Rhett put up his buckler just in time to block Flint's staff, his expression behind the shield could be seen, and it showed one of determination.

Seeing that his opponent had blocked the attack, Flint slid the staff down the shield, spinning it in a sweeping motion, aimed at Rhett's feet.

Rhett reacted instantly, hopping back as the staff hit the ground, causing it to shake for a while. He countered with a forward bash, the buckler flashing a bit as he charged in.

Flint crossed his staff horizontally, absorbing the hit, but this time he was the one pushed back.

The crowd immediately reacted as they saw him get pushed back.

"That's it!" "The tasmanian devil finally met his match!" "Kick his angry ass Rhett!" "Don't give him a chance to recover!"

Unlike what the crowd was screaming, Rhett didn't press recklessly. He adjusted his stance, putting his golden transparent shield forward, his blade extended by his side.

Just as he had been taught.

Every step he took cut off any bit of opening he had left, forcing Flint to reposition instead of charging straight in.

"You're angry," Rhett said calmly as he kept his guard up, "that makes you predictable, friend."

Flint's grip around his staff tightened.

"Say that again," he replied flatly.

Rhett met his glare through the shield. "I said—"

He had tried saying that in good will, but again, the tasmanian devil wasn't a good listener... maybe a shield bash or two, to the head would fix that.

Flint disappeared again...no, rather than disappear, it was more accurate to say he launched himself forward insanely fast.

The stone beneath his feet cracked as a sharp boom echoed across the arena. One moment he was in front of Rhett, the next he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a distorted afterimage.

Rhett's eyes widened.

Too fast.

His instincts screamed and he twisted, immediately putting his shield up just as Flint reappeared at his flank, staff already mid-swing.

CLANG!

The impact rang out louder than before. Rhett was hurled sideways, his boots carving shallow grooves into the arena floor as he skidded several meters before regaining his balance.

The crowd roared.

"There it is!" "Fuck!" "Shoulda known he was holding back!" "my father's salary."

Flint didn't let up.

He was on Rhett again instantly, his staff came crashing down in a brutal overhead strike.

Rhett barely managed to catch it, his knees bending under the force as his shield glowed even brighter, trying to hold on.

"You talk too much," Flint growled, "besides, if I was angry, you'd know."

Yeah, he definitely was angry despite his words, but maybe he was actually holding back a bit.

Rhett grit his teeth and tilted his shield to the side, redirecting the blow just enough to roll aside as the staff smashed into the stone where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.

Taking advantage of Flint's sudden unbalance, Rhett thrust his sword forward, hoping to at least force Flint back, and it worked.

Flint created a bit of distance between the two of them as he placed his staff on his shoulder, waiting for Rhett to recover.

This fight had been fun, but he had a feeling that it would get even better if he didn't end it so soon.

And he was right.

Rhett stood up, frowned a bit before sighing and tapping on the chest area of his combat suit.

The moment he did, a golden glow covered him and when it faded, Rhett was now covered by a glowing translucent golden armor.

The armor was a complete Knight's armor, with a helmet that acted as a guard for his head.

Rhetts shield was gone, but his thin sword was a lot bigger now, with a layer of golden light encasing it.

Everyone, including Flint was amazed at the sudden transformation as Rhett fully turned towards him.

"This is my family's technique," Rhett explained, "the golden knight."

"The golden Knight?" Cass, in the stands, muttered with a small frown.

Again, he had done complete research on every single person taking part in this tournament, so of course he knew about the Vale clan's technique, but what he didn't expect was the fact that Rhett could use it.

According to the information he got, Rhett, just like him, was considered a talentless failure.

But unlike him, Rhett wasn't talented in any other field, so he stuck with the sword, practicing day and night, barely promoting it second year and doing everything to prove his family wrong, yet, he was still considered a failure.

Hence, the reason none of the Vales were present during this tournament, even though Rhett had personally written a request for at least one to be here.

So how was someone who was considered a failure, using a technique only geniuses of the clan could use.

The answer was pretty simple.

Hard work.

Unlike most, Rhett had tried until his muscles stopped responding, for weeks. He hadn't known a day of break.

He trained until his hands bled and his vision blurred.

He trained when his core threatened to explode and when it refused to allow him anymore SE.

He trained when instructors told him to stop wasting his time, when his family told him to lower his expectations, when his own body screamed that it had reached its limit.

And then he trained some more.

The Golden Knight wasn't meant for someone like him.

It demanded absurd control over SE flow, flawless synchronization between body and core, and a tolerance for strain that shattered most users before they could even stabilize the armor.

Geniuses could activate it instinctively.

Rhett couldn't.

So he forced it.

Piece by piece, armor plate by armor plate, until he completed its full form. He wanted his family here to see his achievement, he wanted them to see that he was not a failure.

And yet, none were here to celebrate his achievement.

But it was fine, he would at least prove to himself that he wasn't a failure, by winning this fight.

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