Conclusion: Unexpected

Amidst the chaos, Libert's mind raced with a cacophony of thoughts and emotions. The weight of his family's legacy hung heavily upon him, and he couldn't bear to let them down.

The taste of fear lingered on his tongue as he struggled to catch his breath, feeling the burning ache in his chest.

Benedict's menacing sneer seemed to fuel the fire within Libert. He refused to be beaten so easily. As the crowd gasped and whispered in shock, Libert's determination grew.

He had to find a way to turn the tide in his favor, to prove that lineage wasn't the only measure of strength.

With every punch that landed, Libert felt a newfound sense of resolve. He would not back down, no matter how dire the situation seemed.

This was a battle not just for survival, but to challenge the narrow-minded beliefs of the world that equated worth with ancestry.

Summoning all his willpower, Libert waited for the opportune moment. As Benedict prepared to summon a portal once more, Libert seized the chance.

A gasp echoed through the stunned audience, and Benedict staggered backward, momentarily dazed.

Libert didn't hesitate; he launched himself into a series of agile movements, swiftly dodging Benedict's attempts to retaliate. With every dodge, he felt a renewed sense of determination.

The once-silent atmosphere erupted into a mix of cheers and murmurs. The underdog, Libert, was now putting up an impressive fight against the seemingly invincible Benedict.

The battlefield had transformed into a stage where courage and conviction challenged lineage and tradition.

Time seemed to slow down as Libert and Benedict engaged in a fierce dance of combat. Each move was calculated, every punch fueled by the fire burning within Libert's soul.

He no longer fought just for himself; he fought for all those who were underestimated and judged solely by their heritage.

The crowd's support provided a surge of energy that Libert drew upon. His body moved with an almost supernatural grace as if he was guided by an invisible force.

He could feel the rhythm of the battle, anticipating Benedict's moves before they even happened.

As the intense struggle continued, Libert's mind delved into memories of his ancestors, seeking strength from their spirits.

He channeled their knowledge and experiences, merging them with his determination. In that moment, he embodied the legacy of his family, embracing it as a source of power rather than a burden.

In a surprising twist of fate, Libert's relentless assault finally wore down Benedict's defenses.

With one last surge of strength, Libert delivered a powerful blow, knocking Benedict a few feet back. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, celebrating the triumph of the underdog.

"Haha".

The arena's hushed atmosphere thickened, suffocating in a quiet tension, as Benedict's laughter cut through the air, devoid of any warmth or emotion.

In that chilling moment, hope abandoned Libert, replaced by an ominous realization.

A sudden, searing pain surged through Libert's knuckles, freezing him in a state of paralyzing fear. Attempting to retract his fist, he found himself ensnared, ensnared in a nightmare spawned by Benedict's icy mirth.

Benedict's sapphire eyes, once indifferent, now blazed with raw anger as he disdainfully revealed, "Didn't think I would use this against a commoner."

The words dripped hostility, punctuating the shift in the unfolding drama.

"S-sorry..." Libert stammered fear etched on his face, each retreating step echoing regret.

Before he could comprehend the gravity of his predicament, otherworldly vortexes materialized, casting an eerie hue over the arena.

Gasps swept through the battlefield as supernatural energies danced, leaving Libert bewildered, his frantic gaze attempting to decipher the impending chaos.

Abruptly, metal chains emerged from the portals, hurtling towards Libert with unnatural speed.

A cacophony of thoughts raced through Libert's mind. "What the hell is happening?" he pondered as the chains coiled around him, their rough, heated metal amplifying the excruciating pain.

From an aerial perspective, he resembled a trapped insect ensnared in a web of merciless chains.

Benedict's braided white hair aglow with a magnificent radiance as he erupted in wrath, exclaiming, "Sinclair Lineage Art Number 20, Webkeep!" The words echoed with an intensity that seemed to harness the very essence of ancient power.

Murmurs of disbelief echoed through the onlookers. "Is that a lineage art?" they questioned, the forbidden nature of such power magnifying the shock. Suspended in the air, Libert became Benedict's prey, a spectacle of power and brutality.

As Benedict approached, a cold aura enveloped him. "This is goodbye," he declared, his fist delivering a final blow to Libert's liver.

Pain surged through Libert, from liver to cranium, as the crowd erupted in a fervor, witnessing the emergence of a victor.

"Sh*t..." Libert muttered, his consciousness slipping away amidst the chaos, leaving him to confront the impending darkness.

Groaning in pain as consciousness reclaimed him, Libert's eyes widened with the harsh reality of his predicament. "...sh*t, how am I going to survive?"

His anxiety-laden realization painted a bleak picture—returning to a cage with no escape. But for a moment, he set aside his restless thoughts, taking in the surroundings.

The state-of-the-art infirmary cradled him in sterile brilliance, its walls adorned with holographic displays of vital signs. Healing pods hummed with advanced medical technology, a testament to the strides humanity had made.

The atmosphere shifted with a soft hiss as a door slid open. Into the room glided a nurse, an embodiment of composure with kind eyes framed by the subtle lines of experience.

Her crisp white scrubs marked her as a beacon of compassion. Every step she took radiated both professionalism and warmth.

"We've injected nanobots; you'll fully recover in a matter of hours," the soft-spoken nurse assured, holding a clipboard in her left hand.

Anxiety trembled in Libert's voice as he asked, silver pendant clenched tightly, "A-are the costs c-covered?" Even in this dire situation, thoughts of repercussions consumed him.

"I've got it covered," another hiss of the door announced a delicate yet familiar voice entering the atmosphere.