Anomaly of Fate
Chapter 87: Noble’s Battle

Chapter 87: Noble’s Battle

The crowd erupted once more as the second match came to an end, their cheers blending into a deafening roar that filled the entire arena.

Alistair Rhaegis stood at the center of the battlefield, with his obsidian claymore resting against the ground, its massive frame still unmarred despite the brutality of the battle. His opponent—an iron-ranked mercenary known as Garrek the Ironhide—lay sprawled a few feet away, groaning in pain, barely able to push himself up on his elbows. His opponent had been known for his resilience, his nickname earned from the sheer number of blows he could take without faltering. And yet, here he was, utterly dismantled.

Velren exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he watched from above. This was... ridiculous. His first fight had already been over in a blink that even Velren had missed it entirely, and now his second match had ended just as fast, if not faster. Garrek had barely lasted longer than the first unfortunate mindless creatures who faced Alistair. A hardened mercenary, someone who had survived countless skirmishes and earned a reputation for his endurance, had still been nothing more than an inconvenience before Alistair’s overwhelming might. The gap in strength wasn’t just apparent—it was absurd.

The intercom crackled to life once again, its energetic voice booming across the arena.

"AND THAT MAKES TWO! ALISTAIR RHAEGIS CLAIMS YET ANOTHER SWIFT AND DECISIVE VICTORY! IS THERE ANYONE WHO CAN STAND AGAINST THIS MAN?!"

The crowd responded with thunderous roar, their excitement only growing.

"WITH TWO WINS UNDER HIS BELT, THE YOUNG HEIR OF HOUSE RHAEGIS CONTINUES HIS DOMINANCE IN THE ARENA! BUT THE SHOW’S NOT OVER YET—AS PER THE TERMS OF HIS CHOSEN RULESET, HE WILL FIGHT UNTIL HE FALLS OR UNTIL HE DECIDES TO STEP DOWN!"

The sheer energy of the crowd was infectious, a pulsing wave of cheers and chants that rumbled through the arena. Whether he was getting carried away by the atmosphere or simply curious about the man standing below, Velren found himself unable to look away. Anticipation curled in his chest—how many more fights would Alistair take? How much further could he push before someone actually made him struggle?

The intercom crackled back to life, its voice booming over the restless audience.

"AND NOW, OUR NEXT CHALLENGER—A FELLOW STUDENT FROM THE PRESTIGIOUS ELYNDRA GRAND ACADEMY, MIKHAIL VON EDAVANE!"

’That damn noble... He actually did it?!’

***

Mikhail walk forward with measured steps, his coat shifting slightly with each movement as he approached the center of the arena. He came to a stop just a few feet away from Alistair, his posture firm but not yet openly hostile. There was no need for immediate aggression—at least, not yet.

Alistair regarded him with an unreadable expression, as if simply acknowledging a minor development rather than the arrival of an unexpected challenger. After a beat of silence, he finally spoke:

"Mikhail von Edavane..."

Mikhail exhaled, tilting his head slightly.

"As much as I’d like to fight you, I want you to answer something first."

Alistair didn’t react beyond a slow blink, his expression remaining frustratingly impassive. But Mikhail wasn’t expecting an immediate response. He had dealt with people like Alistair before—those raised in nobility—like him—were trained to keep their emotions guarded behind an ironclad mask. He knew how to chip away at that kind of composure.

Slowly, he reached into his coat. His fingers brushed against the solid chunk of black metal as he pulled it free, and with a sharp motion, he held it out in front of him.

For the first time, something flickered across Alistair’s face. It was brief—so brief that most wouldn’t have caught it—but Mikhail did. A small crease of his brows. A flicker of focus sharpening in his gaze.

"...Where did you get that?"

Mikhail exhaled sharply, studying Alistair’s expression.

"Sorry pal, I’ll be the one asking questions." He gave the chunk of material in his hand a slight tilt, letting the light catch its surface.

"And I have quite a few..."

Alistair’s expression remained unreadable again, but his eyes lingered on the material for a beat too long. Mikhail didn’t miss that hesitation.

"It’s obviously clear that you recognized it, right?"

Mikhail felt something click into place in his mind. That reaction—it wasn’t surprise at seeing the material itself. No, it was the kind of response someone gave when they recognized something they never expected to see in here.

His fingers tightened around the dark fragment in his grasp before he finally spoke in a firm voice:

"I’ll get straight to the point." He lifted the piece slightly.

"I found this in a place it had no business being. And considering what it was attached to..."

He locked his gaze onto Alistair.

"Your family... they have a monopoly on this stuff, don’t they?"

Alistair stood still, his expression was unreadable. The cheers of the crowd, the distant hum of the intercom—none of it seemed to reach the boy For a moment, Mikhail thought he wouldn’t answer at all. Then, without a single word, Alistair shifted his stance and brandished his claymore at the ready, pointing it directly at the boy in front of him.

Mikhail let out a short and dry chuckle, though there was little humor in it.

"Oi, oi," he muttered, flexing his fingers near his holster. "I asked you a question, asshole."

In the next instant, Alistair moved.

A blur of motion—a cold glint of steel.

’Motherfucker—!’

Mikhail barely twisted out of the way, the massive blade carving through the space where he had just been. The sheer force of the swing sent vibrations through the ground, a reminder that if he had been just a fraction slower, the fight would have been over before it even started.

A sharp gust followed in its wake, kicking up dust from the stone beneath them. He clicked his tongue, taking a quick step back before smoothly unholstering his gun.

"Fine." He exhaled through his nose, leveling the weapon at his opponent.

"Have it your way, then."