I watched Micah Ortiz approach the center of the arena with measured steps, his muscr frame radiating confidence. His eyes locked with mine, revealing conflicting emotions—respect mingled with unmistakable resentment.


    The crowd''s roar faded into white noise as I focused on my opponent. Everything else—Commander Wood''s politics, thepetition''s stakes, even my concerns about Michael Ashworth—temporarily receded from my mind.


    Micah stopped a few paces from me. "Liam Knight of Eldoria," he said, loud enough for only me to hear. "I''ve heard interesting things about you."


    I met his gaze without flinching. "Is that so?"


    "Commander Bellweather instructed me to let you win." His jaw tightened. "To ''return a favor,'' as he put it."


    I raised an eyebrow. "And will you?"


    Anger shed across his face. "I''m Micah Ortiz, direct disciple of Commander Ignazio Bellweather. I don''t throw fights for country bumpkins who''ve gotten lucky."


    "I see." I rolled my shoulders, loosening up. "Then I hope you''ll give me your best."


    The announcer''s voice boomed overhead, introducing us to the audience. Micah was announced as a Fourth Rank Grandmaster, which drew appreciative murmurs from the crowd. I could feel dozens of eyes studying me, wondering how I measured against such a prestigious opponent.


    From the corner of my eye, I spotted Commander Wood watching with a tense expression. Whatever political game was being yed here, I wanted no part in it.


    The referee stepped between us. "Fighters ready?"


    We both nodded.


    "Begin!"


    Micah didn''t hesitate. Heunched forward with impressive speed, his right fist aimed directly at my face. I shifted slightly, allowing the punch to graze past my ear.


    "Too slow," Imented quietly.


    His eyes narrowed. "Just warming up."


    What followed was a flurry of punches and kicks executed with technical precision. Micah was undeniably skilled—his movements fluid, his attacks well-coordinated. But there was something mechanical about his style, as if he''d memorized sequences rather than truly understanding them.


    I weaved through his offensive barrage, making minimal movements to avoid each strike. The crowd grew restless as minutes passed without me throwing a single attack.


    "Fight back, damn you!" Micah hissed, frustration bleeding into his voice.


    "I''m still assessing," I replied calmly.


    His face flushed with anger. "Stop mocking me!"


    He changed tactics, focusing his energy into one devastating punch aimed at my sr plexus. The power behind it was impressive—enough to incapacitate most opponents.


    I stood my ground and took the hit.


    Micah''s eyes widened as his fist connected solidly with my abdomen, yet I remained unmoved. The impact sent ripples of force up his arm, while I absorbed it with minimal effort.


    "How—" he started.


    "Your strikecks pration," I exined, not unkindly. "You have power, but you don''t know how to direct it efficiently."


    From the stands, I heard Commander Bellweather''s voice cut through the murmuring crowd: "It''s over. He''s lost."


    Micah''s head snapped toward his mentor''s voice, just in time to see Ignazio standing up and walking away, apparently having seen enough. The public dismissal was a humiliation that struck deeper than any physical blow.


    "No!" Micah shouted, turning back to me with renewed fury. "I haven''t even started fighting seriously!" <code ss="frag-e0754f">My<i ss="node-sep"></i>Virtual<i ss="node-sep"></i>Library<i ss="node-sep"></i>Empire<i ss="node-sep"></i>(*)<i ss="node-sep"></i>hosts<i ss="node-sep"></i>the<i ss="node-sep"></i>original.</code>


    He gathered his energy, a visible aura of power surrounding him as he channeled his full strength. This was no longer about winning apetition—it was about salvaging his pride.


    "I''ll show you pration!" he roared,unching himself at me.


    His attack was stronger this time, fueled by desperation and rage. I raised my forearm and met it directly. The impact created a shockwave that rustled the clothes of nearby officials.


    Micah staggered back, disbelief written across his face. "What are you?"


    I lowered my arm slowly. "Someone who understands that true power isn''t about force alone."


    "Bullshit!" He spat on the ground between us. "If you''re so knowledgeable, demonstrate it yourself instead of critiquing me!"


    The crowd had gonepletely silent, entranced by our exchange. Even Commander Wood was leaning forward, his earlier political machinations forgotten in the face of genuine martial intrigue.


    I considered Micah for a moment. His request wasn''t unreasonable. Sometimes, showing was more effective than telling.


    "Very well," I said. "Attack me once more with everything you have."


    Confusion flickered across his face, quickly reced by determination. He squared his shoulders and charged forward, putting his entire body behind a straight punch aimed at my chest.


    I didn''t dodge this time. Instead, I met his attack with my own—a single, simple punch.


    Our fists never connected. My strike halted inches from his face, the force of the disced air enough to ruffle his hair. Micah froze mid-motion, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was.


    "Do you see?" I asked quietly. "This is thebination of pration and power."


    I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, his attack unfinished.


    The arena remained silent for several seconds before erupting into thunderous apuse. Most didn''t understand what they''d witnessed—they saw only that I had dominated the match withoutnding a single blow.


    But Micah understood. I could see it in his eyes as I left the ring—a mixture of humiliation and reluctant realization. Sometimes the most profound lessons were the most painful ones.


    Commander Wood intercepted me as I exited the arena. "That was... unexpected," he said, studying me with new interest. "You could have defeated him easily, yet you chose to teach him instead."


    I shrugged. "Some victories aren''t worth winning."


    "And some lessons aren''t easily forgotten," he replied thoughtfully. "Commander Bellweather left in quite a hurry. I believe you''ve made quite an impression."


    "I wasn''t trying to impress anyone."


    "That''s precisely why it worked." He hesitated, then added, "I may have misjudged you, Knight. Your approach to martial arts is... unconventional."


    "It''s not my approach," I said, thinking of the knowledge that had awakened within me. "It''s knowledge that''s been lost to most practitioners today."


    Commander Wood''s eyes narrowed. "And where did you acquire such ancient wisdom?"


    "That''s a story for another time."


    I walked past him toward our team''s area. My teammates were watching me with newfound respect, having witnessed something they couldn''t fullyprehend but instinctively recognized as extraordinary.


    As I gathered my belongings, I felt someone''s gaze on me. Turning, I saw Ignazio Bellweather standing at the entrance to our preparation area.


    "An interesting disy, Mr. Knight," he said, his voice carrying easily despite its softness.


    I inclined my head slightly. "Commander."


    "You demonstrated perfect restraint today. Perfect understanding." His eyes evaluated me with ufortable intensity. "Someone taught you well."


    "I had a good teacher," I replied vaguely.


    "Indeed." He smiled thinly. "I look forward to seeing more of what you''ve learned."


    With that cryptic statement, he departed, leaving me with the distinct impression that I''d gained a new observer—one far more dangerous than Commander Wood.


    I shouldered my bag and headed for the exit. Today''s match might be over, but I sensed that a muchrger game was just beginning. And somewhere in Veridia City, Michael Ashworth''s condition continued to deteriorate while Isabelle waited for me to fulfill my promise.


    The real battle—the one that truly mattered—was still ahead.