Belton, their leader, fixed a hard stare on the two brothers, his frown deepening as it settled on the stockier one. The frown twisted into a smirk.
"So, what now? Are you supposed to be some kind of hero?"
The stocky youth threw back his head and roared with laughter. He casually slung his cloth-wrapped, double-bladed polearm across his shoulder.
"Hero? You've got the wrong impression, friend. My name is Rebel. My brother, Tusk, and I are the last survivors from the Central East of Xiphosia. I'm a nightmare to my enemies, and I live only to kill one man—Dextin—in the most brutal way imaginable. You call that a hero? Please. I just think you and your little buddies have faces begging to be punched, and my fingers are itching to introduce them to my weapon."
A bloodthirsty grin stretched across Rebel's face as he eyed Belton and his companions.
Tusk, looking genuinely frightened, tugged urgently on his brother's arm.
"Come on, Rebel, we can't start a fight here! Especially after making it this far in the tournament. Let's just apologize, steer clear of her, and definitely avoid that Kael guy. I really don't feel like fighting anyone right now," Tusk whispered, his voice laced with anxiety.
Rebel clapped Tusk on the head with a reassuring grin.
"Don't worry, big brother..."
The casual revelation hung in the air, stunning the onlookers. A wave of confused murmurs rippled through the pavilion.
"Big brother?"
But Rebel continued, oblivious to their shock.
"If you really don't want to fight, I won't force you, okay? You sit this one out. I'll handle these three myself."
A collective gasp of disbelief swept through the crowd.
"Did he just say he's taking on a three-on-one fight? That's it—this guy is completely insane," Rider exclaimed, his eyes wide.
Aingo watched the unfolding scene with quiet intensity.
Back in the arena, Rebel strode confidently towards the three warriors, his polearm held loosely at his side. Belton let out a booming laugh.
"Seriously? Do you really underestimate us that much? Well, be my guest!"
With a bellow, Belton and his two men charged at Rebel simultaneously.
Instinctively, Rebel closed his eyes, taking a long, deep breath as his opponents closed in. Then, his eyes snapped open, a wild grin splitting his face. With lightning speed, he spun his six-foot, cloth-wrapped, double-bladed polearm around his body—a whirlwind of motion. The weapon deflected incoming attacks with surprising ease, the cloth muffling the clang of steel. He used the momentum to launch himself into seemingly impossible positions, narrowly avoiding blows. The cloth-shielded sections of the blades slammed into his opponents, knocking them backward and creating openings for precise, forceful strikes.
A hush fell over the pavilion as everyone watched, utterly captivated. Even King Neon wore an expression of impressed astonishment. Rider, caught up in the spectacle, felt a surge of exhilaration. A wide smile spread across his face.
"This is incredible! That guy is awesome, Aingo! Could you do that?" Rider blurted out, his curiosity piqued.
Aingo, without looking away from the arena, drawled,
"You are an idiot, Rider."
Rider's smile vanished, replaced by a look of indignant fury.
"What did I do this time?"
Aingo sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice.
"You're so focused on the entertaining spectacle that you forget you'll likely face one of these individuals in the ring yourself. Perhaps it's time you started acting like it."
Rider looked at Aingo with confusion.
"So what do you want me to do then?"
Aingo, not removing his eyes from Rebel's attacks, replied,
"Analyze their fighting style. Because in terms of skill and raw power, you don't stand a chance against anyone here. You should be able to turn their strengths into weaknesses. For example, don't acknowledge Rebel because of what you see him doing—acknowledge him because of how he's doing it."
Rider blinked, still confused.
"Okay… you lost me there."
"You're a moron," Aingo muttered. "Look, it's that simple. Rebel is using a technique called Windmill Defense. It was created years ago and belongs to the Heart Core of Central Xiphosia. This technique allows the user to stop any attack and defend simultaneously, all by focusing on a repeated hand pattern. Now, it does have a weak spot—even if it's one of the best defenses ever."
"So instead of cheering like the rest of the crowd, you should be figuring out the weakness."
Rider looked back at the battlefield with new focus.
"You're right, Aingo. But I don't know what this Windmill thing is. I don't have great observation or intellect like you, or Zack, or Bianca."
"That's why I'm here, dumbass," Aingo said flatly. "My job is to see you become a Swordmaster, so leave the thinking to me. The weakness of the Windmill is simple to understand but hard to exploit. You have to strike with an attack that the user—Rebel, in this case—isn't aware of. The weakness is a surprise attack. And what's really impressive is that Rebel is fighting three people at once, and none of them can pull off a surprise move."
Aingo looked disappointed as Rider stared at Rebel in awe.
Back on the battlefield, the other contenders had stopped fighting to watch Rebel's duel. Kael raised his huge metal sledgehammer and rested it on his shoulder.
"Shouldn't we get in on this fight?"
Valen, smirking as he sat cross-legged on the field, replied,
"No need, big fella. We're already done. This match will decide the losing three, so no need to intervene—just watch."
The other contenders nodded and sat down to watch the outcome. Zack stared at Rebel a moment longer before scoffing.
"Tsk," he muttered, then sat on the ground as well.
Meanwhile, Rebel continued to whirl through and around his enemies with ease, his polearm a blur. With one powerful swing, he sent Belton flying out of the ring.
As Belton flew out of the ring, his two men slowly stepped back, understanding the sudden shift in the battle. Rebel smirked tauntingly.
"One down, two more to go. What's wrong? Is fear starting to kick in? Don't worry—I won't rough you up too badly," Rebel said, fueling the rage of the two men as they charged at him once more.
Rebel continued to defend and attack both of them at once with impressive agility. Tusk shook nervously as he watched his brother fight.
"Try not to kill anyone, okay?" Tusk mumbled, too scared to speak any louder.
Meanwhile, Kael was picking his ear with his pinky, clearly bored.
"It's obvious the one-man army is winning. Why doesn't he just hurry it up?" Kael said.
But the old man nearby shook his head. "No."
The remaining fighters turned to him, waiting for an explanation.
"I admit he's holding his own... but if he's this gullible, those three might just pull it off," the old man said.
Valen looked confused. "It's clear he's winning. What do you mean?"
The old man stayed silent, his gaze shifting to Zack. "Do you see it?"
Zack didn't respond, though he was the only one who understood what the old man meant.
Back in the ring, Rebel continued his fight with the remaining two. He was just about to win—unaware that Belton, who everyone thought was eliminated, had crept back in. Suddenly, Belton slashed Rebel across the back, knocking him to the ground and leaving him bleeding. Rebel looked up, dazed and confused.
"I knew it," Aingo muttered.
Rider looked confused. "What just happened? Wasn't Belton eliminated?"
The old man answered—not for Rider, but for the gathered warriors. "Belton faked his elimination. He never actually left the field. He managed to grab onto the edge in time. If you were paying attention, Azrael was counting down each fighter as they left, starting from eleven. But he didn't say anything when Rebel tossed Belton out. That means Belton was never officially out."
Aingo explained the same thing to Rider, who listened in stunned silence.
Back in the ring, Rebel tried to stand, but Belton and his men laughed as Belton stomped on Rebel's open wound.
"You really thought you were ahead of us, you piece of shit? I'm going to beat you until I'm satisfied, then toss you out," Belton sneered.
Rebel forced a smile through the pain. "You think this is enough to keep me down? Go fuck yourself."
Belton raised his sword for another attack. The other warriors looked on, certain it was over. Belton and his men had won.
But just as Belton lowered his sword, a flash of light interrupted him, sending him stumbling backward.
He looked up and saw Tusk, eyes wide and intense, staring directly at him while gripping his sword-staff.
"You pulled a dirty trick on my brother. And now… you'll pay."
Everyone around could feel it—this wasn't the same Tusk. Something had changed.
Belton touched his face where Tusk's light attack had landed and felt the blood. His expression twisted into anger as he stared down Tusk.
Rebel, lying on the ground, looked up weakly. "Big brother…" he whispered in fear.
(This is bad… He might kill someone. When he's like this, there's no stopping him…)