There was a heavy silence among the spectators—until Kruger’s always-mocking voice broke it.
"This knight was too weak. I’d have finished him off with one hit."
Linor didn’t take his eyes off the battlefield. He didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. That was just a Grey Knight. They still had to face a Silver Knight, a Golden Knight, and finally, the boss.
"At least we cleared it without any casualties..."
At the same time, Daniel was analyzing the battle in his head with a bit of seriousness.
’In terms of raw power, I’m probably way above them, but when it comes to skill, I’m clearly way behind...’ He let out a small sigh.
He’d already realized before that he lacked skill. In this fight, Maylos used several different magic skills, and it was clear he had a lot of combat experience.
Daniel understood that if it hadn’t been for Maylos’s combat experience, the fight would’ve gone much worse for him.
He started thinking—what could he do to fix these weaknesses? The only way to gain combat experience was to fight more. The more he fought, the more experience he’d gain.
As for skill, there were two options: join a guild, Celestial Domain or just create more fallens...
Suddenly, the powerful, formal voice of the Golden Knight echoed across the arena:
"The second round begins."
The gate in front of the arena creaked open with a mechanical sound, and a silver mist rolled out from it. Along with the mist, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed.
From within the shadows, a silver figure emerged. A knight clad entirely in silver armor, with a sharp-edged mask and a sword as tall as a man.
With every step he took, the ground cracked beneath him. The air grew heavier. Even the density of mana in the arena shifted.
Maylos, still not fully recovered, looked pale.
"Maylos! This one’s different! If things got bad, run. Got it?!" Linor furrowed his brows, sensing the knight’s aura. He stood up and shouted.
Maylos nodded weakly.
"Representative of the Silver Knights: Vendar, the Queller of Uprising." The Golden Knight announced.
Maylos moved first. He activated his ring and charged in from the right side, chanting a spell.
Three flaming spears fell from the sky, shooting straight toward the knight.
Vendar didn’t hesitate. He spun his sword—
The fiery spears shattered like glass against his blade, as if they weren’t made of magic at all.
Maylos shifted positions. He pulled another stream of mana into his palm and activated a second spell:
Golden strands of light shot out from his fingers like ropes, trying to bind the knight’s arms and legs. It worked—for a moment. The knight froze, but only for a moment.
Vendar pushed out with raw force, dispersing the mana. The light chains shattered.
A second later, he was right in front of Maylos’s face.
The first hit came with the back of the blade.
Maylos was sent flying, slammed into the arena wall—
But before hitting the ground, he managed to chant another spell:
A transparent shield appeared and saved him from dying on the spot— But his arm hung limp, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Panting, he got up. He tried to pull back and disappear. His hand reached for the ring to retreat from the field.
Not fast—just nonstop. Like a wave heading toward the shore, calm but inevitable.
Maylos screamed, "Spellis—!"
But the sentence never finished.
The silver sword came down with terrifying speed and precision, slicing the mage from shoulder to waist. Silence fell over the arena.
Maylos’s body split in two, and the mana flowing inside him rose into the sky like colored mist.
The spectator stands went completely silent.
No one even breathed.
Daniel, Kruger, Linor... they all just stared at what was left—bloody chunks of Maylos’s body.
A moment later, the cold voice of the Golden Knight echoed:
"The slave representative has fallen. Send another."
No one screamed. No one rushed forward.
Even Kruger, always ready to jump into action, gritted his teeth and exhaled through them.
Linor’s eyes trembled. For a moment, his aura of rage flared—but only for a moment.
He quickly calmed himself and stepped back.
Daniel sighed. It was expected.
Even winning against the Grey Knight was due to Maylos’s combat experience. It was obvious he’d lose to a Silver Knight.
He just hadn’t expected the Silver Knight to be this aggressive—slicing the poor guy in half on the spot.
Just as the deadly silence threatened to continue, the cold formal voice rang out again:
"Your representative has fallen. Send someone else."
Kruger stepped forward.
His steps were firm, direct, and angry. When he reached the edge of the stands, he stopped. Without anyone saying a word, he spoke—his voice like thunder in the silent arena:
"I’m going. And no, you’re not stopping me."
Linor glanced at him—not surprised, not angry. Just sighed. He knew too—
If Kruger didn’t go, he would’ve had to.
The others were scared, and honestly, their strength wasn’t much different from Maylos’s.
It was clear they weren’t ready to go next.
If Kruger went and died...
At least the others might survive. And more importantly— Kruger wasn’t going down that easily.
With all those defensive items and his explosive power, Linor didn’t think Kruger would lose that easily.
Without hesitation, he jumped down from the platform. As he landed, the Silver Knight vanished from the battlefield.
"Second representative of the Grey Knights enters." The Golden Knight announced in his usual emotionless voice.
The gate opened again.
This time, the footsteps were slower—but heavier. A massive figure entered the arena.
A knight in dark grey armor, broad shoulders, and carrying a hammer instead of a sword.
His metal mask had a red line running down the forehead, and a tightly compressed aura swirled around him—like a mana storm ready to explode.
Kruger didn’t flinch or back off. He raised his fist.
"Come on, scrap metal." His voice was like the roar of a wounded beast.
The Grey Knight charged without hesitation.
With the first clash of hammer and fist, the ground shook. Dust blasted everywhere.
An explosion sounded from the center of impact, but a few seconds later...
From inside the dust, a shadow leaped out.
The Grey Knight—or rather, his lifeless body—was split in half. One leg was still connected to the torso, but the upper body had flown in the opposite direction.
And in the middle of the arena, Kruger stood with a steaming hand.
He smirked, spat on the ground, and looked straight at the royal platform—locking eyes with the Golden Knight.
"What trash. Are all your knights this pathetic?"
His voice, laced with bitter mockery, echoed across the arena as he returned to the stands.
Even Daniel couldn’t help but laugh.