Both were ready.
On one side stood the Prince—light chainmail beneath his robe, a sword in hand, and throwing knives hidden in his pockets. Opposite him stood Rayleigh, wrapped in bandages, his body battered but unbroken. A single dagger rested in his palm.
This wasn't just a fight.
It was a duel of honor.
A duel between martial artists.
A duel between master and disciple.
No words were exchanged. None were needed.
The remnants of the slum watched in silence. At the center, standing as judge, was the One-Eyed Paladin.
"Begin."
The air grew heavy.
Rayleigh moved first—blindingly fast. A stab aimed straight for the Prince's face. Blocked.
He smiled.
The dagger vanished.
Another appeared in his opposite hand, sweeping for the Prince's stomach. A narrow dodge—just in time.
The Prince, calm and calculating, dashed forward. His robe fluttered, and in that instant, he flung it toward Rayleigh, blinding him. From the cover of cloth, he switched to daggers and aimed to strike.
Steel pierced fabric.
Both of them.
They had the same idea.
Rayleigh burst to the side, circling, slashing the Prince across the back.
"Too slow," he muttered.
He lunged, aiming for the stomach. Dodged. Another slash—parried. Another—blocked.
Relentless.
He cut left, feinted low, and stabbed—only for the Prince to predict the move and raise his sword just enough to stop the blade from piercing his gut.
Rayleigh grinned. His disciple had grown.
The Prince threw the robe to Rayleigh—this time, with another trick. He went low, very low, sliding under the fabric. Rayleigh stabbed again, thinking the Prince was behind the cloth—but found nothing.
Suddenly, from beneath, a slash cut across Rayleigh's legs.
The audience gasped.
Silence fell.
Then,the Prince planted his sword into the ground.
To beat a master of weapons… he had to abandon weapons.
Hand-to-hand combat.
He dashed forward, weaving between Rayleigh's attacks, looking for an opening. A sudden frontal slash. The Prince caught Rayleigh's arm, twisted it—disarming him—and slammed his fist into his master's stomach.
Rayleigh staggered, gasping.
They separated. The Prince retrieved his sword.
The battle resumed—swords clashed again.
Rayleigh moved like lightning. The Prince raised his sword to block, but at the last second, Rayleigh pivoted, summoned a dagger, and stabbed—twice.
Blood spilled from the Prince's side.
He winced.
He couldn't let this drag on.
From his belt, he flung a dagger—Rayleigh blocked it without flinching. But by then, the Prince was already rushing forward, crouched impossibly low, like a beast.
He planted one hand on the ground, lifted his body, and spun—kicking Rayleigh's hand, sending his sword flying.
When his feet touched the earth again, the Prince lunged, aiming for the kill.
Blocked.
They were chest to chest. No more room for tricks.
The Prince grabbed Rayleigh—and tackled him to the ground.
Mud splashed.
The two wrestled, but the younger man had the strength now. He mounted his master and began striking.
Punch after punch.
Rayleigh's face was soon bloodied. His strength faded. He tried one last act—summoning a sickle to slash at the Prince's throat—but the Prince pressed in even closer, denying him any space.
More punches.
Until Rayleigh stopped moving.
Defeated.
The Prince sat on top of him, soaked in blood and rain, trembling. The skies cried above them.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't kill him.
No matter what had happened…
Rayleigh was the only one who had ever been close to him.
"Tch... Finish me," Rayleigh whispered, eyes barely open.
But the Prince looks up with tears mixing with the rain.
"Leave this place. Take the children. Go somewhere far ,far from all of this war."
Then he rose.
He looked at the crowd.
With voice firm and commanding, he declared:
"I, Prince Lucas of the Anarchy Empire, declare that the Slum's King is dead."
He raised his blade.
"Whoever says otherwise—dies by my hand today."
No one moved.
No one objected.
The silence was enough.
"Let's go," the Prince said to Alaric.
And so they walked—two figures in the rain, one victorious, the other unwavering. Leaving the slums behind.