howled as Knox barely shifted his stance, deflecting the blow to the side. The impact rippled through his arms, numbing them for a heartbeat. Before he could fully reset, Igris was already on him—cloak flaring, gauntlets igniting with scarlet aura, each step carrying the weight of a seasoned knight pressing an advantage.
Knox stepped back—once, twice—boots scraping against the obsidian floor as Igris's blade carved an arc that nearly grazed his cheek.
"Tch—he's pushing hard."
Igris didn't let up.
A horizontal sweep forced Knox to duck. A follow-up thrust nearly pinned him to the wall. A shield bash came next—clean, disciplined, knightly—slamming into Knox's guard and sending him skidding backward.
Even his aether funnels were having trouble keeping up; each time one fired a piercing beam, Igris's sword flicked out with impossible precision, batting them away like glittering fireflies.
The pressure mounted, second by second.
Knox felt the shift clearly—
Igris wasn't simply testing him anymore.
He was cornering him.
A diagonal strike crashed down; Knox crossed his katana just in time, sparks bursting wildly as his heels dug into the floor.
For the first time, Knox felt the weight of Igris's full intent—a silent declaration:
Show me your worth.
Knox gritted his teeth, aura flaring in response.
"…Heh. All right then."
But before he could launch his counterattack—
Igris surged forward again, relentless, pushing Knox all the way to the edge of the throne arena.
The duel had officially shifted:
White Devil on the defensive.
Red Knight advancing without mercy.
To anyone watching, it would've looked like a ruthless subjugation—
the crimson knight pressing forward, blow after blow, like an executioner cornering his prey.
Ironically, if you didn't know who was who, you'd think the knight was the villain and the white devil was the one barely holding the line.
Igris didn't let up.
Step by step, the Red Knight's pressure mounted—each movement sharp, disciplined, merciless. The heavy aura rolling off his armor felt like a tidal wave, swallowing every inch of space Knox tried to claim. His katana rang violently with each clash, metal screaming as he parried, dodged, and absorbed the force behind Igris's blows.
Knox's feet scraped against the stone.
His arms trembled under the weight of the next impact.
He barely had time to reset his stance before Igris shifted—his entire frame lowering, greatsword drawing a fierce arc that hummed with crushing power.
"—!"
The blow landed squarely on Knox's guard.
A thunderclap.
A shockwave.
The world spun.
Knox was launched backward like a ragdoll, his back slamming into something hard—no, the throne. The same one Igris had been sitting on moments ago.
The impact forced the air from his lungs, rattling his bones.
His katana clattered beside him.
For a heartbeat, all Knox could do was stare forward, vision flickering, ears ringing, as the towering red figure walked toward him through the settling dust—slow, steady, and unrelenting.
Like a king reclaiming his seat.