The arena fell silent once more after the previous round.
Fine dust still drifted through the air, not yet fully settled.
The announcer's voice echoed throughout the Colosseum, heavy and clear.
"The Tenth Round is about to begin."
The audience immediately focused on the arena.
"On the Invaders' side..."
The gate slowly opened.
A woman stepped forward with calm, steady strides.
Her red hair was neatly tied back.
A black-sheathed sword hung at her waist.
There was no explosive aura.
No overwhelming pressure.
Yet her composure alone made the atmosphere feel sharp.
Several spectators whispered among themselves.
"She looks... cold."
"An efficient fighter."
Arou watched without blinking.
"She seems like a master swordswoman."
The announcement continued.
"This swordswoman is known for one thing."
"Every strike she delivers always reaches its target."
"Not a single slash is wasted."
The woman stopped at the center of the arena.
"Her name is... Setsuna."
Several spectators fell silent.
The name sounded simple.
Yet somehow heavy.
The announcer shifted attention to the opposite side.
"And on the Warriors' side..."
The opposite gate opened.
A man walked into the arena wearing simple clothing.
A dark kimono.
Clean and unadorned.
A sword rested neatly at his waist.
His posture was relaxed.
Far too relaxed for a battle of this scale.
Some spectators looked confused.
"Who is he?"
"Doesn't seem famous."
Airi frowned slightly.
"I've never seen him before..."
Hikari watched his movements carefully.
"He's really that relaxed?"
The announcer's voice rang out again.
"This swordsman has mastered the Garuda Technique."
"A style that determines victory with a single draw of the blade."
The man stopped and slowly opened his eyes.
"His name is... Fushiku Saiha."
The arena became even quieter.
Fushiku lowered his head slightly in greeting.
His hand remained near the hilt of his sword.
Setsuna turned toward him.
Their gazes met.
Briefly.
Without excessive emotion.
No mockery.
No words.
Only mutual understanding that the opponent before them could not be underestimated.
A gentle wind swept across the arena.
"Round Ten... begins!"
Both swords remained sheathed.
Neither swordsman moved.
Yet everyone knew—
this battle would be decided in an instant.
---
The arena remained silent.
The two swordsmen stood facing one another, blades still sheathed.
Fushiku took a light breath and smiled faintly.
"Hey," he said casually.
"How are you?"
Setsuna frowned.
"Huh?"
"Why are you so relaxed?" she asked coldly.
Fushiku shrugged slightly.
"I just wanted to talk to you for a moment."
Several spectators began whispering.
"Talk?"
"In the middle of a match?"
Setsuna clicked her tongue.
"Are you playing around?"
"No," Fushiku replied calmly.
"I'm serious."
He looked directly into her eyes.
"May I ask you something?"
Setsuna narrowed her eyes.
"What?"
"Are you human?"
Setsuna's gaze sharpened.
"If I am," she answered,
"what does it matter?"
Fushiku nodded slowly.
"Then why are you fighting for the Invaders?"
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
Several spectators grew uneasy.
"That's a dangerous question..."
"He's way too casual."
Setsuna turned her face slightly away.
"That's none of your business."
Fushiku smiled gently, unoffended.
"You're interesting."
"May I ask one more thing?"
Setsuna stared at him sharply.
"What?"
Fushiku tilted his head.
"Would you become my partner?"
The arena instantly exploded with reactions.
"WHAT?!"
"Partner?!"
"Is he serious?!"
Setsuna fell silent for a moment.
"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.
"I want you to become my ally," Fushiku answered honestly.
Setsuna's expression hardened.
"Don't joke around."
"We're enemies."
Fushiku slowly shook his head.
"No."
"I don't see you as an enemy."
The very next second—
Setsuna vanished.
"Fast—!" someone shouted.
A silver flash shot directly toward Fushiku.
A precise strike.
Without hesitation.
Fushiku moved.
Not to attack.
But to defend.
His sword rose at the perfect moment, stopping Setsuna's slash with a single clean motion.
CLANG.
The sound of steel echoed throughout the arena.
The audience fell silent before erupting again.
"He blocked it without counterattacking?!"
"His reflexes are insane!"
"Why isn't he striking back?!"
Fushiku stood calmly.
His breathing remained steady.
His sword returned to a ready stance.
Setsuna leaped backward, staring at him intensely.
For the first time—
she looked uncertain.
And everyone in the arena realized:
This fight was about more than victory or defeat.
---
Setsuna landed lightly.
Her gaze changed.
No longer merely cold.
Now sharp and focused.
"If that's the case," she said quietly,
"I'll get serious."
She slowly drew her sword.
The audience immediately felt the difference.
"The atmosphere changed..."
"The pressure from her blade is completely different now."
In an instant, Setsuna dashed forward.
First slash—fast.
Second slash—faster.
Third slash—almost invisible.
Fushiku moved with every strike.
Not attacking.
Only blocking and redirecting.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Every one of Setsuna's attacks was stopped at the most efficient point possible.
"He's still not counterattacking?"
"This is insane... he's reading everything."
Setsuna increased her tempo.
Her blade vibrated, leaving thin lines in the air.
Yet Fushiku remained calm.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said between clashes.
"I just want you to stop fighting alone."
Those words—
made Setsuna's hand tremble slightly.
---
Flashback — Setsuna
Darkness.
Smoke.
Screams.
A young girl stood amidst the ruins.
The sword in her hand remained clean—
while the world around her had already fallen apart.
"If you want to survive..."
"Trust no one."
The voice echoed endlessly.
She learned to fight not to win—
but simply to stay alive.
---
Back in the arena.
Setsuna gritted her teeth.
"Shut up," she snapped.
"You know nothing about me."
She swung her sword with full force.
A perfectly precise slash aimed directly at Fushiku's vital point.
The audience held their breath.
"That attack—!"
"If it lands, it's over!"
But—
Fushiku lowered his sword.
Shifted half a step.
And caught the attack with the side of his blade.
No wasted movement.
No excessive force.
CLANG.
"Why...?" Setsuna muttered.
Fushiku looked straight at her.
"Because I see you," he said calmly.
"Not as an enemy."
The arena fell silent.
Several spectators whispered quietly.
"This isn't an ordinary duel..."
"It's like they're fighting with their hearts, not their swords."
Setsuna jumped backward.
Her chest rose and fell heavily.
For the first time—
she no longer knew whether to attack...
or retreat.
The battle had only just truly begun.
Setsuna dashed forward once more.
Her movements were sharper now—without hesitation.
A single straight slash shot forward.
SLASH.
The tip of Setsuna's blade cut across Fushiku's hand.
A thin trail of blood dripped onto the arena floor.
The spectators gasped.
"He got hit…!"
"Fushiku Saiha is wounded!"
Yet Fushiku did not step back.
He remained where he stood, his sword still defending rather than attacking.
Setsuna paused for a moment, staring at the wound on his hand.
"Why?" she asked in a low but firm voice.
"Why do you only defend?"
Fushiku let out a quiet sigh.
"I don't want to fight a woman,"
he answered honestly.
"And I didn't come here to defeat you."
He lifted his gaze and looked at Setsuna without hostility.
"I want you to become my partner."
The arena immediately filled with whispers.
"Is he serious...?"
"He's saying that in the middle of a fight?"
"He's injured and still holding back..."
Setsuna clenched her fist.
Her gaze wavered—not from fear,
but from confusion.
"You're strange," she muttered.
"This is a battlefield."
Fushiku smiled faintly.
"Maybe."
"But I'd rather lose a match than lose a possibility."
Several spectators fell silent.
Others began whispering among themselves.
"If he counterattacked, the fight might already be over."
"But he keeps holding back..."
Setsuna raised her sword again.
This time, however, the tip trembled slightly.
The battle was not over—
but its direction had clearly changed.
Suddenly, Setsuna stopped moving.
Her sword nearly slipped from her grasp.
Her breathing became uneven.
"W-What...?" she muttered.
She pressed a hand against her chest.
Her face tightened as cold sweat ran down her temples.
The spectators grew confused.
"What's wrong with her?"
"Why did she stop moving?"
Setsuna dropped to one knee.
Her body trembled as though something was moving inside her.
"Guh... it hurts..." she groaned.
Fushiku immediately stepped forward, panic appearing on his face.
"Setsuna?"
"What's happening?!"
Then—
a black shadow began seeping out from her back,
forming living dark veins that writhed through the air.
A deep, unfamiliar voice echoed.
"I have waited long enough..."
The shadow solidified,
forming a grotesque figure covered in pulsating black fluid.
Mop had appeared.
The audience erupted into chaos.
"What is that?!"
"What kind of creature is that?!"
"It came out of her body?!"
Setsuna gasped, her eyes wide.
"What... what is that...?"
"I... never..."
Mop leaned forward with a grin.
"Your body is perfect," he said heavily.
"And your emotions... opened the door."
Fushiku clenched his fists, his face pale.
"Get away from her..."
Without hesitation, he stepped closer despite the dangerous dark aura.
"Setsuna, listen to me," Fushiku said, his voice shaking.
"Stay conscious. Don't let him take you."
Setsuna slowly turned toward him.
Her eyes trembled with pain and fear.
"Fushiku..."
"If I... if I disappear—"
"No," Fushiku interrupted immediately.
"I won't let you disappear."
Mop chuckled.
"Interesting..."
"A human like you is rare."
The arena was filled with tension.
This was no longer an ordinary duel—
it had become a battle to save someone.
And everyone knew—
this could end very badly.
Without the slightest hesitation, Fushiku charged forward.
His sword left its sheath in one smooth motion—
a fast and precise slash struck the dark figure.
SLASH—
Mop was thrown backward.
His dark body split apart,
completely separating from Setsuna.
Setsuna collapsed backward, gasping for air,
but the pressure inside her body slowly faded.
Fushiku stood between Setsuna and Mop.
"Run," he said firmly without turning around.
Setsuna gritted her teeth and stood up.
She ran toward the edge of the arena,
away from the battle—
but she did not leave.
From a distance, she watched without taking her eyes off Fushiku.
Mop laughed darkly.
"You've got courage, human."
Fushiku raised his sword.
His breathing remained steady.
"I won't let you touch her again."
---
Reactions from the Arena
Arou spoke with a tense expression.
"He really separated them immediately..."
Airi spoke quietly, her voice heavy.
"If he had been even a second late, Setsuna would have been finished."
Hikari clenched her fists.
"Big Brother Saiha... don't lose."
Tomo held his breath.
"This isn't a normal duel anymore."
Haru stared sharply at the arena.
"That creature is dangerous... its aura is different."
Priscilla crossed her arms, her expression serious.
"Mop isn't the kind of monster that's easy to defeat."
Rei observed carefully.
"Fushiku deliberately lured it away from Setsuna."
Nova nodded.
"The right decision... but the risk is enormous."
Nora looked worried.
"Fushiku... be careful..."
The spectators were equally shaken.
"He's fighting that thing alone?!"
"The other participant isn't even part of the match anymore, right?!"
"This has gone completely off script..."
---
Mop stepped forward.
His body slowly grew larger.
"You've chosen to become an obstacle?" he asked coldly.
Fushiku lowered his stance.
His sword remained ready in front of him.
"I've chosen," he said calmly,
"to protect."
In the distance, Setsuna gripped her sword tightly.
For the first time in her life,
she did not feel alone.
And so, the true battle began—
the swordsman who refused to strike,
against pure darkness itself.
Mop let out a low roar.
His black body expanded as dark veins pulsed wildly.
"Good," he hissed.
"Your emotions make me even more complete."
The arena floor cracked as Mop slammed down one of his arms.
A wave of dark pressure swept through the air.
Several spectators instinctively stepped back.
"What is that...? His aura is getting stronger!"
"This is beyond a normal battle now!"
Mop planted his feet heavily.
The arena trembled beneath him.
Fushiku's sword vibrated softly—not from fear, but from focus.
At the edge of the arena, Setsuna clenched her fists.
She took a step forward.
"Fushiku!" she shouted.
"I can still fight!"
Fushiku turned his head sharply.
His gaze was firm.
"No."
"Don't come any closer."
Mop laughed.
"How sweet. You're protecting her... even though you yourself—"
CRASH!
Mop lunged forward.
Fushiku met the attack head-on,
deflecting it with a single angled step.
The collision split the air itself.
Setsuna started running toward the battlefield.
"I don't want to hide!" she shouted.
Without looking back, Fushiku yelled,
"If you come in, I'll lose focus!"
"And if that happens—you'll be the one at risk."
Setsuna froze.
"I won't let you get hurt because of my battle," Fushiku continued, his voice lower.
"Trust me."
Mop attacked again—
faster, more brutal than before.
Fushiku narrowly dodged,
then took a deep breath.
He lowered his sword.
His body became completely still.
"Oi... look at that," one spectator whispered.
"He's changed."
Fushiku closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
"I have made a promise," he spoke softly. "Never to attack a human.
"He opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto his opponent. "But you... are not one.
"In a single breath, Fushiku drew his sword into position.
Horizon Slash.
It was not a full strike, but a half-step and a half-swing. It was a forbidden technique designed to suppress his true power—just enough to avoid killing, but perfect for cutting through the flow of darkness.
SHING—
A thin line of light flashed through the air.
Mop was thrown backward. His body split slightly as black fluid sprayed out.
"What?!" someone in the crowd gasped. "He cut through him without destroying the arena?!"
Mop roared, retreating in sheer fury. "You held back your strength? You foolish human!"
Fushiku stood his ground, his breathing steady. "I held back," he replied calmly, "because my goal is not to win. My goal is to end this."
From a distance, Setsuna stared at Fushiku's back. Her hands trembled—not out of fear, but out of absolute faith.
"I will wait," she whispered. "So... come back alive."
Mop went wild again, fiercer than before. He stopped laughing as his black body swelled and cracked from the inside, morphing into a much larger, monstrous form.
"In that case... I will force my final form!"
The air inside the arena ripped open. Mop swung his massive arms—not at Fushiku's body, but at the very space around him.
A forbidden attack: The Air Shredder.
An invisible pressure swept across the arena. Fushiku tried to step back, but he was a second too late.
SRASH—!His clothes tore apart. His body was violently hurled backward.
When he finally managed to steady himself, the impact of the strike was clear. The force of the wind had left him staggered, and the intensity of the battle was beginning to take its toll.
The audience fell dead silent."That... that wasn't just a simple strike..."
"The very air around him seemed to fracture...
"At the edge of the arena, Setsuna's eyes widened. "Fushiku—!"
Her hands shook as she watched him struggle to stay upright. "Don't... please stay strong..."
Fushiku looked down at the marks left by the invisible blade.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence.
Then, Fushiku snapped his head up, his eyes burning with renewed resolve.
"HAAAAAAAAAA!!"
The aura around him exploded.
A different kind of pressure—sharp, calm, and deadly.
Mop grinned.
"So you've finally snapped."
Fushiku planted his foot firmly on the ground.
His sword was slowly drawn, its blade trembling with power.
"Swallow Technique..."
"Forbidden."
With a single breath—
Fushiku vanished.
SHING—SHING—SHING—
Slash after slash appeared from every direction.
Not fast—
but inevitable.
Mop roared.
His dark body was torn apart by brutal streaks of light.
The arena was filled with impacts, pressure waves, and the relentless sound of clashing blades.
The spectators began to tremble.
"This is terrifying..."
"They're really not holding anything back anymore."
"This is beyond a battle... it's a disaster."
Mop attacked recklessly.
Fushiku answered without taking a single step back.
Two forbidden powers collided—
not for glory,
not for points,
but to bring everything to an end.
And Setsuna—
watched the battle with tearful eyes,
realizing one thing:
Fushiku was fighting
with his very life on the line.
The clash settled without deciding anything.
Both Fushiku and Mop were forced backward.
Cracks spread further across the arena floor, while the air trembled from the remnants of their slashes.
Fushiku panted heavily.
Blood dripped from his arm, yet his grip on the sword never weakened.
Mop let out a hoarse laugh.
His dark body continued regenerating, though far more slowly now.
"Interesting..."
"Your attacks are terrifying."
Fushiku straightened himself.
"Then," he said quietly,
"I'll keep standing."
Mop charged again.
This time, he was more cunning.
Blades of compressed air rained down from impossible angles.
Fushiku deflected one.
Two.
Three—
The fourth struck his shoulder.
He was thrown back, nearly falling, but managed to stop himself with one knee against the ground.
The crowd grew even more tense.
"He's still alive...?"
"After all that, neither of them has fallen."
Setsuna bit her lip.
Her hands trembled violently.
"Fushiku... just stop..." she whispered.
"Please..."
But Fushiku stood once more.
His sword lowered slightly—a defensive stance rather than an offensive one.
Mop snorted.
"You know?"
"Most humans would have been destroyed by now."
Fushiku met his gaze.
"I'm not fighting for myself."
Mop fell silent for a moment.
"I'm fighting," Fushiku continued,
"so she won't have to carry this burden anymore."
Mop growled and attacked again.
Fushiku welcomed him, retreating step by step,
enduring every ounce of pressure with a body that was nearing its limit.
The arena echoed with heavy, repeated impacts.
There were no cheers—
only suffocating tension.
One spectator whispered,
"This... isn't over yet."
And he was right.
The battle would continue—
until one of them
could no longer stand.
Mop pressed forward relentlessly.
Every step he took shook the arena.
His attacks were no longer reckless—
they were deliberate,
as if he knew Fushiku was running out of strength.
Fushiku blocked one blade of air...
then a second...
then a third—
CRASH!
His body was sent flying, smashing into the hard ground.
He rolled several times before finally coming to a stop.
His sword was still in his hand.
But his breathing had become heavy and uneven.
Mop slowly approached.
"You are weak," he said coldly.
"Your body has already reached its limit."
Fushiku struggled to stand.
His knees trembled—
he almost collapsed again, but forced himself upright.
Reactions on the arena side
Airi spoke in a strained voice,
"Fushiku… that's enough…"
Arou clenched his fists.
"If this keeps going… he's going to die."
Hikari stared wide-eyed.
"Why is he still standing…?"
Nora gripped the hem of her clothes tightly.
"Don't… don't die…"
Nova observed with a serious expression.
"Mop has already read his rhythm."
Rei nodded slowly.
"Constant pressure… that's how you break a swordsman."
Tomo spoke quietly,
"He's fighting with willpower now, not stamina."
Haru didn't blink.
"If nothing changes… this is dangerous."
Priscilla crossed her arms, her expression heavy.
"A human body shouldn't endure this long."
Setsuna stepped forward without thinking.
Her hands trembled violently.
"Fushiku…"
"Why are you going this far…?"
Her eyes shimmered with tears.
"Stop…"
"You don't need to go this far…"
But Fushiku didn't look back.
He stood again—
his body covered in wounds, his breathing ragged.
Mop raised his arm.
The air around him distorted once more.
The crowd grew uneasy.
"He's still standing…?"
"This is already unbalanced…"
Mop leaned forward slightly.
"How long can you keep this up?" he asked.
Fushiku slowly raised his sword.
His hand trembled—
but his gaze didn't waver.
"I… am still here. And I'm here because all humanity believes in me…"
"…so I won't lose."
The arena fell silent again.
Everyone realized—
Fushiku was at his absolute limit.
And one more strike
would decide everything.
Fushiku staggered a step.
His breath was heavy.
Blood dripped onto the arena floor.
Mop raised his arm again.
The air distorted once more—
the next attack would clearly end it.
The crowd held its breath.
"He's already critical…"
"One more hit and—"
Setsuna stepped forward unconsciously.
"Fushiku…!"
But at that moment—
Fushiku closed his eyes.
Not in surrender.
But in concentration.
"I've endured enough," he said quietly.
"Just once… I will attack."
Mop let out a low laugh.
"Finally."
Fushiku opened his eyes.
His gaze was calm.
He stepped onto the ground—
then leapt into the air.
His movement was light, almost weightless.
Several spectators were stunned.
"He jumped…?"
"In that condition?"
Fushiku twisted his body mid-air.
His sword ignited with a thin orange flame, forming a silhouette—
a Garuda.
In an instant—
Garuda Flame
A blazing slash was unleashed at blinding speed.
One sharp, perfect line,
aimed directly at Mop's core.
SHING—!
The attack was too fast to predict.
Even Mop reacted too late.
The Garuda-shaped flame pierced through his dark body,
triggering a dense, compressed explosion of force.
Mop was blown far backward.
"What—?!"
The crowd gasped.
"So fast…!"
"That was a single strike?!"
Fushiku landed on one knee.
He planted his sword into the ground to keep himself from falling.
His breathing was ragged.
Setsuna's eyes widened.
"That technique…"
She clutched her chest.
"He's still able to do that… to defeat Mop…"
Mop stood unsteadily.
His body was cracked—flames burning from within.
But he hadn't fallen yet.
"You…" Mop muttered.
"You're still standing… after that…?"
Fushiku slowly lifted his head.
"This isn't to stop you," he said weakly but clearly.
"This is to defeat you."
Silence.
Everyone understood—
Fushiku had just gambled his remaining life on that one strike.
And this battle…
had entered its final phase.
The Garuda Flame still burned through Mop's body.
Black cracks spread from the point of impact.
Mop staggered, his form no longer stable.
"This can't be…" he whispered.
"That attack shouldn't be enough—"
Fushiku stood shakily.
His breath was heavy, his body on the verge of collapse.
Yet something changed.
His aura condensed.
The air itself seemed to stop moving.
Several spectators felt it.
"What is that…?"
"The atmosphere changed again…"
Fushiku slowly pulled his sword free.
His hand trembled—not from doubt,
but because his body was being pushed past its final limit.
"I don't have much time left," Fushiku said quietly.
"So… I end this now."
Mop realized it.
"Stop—!"
But it was already too late.
Fushiku stepped forward.
In a single breath—
Six Garuda Claws
His movement vanished from sight.
Not one slash—
but six rapid strikes from different angles.
SHING—SHING—SHING—SHING—SHING—
Each slash appeared like a flash of a Garuda bird.
Fast.
Burning.
The final strike—
SHING—!!!
A burst of six flaming Garudas merged into one explosion,
crashing into Mop's core with devastating force.
Mop froze.
His body stopped moving.
Cracks spread across his entire form.
"What… is this…"
His voice faded.
His body disintegrated into black dust,
slowly scattering into the air of the arena.
Silence.
Then—
the crowd erupted.
"He… won?"
"Mop is really gone?!"
"What kind of technique was that?!"
Fushiku stood for a few seconds…
then his knees weakened.
He dropped to one knee, sword still embedded in the ground.
His breathing was unstable,
but his expression was calm.
On the side of the arena, Setsuna covered her mouth, tears in her eyes.
"Fushiku…"
She ran forward, stopping at the edge of the arena.
"You're alive…" she said trembling.
"You're really alive…"
Fushiku gave a faint smile.
"I told you," he said weakly.
"I wouldn't lose."
The remains of Mop vanished completely.
The battle was over.
Not with roaring celebration—
but with respectful silence.
Because everyone understood:
what they had just witnessed
wasn't just a victory—
but a life-risking gamble paid in full.
---
Fushiku remained kneeling, his sword planted into the arena floor.
His breath was heavy, blood dripping from his arm, but he didn't fall.
Airi stared at the arena without a word, tense.
Arou crossed his arms, voice low.
"He held on until the end."
Hikari nodded slowly.
"One more step… and the outcome could've changed."
Nova watched seriously.
"That final decision… was correct. Even if risky."
Nora exhaled in relief.
"Thank goodness."
Rei spoke briefly.
"Mop has been defeated."
Tomo and Haru exchanged glances, saying nothing.
Their expressions said enough.
Priscilla stared at Fushiku intently.
"He didn't win easily."
The crowd began to murmur.
"The fight was long."
"He almost lost."
"But he kept standing."
There were no wild cheers.
Only acknowledgment.
Setsuna stood at the edge of the arena.
Her fists clenched, eyes fixed on Fushiku.
She stepped forward, then stopped.
"You're reckless," she said shortly.
Fushiku raised his head slightly.
"I know."
Setsuna fell silent for a moment.
"If you were even a second later… the result might've been different."
Fushiku gave a faint smile.
"That's why I ended it immediately."
Setsuna lowered her gaze.
She didn't respond—but she didn't leave either.
The announcer's voice echoed across the arena.
"The Tenth Round has concluded."
All eyes turned to the center.
"The winner is—
Fushiku Saiha."
No explosive cheers followed.
Only slow applause spread through the arena.
"And with this, the current score is—"
The announcer paused briefly.
Invaders: 5
Defenders: 5
The arena grew louder again—but controlled.
Not from celebration,
but from realization:
this battle was far from over.