Colorless.
That was the first stage of my battle art, Nameless Flame.
It resembled a realm reached by Crimson-tier or higher combatants after years of tempering their will through blood and steel.
I was nowhere near that realm; I was only Pale-tier.
Yet my innate ability to perceive souls, both a blessing and a curse, allowed me to approach something similar.
In martial doctrine, that realm was known as Will Manifestation.
A state where intent, or more precisely will, collided head-on. At its peak, experts could externalize their will, shaping it into something tangible.
I could not manifest my will. Not yet. But through relentless training under my master, I had learned to refine it.
As he once told me: The soul is simply will given form. To strike the soul is to fracture the opponent's will.
"Colorless," in its simplest definition, meant the absence of intent. You had to possess such absolute control over emotion that your intent carried no color.
Only clarity.
Yet paradoxically, to become colorless required a deep understanding of those very emotions, so that you could paint your will any color at a moment's notice.
"WAOOOOOHHHH!"
My intent collided with the murderous intent of the Korga. Taken by surprise, the beast wailed as it flung its arm backward in a blind reflex.
I ducked, slipping past its massive legs, and rolled away to create distance.
Whir!
"WAOOOHH!!"
Another arrow struck, and the Korga thrashed violently.
"Cough! Cough!"
I staggered, the metallic taste of blood touching my lips. I gripped the staff tightly with trembling fingers, trying to steady my buzzing mind.
My plan had failed. To truly reach a soul, I needed consecutive strikes within mere seconds. Here, my first strike had barely connected.
The Korga's rage was far stronger than I had anticipated. That was the drawback of Colorless.
Against a weaker will, the clash would have ended in only a few exchanges. With enough strikes, I could have blended into the opponent's intent, eroding it from within.
But this beast, its will was like a winter storm. Wild and untamed.
'Damn it! Its will is too strong!'
The blue aura, which had flickered for a fraction of a second, thickened once more.
It wasn't wavering anymore, though it was slightly weaker than before. I breathed heavily, slowly recovering my own scattered aura.
More than ten strikes, I calculated. From that single clash, I determined the number of hits needed to dismantle its intent.
I can only go for three more. Five more... and I'd be dead.
Suddenly, the beast lowered its body, its eyes shining with an intense, icy light.
"DON'T LET IT CHARGE!" the man with the pan shouted, his voice laced with panic.
The hatchet-wielder dashed in again, his blades flashing in a tight arc aimed at the knee.
The sickle-user followed half a step behind, targeting the ankle joint. The redheaded woman circled wide, scanning for an opening rather than rushing blindly.
Whir!
Another arrow tore through the air. This time, it struck deeper, grazing the edge of the Korga's already damaged eye.
"WOAAAAAAAH!"
The beast recoiled, shaking its head violently. Steel struck fur. Sparks flew.
The redheaded woman lunged and carved into the back of its knee again, widening the wound.
But it wasn't enough. The Korga inhaled, and the very air seemed to tighten.
"DODGE!" the pan user screamed.
Too late.
The Korga slammed both fists into the ground.
BOOM.
The entire arena cracked. From the fractured sand, jagged ice spikes erupted upward like the teeth of some buried god.
The first spike shot up beneath the sickle-user. He twisted mid-step, but the ice tore through his thigh and lifted him off the ground.
His scream split the air before he slid down the frozen shard, leaving a trail of crimson.
The hatchet-wielder barely leapt aside, but another spike burst under his landing foot, impaling his calf and pinning him in place.
"Pull back!" the redheaded woman shouted.
Whir!
The archer released again, aiming for the exposed throat as the Korga reared back. The arrow flew true, and the Korga's hand struck the ground once more.
A single spike, thicker than the rest, surged upward directly beneath the archer.
Her eyes widened; there was no time to dodge. Just as the spike was about to claim her, someone shoved her aside.
The pan user.
The ice pierced through his abdomen, lifting him several feet into the air. The bow slipped from the archer's hand.
For a heartbeat, the entire colosseum stopped breathing. Then, the crowd erupted in savage delight.
"WOAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
Something cold settled in my chest. The pan user coughed once, blood staining the white frost beneath him, and then he went still.
"No…" the archer whispered.
The Korga ripped its injured leg free and swung its arm.
CRACK.
The hatchet-wielder's body crumpled like broken timber.
The redheaded woman charged anyway. A raw, furious cry tore from her throat as she jumped, driving her knife toward the beast's wounded eye. Or at least, she tried to.
Thud!
The beast caught her midair and slammed her down. The impact was sickening; organs were cast across the sand. When the Korga removed its hand, only a blood-print and a mangled body remained.
"YAAAAAAAAAA!!"
The crowd let out another roar.
'Damn... that was brutal.'
I looked around. It's just me and the archer girl now.
The Korga's eyes turned toward me. I held the staff like a spear and took a stance.
'Why did I think I could defeat it?'
It was a Greater-rank monster, far above my level. Yet, I had to believe. I couldn't let fear weaken my will.
I had spent the entire battle observing. It raged. It carried pride. It burned with hatred. I couldn't match any of those.
But there was something else—a tiny bit of desperation. It wasn't strong, but it was there.
Let's see whose will breaks first.
I inhaled deeply, letting the chaos fade. The roar of the crowd dissolved into a single point of clarity.
I entered a state of hypersensitivity. I planted my staff firmly in the sand, the golden sparks of my will flickering like distant stars.
The only colors in my world were blue and gold. Slowly, the gold started to fade, replaced by a flaring, dense purple.
It was small compared to the beast's aura, but it was eerie. Wrong.
I just need an entry point.
My legs coiled like springs. Then, with every ounce of strength and desperation, I launched myself forward.
The Korga's blue eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Its body tensed, and then it rushed toward me in a blind rage. The crowd held its breath.
Whirr!
The archer girl, panicked and shaking, fired. The arrow veered wildly, clipping my shoulder.
Pain exploded up my arm, shattering my focus.
'What!!'
I didn't have time to process it. The Korga's massive hand came down like a hammer of frost. I couldn't dodge.
The world tilted, the air compressed, and then—crunch.
The crowd erupted in a deafening roar of bloodlust.
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
The archer girl screamed. The Korga roared triumphantly. The staff slipped from my grasp as my body slammed into the ice-spiked sand.
The blue aura engulfed me. Pain, fire, and cold mingled as my life bled away in a heartbeat.
'Cold?'
With that last thought, my eyes closed. The world dimmed.
And then, I died.