Rivera stood in the grand arena, its polished marble floors reflecting the shimmering chandeliers above. The vast hall was filled with noble spectators, their anticipatory murmurs blending with the clinking of goblets and hushed bets placed in the shadows. Rivera could feel the weight of their gazes, a mixture of scrutiny and expectation, bearing down on her. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the unspoken promise of a thrilling duel.

  "Rivera, you really can't win against me."

  Zain's taunting smile was a beacon of arrogance, his voice dripping with overconfidence. His eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and superiority, challenging Rivera to defy his claim.

  "Hmph... If it wasn't for that Tier 3 weapon, you would have lost long ago." she retorted, her voice tinged with frustration and resolve. Her grip tightened around her sword, the cool metal a reassuring presence.

  "Hahaha... Rivera, you're forgetting there's a gap of five grades between us. How am I to compete without this weapon? Why do you think His Majesty gave it to me?" Zain's laugh echoed through the cavernous hall, each note a needle of irritation to Rivera. His arrogance was insufferable, a reminder of the societal hierarchies they both navigated.

  "I've told you before, without using your weapon, you can't defeat me." Rivera countered, her eyes narrowing in determination.

  "Why are you calling my name like we're friends?" Rivera's irritation grew, her patience wearing thin.

  "Are we not? We're sparring. Of course, we're friends. So, why can't I say your name, Rivera?" Zain's laughter was like nails on a chalkboard, echoing mockingly through the hall.

  "Shameless! Don't blame me for what happens next." she spat, her words laced with a promise of retribution.

  After a few clashes that resounded like thunder, Rivera distanced herself from Zain, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached into her space ring, feeling the comforting hum of power from within. A red aura radiated from her as she unsheathed a long sword, its silver blade gleaming menacingly, the dark red hilt a symbol of her lineage and strength. It, too, was a Tier 3 weapon, a fact that would soon shift the balance of their battle.

  "Zain, this is your last chance. Apologize to my sister or..." Her voice was icy, a stark contrast to the fiery determination in her eyes.

  "Sorry! What? I didn't hear you." Zain said, feigning deafness, his mocking tone pushing her further to the edge.

  "You brought this upon yourself." she declared, her voice a final note of judgment.

  The battle quickly intensified, the clashing of their swords a symphony of conflict. With her weapon in hand, Rivera's advantage became undeniable. Before, she had to expend extra energy materializing her sword, a process that drained her strength, speed, and stamina. Now, fully utilizing her power, she had gained a significant leap in both.

  Rivera's weapon advantage became evident as Zain struggled to keep up. The stalemate had shifted dramatically; Rivera was now on the offensive, and Zain found himself increasingly on the defensive, his earlier confidence waning.

  Rivera aimed for Zain's torso with a powerful slash, her movements a blur of precision and force. He tried to dodge sideways, but Rivera, with her honed instincts, predicted his movement, adjusting her attack mid-swing.

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  Slash!

  "Heck!"

  Zain managed to evade a fatal strike but couldn't escape unscathed, receiving a deep gash across his waist. Blood oozed from the wound, staining his robes a dark crimson.

  "Haha... So, do you still want to continue?" Rivera teased, her voice a blend of mockery and challenge.

  Zain gave her a bitter smile, his bravado still intact. "Let's see."

  He tore a piece of his robe, folded it, and wrapped it around his waist, tying a knot with a wince. After checking himself for injuries, he said, "I think I'm perfectly fine, Rivera. We can continue. I hope you haven't exhausted your stamina."

  Zain's taunt was met with renewed clashes. This time, Zain was barely managing to evade Rivera's strikes, resulting in numerous injuries all over his body. Despite his bloodied state, his confident smile never wavered, a stubborn refusal to concede.

  "Rivera, you're losing your speed. Come on, we can't drag this out. Everyone has work to do." he chided, his tone infuriatingly casual.

  "Shut up." Rivera snapped, launching another series of attacks with relentless precision.

  "That kid is a psycho." someone muttered in the stands, their voice a mix of awe and disgust.

  "Yes, no doubt about it." another agreed.

  "He's covered in his own blood and still has the gall to taunt the princess." a third observed, shaking their head in disbelief.

  In the main stand, Izark was visibly worried seeing Zain's bloody state. His eyes darted between the Emperor and the battlefield, his expression a portrait of paternal anxiety.

  "Your Majesty, please stop this match. I will apologize to Princess Claire on my son's behalf." Izark's statement shocked everyone. A Duke lowering himself to a child was a disgrace. Dukes would rather let their children die than apologize to a kid. They now saw Zain's importance to Izark.

  Claire, standing beside the Emperor, snickered to herself. 'Hehe... What’s so great about being a Duke if they apologize the same?' Her inner monologue was laced with satisfaction, a small victory in the grander game of politics and power.

  The Emperor remained focused on the match, his expression unreadable. "Izark, why are you so worried about your son? Don't you believe in him? He looks pretty confident to me." he remarked, his tone even.

  "That's just a kid ignoring reality, Your Majesty. I think there's no merit to this battle anymore." Izark argued, desperation creeping into his voice.

  "Izark, don't disappoint your son. If he wants to see this through, let him." the Emperor responded, his gaze never leaving the arena.

  Izark wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. He watched Zain fight for his life, each clash of swords displayed his son's tenacity.

  The battle had stalled as both Zain and Rivera caught their breath. Zain's body was covered in bloody wounds, while Rivera, though tired, remained mostly unscathed.

  "Haa... Haa..." Both were breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling in unison.

  "Zain, accept your defeat now. You can't stop my next attack." Rivera declared, her voice a mixture of fatigue and resolve.

  "How many times have you said that, Rivera? Bring it on!" Zain retorted, his stubbornness unwavering.

  "Well then, get ready." Rivera said, her eyes narrowing with determination.

  Rivera burst forward with all her power, launching a deadly attack. Zain matched her intensity, jumping towards her with a reckless abandon.

  This was the final exchange.

  Click...

  Slash...

  "Haha... Cough... I won... Cough..." Zain coughed up blood and fell to the floor with a long sword through his shoulder, forming a pool of blood around him. The sight gave the spectators goosebumps, a collective shiver running through the crowd. Rivera stood unscathed, while Zain, a bloody pulp, laughed, claiming victory.

  'Lunatic' That was the consensus among the younger generation present. They wouldn't admit it, but Zain's bloody sight instilled a slight fear in them, a fear that lingered long after the battle ended.

  "Zain!" Izark's cry echoed as Raina, with healers and a stretcher, rushed to the arena, carrying Zain out of the banquet hall.

  "So, he lost anyway." someone muttered, their voice heavy with the weight of inevitability.

  "Yes, why go through so much pain?" another added, shaking their head in disbelief.

  The crowd burst into discussions while Rivera stood in the center, absent-minded. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and disbelief.

  'No way. He could've dodged. But he didn't. Why?' Rivera's thoughts were interrupted as her sister came to congratulate her.

  "Sister, you won! I always believed in you. Hmph... What did that kid think? That he could defeat my sister? It would be great for him if he didn't die from those injuries." Claire said, her voice a mixture of pride and disdain.

  Rivera, not knowing what to say, just patted Claire's head, a gesture of reassurance amidst her swirling thoughts.

  In the main stand, the expressions were quite opposite. The Dukes and nobles whispered among themselves, their voices a mixture of admiration and concern.

  "That kid actually did it." one murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief.

  "Izark, your kid is sick in the head." another commented, shaking his head.

  "Yes, you should knock some sense into him." a third added, his tone laced with mockery.

  Izark stood with a worried expression, listening to the other Dukes. Asking permission from the Emperor, he quickly left, his mind a storm of worry and pride.

  'Zain, you're no less impulsive than your mother. Sigh!' Izark thought, his heart heavy with concern and frustration.

  The Emperor's attendant walked forward and screeched, "Quiet..."

  Everyone in the hall covered their ears, and soon the hall fell silent again. The Emperor stepped forward, his presence commanding and authoritative.

  "We all witnessed an entertaining battle between Zain Gremory and Rivera Bloodlock. Now it's time to announce the winner. The winner of this battle is..."

  "Zain!!!"