Chapter 19: Joust: Fury
A series of fights concurred after Ethan's spectacular bout; each one more dazzling and awe-inducing than the last.
The arena crackled with energy as the combatants showcased their skills and abilities, leaving the audience mesmerized by the spectacle.
The stands were filled with cheers and gasps of excitement, but amidst it all, Libert couldn't help but feel a sense of anxiety and fear gnawing at him.
As he watched the battles unfold, Libert's mind was consumed with worry about his impending fight.
"If I don't win—," he thought, his heart pounding in his chest, 'but if I don't go now, they'll target me.'
With each passing moment, Libert became more uncomfortable as he felt the weight of numerous gazes fixated on him.
His meager affinity caused the other participants to assume that he was an easy target, and he sensed the judgment in their eyes.
"I'll show them…" Libert uttered quietly in defiance, trying to bolster his confidence despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.
Then, amidst the anticipation, a professional yet soothing voice echoed from the core of the crowd, announcing an intention to participate in the next battle.
Libert strained to obtain a view of the source, and in his heart, he knew—this is my opponent.
As if propelled by an otherworldly force, Libert found himself raising his hand and speaking, "I…want to f-fight too."
The words escaped his lips, surprising even himself, but he knew there was no turning back now.
An intense wave of whispers and gossip swept through the arena, fueling Libert's self-doubt and fears.
"What's he doing."
"A peasant like him should just stay home."
"Does he know who he's going against?"
"A nobody going against a Sinclair, ha!"
The barrage of doubt-inducing insults and whispers invaded Libert's ears, threatening to drown out his resolve.
But amidst the sea of uncertainty, he heard a familiar voice cutting through the noise.
"You got this…," Ethan whispered to him, his eyes filled with fiery passion and unwavering support.
"Okay…" Libert responded with a whisper, summoning newfound courage as he stood on the precipice of facing his fears head-on.
With every step he took, Libert felt like he was walking on thin ice, each one a deliberate attack on his fear and self-doubt.
He ascended the silver podium, ignoring the whispers that continued to follow him.
"Sinclair…" Libert uttered the familiar name under his breath as he locked eyes with his opponent, acknowledging the formidable challenge that lay ahead.
His voice carried a mixture of excitement and deep fear, his emotions intertwining in an intricate dance.
His adversary, Benedict Sinclair, stood before him, a young man exuding elegance and opulence.
With his white braided hair and mesmerizing sapphire eyes, Benedict was a sight to behold.
His captivating gaze bore a unique sentiment, hinting at a mysterious and potent aura that added to his charismatic allure.
Benedict was dressed in a pristine white tuxedo, and it draped him like a garment woven from moonlight, accentuating his regal presence and setting him apart as the epitome of refinement.
"Hello, my name is Benedict Sinclair," he spoke with a sense of pride, extending his hand for a fist bump as a sign of respect.
"I'm, L-Libert," Libert said, his voice betraying a hint of hesitation, but he reciprocated the gesture, taking the offered fistbump.
"We are running a little late behind schedule; my apologies if this feels rushed," the announcer's voice boomed, piercing through the charged atmosphere, "Let the battle commence!"
Boom!
The arena trembled with anticipation as the crowd held its collective breath, waiting for the spectacle about to unfold.
Without warning or hesitation, a figure emerged from the shadows, swiftly closing the distance between himself and his unsuspecting opponent.
Libert felt a stern hand grasp his neck, the grip firm and unyielding, cutting off his breath and leaving him momentarily paralyzed.
"Oh…did I start early," Benedict's voice echoed through the arena, a tinge of guilt evident in his words, though it did little to diminish the intensity of the situation.
"Yea..." Libert managed to choke out, his voice strained by the unexpected attack.
The spectators watched with a mix of awe and trepidation as they witnessed Benedict's dominance over Libert.
It was as if they were transported back in time, witnessing a gladiator vanquishing an insignificant slave. The air crackled with electric energy, the atmosphere pulsating with excitement.
With an almost supernatural display of strength, Benedict effortlessly lifted Libert off his feet and hurled him across the silver platform.
Libert's body soared through the air, a helpless puppet in the hands of a formidable puppeteer until he finally crashed onto the ground with a thud.
Pain rippled through his body, and he struggled to regain his breath, the impact leaving him disoriented.
"Why…" Libert's voice trembled with pain and confusion as he mustered the strength to speak, his eyes darting to Benedict, trying to fathom the motive behind this brutal assault.
"Ah, people like you...should just stay home," Benedict replied, his voice infused with a certain elegance as if he were passing judgment upon a lesser being.
A mixture of frustration and anger surged within Libert, fueling his desire for answers. He felt a burning need to confront his assailant, to understand why he had become the target of such ruthless aggression.
"Why...why does e-everyone want me dead?" Libert's voice grew louder, the words laced with a profound fear and anger that resonated throughout the arena.
Benedict's eyes gleamed with a cruel amusement as he provoked his adversary, goading him further.
"I. Didn't. Hear. You," he said in a mocking tone, relishing in the torment he was inflicting on Libert.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Libert struggled to rise to his feet, his legs wobbling beneath him like pillars of jelly.
He stumbled a few times, determined to find his balance, to stand tall despite the odds stacked against him.
"I know your mother or father wouldn't be proud," Benedict continued his onslaught, the words laced with venom as he closed the distance between them, savoring every moment of his dominance.
Rage ignited within Libert's eyes, a fiery and inextinguishable flame that burned from the depths of his soul.
The pain, the humiliation, and the overwhelming sense of injustice swirled inside him, fueling a newfound resolve.
"You have no...right," Libert's voice boomed, a defiant roar that echoed through the arena.
With a primal fury, he unleashed a formless punch toward Benedict's jaw, a desperate attempt to assert his strength and reclaim his dignity.
Thump!
The sound of the impact reverberated throughout the arena, drowning out the cheers of the spectators.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the punch connected with Benedict's jaw. The air was thick with tension, and the spectators held their breath, unsure of what would come next.
"Hehe..." Benedict's laughter, a sinister melody, broke the silence, a twisted symphony to mark the beginning of a battle that would forever alter the course of their lives.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone