Graye stood like a tragic statue of chivalry, sword planted in the wreckage of the arena, armor glinting in the sun.
His aura wavered with uncertainty—but his voice was still steady.
"No!" He exclaimed, shaking his head so hard that his helmet almost flew off. "I can't admit defeat. My father once said—'A warrior may fall, but never surrenders!' If you want to win… you'll have to knock me unconscious!"
Raven's face twitched.
'Goddamn it,' he muttered mentally. 'Of course. Of course, it had to be this way. He's one of those guys.'
The crowd was silent.
Somewhere in the background, some squirrels peeked out from under a bench, eyes gleaming with suspense.
Jessy chewed on jerky.
Clara facepalmed in exasperation.
Siris looked mildly interested.
Meanwhile, Raven stared at Graye as if he'd just been told the only way to win was to defeat friendship itself.