Agamemnon’s smile faltered, but only slightly. He raised a hand, and the murmuring died down. His sharp eyes locked onto Poyraz, a glint of amusement and challenge returning to his gaze.

  "Impressive," Agamemnon admitted, his voice carrying an edge. "But one victory does not prove your worth. Who else will challenge the Champion?"

  This time, no one came forward. Even though the glory of challenging the champion and making him draw his weapon was great, no one dared. Agamemnon's gaze swept across his army, lingering on each soldier, his raised hand still commanding silence.

  Agamemnon let out a low chuckle, his grin returning but lacking its former warmth. "It seems fear outweighs ambition among you. How disappointing." His words hung like a taunt, daring someone to prove him wrong. Yet the army remained still, save for the occasional uncomfortable shuffle or quiet murmur.

  Poyraz extended his arm towards Agamemnon.

  “Why don’t you lead them by example, Agamemnon?”

  Agamemnon's grin froze for a moment, the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his irritation. A murmur rippled through the ranks, soldiers exchanging wide-eyed glances. No one had ever dared speak to Agamemnon that way—maybe except the Queen of Amazons herself.

  The warlord's hand slowly lowered, and he took a single step forward, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over the field. His piercing gaze bore into Poyraz, amusement replaced by a calculating sharpness.

  “Are you challenging me, Champion?”

  Agamemnon said, his voice low, almost a growl. Poyraz remained unmoved, his stance unyielding, his hand still extended.

  “No. Don’t get one thing wrong, King. You were the one who came to me. You are the challenger.”

  Gasps echoed through the ranks like the crackle of a fire. Agamemnon’s soldiers visibly tensed, unsure whether to step back or brace for the storm brewing before them. Agamemnon’s expression darkened, his ever-confident smirk replaced by a shadow of anger. His gauntleted hand flexed, as if itching to thrust the spear he grasped.

  “So bold,” Agamemnon said, his voice measured but venomous.

  "Boldness without strength is merely folly," Agamemnon continued, his words deliberate and biting. "Do you truly believe yourself worthy to stand before me? To even speak such words in my presence? I am the king of Gargareans! Among thousands of brave and powerful men, I stand on the top!”

  Poyraz met his gaze unflinchingly.

  “Yet none of those brave and powerful men came forward to challenge me, King.”

  The subtle emphasis on the title was enough to twist the tension tighter. Agamemnon’s grip on his spear tightened until the metal of his gauntlet creaked audibly. The air between them felt as if it might shatter under the weight of their clashing wills.

  "Then let me grant you clarity," Agamemnon declared. With a swift motion, he planted his massive spear into the ground. The earth trembled under the impact, and the reverberation silenced even the murmurs among the soldiers. He stepped forward, his armor glinting under the sun like a living storm of gold and crimson.

  "Soldiers, witness!" he bellowed, his voice carrying across the field. "This insolent champion has dared to defy your King. He claims strength, but strength must be proven. Watch as I remind him—and all of you—what it means to stand before Agamemnon."

  The soldiers roared their approval. Behind Poyraz, Aurora whispered to Artemeni.

  “Can Champion really defeat him without taking too much damage? If things go sour we may have to take on the entire army. I don’t think Agamemnon would take being defeated very well.”

  Artemeni narrowed her eyes, her hand gripping her halberd tightly.

  “If he uses Arena of the Warlord King things could get difficult. Even Queen herself was troubled by it.”

  Aurora's jaw tightened when she heard Artemeni’s answer. She sharply turned to Nyxara.

  “I hope you realize that Champion is doing this for you.”

  Nyxara’s eyes shimmered, reflecting a thousand swirling stars within her gaze as she turned to Aurora. A quiet but determined smile played at the corners of her lips, but there was an undeniable sense of gravity in her voice.

  “I do. But he is not driven just for that. He has a purpose beyond this fight. He needs to put him in his place, isn’t he?”

  Aurora, though reassured by Nyxara's words, couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of unease. Thalia stepped between them, her eyes full of confusion.

  “What do you mean?”

  Aurora calmly sighed.

  “Champion is trying to stop Agamemnon from learning Nyxara’s identity. If he did, he would surely try to get his hands on her.”

  Thalia's expression darkened with realization as her gaze darted between Poyraz and Agamemnon.

  “Draw your weapon, Champion. Or you will die in one strike.”

  Agamemnon pulled his spear free from the ground. Poyraz snorted and took a boxing stance.

  “I’ll take yours after you are done with it.”

  Agamemnon’s brow furrowed, his pride bristling at the remark.

  “Foolish.”

  He said, raising his spear. The ornate weapon, carved with ancient runes and drenched in the blood of countless battles, seemed to hum with anticipation.

  "Then let this be a lesson in humility," the King snarled as he lunged forward, the spearhead aiming straight for Poyraz’s heart. He was fast, faster than a man of his size should be, faster than his man could follow him with their eyes.

  Yet, the strike didn’t touch Poyraz. He side-stepped the thrust, closing the distance and delivering a sharp, mana-infused jab to Agamemnon's chest. The blow resonated with a crack of energy, forcing the King back a step, though his golden armor absorbed most of the impact.

  The audience fell silent, stunned that Poyraz had dared to touch their king—and lived.

  Poyraz hopped in a place like a boxer and shot him a smug smirk. Agamemnon’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a snarl as he steadied himself. He touched his chest, where the impact had landed.

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  “Arrogance,” he muttered, his voice low but dripping with menace. “You’ll regret that.”

  The warlord king shifted his stance, grabbing his spear with both his hands. With an earth-shaking step, he approached Poyraz, releasing a flurry of spear jabs. Poyraz ducked and weaved between strikes, avoiding each of them with no inches to spare.

  Agamemnon growled with anger, swinging his spear in a wide arc to disrupt Poyraz’s stance. He avoided it by leaning so far back that his back was parallel to the ground. Poyraz’s movements were almost unnatural, his agility defying the expectations of even the most seasoned warriors in the crowd. Agamemnon continued his assault, his attacks deliberate to cut Poyraz’s escape routes. But even then he couldn’t catch the Champion. Poyraz’s lean backward dodge turned into a fluid roll, and he sprang back to his feet, fists raised, an unrelenting grin on his face.

  Agamemnon, undeterred by his missed attacks, planted his spear into the ground, releasing a shockwave that spread in every direction. The ground cracked and dust erupted, swallowing the battlefield in a cloud of debris. The soldiers held their breaths, straining to see through the chaos. When the dust settled, their king stood tall, spear embedded deep into the shattered earth—but Poyraz was gone.

  "Behind you," came the taunting voice.

  Agamemnon whirled around, just in time to see Poyraz dart in and drive a mana-infused uppercut into his jaw. The blow rang out like a thunderclap, forcing the king to stagger back. His soldiers gasped, the sight of their king being struck twice igniting unease in their ranks.

  Agamemnon wiped his mouth, his golden gauntlet coming away with a smear of blood. His expression twisted into one of unrestrained fury. "Enough of these games!" he roared, his voice shaking the air. The runes on his spear flared to life, crimson and gold intertwining like a storm of fire and fury.

  The aura around Agamemnon intensified, radiating a pressure so immense that even seasoned warriors in the crowd found themselves struggling to stand.

  Artemeni cursed under her breath, gripping her halberd. "He is activating it! Arena of the Warlord King!”

  The very ground seemed to bow beneath him as the Arena of the Warlord King took shape. A dome of shimmering gold and red energy enveloped the battlefield, isolating Poyraz and Agamemnon from the rest of the world.

  Poyraz looked around. Even though the surroundings haven’t changed, he could feel the space changing. He could also feel Agamemnon getting stronger and notifications popping in his vision.

  (You resisted Sovereign's Pressure.)

  (You resisted Psychological Confinement.)

  Nyxara tilted her head outside.

  “Hm. A Sanctuary skill. That is the least descendant of Valiera could do.”

  Artemeni turned towards her with a surprised look on her face.

  “You knew the first queen? But that’s not the time now. Can you see any kind of weakness in the space, Herald?”

  Nyxara’s eyes narrowed, a subtle shimmer flickering in her gaze as she observed the scene unfolding within the arena. The space around Agamemnon seemed to warp under the immense pressure of his arena, but it was more than just an environmental manipulation.

  “None Darling can use.”

  Nyxara replied to Artemeni, her voice calm despite the intensity of the moment.

  “The best way to fight against a Sanctuary skill is with your own.”

  She turned her gaze to G?kb?rü.

  “Can’t you share your's pup? Looks like you have one.”

  G?kb?rü’s ears perked up as Nyxara’s words reached him, his sapphire eyes gleaming with an understanding beyond his years. Then she let out a weak, almost embarrassed bark.

  “I see. It’s not that strong now.”

  Thalia tugged on Artemeni’s cape to get her attention.

  “You witnessed the fight between him and Queen, right? How did Queen managed to counter it?”

  Artemeni’s eyes grew distant as she thought back to the encounter between the Queen and Agamemnon, the echoes of that battle still fresh in her mind.

  “She outlasted it. At that time Agamemnon could keep up his skill for 5 minutes. Queen managed to stall until the skill collapsed.”

  Aurora clicked her tongue.

  “It is easier to say than done.”

  Artemeni solemnly nodded her head.

  “That’s right. That skill not only increases his stats, eliminates the stamina and cooldown, and increases the Power stat of his weapons but also decreases the enemy’s stats and willpower.”

  Inside, the ground beneath Poyraz's feet seemed to shift with every breath, as though the earth itself had become part of Agamemnon’s will. He could feel the weight of the atmosphere pressing in on him, a force meant to crush his spirit as much as his body.

  “You seemed to be in a lot of trouble, Darling.”

  A telephatic message rang in his head.

  “Yes. I wonder whose fault is it, Nyxara.”

  Poyraz answered in his mind as he dodged mana beams aiming for him, the laughter of Agamemnon filling his ears.

  “What if I told you I have a weapon you could show him?”

  Poyraz’s eyes narrowed, his body already reacting instinctively to the barrage of mana beams that shot toward him from Agamemnon’s spear. He dodged with fluid precision, feeling the crackling energy buzz past him. Agamemnon’s laughter echoed around the arena, the sound reverberating off the shimmering walls of his skill's domain.

  “You are fast, Champion,” Agamemnon’s voice rang out, rich with mockery. “But you cannot run forever. This arena is my domain. Here, you will be tested beyond your limits.”

  A pulse of golden light surged from Agamemnon’s spear, followed by another wave of mana beams. They cut through the air with deadly precision, converging on Poyraz’s location. He swayed, sidestepping one, ducking under another, but the third beam grazed his shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through his body.

  “You see?” Agamemnon’s voice grew louder, his confidence swelling with every passing moment. “Your will is breaking already. You’re not prepared to fight me in this domain.”

  Poyraz sighed. Even if Nyxara had some kind of divine weapon, showing it Agamemnon was half admitting defeat. He talked all that shit, after all.

  “No. There is no need.”

  He gritted his teeth and straightened his back.

  “Okay. I’ll admit it, Agamemnon. You are not an opponent I could defeat without any weapon.”

  He manifested Luminous Willblade and blocked a mana beam.

  “But you are still a thousand years too young to make me draw that weapon.”