Chapter 33: Gurion Vs Ulrich Part 1

As soon as Quincy shouted, "Begin!" Gurion took off running, weaving through the fragmented ruins with practiced agility. His movements were smooth and efficient—vaulting over fallen pillars, bounding across uneven terrain, and using the remains of crumbling walls to propel himself forward. His footfalls were light, his speed unwavering, a stark contrast to his opponent.

Ulrich, in no rush, strolled through the ruins at a brisk pace. His sharp eyes scanned the terrain, taking in the jagged stone, the broken archways, and the elevated ledges dotting the battlefield. He let out a low chuckle. "Heh. Looks just like that fortress I took off those mercenaries. By the time I was done with it, it was about this bad." His gaze flicked across the battlefield with an amused glint, his hands resting loosely on his weapons as he continued forward.

Up in the stands, the atmosphere was mixed. Many in the audience remained hooked on the action, their cheers undeterred by the identity of the fighters. Others, however, watched Ulrich with open disdain. One man in particular sat with arms crossed, glaring down at the self-proclaimed Bandit Lord. 

"Tch. I bet he's thinking about how he demolished my fort."

The leader of the Stormclaws, the very Mercenary Company Ulrich had fought not too long ago, exhaled sharply. "As much as I want him to lose, I doubt he will."

Meanwhile, the two fighters closed in on the center of the battlefield.

"Hey, hey—let's take this slow," Ulrich said, his tone lighthearted as he casually lifted his gaze—just in time to see Gurion already airborne above him, knees tucked in tight.

Ulrich barely managed to leap back before Gurion crashed down, striking the ground with enough force to send dust and loose stone flying. Fragments of rock scattered in all directions as the impact left a small crater in the ruin's floor.

"We should fight in the center, not the western side," Ulrich continued, brushing a few specks of dust from his sleeve. "Now, not everyone's going to get the perfect view."

Gurion straightened, rolling his shoulders as he clenched his fists. "You should take this seriously," he warned, shifting into a combat stance. "Otherwise, you're just insulting me."

Ulrich grinned. "Oh, I am taking it seriously." He spread his stance slightly, his posture resembling that of a seasoned brawler. "I just don't need to be super serious to beat you."

Gurion's eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, he rushed forward, launching a quick two-punch combo. Ulrich blocked both, though not with any refined technique—just sheer speed and strength.

"Whew," Ulrich exhaled. "You're fast. I can't keep up without enhancing myself."

Gurion wasted no time pressing forward, chaining into another series of attacks. He snapped two rapid kicks with his right leg, followed by a sharp left hook aimed at Ulrich's ribs. A right jab came next, targeting his head, and finally, a powerful kick toward his torso.

Ulrich barely managed to block them all. His movements were rough, his reactions just quick enough to keep him from taking a clean hit. But even still, there was a subtle shift in his expression—a single bead of sweat forming at his brow

"Okay, okay—you're better than I expected," he admitted, shaking out his arms.

Gurion raised an eyebrow. "Wait, are you actually getting overwhelmed?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," Ulrich said matter-of-factly. His grin returned, sharper this time, as his hands finally moved to the hilts of his weapons.

"Which is why…" With a smooth motion, he drew both of his curved blades, the steel catching the light.

"I'm going to begin using these!"

Now it was Ulrich's turn to go on the offensive. He closed the distance in an instant, his movements swift yet measured as he slashed at Gurion with both swords, wielding them with the practiced ease of a man who had spent years fighting with two blades.

His first strike came in fast—a diagonal cut aimed at Gurion's ribs, immediately followed by a second slash from the opposite direction, the two attacks forming a seamless flow. Gurion twisted his body to avoid them, but Ulrich didn't let up. A quick thrust followed, forcing Gurion to jerk his head back just in time to avoid the blade that whistled past his face, missing his eye by mere hairs.

Gurion had no choice but to stay on the defensive. Blocking wasn't an option—Ulrich's weapons would carve through any attempt to stop them barehanded. Instead, he relied on his reflexes, dodging each swing with precise, efficient movements. But Ulrich was relentless, pressing him backward with a series of rapid cuts, his footwork herding Gurion toward a lone pillar amidst the ruins.

"Come on, don't just back away! Fight back!" Ulrich barked as he suddenly lunged forward, crossing his swords in front of him before swinging them outward in a powerful cross slash.

The twin blades carved through the air and struck the stone pillar, sending chunks of shattered rock flying. But instead of the impact he expected, Ulrich found himself slashing at empty space.

"Huh?" His brow furrowed as he realized his mistake.

Before his swords could have reached their mark, Gurion had already used the pillar as a launching point, planting his foot against the crumbling stone and springing off of it. He soared over Ulrich's head, landing just behind him with fluid grace.

"Got you!" Gurion's voice rang out as he coiled his right leg, muscles tensing like a compressed spring before he unleashed a devastating kick.

Ulrich spun fast—faster than most would have managed—but not fast enough. He barely managed to raise his elbow in time to take the brunt of the blow, but the sheer force behind it sent him hurtling backward. His back crashed against the very pillar he had just struck, the weakened stone giving way under the impact. Cracks raced up its surface before the entire structure collapsed, burying him beneath a cascade of rubble as Gurion leaped back out of the way.

A wave of cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Looks like the enigmatic martial artist landed the first clean blow and buried the Bandit Lord under rubble! Is that it for the criminal who's been terrorizing Aetheria for a decade?" Quincy's voice rang out over the arena.

In the fighters' waiting area, the competitors watching from behind the viewing windows shared their thoughts.

"His swordsmanship wasn't bad, but I wouldn't call it good either," Zeva remarked, arms crossed.

"It could definitely use some work," Calvinel added with a chuckle. "Not that I want a criminal to become a better fighter."

Bryanard, however, kept his eyes on Gurion. "The young man with fox ears… he's trained himself well."

"How can you tell that he's self-taught?" Even asked, glancing at him.

Bryanard exhaled. "The way he fights. How do I put it… refined, in the most unrefined way possible. Like someone who has spent their life training, but never had a proper master to guide them."

The others nodded at the observation.

Xain, leaning against the window, hummed in thought. "By the way, do any of you actually think Ulrich lost?"

No one needed to answer.

Back in the arena, Gurion stood over the rubble, panting lightly as dust settled around him. His sharp eyes stayed locked on the pile of stone.

"Ugh… goddess damn."

The sound of shifting rock snapped Gurion's attention downward just in time to see Ulrich push himself free from the wreckage. The Bandit Lord coughed, shaking dust from his hair as he climbed to his feet. "I thought I was going to suffocate under there for a second!" he grumbled, brushing off his clothes before reaching down and pulling his swords free from the debris.

"Looks like the Bandit Lord isn't down for the count yet!" Quincy announced, the crowd roaring once more. "But he looks pretty beat up—will he be able to win in this state?"

In the stands, the leader of the Stormclaws leaned forward, scowling. "I knew you weren't going to go down that easy," he muttered. His fists clenched as he glared at the man in the arena. "Show them already, you bastard. Show everyone the tricks you used to defeat me."

Ulrich rolled his shoulders, shaking off the last of the dust before his eyes locked onto Gurion.

"I'll admit it, man. You're good—way better than I was expecting from a no-name like you." His smirk widened. "So… sorry, but I'm gonna have to get really serious for this one."

"I welcome it," Gurion replied before lunging forward again.

Ulrich shifted, drawing both swords back as if preparing for a forward stab. Gurion's mind instantly calculated a counter. *His swordsmanship isn't that good. I can—*

His thoughts cut off as his eyes widened.

Ulrich suddenly let his weapons drop. His hands darted behind his sash, grabbing two fistfuls of something before whipping them forward.

A sharp sting burned across Gurion's face as he instinctively recoiled, his hands flying up to shield his eyes. "Ugh!" He clenched his teeth, barely able to process the pain as tiny, jagged shards dug into his skin.

It wasn't sand.

It was crushed glass.

"Sorry," Ulrich's voice rang out. "Like I said—I'm going really serious now!"

Before Gurion could react, Ulrich loaded his fist back and launched a vicious uppercut. His knuckles slammed into Gurion's jaw with brutal force, sending him flying backward.

"I'm winning this!"