Roterberg and Zoe stood face to face at the center of the arena, their weapons gleaming under the sunlight. The contrast between them was immediately striking—Roterberg's sturdy frame barely reached the height of Zoe's navel. To meet his gaze, the tall red-haired adventurer had to slightly lower her head, which she did while fixing the dwarf with a fierce, defiant stare.
Suddenly, Roterberg's deep, thunderous laughter echoed throughout the coliseum, shaking the air itself.
"Ahahahahahaha! Iron Cutters, huh? That's quite the name for an adventurer party. Tell me—do you think you can cut through my weapons too?" the dwarf said, his tone light and playful, almost like a father teasing his child before a spar. There was not a trace of malice in his voice.
However, Zoe clearly did not interpret it that way. Her gray eyes burned with indignation.
"If you think I'll back down just because you're a member of a hero's party from some great kingdom, you're dead wrong! And don't worry, I'll show you exactly why we chose this name for our party," she shot back, her words trembling with anger and pride.
Roterberg immediately realized his comment had been misunderstood, but he decided not to correct her. The fire in her eyes amused him; it made the fight more interesting.
The two opponents locked eyes for several tense seconds, neither willing to look away.
As was tradition, Pinusal stepped forward and asked in his booming voice, "Do either of you have anything else to say to your opponent before the match begins?"
Both fighters silently shook their heads.
"Very well," said Pinusal, nodding. "Then the battle will begin on my mark." He raised his hand and began the countdown.
"Ready... Set... GO!"
Zoe moved first. Taking advantage of the fact that Roterberg had not yet drawn a weapon, she launched herself forward with explosive speed, her twin blades flashing as she aimed a fierce strike directly at his chest.
Watching from the royal cabin, Lucas frowned. A thought crossed his mind—Roterberg's arms seemed too short, and his weapons far too massive to be drawn quickly from the arsenal on his back. There was no way he could arm himself before Zoe's attack landed... or so it seemed.
Before Lucas could voice his doubt, Roterberg's booming voice resounded across the arena.
"Come!"
The instant he spoke the command, the enormous war hammer vanished from his back and reappeared in his hands. With a swift, devastating swing, he brought it down to intercept Zoe's charge.
The impact was tremendous. Zoe crossed her blades in front of her chest in a desperate attempt to block the blow, but the moment the hammer connected, both swords shattered into glittering fragments. The force of the strike sent her flying backward like a ragdoll toward the arena wall.
Gasps filled the stands.
Fortunately, though her weapons had been obliterated, they had absorbed enough of the hammer's power to keep her conscious. Still, if her body struck the stone wall at the velocity she was traveling, the fight would be over in an instant.
"Iron Swords!" Zoe shouted through gritted teeth, pain lacing her voice. Two new blades of solid iron materialized from her mana in a burst of sparks. She plunged them into the ground just in time, using them to slow her momentum and finally halt her flight—stopping mere inches before colliding with the arena wall.
"Lucky," Zoe muttered aloud, and for some reasons, she showed not the slightest trace of fear at the overwhelming power the dwarf had just displayed. Instead, she dashed forward again, charging straight toward Roterberg with renewed determination.
"From what Roterberg explained to me," Caesar began, watching the fight closely, "the magic he used to summon that hammer into his hand is an ancient general type spell passed down for millennia among the blacksmiths of his kingdom. It allows them to teleport in their hands any object within a radius of about five hundred meters, provided a specific seal has been inscribed on it. Most dwarven smiths use this magic mainly to retrieve distant tools while working the forge."
Lucas immediately poured more mana into his eyes to enhance his vision. When he focused on Roterberg's vast collection of weapons, he noticed that nearly every piece bore a small insignia: a horned helmet with a long, flowing beard etched beneath it.
"I see..." murmured Lucas, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
"Return!" Roterberg commanded, and instantly the mighty war hammer vanished from his hands and reappeared on his back.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Excellent defense—quick and effective!" the dwarf bellowed, his booming laughter echoing across the arena. "But I must advise you to find yourself a better armorer. The blades of those swords were of terrible quality! If you'd like, after this battle, I could sell you a pair of fine long swords. I already have two masterpieces ready!"
"Don't worry, I don't need them," Zoe replied sharply, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can assure you that the weapons I forge through my magic are of excellent quality. But if you're not convinced, I can prove it—by tearing your armor to pieces."
"AHAHAHAHAH! I'm sorry, but this armor has already been tested and happens to be one of my finest works," Roterberg said cheerfully. "So I'd prefer it to stay scratch-free."
Then, his expression hardened with excitement. He extended his arm and roared, "Come!"
A silver-tipped spear vanished from his back and appeared instantly in his right hand. Without hesitation, he hurled it at Zoe with devastating force. The projectile tore through the air at a speed easily a hundred times faster than sound. Zoe's eyes widened—she knew she couldn't dodge it. There were several contestants in this tournament capable of such a feat, but she wasn't one of them.
Yet, to everyone's surprise, the girl didn't seem frightened in the slightest. She continued her charge toward the dwarf, utterly undeterred.
Just before the spear reached her, Zoe stumbled—tripping over a jagged piece of debris left from earlier matches—and fell forward in the most awkward way imaginable. The spear whistled over her back, missing by mere centimeters, and struck the arena wall with a thunderous BOOM.
The audience gasped as dust and shockwaves rippled through the stands. The wall, forged by divine craftsmanship, remained unscathed, and the spear simply fell to the ground with a loud clang. Not even its gleaming tip had been damaged.
The spectators' shock quickly gave way to laughter. Ripples of amusement spread through the stands at the sight of Zoe's ridiculous yet oddly effective tumble.
But Zoe, rather than feeling embarrassed, pushed herself up with a grin and said smugly, "Lucky..." Then she sprinted forward once more, undeterred by either the close call or the laughter echoing around her.
"I was told that this arena is indestructible," Caesar remarked, his analytical gaze fixed on the wall where the spear had hit. "And seeing Roterberg's spear bounce off the wall without leaving a single mark seems to confirm that. But during previous matches, I noticed the arena floor often cracks and breaks apart. Is that the only destructible part? If so, doesn't that pose a danger? What if a particularly strong blow caused the ground to collapse, sending the fighters plummeting into the city below?"
"Not quite," Sequoria explained with her usual calm authority. "As you've observed, the upper layer of the floor—the one the fighters stand on—is destructible, but it isn't truly part of the arena. It's a mixture of soil and hard stones native to the Yggdora Forest, known as Yggdite. About five meters below lies the true floor of the arena, forged by the god of war, Anuerre. That divine layer is as indestructible as the walls and the rest of the structure. The surface layer exists because the gods and the audience enjoy seeing tangible displays of strength during battles."
"I see," said Caesar thoughtfully, his voice carrying both respect and nostalgia. "Witnessing the ground break beneath the force of warriors is indeed a magnificent sight. In my Rome, it would have thrilled the crowds to see a gladiator shatter the very floor beneath his opponent or a beast with the final strike of his blade. Sadly, in my entire world, no one ever achieved such feats. Those belonged only to the heroes of legend."
Meanwhile, Zoe had nearly reached Roterberg, though no one in the arena could quite understand how she'd managed it. The dwarf hadn't been standing there idly waiting for her; far from it. After launching that first silver-tipped spear—which the girl had dodged in the most absurd way imaginable—he had hurled three more, each with a different design and features..
The first of these had a jagged, crimson head forged from a strange rock that ignited upon reaching a certain speed. It would have easily turned the Zoe into ash—had it struck. But once again, Zoe avoided the attack, falling to the ground just before it could hit her. This time, however, she hadn't tripped over debris like before. Her legs had simply given out, likely still weakened from the tremendous impact of Roterberg's earlier hammer strike.
The second spear bore a spiraling drill-shaped tip, rotating at a blinding speed the moment it left the dwarf's grip. Had the arena walls not been literally indestructible, it would have easily pierced through them and burrowed straight out of the coliseum. Yet, almost impossibly, Zoe evaded that one too. Just as Roterberg released the weapon, a gust of wind swept a cloud of dust in front of her. She casually stepped aside to avoid the dust—completely unaware that her small movement had caused the deadly spear to miss her by inches. Her timing was so uncannily perfect that the crowd collectively gasped.
When Roterberg raised his arm for the third time, Zoe was already within a meter of him. The final spear was tipped in a shimmering emerald metal, and as he took aim, the restless wind that had been blowing through the arena since the tournament began seemed to gather around its point—swirling, howling, sharpening into invisible blades of air.
With another thunderous motion, Roterberg threw the weapon. Zoe tried her hardest to dodge, her instincts finally kicking in. Luckily for her, the spear missed by only a few centimeters. But even a near miss from such a weapon carried consequences—the wind it had harnessed whipped across her face, slicing her cheek open and drawing a trail of blood down her pale skin.
The crowd collectively held its breath. The earlier laughter that had followed Zoe's comical dodges vanished completely. No one was laughing now. Against all reason, she had managed to evade nearly every one of Roterberg's devastating attacks—by what seemed to be nothing but sheer, miraculous luck.
Lucas and Caesar exchanged bewildered looks. Caesar, who personally knew Roterberg's unmatched skill with spears, was visibly stunned. Yet behind his surprised expression, a flicker of calculation appeared—he was already analyzing the situation with the sharp mind of a tactician.
Aislyra, meanwhile, leaned forward, her sapphire eyes narrowed in curiosity. She couldn't help but wonder how that brash adventurer had avoided strikes even she might have struggled to evade. Sequoria, however, watched in silence. Her eyes were locked on the combatants, but her faint smile betrayed the truth—unlike the others, she already knew exactly how Zoe was pulling it off. She simply wanted to see if Caesar would deduce it on his own.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!" Roterberg's laughter thundered through the arena, shaking the air. "It seems I won't be able to stop you from trying to scratch my armor after all! But even though I said it's already been tested, another trial to prove it is one of my true masterpieces doesn't sound too bad!" he bellowed, his voice full of joy and excitement. "Besides," he added, eyes gleaming with sword-born enthusiasm, "I can't wait to see those swords up close—they seem to have quite the interesting effect!"
His booming laughter echoed off the divine walls of the arena as he braced himself for the approaching adventurer.