The moment the referee's hand dropped, the atmosphere shifted completely. Where moments before there had been casual entertainment, now there was only deadly seriousness. The weight of divine observation pressed down upon the arena like a physical force.

Rudy and Max stood facing each other, both seventeen-year-olds draped in the armor Leon had gifted them six years ago. The metal bore countless scratches and dents—a testament to years of daily training and sparring. Despite the wear, they wore it with pride—sacred gifts from their God, maintained with religious devotion even as the years had taken their toll.

Leon's ethereal gaze focused particularly on Rudy. He remembered the brave little boy who had stood up for his mother and accepted his mistake honestly, barely eleven years old when they'd first met. Now nearly a man, Rudy's frame had filled out considerably, muscles developed from years of training visible even beneath the armor. His grip on the great sword was steady, his stance practiced. Six years of growth, Leon observed, curious to see what the boy had become.

The first clash came swiftly and brutally. Rudy surged forward, his great sword cutting through the air with enough force to split stone. Whoosh! Max sidestepped smoothly, his twin blades deflecting the massive weapon's trajectory just enough to avoid the killing edge. Clang! The sound of metal against metal rang out across the arena, sharp and clear.

"Come on, Rudy!" someone shouted from the crowd.

A smaller group of young women countered with their own cheers. "Max! Show him your technique!" Their voices were fewer but no less passionate, clearly devoted fans of the dual-wielding fighter.

But for some reason, most of the people were cheering for Rudy.

The two combatants circled each other, testing with feints and probing strikes. Rudy's style was all power and determination; each swing of his great sword meant to end the fight decisively. Max, in contrast, moved like water—fluid, unpredictable, always seeking the perfect angle.

Another exchange—Rudy brought his sword down in a devastating overhead strike that Max caught between his crossed blades. Crash! For a moment, they strained against each other, muscles trembling with effort. Then Max twisted, using Rudy's own momentum to spin away while his left blade swept low.

Scrraape! Rudy barely managed to pull back, the tip of Max's sword scraping across his armor with a shower of sparks.

They separated, breathing hard, reassessing. The crowd had gone silent, everyone holding their breath as they watched the display unfold before their returned deity.

Then Max moved with sudden, explosive precision. His twin swords became a whirlwind of steel—shing! Shing! Swish! Striking from impossible angles in a sequence that seemed to defy logic. Left high, right low, both thrust forward, spin and slash—the pattern was mesmerizing and deadly. Rudy tried to keep up, his great sword moving in desperate defensive arcs, but it was like trying to block rain with a club.

The inevitable came swiftly. Max's blades found their openings—clang! One knocked Rudy's sword wide while the other swept his legs. Thud! The larger boy crashed to the ground with a thunderous clatter of armor, his great sword spinning away across the packed dirt with a heavy claaang. Before he could even think to rise, Max's twin blade tips were at his throat, and the fight was decisively ended.

Silence fell over the arena, but there was no shock in them. People had thought something different might happen today, but it was like always, which was the reason they cheered for Rudy—the boy who never won against Max like every other person, but was the only one who challenged him every day.

Rudy lay there on the ground, staring up at the sky, and felt something break inside him. Not once. Not a single time in six years had I managed to defeat Max. Every day, I tried—morning training, evening spars, and formal challenges—and every day, I failed.

But today… Today, their God was watching. Today, when it mattered most, when he could have proven his worth to the one who had saved them all, he had lost. Again.

The helplessness crushed down on him like a physical weight. His chest tightened, and he found it hard to breathe. Six years of training, six years of dedication, six years of pushing myself to my absolute limits—and still, I can't win. Not even once.

Max stepped back and offered his hand, but Rudy couldn't move. He just lay there in the dirt, armor covered in dust, feeling more lost and down than he had ever felt in his life. The cheers for Max from his group of admirers felt distant, muffled, as if coming from another world entirely.

He had failed. In front of his God, with everyone watching, he had failed completely.

Leon observed the fallen boy with an unreadable expression, noting the despair that radiated from Rudy's prone form. Beside him, Seraphine watched quietly, while James remained kneeling, trembling with barely contained fervor.

The arena held its breath, waiting to see what their deity would do.

Leon observed the scene with internal contemplation. The honest and brave boy he remembered—the one who had stood up despite his terror—had just been utterly defeated.

Rudy was strong, yes. Six years of training had transformed him from a malnourished child into a capable warrior. But in front of the boy named Max, he was simply no match.

Leon's gaze shifted to Max, and suddenly he saw something else entirely. Behind those dark eyes that appeared calm on the surface, Leon recognized something familiar—the same unfiltered hatred he had witnessed years ago when he had secretly observed the slums before revealing himself.

That broken and beaten boy who caught my interest back then, whose eyes burned with rage against the world that abandoned him. He's learned to hide it well, to mask it beneath skill and showmanship, but it's still there, simmering beneath the surface like magma beneath stone.

So that's what gives him his edge. That hatred drives him beyond normal limits.

His contemplation was interrupted as Rudy suddenly appeared before him, having dragged himself up from the arena floor. The boy's legs gave out immediately, and he collapsed to his knees in the dirt, his head bowed so low it nearly touched the ground. Thud.

"I'm sorry," Rudy gasped out, his voice thick with exhaustion and shame. "I'm sorry for showing you this pathetic side of me, God… I… I have failed you."

The words came out broken, desperate. Six years of devotion, six years of trying to become worthy of the God who had saved them, and this was what he had to show for it—defeat and weakness.

Leon regarded the broken boy for a moment, then raised his hand. Fwoooosh. Soft green light emanated from his palm as he channeled his life element, the healing energy flowing into Rudy's battered form. Bruises faded, exhaustion lifted, and strength returned to trembling muscles. Then, with a gentle manipulation of the wind element, Leon lifted Rudy to his feet, forcing the boy to stand despite his emotional turmoil.

Rudy swayed slightly, his face still bearing that lost, shaken expression. His eyes were unfocused, as if he couldn't quite process what was happening.

"Rudy," Leon spoke, his voice carrying that divine quality that demanded attention. "Strength isn't measured solely by victory. You fight with honor, with dedication, with the desire to surpass your limits with every swing of your sword. These qualities matter more than winning every battle."

The boy's eyes slowly focused on Leon's face, drinking in every word.

"Max fights with something else driving him," Leon continued, choosing his words carefully. "But your strength comes from a different source—from courage despite fear, from standing up even when you fall. You've grown remarkably in six years. The fact that you can stand against someone like Max at all is a testament to your progress."

Leon paused, letting the words sink in before delivering his final statement.

"You are qualified to enter the dungeon now."

The effect was instantaneous. Rudy's eyes widened in shock, the darkness that had consumed him shattering like glass. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment before his brain finally processed what he had just heard. The dungeon—the one where he can truly awaken power beyond mortal limit, the place where only the worthy were allowed to enter, decided by their God.

Without thinking, Rudy punched his own thigh, hard. Thwack! The pain shot through him, confirming this wasn't a dream. Tears began streaming down his face, but these were different from tears of despair—these were tears of overwhelming gratitude and joy.

"Thank you!" Rudy cried out, dropping to his knees again despite Leon having just raised him up. Thump! "Thank you, God! I… I won't disappoint you. I swear it. I'll train harder, I'll become stronger, I'll—"

His words tumbled over each other in his excitement, the previous despair completely forgotten. Around them, the crowd murmured in amazement. Whisper, whisper… gasp. To be declared worthy of the dungeon by their God himself—it was an honor beyond imagination.

Max watched from his position in the arena, his dark eyes unreadable as he observed the interaction. His grip on his twin swords tightened slightly—creak—though his expression remained carefully neutral.

James, still kneeling beside Leon, trembled with increased fervor. The mention of the dungeon had awakened something in him—perhaps the promise of somewhere he could finally unleash the violent tendencies he had been forced to suppress for six long years.

Seraphine observed it all with quiet interest, noting how skillfully Leon had transformed the boy's despair into renewed determination with just a few well-chosen words.

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