The morning sun bathed Halewick Academy's dueling grounds in a golden light, casting long shadows over the intricate stonework of the arena. Students gathered around, murmuring with excitement as the academy's annual dueling showcase began. It was a day of prestige, where the strongest students flaunted their skills, and reputations were built or shattered.
Dark stood on the edge of the crowd, quietly observing the students sparring in the arena. His eyes tracked each movement, analyzing techniques and noting their weaknesses with ease, though he kept his expression indifferent, playing the part of the unremarkable "weakling" he'd crafted so carefully.
Beside him, Lara watched the duels with bright enthusiasm, occasionally glancing over at him with a small, proud smile. She held onto his arm, not caring that they were the focus of whispers and envious stares. Her presence alone seemed to ward off the usual taunts, though Dark could still feel the occasional glares from students who couldn't understand why someone as powerful as Lara would choose him.
The dueling went on, each match more intense than the last. Fire clashed with ice, lightning met steel, and students cheered for their favorites. Dark watched it all with mild interest, Vorax's quiet voice occasionally muttering comments in his mind.
Then, as one particularly arrogant student stood victorious in the arena, his gaze fell upon Dark. With a smirk, the student raised his voice, cutting through the crowd's cheers and banter.
Duelist: (taunting) You there! Dark, isn't it? Why don't you come down and show us what you're made of? Or are you only brave when hiding behind Princess Lara?
A hush fell over the crowd, eyes widening and whispers spreading. Lara's grip on Dark's arm tightened, her expression shifting from excitement to irritation. Dark, however, stayed calm, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he considered his next move.
Dark: (thinking, amused) Well, this should be interesting...
Dark rose from his seat with an almost lazy grace, hands casually tucked in his pockets. As he descended the staircase, the entire arena fell silent, captivated by his slow, deliberate steps. The shadows seemed to ripple around him, like a cloak of darkness forming from thin air. Bit by bit, his infamous "phantom" form materialized—an ethereal cloak billowing around him, and his greatsword sheathed across his back, its edge glinting with a dark promise. The crowd of over 150,000 spectators watched, holding their breath, caught between awe and confusion.
Student 1: (whispering) Is that... could he really be...?
Student 2: (eyes wide) The Phantom... why would he reveal himself now?
Dark's voice deepened, shifting into a tone that was calm yet laced with an unsettling authority—a voice befitting the legend that had haunted rumors and stories.
Dark: (casual, amused) So, you wanted a taste of my strength, right?
The duelist's face went pale as he took in Dark's transformation, his voice stammering with shock.
Duelist: Y-You're... the P-P-Phantom?
Dark's lips curled into a lazy, almost mocking smile as he glanced at the duelist out of the corner of his eye, a glint of amusement dancing in his gaze.
Dark: (chuckling) Oh? Did you just realize that? Took you long enough.
The duelist's face flushed with a mixture of fear and indignation, his grip tightening on his weapon. As Dark reached the bottom step, he continued forward, completely ignoring the duelist's fighting stance as if it posed no threat whatsoever. Without slowing, he began to speak, his tone calm, almost bored, as he casually dissected his opponent.
Dark: (critically) That stance is sloppy. Too much weight on your back foot—makes you easy to tip off balance. And your grip? (snorts) Amateurish, at best.
The duelist bristled, anger flaring in his eyes. With a frustrated shout, he lunged at Dark, his weapon flashing in the dim light as he went for a direct hit. But Dark merely sidestepped, not even bothering to draw his sword. He continued to walk, hands still in his pockets, sidestepping each of the duelist's wild strikes with an effortless grace.
Dark: (sighing, almost disappointed) Is that really all you've got? I expected more.
The duelist growled, his attacks becoming faster, more desperate, but Dark continued to move just out of reach, his expression calm, almost detached, as though he were dealing with a mildly annoying pest.
Duelist: (snarling) Stop dodging and fight me!
Dark: (raising an eyebrow) Fight? This isn't fighting. (mocking tone) This is... child's play.
In a blur of movement, Dark finally shifted. With a single, precise motion, he stepped into the duelist's space, causing the other to freeze. Dark's hand shot out, barely grazing the duelist's weapon, but the force behind the movement sent a shockwave down the blade, rattling the duelist's entire body.
The duelist stumbled back, eyes wide with disbelief, as Dark tilted his head, observing him with a curious, almost clinical interest.
Dark: (chuckling) You don't even understand the basics of power, do you? It's not just about swinging harder or faster. It's about control, intent. (pauses, voice lowering) The battlefield is a dance, each step a calculated move. But you? (shakes head) You're stumbling around like a child.
The duelist, his face red with humiliation, lunged again. This time, Dark raised a hand, catching the blade between two fingers, stopping it in mid-air. The crowd gasped as he looked at the duelist with a bored expression.
Dark: (sighing) That's enough. You're boring me.
In one fluid motion, Dark twisted the blade, disarming the duelist and sending his weapon clattering to the ground. The duelist staggered back, shock written across his face as Dark dusted off his hands, his tone shifting to one of casual dismissal.
Dark: (smirking) If this is the best you've got, maybe you should rethink challenging people out of your league.
Dark turned his back to the duelist, already walking away, his voice carrying a mocking tone.
Dark: (without looking back) Next time, learn to walk before you try to dance.
The duelist's face flushed with anger, clutching his weapon tightly as he grit his teeth. But Dark didn't even flinch, his footsteps echoing with a calm rhythm that seemed to mock the very idea of resistance. The crowd murmured, their disbelief growing as Dark's "phantom" form pulsed with an intensity that sent chills through the spectators.
Duelist: (calling out, frustrated) Don't you dare turn your back on me! If you're as powerful as you claim, then face me!
Dark stopped mid-step, pausing just long enough for the tension to grow unbearably thick. He slowly glanced over his shoulder, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips as if the very challenge amused him.
Dark: (smirking) You think power is something you can demand, like a spoiled child asking for another toy?
He turned fully, finally facing his opponent, his eyes glinting with a knowing look. Dark's cloak billowed slightly as if alive, shadows swirling around his form with a life of their own.
Dark: (in a calm, detached tone) Power isn't something you chase; it's something that becomes part of you when you're prepared to wield it... or, in your case, something forever out of reach.
The duelist lunged forward, sword poised for a precise strike, pouring all his frustration and energy into the swing. But Dark didn't even draw his greatsword. Instead, he tilted his head, sidestepping effortlessly as the blade sliced through empty air, his movement as smooth as a shadow slipping out of sight.
Dark: (eyes glinting with amusement) Predictable.
The duelist growled, launching into a flurry of strikes, each one more desperate than the last. But Dark dodged each attack with minimal movement, his expression calm, almost bored.
Dark: (voice low, almost mocking) You're telegraphing your every move. Left shoulder tenses before you strike. You lean too far into your footwork. And that swing... (he chuckles) child's play.
Dark's taunts cut deeper than any blade. The duelist faltered, breath heaving as frustration overtook him. Dark took a single, slow step forward, his shadow stretching ominously across the ground, swallowing the duelist's own in its darkness.
Dark: (voice dropping, intimidating) Is this what you wanted? A taste of the "phantom's" strength?
Dark lifted a finger, and with a flicker of Vorax's influence, the shadows around his opponent tightened, freezing him in place. The duelist's eyes widened, his limbs refusing to respond as if shackled by invisible chains. Dark leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with an intensity that sent chills down his opponent's spine.
Dark: (whispering) Power isn't about swinging harder. It's about knowing you could crush your opponent... and choosing not to.
He released the shadows, letting the duelist collapse to his knees, shaken but unharmed. Dark turned away, hands slipping casually back into his pockets, as he resumed his slow, unbothered walk.
Dark: (murmuring, to himself) A dance worth performing doesn't need an audience that can't appreciate it.
The spectators were stunned into silence, awe-struck by Dark's effortless display. Lara, watching from the sidelines, couldn't hide a small, knowing smile. She'd seen glimpses of Dark's true strength before, but this... this was something else.
Dark: (thinking to himself, amused) Almost too easy, Vorax. Watch this.
Dark's lips curved into a smirk as he stopped in front of the academy principal, his gaze sharp and piercing.
Dark: (with a calm authority) Oi, you. Toughen up the students. Give them real challenges. Let them survive a year in the desert with nothing. Might teach them a thing or two about strength.
The principal looked at him in shock, unable to respond, as Dark's attention shifted. His intense gaze softened as he turned toward Lara.
Dark: (softly) Come here, baby.
Lara's face lit up, her warm smile making her look even more radiant. She reached up and tapped his head playfully.
Lara: (giggling, her voice gentle and affectionate) Hello, my "weakling." Hehe...
Her laughter was sweet, a soft melody that carried warmth and comfort. Dark's smirk softened as he gently patted her head before lifting her onto his shoulders. Vorax extended a shadowy support, forming a seat behind Lara like an elegant throne. She leaned back comfortably, feeling like royalty perched on Dark's shoulders.
Around them, students stared with a mixture of shock, confusion, and envy. Whispers filled the courtyard, questioning why the academy's strongest princess was so close to someone like Dark, whom they perceived as weak.
Dark moved forward, his steps measured and steady. But then he paused, his tone shifting, laced with cautious alertness.
Dark: (without turning) I know you're there, Ace.
A twisted laughter echoed around them, followed by the faint, haunting hum of a melody that sounded disturbingly familiar, like a dark version of "London Bridge is Falling Down." Ace emerged from behind a wall, his movements exaggerated, his eyes gleaming with a manic joy. He wore a jester-like attire that seemed almost ancient, blending humor with an unsettling aura.
Ace: (humming) La-da-da... (grins widely) Ah, Dark. Always so quick to spot me.
Dark's gaze hardened, his body tensing as he faced Ace. He knew better than anyone that facing Ace was like standing at the edge of a blade. One wrong move, one moment of misjudgment, and it would be over. Ace's whims alone decided if someone walked away unscathed—or met a brutal end.
Lara instinctively clung tighter to Dark's shoulders, sensing the dark tension between them. Dark didn't reassure her this time; his full focus was on the unpredictable entity before him.
Dark: (with a cold, wary tone) Playing games again, Ace?
Ace: (tilting his head with a twisted smile) Games? Oh, Dark, life's a game, and every piece has its place. (his grin widens, voice dripping with menace) I wonder... will your luck hold out today?
Dark's smirk faded into a serious expression, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Ace with a calculating stare. He was keenly aware that survival depended entirely on Ace's mood—a terrifying reality he'd come to accept.
Dark: (voice low, steady) Don't push it, Ace. Some games end in ways you don't want.
Ace chuckled, the sound sharp and manic, echoing through the courtyard.
Ace: (mockingly) Oh, Dark... it's that little glimmer of fear that makes this so entertaining. (smirks) But tell me... what will you do if the game turns against you?
Dark kept his expression steady, concealing the flicker of caution within him. He knew that any sign of weakness would only fuel Ace's chaotic tendencies.
Dark: (voice calm, almost daring) You already know, Ace. I'll survive. Luck or not.
Ace's smile widened, his eyes glinting with a dangerous excitement, as though he relished the idea of testing that statement.
Ace: (softly, with a hint of menace) Let's hope your luck is feeling generous today...
End Of Arc 3 Chapter 6.