With a deep breath, Ludwig activated the Weight of the World. His weapon, a cursed blade that was forged by compressing the heart of a black hole, came down like the reckoning. He swung it down in a simple, straightforward motion—a basic downward cut, something he had practiced countless times in training. But this time, the sword carried the weight of 540 kilograms, fueled by Ludwig’s immense strength and the unsealed power of the shard.
The moment the sword’s tip touched the shield, it simply tore through it, forcing it apart with utter ease.
The kite shield blew apart, along with the arm of the student that was holding it. And only when the sword hit the floor, did the wide-eyed student realize that his arm was gone. He couldn’t even yell or scream pain as the kinetic energy of the incoming sword bore down with full force against the pavement, blasting the whole thing along with Tavi away.
Tavi fell several dozen meters away from Ludwig, completely unconscious. A couple of teachers rushed the unconscious man, grabbed his arm and took him away.
The rest of the students around the arena realized the power that Ludwig still held was far beyond what they could handle.
They knew that to win against him, they’ll have to exhaust him, but who in their right minds would dare go up first?
Tavi lost an arm, though it would be reattached in the clinic, it would still be painful. What if that blow didn’t land on their arms and legs? What if it hit their heads? There was no coming back from that.
The teachers would do their best to stop any accidents from happening, but even they weren’t fast enough to stop the final clash of Haku and Ludwig.
None of the second year students dared move up.
“If no one takes the arena, Ludwig will be nominated the winner, along with his whole team,” Olim reminded the crowd, his voice breaking the silence.
One of the third-year students began to move toward the voting booth, but a hand stopped him.
Ludwig frowned, Melissa, the overly… outward and ‘large’ personality student seemed to stand up.
***
“What is she doing?” Cymoria muttered, her brow furrowing as she watched from the observation booth.
“That would be your specialty, dear Cymoria,” Van Dijk said, a knowing smile on his face. “That’s Mass Charm.”
“Shouldn’t we stop that?” Vastion asked, his tone uneasy.
“Nah,” Olim interjected, his eyes fixed on the arena. “If they’re not strong enough to fend it off, then they have no reason to be on the arena. Let’s just watch.”
***
Melissa turned to her classmates, her smile radiant. “Dear fellow students,” she began, her voice smooth and hypnotic, “does anyone here think they can beat me?” None of the third years replied. She continued, her eyes glowing a deep shade of pink. “Then do you think that all of you combined can beat me?” Again, silence. “Then don’t go up the arena. Even if I lose,” she said, her tone final.
She walked up to the arena, her movements graceful and deliberate. “You need to cast a vote,” Olim reminded her.
“I can assure you,” she said, her voice carrying across the arena, “no one will be joining the arena after this fight.”
“What do you mean?” Olim asked, though he already knew the answer. This was for the audience’s benefit.
“I asked my fellow students, and they all agree that Ludwig has shown enough potential to be part of the upcoming five tower tournament. It would be a shame for someone who’s been fighting for two days to be disqualified due to exhaustion. They all generously agreed that this will be the last fight Ludwig will have, victor or loser.”
The crowd murmured, the tension palpable. Olim frowned, surprised by Melissa’s ability to control so many students with such ease. She was Cymoria’s personal disciple, but even Cymoria at her age hadn’t been this powerful. If Melissa had joined the Blue Tower or the Gray Tower, she would have been a force to be reckoned with simply for the fact that her mastery over illusion and fakery was borderline absurd. But her powers leaned toward the darker side, and thus she had been enrolled in the Black Tower Academy.
“Then so be it,” Olim said, his voice firm. “This will be the final fight. Ludwig, good luck. This is a third-year. Don’t get too complacent, and if you think you can’t handle things, then give up.”
Ludwig nodded, his expression unreadable as Melissa stepped into the arena. The moment she set foot there, she already cast her magic.
A couple notifications appeared in front of Ludwig, but he didn’t even bother checking them. For everyone else, it looked like Ludwig was completely frozen in place.
She approached him slowly, her every movement calculated to draw attention. Her charm was palpable, her magic weaving through the air like a subtle, intoxicating perfume.
“Oh, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with faux disappointment. “I wanted our first encounter to be somewhere… warmer, cozier, and more intimate. Sadly, we’re being watched by so many people… not that I mind spectators.” Her words were laced with magic, each syllable weaving a spell of allure and control.
Ludwig stood frozen, his body rigid as Melissa closed the distance between them. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her magic seeping into him like a slow, insidious poison. “You see,” she said, her voice soft and hypnotic, “I’m quite the jealous person.” She leaned in closer, her face inches from Ludwig’s. “And you seem to have oh so many girls flocking to you. Would you be willing to be mine, and mine alone?” She cupped Ludwig’s face with both hands, her touch gentle but possessive.
“LUDWIG, WAKE UP!” Kassandra’s voice echoed from the stands, Minerva was shouting too, but the most boisterous and loudest was Kaela as her voice filled with rage seemed to almost deafen the whole arena “YOU DAMN SLUT, GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM!” Danny held her back, preventing her from jumping into the arena.
Melissa ignored the commotion, her focus entirely on Ludwig. “Ah, look at those vixens,” she said, her voice a purr. “But you know what would be interesting?” She leaned in, her lips brushing against Ludwig’s in a kiss that sent a wave of magic through him.
The arena held its breath, the tension unbearable. But then, something unexpected happened.
“Emm… you feel awfully cold, too cold actually…” Melissa said, A flicker of confusion passed through her mind. Then—pain.
Her voice faltering. Her body jerked, and blood began to seep from her mouth. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked down.
The whole arena seemed to turn deadly quiet, as Melissa realized that something thick and long had penetrated her.
Ludwig’s sword, the cursed shard of Durandal, was buried deep in her abdomen, the blade protruding from her back. The arena fell into stunned silence as Melissa staggered back, her hands clutching the wound.
“That’s… not fair!” she gasped, her voice trembling as she collapsed to the ground.
Ludwig stared at her wide-eyed expression that was slowly fading into unconciousness, and without batting an eye turned to look at Olim, waiting for him to announce the results. The match was already over.