The chosen one and the destined king

The dueling ground is quiet, too quiet for something this important. A battle to decide who will become the hero, but Carrie and Uta had to go out of their way to keep this a secret.

The place has only seven people: team Enger, Arthur and Mike. All in silence, with Enger confused as to where Asa and Spidaract are.

Carrie breaks the silence first, arms folded, a frown carved deep into her face.

“I forfeit,” she says. “Sorry Enger, I can’t let you become a hero and break yourself.”

Uta doesn’t hesitate either. “Same. I forfeit.”

The prince stares at his friends. He understands what they want to do, but still clicks his tongue in pettiness.

Mike doesn’t flinch. He simply nods and scribbles their names off the list.

“Very well. Two forfeits.”

Then, slowly, he looks to Arthur.

“That leaves you.”

Arthur steps onto the square stone platform, with a large coat draped around his shoulders and a sword in hand. The coat’s hem brushes the stone, flapping slightly in the wind. Across from him, Enger stands barefoot, with just a simple tunic and trousers rolled at the cuff. He holds the same sword model.

Arthur’s mind flickers back to Carrie speaking in low voices beneath moonlight. “Enger will always hyperfixate on his opponent. Sometimes his brain seems to stop working from an opponent’s weird costume.”

Arthur’s heart beats. Based on the plan, he rapidly changes the color of his hand and his coat, shifting tones from deep charcoal to bright red, to a darker almost black that matches the stone beneath his feet.

That color change buys Enger a moment’s confusion, letting Arthur deal the first blow - a heavy cut toward the prince’s shoulder. He dodges by leaping back, bare feet scraping stone. The blade whistles past his flesh. Although the blow misses, it puts Arthur in an active position and brings Enger off‑balance.

But the skill gap is still too large, Enger quickly recovers. He blocks several blows, waiting for a chance to strike back.

It comes soon. He knocks Arthur’s sword off with a heavy palm. The sword skitters across the stone platform.

Uta’s advice echoes: “Enger never uses all of his strength when fighting ones with a disadvantage. He will always use a light cut after disbanding his opponent.”

Even before the next attack, Arthur raises his bare hand even without a sword. It blocks Enger’s cut, a weak but fast blow that will never be able to cut through bones. Swallowing his pain, Arthur grabs Enger’s sword, stopping it from being used for defense nor attack.

With one hand holding the blade trapped, Arthur pulls out a knife with the other hand, held low, ready to stab Enger. That was the plan all along, using his large coat to hide a secret weapon.

Enger narrows his eyes, then he uses his magic - the only thing that even Uta and Carrie didn’t know. The stone shifts, a pretty deep hole opens near the side of the stone. From the right of Enger’s foot, a rough spike grows upward. It punches Arthur’s hand, knocking the knife from Arthur’s hand to the direction of the earlier hole.

Enger doesn’t wait. He does an upper kick into Arthur’s jaw, pushing him back. Arthur stumbles, only having one hand left, another still bleeding.

Arthur charges in again, but Enger’s magic strikes once more, another spike rises in front of Arthur’s path. It punches, landing a hard blow, knocking Arthur near his knife.

Now what, with this ability, Arthur will never come close to damaging Enger.

The last advice from Enger’s comrades suddenly rings a bell: “Enger fears rabbits, so don’t evoke him by rapidly jumping mid-battle.”

Then Arthur uses his magic again: he changes the color of the wall behind him, creating a vivid illusion of a large rabbit. He wants to make it move, but his mana reserve won’t allow that.

Enger is furious, fighting the one guy who once scares him is enough, now the embodiment of his fear.

He recklessly lunges at Arthur, sword raised high. But in his charge, he slips by the same hole he just created. Arthur has camouflaged its inner color, stone brightens to match shadow, edges blurred.

Enger falls.

Arthur’s heart thuds. He leaps forward, grabs the knife, jumps into position to stab Enger’s torso.

Mike’s voice cuts through.

“Stop!”

Arthur freezes mid‑leap. Knife blade is inches from Enger’s chest. Enger gasps, lying on the stone square, one hand raised in reflex.

Mike strides onto the rock. He raises his staff.

“Arthur,” he says, voice loud across the platform, echoing. “You win.”

Arthur’s breath hitches. The knife trembles in his hand as he lowers it. Enger lies still, defeated but doesn’t seem to have any grudge.

Arthur collapses to one knee, coat falling open, blood and sweat mixing. Enger sits up slowly with his clothes torn and feet scratched. Enger meets Arthur’s eyes with a slight bit of joy and admiration.

Arthur's physical pain radiates through his jaw, side and arm. But the taste of the first victory is as sweet as candy.

A rough hand is offered to Arthur.

Enger had already stood up but breathed hard. He reaches out toward Arthur with a rare casual smile. “Congrats, hero.”

Arthur takes his hand and uses all of his leftover energy to stand up.

“That’s quite a show. I will declare the result tomorrow,” Mike says, stepping in with his staff lowered, patting Arthur’s head.

“Well done.”