“Why the f*ck did you do that?!” Elysian snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tense air. His gaze never left the half-troll looming before him, fists clenched and breathing like a bull ready to charge. “Can you please tell him I surrender? That I don’t want to fight him.”

Kaerthlyn tilted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment before her smile flickered—vanishing, then returning wider than before. “Okay,” she said innocently, almost too innocently, as she turned and addressed the half-troll in her own tongue.

‘Sh*t. I don’t like that smile.’

The reaction was immediate. The half-troll let out a guttural roar, the sound rumbling through the crowd like a war drum. His eyes burned with fury, his chest heaving as though he were seconds away from ripping Elysian apart with his bare hands.

“What the hell did you say to him?!” Elysian hissed, his heart lurching as he took an involuntary step back. “Why is he even angrier?!”

Kaerthlyn glanced over her shoulder, her smirk dripping with mischief. “Oh, nothing much,” she said with infuriating nonchalance. “I just told Durvalk exactly what you told me. That you didn’t want to fight him because he’s weak and not worth your time.”

‘F*ck. Why would she do that?!’

Elysian’s stomach dropped. His widened eyes darted back to Durvalk, now cracking his knuckles and muttering something to his companions, who burst into laughter. Elysian could feel the weight of their mocking stares like needles pricking his skin. He spun toward Kaerthlyn, words bubbling to his lips.

“You—” Elysian stopped himself, clamping his jaw shut so hard it ached. Reason clawed its way through his frustration, hissing warnings.

‘She saved your life. She’s your only ally in this place. And her family? They could probably crush Ironspire quite easily. So, think rationally. Don’t piss her off. Don’t bite the hand that might save you again.

Damn it!’

Elysian closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, forcing the cold air to steady his fraying composure. Around him, the crowd murmured, the tension thickening with each passing second. He could hear Durvalk’s taunting voice, the grating words drawing more laughter from his peers.

Slowly, Elysian opened his eyes, a slow grin stretching across his face.

‘If she wants a show, then fine. I’ll give her a show. And maybe… just maybe, I’ll make these b*stards think twice about crossing me again.’

He glanced back toward Durvalk, his smile now sharp as a blade. But beneath it, his thoughts raced, calculating.

‘Let’s hope this doesn’t end with me pissing off the wrong person.’

The half-troll snarled, stomping forward as the crowd quieted down to watch the fight. Elysian adjusted his stance, his blood humming with the familiar rush of adrenaline.

‘If I have to fight this b*stard and he’s already mad, I might as well make him even more angrier. Angry fighters make mistakes.’

Elysian’s grin spread wide, sharp and defiant. “Hey, Kaerthlyn, tell him I’ll scrub his ugly face across the floor.”

Kaerthlyn’s eyes lit up with wicked amusement. “With pleasure,” she said, her tone almost too gleeful as she relayed the message.

Durvalk’s reaction was immediate and predictable—a deep, guttural roar that shook the air. His muscles tensed like coiled steel, veins bulging against his skin. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and jeers, fueling the half-troll’s rage further.

As Elysian had hoped, Durvalk charged, a living battering ram of fury and brute strength.

‘Sh*t.’

The sheer size of him was daunting. Durvalk towered over Kaerthlyn—and she was already tall for her kind. At least 213 centimeters of solid muscle, he dwarfed Elysian in every way. At ten years old and small even for his age, Elysian looked like a child playing soldier against a giant. And this wasn’t just a matter of size. Durvalk’s aura flared, a powerful force that spoke of a higher cultivation level. Combined with the trolls’ racial abilities, the gap between them was staggering.

‘This isn’t just an ordinary thug from some backwater kingdom. This is a superior opponent—stronger, faster, better-trained. A straight fight? No way in hell will I win.’

Durvalk moved fast—too fast. His first attack, a vicious kick aimed at Elysian’s face, came with the speed and force of a whip. Elysian barely twisted out of the way in time, the rush of displaced air grazing his cheek.

But there was no pause. As he dodged, another strike followed—a sweeping blow aimed at his unprotected side.

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‘Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!’

Elysian scrambled to respond, channeling his aura down to his legs in a desperate burst. The energy flowed just in time, granting him a burst of speed to narrowly avoid the hit. His boots skidded on the ground as he regained his footing.

Durvalk barked out something in his guttural tongue, laughter spilling from his companions and rippling through the crowd. Though Elysian didn’t understand the words, their meaning was clear—mockery.

His jaw tightened, irritation flaring hot in his chest, but he forced himself to take a calming breath.

‘Focus. Don’t let them get in your head. Losing your temper now is a death sentence.’

Still, Elysian couldn’t deny the sting. His performance so far was unimpressive, and he knew it. Injured or not, he could feel the gulf between them. Durvalk wasn’t just a brute; he moved with the lethal precision of someone who had spent his life fighting.

‘This isn’t a game to him. He fought to survive since he could walk. These kinds of opponents are the worst. Even my experience from my past life will barely save me from this freak.’

Durvalk lunged again, his movements a blur of raw power. Elysian tightened his stance, forcing his mind to steady.

‘If I can’t beat him outright, I’ll have to outthink him. There’s no other way.’

Outthinking the brute was a sound strategy—on paper. But in practice, the gap between their physical qualities and capabilities were staggering. Elysian had to move twice as fast just to cover the same ground, and Durvalk’s reach was absurd. His troll heritage gifted him arms that seemed to stretch forever, each swing like a battering ram crashing through the air.

Still, a fight wasn’t won by strength alone. Elysian sidestepped another wild punch, the wind of it brushing his cheek like a whip crack.

‘He’s fast—but not fast enough.’

Durvalk’s attacks came hard and relentless, a battering rhythm of pure aggression. His long arms forced Elysian into a constant retreat, every dodge a calculated dance of survival.

‘Not bad for a kid.’

Durvalk looked old at a glance, his body a roadmap of scars carved into corded muscle, but his face betrayed traces of youth beneath the rough exterior. He was older than Kaerthlyn but nowhere near his thirties or even twenties—just worn by battles and a life of violence.

Elysian, on the other hand, had survived more years of warfare and death than most mortal men could endure. He might have been small, but his experience ran deep, forged in countless encounters with opponents who should’ve easily killed him twice over.

Each time Durvalk lunged, Elysian’s sharp eyes traced the movement of his shoulders and hips, reading the direction of his next attack. It wasn’t just instinct; it was calculation, honed through decades of surviving on the edge of a blade.

‘Evade. Don’t counter yet. If I misstep once, I’m dead.’

Durvalk growled, swinging harder, faster, his pride visibly fraying with every missed strike. The gathered crowd’s laughter stoked his rage, their jeers biting deeper than Elysian’s insults ever could. With a guttural snarl, Durvalk shouted something unintelligible, the mocking chorus around him swelling.

Elysian smirked.

‘Got you.’

The half-troll’s fury was painting his attacks in broad strokes, predictable and wild.

But then Durvalk did something unexpected. His aura flared, a blinding, fiery cascade of energy that rippled across his hulking frame, concentrating in his fists. The sheer force of it sent a shockwave through the air, ruffling Elysian’s hair as he instinctively braced himself.

The next swing came faster, the enhanced speed catching Elysian off-guard. He twisted just in time, feeling the blow graze his side. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but he gritted his teeth and rolled with the momentum, barely keeping his footing.

“Sh*t,” Elysian cursed, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

Durvalk grinned, teeth bared in triumph, and advanced with renewed ferocity. His strikes came heavier, faster now, the ground beneath their feet trembling with each missed blow. The crowd roared, feeding off the spectacle, their cheers a storm of bloodlust.

But Elysian was no stranger to theatrics.

‘Wasting your aura like that… you’re a damn fool.’

Elysian sidestepped another crushing swing, letting the blow crash into the platform and leave a jagged scar in the wood. Elysian’s mind worked quickly, calculating. Durvalk’s aura was impressive, but it was reckless. His strength was already overwhelming; pouring more power into his attacks didn’t make them any deadlier—they were already lethal. What it did, however, was just exhaust him.

Elysian’s lips curled into a sly smile. He had his opening.

Durvalk charged again, fists ablaze with raw energy. This time, Elysian didn’t retreat entirely. Instead, he darted to the side, angling himself just out of reach and baiting the half-troll into overextending.

Durvalk took the bait, roaring as he swung wide. Elysian ducked low, his aura surging into his legs, and slid beneath the arc of the attack. The movement was quick, fluid, and as Durvalk’s momentum carried him forward, Elysian twisted behind him.

For the first time in the fight, Elysian struck. He drove a precise kick to the back of Durvalk’s knee, forcing the towering half-troll to stumble. It wasn’t enough to bring him down, but it was a start—a crack in the foundation of his overconfidence.

Durvalk snarled, spinning to face him, but his movements were slower now, his breath heavier.

Elysian straightened, his grin widening. “What’s wrong? Getting tired already?”

The crowd laughed again, their mockery now directed at the half-troll. Durvalk’s face twisted in fury, and Elysian could see it—clear as day. The frustration. The cracks in his composure.

‘This isn’t just a fight anymore. It’s a game. And I’m winning.’

Durvalk lunged, his aura blazed enough to make the air shudder. But this time, Elysian didn’t retreat. Instead, he darted left, weaving closer into the half-troll’s space.

The crowd gasped at his audacity, but Elysian’s movements were calculated. Closing the distance negated Durvalk’s reach—those long arms couldn’t swing effectively when the target was so close, more so when they were already beneath them.

With his aura surging into his arms, Elysian struck, driving a sharp punch directly into Durvalk’s jaw. The impact barely staggered the half-troll, his rampaging aura absorbing most of the blow. But Elysian didn’t expect to hurt him—not yet. The momentary distraction was all he needed.

Durvalk growled, his head snapping back to glare, but Elysian was already moving. His aura shifted seamlessly into his legs as he planted one foot against the brute’s thigh, using Durvalk’s massive frame like a springboard to launch himself upward.

In the air, Elysian twisted, landing a kick to the side of Durvalk’s head. The strike didn’t carry devastating power, but it landed true, rattling the half-troll’s pride more than his skull.

Elysian dropped lightly to the ground, already moving before Durvalk could react. He ducked low, circling around the brute with incredible speed.

Durvalk roared, his fists pounding toward him in wild swings. Elysian evaded each one with uncanny precision, slipping just out of reach before darting back in. He became a blur of motion, constantly shifting his position, never letting Durvalk lock him down.

The half-troll’s aura flared brighter, but it was unfocused, wasted on brute force. Elysian exploited every misstep, landing quick jabs and kicks to Durvalk’s sides, thighs, and ribs. His strikes weren’t powerful enough to break through the half-troll’s natural toughness, but they were precise, hitting bruises and weak points to sap his opponent’s stamina.

From the sidelines, the crowd erupted into laughter and cheers. Durvalk’s hulking form looked almost comical as he swung at air, his movements sluggish compared to Elysian’s calculated grace.

"Come on, big guy, is that all you’ve got?" Elysian taunted, his voice cutting through the jeers.