Rain approached silently, the distance between the two shrinking.

Without any signal or preamble, their battle began abruptly.

Cradle launched a preemptive strike that took the spectators, who were holding their breath, completely by surprise.

Closing the distance in a single bound, Cradle swung his sword horizontally once, twice, three times.

Rain parried each strike with a similar trajectory, evading every blow.

The sudden clash of the two warriors sent a wave of delayed cheers rippling through the crowd.

Smiling, Cradle hurled his shield at Rain.

Gasps erupted from the spectators, but Rain merely frowned and blocked the flying shield with his own.

In that instant, Cradle had already rushed in, gripping his sword with both hands, unleashing a relentless barrage of strikes.

Rain, using both sword and shield, defended against the onslaught but was steadily pushed back.

Could Rain, whose swordplay once dazzled like lightning, really be forced into a defensive position?

I watched Cradle’s assault with genuine admiration.

Then, as Cradle’s sword was deflected, Rain leapt to the side and kicked off the ground, launching forward. Sparks and the deafening clash of swords exploded between them, momentarily freezing Cradle in place.

From the spectator stands, it was clear what had happened, but up close, it must have felt as though Rain had vanished.

In the brief pause of Cradle’s movement, Rain had slipped diagonally behind him.

Seizing the opportunity, Rain swung his sword at Cradle’s limbs.

Cradle turned to block, but Rain’s blade struck his shoulder.

The wound wasn’t deep enough to reach the bone, but from afar, the sight of blood spraying was unmistakable.

Rain didn’t press the attack. Before Cradle could counter, he widened the gap and assumed a defensive stance.

An arm injury like that would be a severe handicap for any swordsman. Could Cradle still turn this around?

Beside me, Emera clasped her hands over her chest, her gaze fixed on Cradle with a prayerful intensity.

Rain kept his distance, moving side to side, as though waiting for Cradle to grow impatient. Cradle, staring at his wound, lifted his head.

Gone was the usual aura of composure—replaced by an expression seething with anger.

Cradle moved.

Charging straight at Rain with a single sword, his movement was as direct and forceful as a wild boar. Perhaps thinking Cradle had lost his cool, Rain stayed rooted, watching his attack with a calm demeanor.

Cradle brought his sword down from above in a sweeping arc. Rain raised his shield to intercept, simultaneously aiming his own blade at Cradle’s legs.

Rain’s stance stretched him thin, his arms extended both upward and downward. But as Cradle’s blade descended, he twisted his body, pulling his forward leg back just in time to avoid Rain’s sword.

Rain’s strike narrowly missed.

Taking advantage of Rain’s exposed position, Cradle lunged bodily at him, leaping up and delivering a fierce two-footed kick to Rain’s chest.

Did he learn that from watching me?

Stunned by Cradle’s move, I watched Rain tumble across the ground before quickly springing back to his feet. Cradle was already charging at him again.

Rain, still not fully upright, thrust his sword forward to keep Cradle at bay.

But Cradle deflected the thrust, his own blade sliding along Rain’s extended sword and arm as he delivered a sharp knee strike.

Cradle’s knee connected with Rain’s face, forcing him back onto one knee, his body arching under the blow.

In that instant, Cradle’s sword gleamed.

Though Rain’s vision must have been blurred, he instinctively raised his shield and fell backward.

Cradle’s blade clashed with Rain’s shield, its path diverted, grazing the shoulder plate of Rain’s armor.

Rain rolled backward along the ground and rose swiftly. Meanwhile, Cradle, thrown off balance when his attack was blocked, restructured his stance.

The unexpected display of Cradle’s skill sent waves of astonished murmurs and cheers through the arena.

The two squared off again, their gazes burning with determination.

Rain raised his sword high above his head, while Cradle pointed his blade straight at Rain’s face.

In aggressive stances, they froze, the tension palpable not only to the spectators but to me as well.

And once again, Cradle made the first move.

A rapid thrust.

It was like a silver arrow hurtling toward Rain.

Rain blocked the strike with his forward-held shield and brought his sword down in a counterattack.

But Cradle wasn’t there.

His sword, still extended from the thrust, was abandoned mid-motion.

Cradle had never intended to settle this with his blade.

As Rain’s downward strike came with full force, Cradle dived diagonally forward, rolling across the ground, and emerged behind Rain.

Turning quickly, Rain swung his sword at where Cradle should be, but Cradle was faster.

Latching onto Rain from behind, Cradle lifted him off the ground.

It wasn’t a typical rear grapple; Cradle grabbed Rain from a slight diagonal angle and threw him backward in a powerful arch.

Brilliantly executed.

Rain’s body traced a graceful arc through the air before crashing head and shoulders first into the ground.

“…It’s over,” I murmured, and Emera lifted her face.

Rain lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, while Cradle, breathing heavily, rose to his feet.

The spectators, understanding who the victor was, erupted in wild cheers, showering Cradle with praise.

I found myself applauding, watching Cradle with admiration.

“Well done, Cradle… No, Jumbo Cradle…”

My idle remark was drowned out by the thunderous roar of the crowd.