[Beast Mountain – Tournament arena]
On one side stood Roark and Lance, the daring intruders who defied the entire tournament. Back to back, they braced themselves against the advancing horde of adversaries.
Facing them were the participants and the formidable Beast guild members, united as defenders against the unexpected challenge. They encircled the intruders, a wall of determination closing in around them.
"It feels reminiscent, doesn't it?" Lance's voice was steady, confidence laced within each word as he surveyed the approaching throng of competitors, their eyes ablaze with a mixture of desire and jealousy.
"A little bit," Roark replied, his demeanor composed and resolute. He adjusted his hold on his spear, attuned to its weight and equilibrium.
"You've improved a lot since then," Lance remarked, his gaze reflecting admiration and reverence. With a fluid motion, he deflected incoming strikes with his sword.
"Less talk, more action," Roark interjected tersely, thrusting his spear into an assailant with precision.
"Die!" Alex's cry pierced the chaos as he lunged at Roark, his eyes ablaze with madness and loathing.
Without a second glance, Roark hurled his spear, impaling Alex's chest. There was no hint of remorse in his actions, only a cold disdain for his foe.
Seizing the opportunity, an axeman attempted to catch Roark off guard with a swift strike. To his astonishment, his axe halted mid-air. Horror painted his face as he watched Roark bare-handedly intercept the blow, blood trickling from his wounded hand, yet showing no sign of faltering.
"Y..You monster," the axeman whispered, his gaze meeting Roark's with a mixture of dread and disbelief. In those eyes, he found no trace of fear, pain, or mercy—only a sinister, twisted smile.
"Hehehe," Roark chuckled darkly, seizing the axeman's weapon and swiftly severing his head with a single stroke. Discarding the bloodied axe, he strode confidently towards his spear, unfazed by the chaos around him.
"Roark!"
"Roark!"
The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and jeers, torn between admiration for his prowess and trepidation of his ruthlessness. They hailed him as a champion while also fearing the depths of his cruelty and power.
Amidst the flurry of spells aimed at Roark, a shimmering mana shield materialized, deflecting the arcane onslaught—Lance's protective barrier safeguarding his comrade.
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Emerging from the dissipating smoke, Lance surged forward, a blur of speed and agility. With deft movements, he skillfully evaded and countered the incoming spells and assaults.
Their adversaries attempted to strike back, but Lance fortified his defenses and launched a relentless assault of his own. With each swing of his swords, he dispatched his foes with precision and finesse, his movements akin to a graceful dancer, fluid and elegant in their execution.
"Lance!"
"Lance!"
The crowd's fervent cries echoed through the arena as both Roark and Lance pressed on, decimating their adversaries with unmatched skill and determination. Amidst the chaos, spectators were captivated by Lance's ethereal beauty and effortless grace.
"Roark! Lance!"
"Roark! Lance!"
"Roark! Lance!"
The chant reverberated through the arena like a hymn, each repetition elevating their names to divine status. To the crowd, they weren't just combatants—they were embodiments of awe-inspiring prowess, their deeds transforming them into living legends before their very eyes.
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[10 years back]
"What!? How am I not selected? Do you even know who I am?" The man with blue hair erupted, his frustration evident in the bruises marring his form.
"Mr. Roark, I empathize with your disappointment, but the decision stands. However, your talent is undeniable, and you're welcome to join any team," the man responded calmly, maintaining his composure despite Roark's outburst.
"Join a team? I refuse to be subordinate to anyone! I am strong, and I should rightfully lead," Roark bellowed defiantly, unwilling to concede to the decision that had been made.
"What's going on, Mr. Trevor?" A calm voice interjected into the heated exchange.
"It's nothing, Lance," Trevor replied, attempting to shield Lance from the unfolding confrontation.
"Don't dismiss it as nothing," Roark snapped, his agitation palpable in his tone.
"Mr. Trevor, please allow me to take care of this," Lance interjected calmly, recognizing the tension brewing between Roark and the others.
"Alright," Trevor acquiesced, stepping back with a nod of approval. He had faith in Lance's ability to diffuse the situation, knowing him to be a fair and astute leader.
"Hey, who do you think you are?" Roark demanded, his gaze piercing as he directed his question at Lance.
"My name is Lance. Let's cut to the chase: do you truly believe you have what it takes to lead a team?" Lance's voice held a firm yet respectful tone.
"Absolutely, I do. Don't you don't know who I am?" Roark retorted confidently, his pride evident in his words.
"You're Roark, the standout newcomer of this year. But being a skilled player doesn't necessarily equate to effective leadership," Lance countered, acknowledging Roark's prowess while also highlighting the distinction between individual skill and leadership capability.
"What are you implying?" Roark inquired, his curiosity piqued by Lance's cryptic statement.
"Forget it. You won't understand. Let's do this if you manage to defeat me then I will make you the team leader." Lance said, recognizing the futility of further explanation given Roark's obstinate demeanor.
"Fine. Just make sure you stick to your promise," Roark retorted, accepting the challenge with confidence, convinced it would be a straightforward victory.
On the training ground, Roark unleashed his assault, driven by raw determination. However, Lance's superior strength and tactical prowess quickly proved to be too much for Roark to overcome. Charging forward with his spear, Roark lacked strategy, allowing his pride and fury to cloud his judgment.
In his reckless pursuit of victory, Roark hoped to overpower Lance with sheer speed and force, but he underestimated his opponent's expertise in both offense and defense. While Roark's attacks were fueled by emotion, Lance remained cool-headed and calculated, carefully analyzing Roark's movements and anticipating his next move.
With precision and finesse, Lance patiently waited for the opportune moment to strike, exploiting gaps in Roark's defense and swiftly countering his frenzied assaults with masterful swordplay.
Lance's movements were as precise as they were efficient, wasting neither energy nor opportunity. With calculated precision, he skillfully dodged, blocked, and parried Roark's frenzied spear strikes, seamlessly transitioning into a relentless barrage of slashes and thrusts aimed directly at Roark's vulnerable points.
Roark found himself unable to mount any effective defense, each strike inflicting searing pain and leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
"You possess potential, but your recklessness is your downfall," Lance remarked calmly, delivering a decisive blow that sent Roark crashing to the ground, defeated.
As Lance turned to depart, a determined voice halted his steps.
"I'm far from finished. I'll defeat you soon enough," Roark declared defiantly, rising from the ground with an unwavering resolve, refusing to succumb to defeat.
"Very well. You're welcome to challenge me whenever you see fit. I'll be ready," Lance responded with a reassuring smile, acknowledging Roark's determination and accepting his challenge with a nod of respect.