The Gravity Knuckle surged through the air, tearing through space itself.
A blur of compressed force.A sonic boom trailing behind.A roar of desperate will.
It struck the silent man in the center of the arena with the force of a falling mountain.
The world paused.
A heartbeat of stillness.
Then—BOOM.
Smoke erupted like a volcano. Dust clouds swallowed the arena. Screams echoed through the smoke. Stone shattered beneath the sheer weight of the blow.
The gravity user, panting, his arm twitching, stood staring into the cloud.
"Got him..." he whispered.
But the smoke cleared.
And the mysterious man was still standing.Untouched.Unmoved.Uninterested.
The crowd went silent. The bandits leaned forward. Up in the stands, Roy, the bandit leader, narrowed his eyes, a wicked grin creeping across his face.
"Interesting," Roy muttered. "Let's see what happens next."
The man tilted his head.
And then, he vanished.
No chant. No gesture. No warning.
Just—lightning.
A streak of blinding white cut across the air like the wrath of a god.
The next second, the gravity user's throat split open, clean and precise. His eyes widened with horror, the world fading before he could even feel the pain.
But the lightning didn't stop.
It carved through him, continuing forward.
Five more fighters, who had the misfortune of standing behind him, were sliced in half, their bodies torn apart like paper caught in a storm.
The arena fell deathly silent.
Even the bandits watching from the stands sat frozen. Not with awe.With fear.
Aryan stared from behind a crumbling pillar, breath caught in his throat. Blood dripped from his lip, and his arms trembled—not from injury, but from the creeping sense of helplessness.
"That speed… that power" Aryan muttered. "He's like that man I saw in the Wasteland… the one dragging the black dragon's corpse..." In this world how many strong people are there?
He clenched his fists, the memory burning in his mind.Just how many monsters walked this world?
How far behind was he?
Meanwhile, across the battlefield…
Kat parried a sudden strike from another sword user, the blades clashing with a shrill cry of steel. The man was relentless, pushing forward with deadly precision.
Kat gritted his teeth, shifting into a low stance, his sword glowing faintly with dark energy.
"You picked the wrong time," Kat growled. "But let's dance."
The clash of swords echoed again, but the arena's pulse had changed.
No longer chaos.
Now, it was dread.
All eyes began to shift toward the true threat in the arena.
The man of lightning.
And the silent promise his blade made: If you step forward… you die.