Titus and Platius faced one another in the ash and smoke of the plaza.
Around them the city screamed, but for that moment the world narrowed to two men.
Platius looked Titus in the eye and said, soft and cold, "Oh — I think I will have to deal with you now."
Titus' reply came like a struck bell.
"Bastard. Stop speaking and get ready to fight — you won't step off this ground alive."
Rage burned through his voice as he knew how badly he defeated Jester.
In Titus' mind the warning hammered:
He is dangerous — he cut Jester down so easily. Control yourself. Don't let blind fury be the thing that kills you. Breathe. Watch. One wrong move and this ends here.
Platius did not smile.
He watched Titus and thought in the stillness:
I got the information about his fighting style… yet even with that knowledge, facing him is perilous. I cannot afford a single mistake — I must remain completely focused.
They moved with blinding speed—so fast that even the wind seemed to tear apart around them.
Watching from a distance, the enemy soldiers froze in disbelief.
"W-What are they…?" one muttered, gripping his weapon tighter.
Another swallowed hard.
"If we step into that fight, we'll die in an instant…"
Their words vanished beneath the roar of the blades, the ground trembling under each clash.
On the other side of the battlefield, the Captain tore through waves of enemies, his movements sharp and merciless.
Each strike found its mark; each step carried purpose.
"Who is that… monster?" an enemy soldier gasped as the Captain cut down three men with a single motion, his coat fluttering behind him through the smoke.
Titus and Platius fought with deadly focus—no taunts, no wasted breath.
The air around them was thick with tension, every swing carrying lethal intent.
Both men knew it: one mistake… and it's over.
Their swords collided again and again, sparks flashing like lightning between them.
Then, without warning, Platius' movements shifted—his speed suddenly doubled, his blade blurring into invisible arcs.
Titus' eyes widened.
"Where—?" he barely managed before instinct took over.
His body moved on its own, raising his sword just in time to deflect a strike aimed for his neck.
The impact forced him a step back, dust scattering beneath his boots.
I think luck's on my side this time, Titus thought, his heartbeat steady despite the close call.
They lunged again.
Platius' blade grazed Titus' left shoulder, slicing through the fabric and drawing a thin line of blood.
In return, Titus' sword slashed across Platius' right thigh, forcing him to stumble half a step.
Both men circled each other, blood trickling down their wounds, breathing hard but eyes locked—each knowing that the next exchange could decide who lived and who didn't.
Titus steadied his breathing, his grip tightening on his sword.
I think… I'll have to use it, he thought grimly.
Otherwise, I won't last long against him.
But before he could move, Platius suddenly let go of his weapon.
Titus' eyes narrowed. What's he—
Before he could act, Platius let his weapon fall—then moved like a coiled thing.
In a blink he closed the distance, seized Titus by the collar, and hurled him into the stone wall with brutal force.
The impact cracked the air.
Titus's head snapped back; blood sprayed from his mouth, warm and metallic, and his sword slid from his hand, clattering uselessly across the cobbles.
He slumped for a second against the wall, pain flaring through his ribs.
Platius stood over him, steady and cold.
"I won't let you use that trick," he said.
"It's a gamble I refuse to lose."
Titus spat blood onto the stone and pushed himself upright, eyes burning.
He couldn't reach his sword. He understood the meaning of Platius's move now—and the stakes tightened like a noose.
"So you know about my technique," he said, voice low but edged with iron.
Platius's lips curved once, almost a smile.
"I don't think I need to answer that," he replied.
Then Titus lunged forward, abandoning his sword and striking with his fist — a mistake.
Platius sidestepped smoothly, his eyes cold, and before Titus could recover, Platius's leg came crashing down in a sharp axe kick to his shoulder.
The impact was brutal — Titus staggered back, his footing breaking as dust rose beneath him.
Before he could regain balance, Platius was already there.
A spinning back kick slammed into Titus's ribs, forcing a grunt from his lungs as he crashed to the ground.
Platius didn't stop — he moved like a shadow, grabbing Titus by the collar and kneeing him straight in the gut.
Titus gasped, blood flying from his mouth.
Every move from Platius was precise, sharp — not just strength, but technique.
It was clear now — Platius wasn't just strong, he was trained like a weapon.
Titus barely blocked the blow with his arm, sliding back across the cracked stone.
His breath was ragged now, pain burning across his ribs and shoulder.
Damn it… he thought, I can't even land one clean hit.
Platius's eyes narrowed, a cold glint flashing through them.
"I will let you taste a technique I created myself," he said, voice low but firm.
"I call it… Thunder Clapping."
Before Titus could react, Platius leapt into the air with astonishing speed.
His body twisted mid-flight, delivering a powerful jump kick that slammed squarely into Titus's chest.
The impact drove the air from Titus's lungs, forcing a painful grunt from him.
But Platius didn't stop there.
In a blur of motion, his fists rained down on Titus's body — one, two, three… a hundred precise, crushing strikes in mere seconds.
Each punch struck a different point — ribs, shoulders, abdomen, jaw — creating a symphony of pain that Titus couldn't block or counter.
His muscles screamed, his ribs felt like they were breaking, and every nerve in his body burned from the unrelenting assault.
Titus's mind raced, I… I can't… hold him… he's too fast… too strong… if I let this continue… I'll die!
Then, with one final bone-shaking hit, Platius's attack sent Titus flying backward through the air.
He crashed into a wooden stall with a deafening crack, splintering the wall as he hit.
He lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for air.
Blood ran freely from his mouth, nose, and several cuts across his face.
Bruises were forming rapidly, one side of his jaw swollen, his shoulder twisted unnaturally, ribs aching with every shallow breath.
His arms shook, barely able to lift themselves.
Platius stepped back, watching Titus with cold precision.
"I think… this is the end for you," he said, voice carrying over the chaos of the battlefield.
Platius stepped back, watching Titus struggle to rise from the splintered stall.
His dark eyes gleamed with a mixture of respect and cold calculation.
"I think I've won," he said, his voice calm but carrying undeniable authority.
"If you hadn't put away your sword, the outcome would have been very different."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"I admit… you let go of your sword, as is the way of proud captains — refusing to strike an unarmed foe. That very choice gave me the chance to defeat you."
Platius's gaze swept over Titus one last time.
"So, I won't kill you as a gratitude from me for your favour," he added, turning his attention elsewhere.
His movements were fluid, predatory, as he shifted toward the Jester with a confident, almost playful stride.
Titus coughed, blood trickling from his lips, glaring up at Platius.
His body ached in countless places, but his eyes burned with rage. He's going after the Jester… I can't let that happen…
Jester was on his knees, pain flew all over his body as blood was spilling from his wound.
Platius stepped closer, his dark dagger glinting in the pale light.
A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
"I think it's time to end this," he said softly, almost taunting.
He continued.
"Do you want to know how I discovered your captain's plans?" His smile widened.
"A little rat in your team told me everything… every detail. But I'm disappointed," he added, voice low, "he didn't mention you."
Platius bowed his head near Jester's lips, his tone soft but filled with menace.
"****," he whispered — the name carrying weight, a key piece of revelation.
He straightened slowly, stepping back.
Jester's eyes went wide, his face pale. Shock froze him in place, and for the first time, the jester's usual grin vanished, leaving only the raw sting of betrayal and revelation.
Jester's voice trembled, but sharp with disbelief.
"No… it is not possible."
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward, emerging slowly into the flickering light of the battlefield.
Platius's eyes gleamed, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
"Ah… so you've arrived," he said, his tone laced with both recognition and amusement.
Jester's gaze darted toward the newcomer, heart pounding.
The tension in the air thickened, as if the entire city held its breath, waiting for what would happen next.
From a distance, the Captain's eyes scanned the chaos, his sword flashing through enemy lines with deadly precision.
Yet his gaze was drawn again and again to the center, where Titus and Jester struggled.
No… it can't be, he thought, tightening his grip on the hilt.
Titus…. has lost?
His mind raced as he noticed the figure standing next to Platius.
A cloak and hood masked the newcomer's face.
Who is that…? I can't see their face… I have to hurry. If I delay even a second, Jester and Titus could die.
The Captain's heart pounded, but his movements remained fluid, a storm of calculated strikes as he cut through the enemies in his path.
I have to save them both… I must.
With a final glance toward the growing confrontation, he pushed forward, his focus sharpened, every step bringing him closer to the center where life and death hung by a thread.