As the battle began, Storm stepped forward.
"The first move is yours, my lady," he said gently.
Velmira moved—fast. In the blink of an eye, she was right in front of him, aiming a punch straight at his face.
Storm blocked it, impressed by her speed.
He immediately swung his sword with great force, but she dodged and countered with a low kick.
The king watched with excitement. Zevril and Aelric stood with their mouths open.
"I underestimated you, my lady," Storm said, backing off slightly.
They exchanged glances and launched at each other again.
Storm aimed for her chest, but Velmira dodged and countered with a high kick aimed at his head.
"That's not enough," Storm muttered, ready to block—
But then, her leg armor transformed into a stunning blade.
The entire stadium gasped—jaw after jaw dropped. Even the King, Queen, Prince, and Princess (who had just arrived) were stunned.
Zevril and Aelric were frozen in place, unable to process what they'd just seen.
Storm hadn't expected it. He dodged just in time, but when he looked at his shield…
It was sliced in half.
Storm moved like lightning, his sword slashing toward Velmira's right arm. She reacted instantly, twisting her upper body and raising her armored forearm to deflect it—but Storm feinted.
His real target was her abdomen.
The blow landed hard.
A deep thud echoed through the arena as Velmira staggered back, coughing, nearly collapsing from the direct hit to her gut.
Blood touched her lips—but her eyes still burned with fury. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself upright.
Without a word, her armor began to expand—layer upon layer of metal wrapping tightly around her body like a second skin.
A sharp, deadly silence fell across the arena.
Then the gasps began.
Storm blinked. Something was wrong. He looked down—his once-pristine sword was gone.
Melted. Reshaped.
His chestplate felt lighter.
Too light.
A slow realization crept across his face.
"You... you absorbed it all…"
He ripped off his helmet, revealing his face—long light-yellow hair, glowing yellow eyes, and a half-circle tattoo on his forehead.
Sweat dripped down his jaw.
"At least you can't absorb my clothes," he muttered with a smirk. "Metal manipulation—turning it into anything you want. That's a battlefield nightmare."
Velmira's eyes narrowed. "Then prepare…"
She surged forward like a storm unleashed, her armor now enhanced with the stolen royal metal.
Storm raised his fist.
Velmira ducked his swing and launched a punch.
He dodged.
But the instant his hand brushed her side—
Velmira gave a wicked smile.
Snap.
A spike burst from her armor, driving straight through Storm's palm with brutal force.
Bones cracked. Flesh tore.
Blood sprayed across the arena as the jagged spike twisted inside his hand like a serpent coiling around bone.
Storm screamed, staggering back, clutching his ruined hand—fingers twitching, bent in the wrong direction.
Even the king stood now.
Velmira didn't flinch.
"Is this the extent of a royal knight's power?"
Storm gritted his teeth through the pain and fury.
Blood dripped from his mangled hand, the spike still embedded in the flesh—but rage drowned out everything else.
With a guttural roar, he raised his uninjured hand to the sky.
For a second, Velmira's eyes glowed a deep crimson—and the prince noticed it.
A sudden silence fell over the arena.
Storm had unleashed his magic—a massive, howling wave of raw air pressure that tore across the battlefield like a tempest.
Dust and fog exploded in every direction, swallowing the stage in chaos.
The crowd stood frozen, breath held, unable to see anything through the swirling debris.
Even the King and Queen leaned forward anxiously.
Zevril and Aelric didn't blink. No one spoke.
Then… silence.
As the dust began to settle, a single figure emerged through the fog—tall, motionless.
It was Storm, still standing.
But something felt off. The King narrowed his eyes, gaze sharpening.
The dust around Storm shifted slightly… and the horror became clear.
Storm's head was gone.
His body stood like a statue, blood quietly pouring from the exposed neck.
The stadium gasped as reality hit.
Some screamed. Others couldn't move.
Velmira stood a few paces away, blood dripping from her lips, her body shaking—but her eyes, dark and resolute, stared straight ahead.
"Underestimating me…" she rasped, her voice steady, "was the worst mistake you ever made."
The King stood in disbelief.
Zevril and Aelric felt their hearts stop for a moment.
Pure, suffocating silence choked the arena.
Velmira slowly walked forward, blood still seeping from her wounds.
She reached down and picked up Storm's head by the hair. The lifeless eyes stared back at nothing.
Blood trailed behind her as she approached his headless body.
Without hesitation, she summoned a sword of metal from her gauntlet—forged from her own magic.
Then—coldly, mechanically—she placed the severed head atop the body and impaled the sword downward, fusing the neck and skull.
As if repairing a broken relic of war, she forced the head down and plunged the sword through the neck.
A grotesque crack echoed across the silent stadium. Blood gushed out, spraying across Velmira's armor and face.
She stood there, soaked in Storm's blood, unmoving.
A murmur of terror spread through the crowd. Children clutched their parents. Knights stare at her . No one had expected this. No one was prepared.
Zevril's hands trembled. Aelric's eyes were wide with disbelief.
"Sh-she just… killed the royal knight," Aelric whispered. "How isn't she getting punished for this?"
Zevril swallowed hard. "It was a duel… There's no punishment. She won within the rules."
"But this is brutal…"
Meanwhile, the royal family stood in a complex mix of emotions. The king was stiff, unreadable. The queen covered her mouth in horror. The prince… smiled, strangely intrigued. And the princess—her eyes shimmered, inspired, almost thrilled.
The King stepped forward, his voice ringing clear through the shocked silence.
"I am the King of Valmorra," he declared, his gaze never leaving Velmira. "And in front of gods, mortals, and the elements themselves… I recognize your strength."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, disbelief echoing from noble balconies to the commoners in the lowest seats.
The King descended from his royal throne, slowly walking toward the bloodstained battlefield. The Royal Knights stood tense, their eyes fixed on Velmira—some with fear, some with awe.
The king halted just before her, looking down at the corpse of Storm, his knight.
"You've slain one of my finest." His voice was low, dangerous.
Velmira met his gaze, calm and unblinking. "He accepted the challenge. He fought with honor. I returned it in kind."
The king stared at her, his jaw tight… and then, after a pause, he let out a deep, sharp breath.
"…Yes. And you won with honor, Velmira Ironveil." He turned to the crowd. "Henceforth, let it be known—the Seventh Seat among the Royal Knights now belongs to her."
Gasps surged from every direction. Thunderous murmurs and distant sobs rippled outward like crashing waves. The arena erupted—not in celebration, but in awe. In fear. In uncertainty.
Zevril felt like he couldn't breathe.
"She actually did it…" he whispered.
Aelric nodded silently, no longer able to hide his admiration—or his fear.
The King raised his hand again.
"But let her place not be mistaken for an invitation to chaos. Let this day mark not rebellion—but revolution. The Kingdom of Valmorra has a new weapon."
He looked at Velmira once more. "And every eye, both within and beyond our walls, will be watching what you do next."
The royal guards moved forward, cautiously circling Velmira—but the King held up his hand.
"No need. She walks freely."
Velmira didn't bow. She turned, blood-soaked and silent, walking out of the arena without another glance at the throne—or the corpse behind her.
Zevril and Aelric stayed behind for a moment longer, standing near the exit of the stadium.