Zack stood impassive, his gaze fixed on Enshou as the life drained from him. Guards rushed forward, their faces grim, quickly tending to the fallen warrior. They carefully placed his lifeless body onto a stretcher and hurried him towards the medical center. Zack watched them go, his expression unchanging, before simply turning and walking away. As he moved, his fists clenched, the knuckles whitening under the skin. He settled onto the sand of the battlefield, a silent sentinel amidst the lingering tension.
Before the echoes of the stretcher's wheels could fade, Tanker's booming voice shattered the uneasy quiet. "Is it time for my match now? Let's get this over with already!"
Azreal rounded on him, his brow furrowed in disbelief and anger. "Someone just… stabbed himself, and is at the brink of dying, and all you care about is your turn to fight?"
Tanker shrugged, entirely unperturbed. "He was the one that stabbed himself. His choice, not mine. I can't be expected to feel guilty for someone's decision to take his own life. Plus, he's a supporter of Dextin, which means he's bound to join him eventually. It's great that this happened. You should have even ignored his body."
Azreal's face hardened, a fierce retort forming on his lips, but King Neon, watching from his chamber, subtly raised a hand, shaking his head. Azreal swallowed his anger, forcing himself to calm down, though his eyes still flashed with indignation. The arena remained eerily quiet, the earlier boos having died down as everyone waited for a medical report on Enshou.
In the pavilion, Rider turned to Aingo, his voice hushed. "This guy was so trusting of Dextin, so convinced he wasn't responsible for what he did. What about you, Aingo? If I were in Dextin's shoes, and you were in Enshou's, would you understand that I couldn't do such a thing and try to find out why?"
Aingo's response was immediate and chillingly stark. "Of course I'd kill you. No hesitation." Rider stared at him, feeling as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. Aingo's gaze was unwavering. "If you ever turned out to be like Dextin, I swear you would die by no other hand but mine. I don't care what your reasons were, or if a katana was controlling you. Either way, promise me you would never be like him."
Rider exhaled slowly, a heavy breath. A faint, strained smile touched his lips. "Yeah, sure. I promise."
As minutes ticked by, an uncomfortable silence settled over the arena. King Neon, growing impatient, finally spoke, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Azreal, you can start the next round."
Azreal looked up at the King in shock. "But, Your Majesty, we have to know if Enshou is alright or not!"
"We don't have much time," King Neon stated, his tone unyielding. "We must know who the Sword Master is, the one who will wield the Red Katana. And let's say we wait… what if the news is that he is dead? That means we waited for nothing. So, we must carry on. That is my final decision."
Azreal remained silent for a long moment, the weight of his King's command heavy on his shoulders. Finally, he straightened, his voice echoing across the arena. "As we await Enshou's update, we should prepare for our final round of the semi-finals. Would Tanker and Bianca please enter the ring?"
Tanker, who had been sitting impatiently on the sand, immediately stood up, stretching theatrically. "Finally!" he declared, striding confidently towards the ring.
Bianca, watching him, took a deep, shaky breath, attempting to clear the knot of nervousness in her stomach. She knew the magnitude of this fight. This was Tanker – strong, arrogant, and clearly ruthless. He wouldn't hold back, not like Valen. Gathering every ounce of courage, she joined him in the center of the ring.
They stood facing each other, the tension palpable. Tanker, ever the provocateur, smirked. "Alright, girl. Show me if you're worthy of the name 'warrior'."
Bianca adopted her fighting stance, her expression hardening. "Sure," she responded, her voice firm, "and I'm definitely not losing." Their eyes locked, a silent challenge passing between them.
Meanwhile, in the dimly lit medical center, doctors worked frantically around Enshou. A low groan escaped his lips as a massive headache pulsed behind his eyes. Images of Dextin, haunting and distorted, flashed through his mind, a terrifying premonition. His eyes, still mostly closed, squeezed shut tighter as he mumbled softly, almost imperceptibly, "He's coming."