Taking advantage of the brief moment when the Basilisk was still recovering from its pain, Ale cast "Purificatio Vitae,"a purification spell to rid his body of the venom. A soft, healing glow surrounded him, neutralizing the toxins that had been eating away at his strength.

As he lifted his head, Ale glanced toward the Viscount and his guests, comfortably seated in the grandstands. Despite the imminent danger, they appeared calm, almost indifferent. "They're too relaxed... as if they know they're completely safe,"Ale thought. He quickly deduced that a magical barrier must be protecting the spectators, or perhaps someone powerful enough to eliminate the monster with a single strike was present among them.

"I might have an idea..." he thought.

Ale began to lead the Basilisk toward the edge of the arena. Sprinting along the walls, he leaped several meters at a time, baiting the enraged monster to follow him. The Basilisk, maddened with fury, lashed out its massive tail, trying to strike Ale. Every time, the tail slammed violently toward Ale but collided with something invisible just before reaching the grandstands.

With each impact, the air around the arena shimmered, and a faint glow flickered at the point of contact—clear evidence of the magical barrier. The spectators murmured in surprise. "What's going on? Is the barrier at risk?" a noble voiced in concern.

Each time the Basilisk hit the barrier, a surge of energy seemed to ripple through its body, temporarily stunning it. The creature would twitch and slow down, giving Ale precious moments to strike at its vulnerable spots.

Seeing the effect the barrier had on the beast, Ale dashed in closer, striking precisely at the now cracked and weakened scales on its neck. Despite its immense strength, the Basilisk lacked the intelligence to recognize the trap. It continued to chase Ale, repeatedly smashing into the protective barrier.

After several repetitions of this tactic, the Basilisk began to show clear signs of exhaustion. Its movements were sluggish, and cracks had spread across its once-impenetrable armor-like scales.

"Now's my chance!" Ale thought, determined to end it.

As the Basilisk struck the barrier once again, it was paralyzed momentarily by the feedback. Ale seized the opportunity. He leaped toward its exposed neck and plunged his blade into one of its remaining heads. The creature let out a deafening, guttural scream of agony. Without hesitation, Ale readied himself to strike again, aiming for the final head.

The weakened monster struggled less now, its once fearsome thrashing reduced to sporadic, desperate movements. However, something else caught Ale's attention—each time the Basilisk collided with the arena's barrier, the magical shield that had protected the spectators flickered more visibly. It was weakening.

The electrical discharges that had crackled before were now almost non-existent. "The barrier won't withstand many more hits," Ale realized. "It's on the verge of collapsing."

Ale repeated his strategy, maneuvering the Basilisk once more into the trap. As the monster became paralyzed again, its neck was left exposed, the protective scales cracked and peeled away.

Summoning all his strength, Ale invoked a reinforcement spell, *"Spirito Gladius."* He felt intense heat course through his sword as a dark red and black glow enveloped the blade, amplifying its destructive power.

With a fierce war cry, Ale lunged at the Basilisk. Despite its efforts to move, the creature could not evade the strike. In one fluid and brutal motion, Ale swung his sword, severing the last of the Basilisk's heads with incredible force. But the strike didn't stop there.

The momentum carried Ale straight toward the weakening magical barrier. The moment his sword made contact, a massive discharge of electricity erupted. Deadly lightning surged from the barrier, coursing through Ale's body in an instant.

"Argh!" Ale's scream echoed through the arena as his body convulsed under the paralyzing effects of the electricity.

But despite the overwhelming pain, Ale did not lose focus. With superhuman effort, he whispered, "Sanatio Interna..."The healing spell activated once more, attempting to counteract the lethal energy surging through him.

His body burned from within, each movement growing more excruciating, but Ale repeated the healing spell relentlessly, fighting off the paralysis that threatened to overtake him.

Behind him, the magical barrier began to glow brighter and brighter. The spectators, sensing danger, leaned back in their seats, some with terror painted across their faces. The light from the barrier reached a blinding crescendo before splintering with an ear-shattering crack.

With one final burst of blinding light, the barrier shattered. The invisible shards of magic evaporated into the air, releasing a shockwave so powerful it nearly toppled everyone in the arena. Nobles clung desperately to their seats while others were thrown backward by the force of the blast.

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Even the Viscount staggered, struggling to maintain his balance, his face pale with disbelief.

Ale, though gravely injured, remained standing. His sword still in hand, he took a deep breath and surveyed the arena. The Basilisk lay motionless on the ground, its final head severed.

A heavy silence fell over the arena. Even the nobles, those who had bet on the monster's victory, could hardly believe what they had just witnessed. Ale had not only defeated a Class 6 Basilisk, but he had also destroyed the barrier that had protected the spectators.

The shock on their faces spoke louder than words. The air, thick with tension, hung heavy over the arena as the nobles tried to comprehend what had just unfolded before their eyes.

Ale, covered in blood, every muscle tense with pain, stood tall, his sword still in hand, his piercing gaze locked onto Viscount Alaric. The power of the Spirit of Darkness flowed through him, slowly regenerating his exhausted body. Behind him, the surviving slum workers gathered, instinctively following him. After all they had endured, they now saw him as their leader, their savior.

Ale walked slowly towards the luxurious seats of the viscount, each step heavy and deliberate. "The monsters are dead, my lord," he said calmly but with determination. "Is the way clear now?" His sword, still dripping with blood, pointed slightly toward the ground but was ready to rise if needed.

Viscount Alaric, faced with Ale's question, knew he had no cards left to play. Even his loyal guards, after witnessing the ordeal, hesitated to make a move. "As I said," the viscount began, his pride forcing him to maintain a dignified posture, "you are free." He paused, a smirk of contempt appearing on his lips. "Apologies for that... unexpected incident. You've survived what few others could have endured."

Princess Ismérie, still seated calmly, observed Ale with a detached curiosity. "You are quite interesting, Ale," she said, her eyes curious, an indecipherable glint in them.

Aldric, standing beside his father, was struggling to hide his frustration, carefully avoiding Ale's gaze. He seethed inwardly, unable to accept that this "impostor" had survived, and even excelled in front of him.

Unperturbed, Ale asked, "Are you satisfied with our work?"

The viscount gave a slight nod, his mind still reeling from the incredible battle that had just unfolded before his eyes. He found it hard to believe that these simple slum dwellers, whom he had deemed insignificant, had survived such a brutal trial. Yet, he couldn't deny that it was one of the most impressive spectacles he had witnessed in years. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time stirred within him.

Since leaving the battlefield to take on the more peaceful role of viscount, he had almost forgotten the brutality and cruelty of war... but also the excitement it brought. His heart, long dulled by the monotony of his responsibilities, burned again with a fire he hadn't felt since his years in battle. He leaned back slightly in his seat, satisfied, though his face never lost its arrogance. "You have provided one of the most spectacular battles I've seen in years."

With a wave of his hand, he summoned his men. At his signal, they threw bags of gold coins onto the arena floor. "You've earned this. It should be enough to compensate for... your losses," he declared, his words dripping with pity, yet tainted by the arrogance of a noble accustomed to controlling the lives of others.

Before the coins hit the ground, Ale gently raised his hand and invoked Ventus Agilis. A light breeze lifted the coins into the air, preventing them from scattering across the arena floor. He then summoned Terra Elevatio, raising a stone platform up to the grandstands. The other slum dwellers followed Ale as he joined the nobles, now towering above the arena.

Ale's gaze swept over the nobles, his eyes taking in the entire audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, Your Highness, we will be leaving now," he said calmly, his voice carrying through the air to the stunned spectators.

The nobles exchanged glances, still in shock, wondering who this man was—someone who could stand against a Basilisk. Some murmured among themselves, adventurers eyed him with unreadable expressions, while priests whispered silent prayers, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

With his group behind him, Ale climbed the steps leading out of the arena. From the grandstands, Aldric couldn't hold back any longer. "Father, you're not just going to let them walk away, are you?!" he demanded, frustration and bitter defeat seeping into his voice.

The viscount, his eyes still locked on Ale, replied in a calculating tone, "You told me he had only just registered with the Adventurers' Guild, didn't you? But don't worry, I have a plan. He will pay for what he's done… one day." A cold smile spread across his lips as his thoughts turned to a new scheme.

---- Slum Square ----

Ale and his companions returned to the slums. Once on the square, Ale distributed the gold coins. Each survivor received two gold pieces—a significant sum for them. For those who had fallen in battle, Ale vowed to keep their share for their families. And for those without known relatives, he promised to use the gold for their funerals and to donate the remaining coins to the slum orphanage. All the workers nodded in agreement, grateful for his decisions.

Before parting ways, each worker introduced themselves and thanked Ale warmly for saving their lives.

---- Viscount's Castle -----

The following day, the viscount was dining with a few guests. As lively discussions filled the room, the butler approached the viscount, an object in hand.

"My lord, we found this during the cleanup of the arena," he said, offering the item. It was a finely crafted necklace, a chain of black obsidian etched with ancient Empire symbols. The circular pendant, made of silvery-blue metal, held a radiant red stone at its center. Encircling the gem was a carved motif of a fire dragon, the symbol of the Spirit of Fire, revered throughout the Empire.

The viscount cast a brief glance at the object. "It's a fine piece, but nothing special, likely just a trinket from one of the performers from yesterday," he said distractedly.

However, Princess Ismérie, who was still staying at the castle for a short visit, was drawn to the necklace. She gestured for the butler to bring it to her. She examined it closely, her eyes gleaming with a flicker of understanding, as if she recognized something about the necklace.

"May I keep it, my lord?" she asked in a neutral tone.

The viscount, seeing no particular value in the item, shrugged indifferently. "Do as you please, Your Highness."