Chapter 99: Fall

The man in black came forward again, his fists raised, and Dean met him in the middle of the arena. Their next exchange was nothing like the earlier fights. The man's movements were simple, almost plain, but every punch carried enough force to make Dean's spear shake in his hands. Dean blocked one, slipped past another, and drove the shaft toward his ribs, only for the man to catch it with one hand and pull Dean forward.

Dean released the spear.

The man stumbled when he expected resistance, and Dean stepped inside his guard. His elbow struck the man's jaw, followed by a knee to the stomach. The fighter staggered, but instead of falling, he grabbed Dean's shoulder and threw him across the arena. Dean landed on his feet, sliding several meters through the sand before stopping himself.

The crowd cheered.

"Good!" someone shouted from the upper seats.

Dean glanced toward the voice before the man attacked again. He ducked beneath a punch, swept his leg behind the fighter's ankle, and sent him down. The man rolled away and immediately sprang back up.

"You're difficult," he said.

Dean picked up his spear. "You're not exactly easy either."

The man smiled. "Then let's finish it."

He rushed forward.

Dean waited until the last moment, then turned his body and struck the man's chest with the spear. The impact lifted him from the ground and sent him skidding across the sand. He tried to rise, failed, and finally remained still.

The announcer lifted his staff.

"And Decanus wins!"

The cheers returned, but Dean barely heard them. He was breathing harder now. The tournament had stopped feeling like a collection of separate fights and started feeling like one long battle. Every opponent was stronger than the last, and every victory left another small ache somewhere in his body.

He had barely lowered his spear when the next gate opened.

A woman walked through wearing a long crimson coat, a curved sword resting at her hip. She had no visible armor, and there was nothing particularly threatening about her appearance, yet the arena quieted when she entered.

Dean noticed immediately.

This was someone the crowd respected.

The announcer spoke her name with considerably more weight than before.

"Next match! Decanus versus Lady Vaela!"

Vaela drew her sword.

"I've watched you since the beginning."

Dean sighed. "Another one."

She smiled. "Don't misunderstand. I wasn't waiting for you because I thought you were special. I was waiting because I wanted to know whether the rumors were true."

"And?"

"We'll find out."

The bell rang.

Vaela disappeared.

Dean barely blocked her first strike. The second came from the opposite side, forcing him to twist around it, and the third cut across his sleeve. Dean stepped backward as Vaela continued attacking without giving him a moment to breathe.

Her swordsmanship was elegant and extremely fast.

Dean blocked, redirected, and countered, but she avoided every opening. Unlike the previous fighters, she wasn't trying to overpower him. She was reading him, waiting for him to make a mistake.

Then she changed her rhythm.

Dean's spear moved toward her shoulder, expecting her to retreat.

She stepped forward instead.

Her sword stopped against his throat.

The arena gasped.

Dean stared at the blade.

Vaela smiled. "Got you."

Dean looked down at the sword and then back at her.

"Almost."

His hand released the spear.

Vaela's eyes widened.

Dean grabbed her wrist, pulled her forward, and drove his shoulder into her chest. Her sword flew from her hand. Before she could recover, Dean caught the spear again and swept her legs out from beneath her.

She hit the sand.

Dean stopped the spear beside her throat.

Vaela laughed quietly.

"I suppose the rumors were true."

"I guess so."

"I surrender."

"And Decanus wins!"

The crowd erupted.

Dean stepped away, but he noticed something strange. Nobody seemed surprised anymore. There were no shocked cries, no disbelief, no questions about how he had won. The spectators simply cheered as though this was exactly what they had expected.

Decanus entered.

Decanus fought.

Decanus won.

The name had become almost synonymous with victory.

Another gate opened.

This time, a massive stone-skinned creature entered carrying a hammer in both hands. It was even larger than Gorran, with glowing cracks running across its arms and chest.

Dean stared at it.

"Seriously?"

The creature laughed.

"Don't worry, Decanus. I won't break as easily as the others."

The bell rang.

The hammer came down.

Dean jumped aside.

The ground exploded.

Before the creature could lift its weapon, Dean thrust his spear into its chest. The creature barely moved. It swung again, and Dean blocked, but the force drove him several meters backward.

He looked at his hands.

They were shaking.

The creature grinned.

"Now you're getting it."

Dean smiled.

"Yeah."

He rushed forward.

The creature swung.

Dean ducked.

The hammer passed over his head, and Dean drove his spear into the creature's knee. It dropped slightly, giving Dean an opening. He struck its ribs, then its jaw, then the center of its chest.

The creature staggered but remained standing.

Dean stepped back.

The creature roared and charged.

Dean waited.

At the final moment, he planted the butt of his spear into the ground, vaulted over the hammer, and landed behind it. He spun and struck the back of its head.

The creature collapsed face-first into the sand.

The arena shook.

"And Decanus wins!"

Dean stood over the fallen warrior and shook his head.

"That one was annoying."

The next fighter was already entering.

An angel this time, but unlike Seraphine, this one wore black armor beneath his white wings. A golden halo floated behind his head, cracked down the middle, and he carried a sword made of condensed light.

"Decanus."

Dean raised his spear.

"Angel."

The angel smiled. "You know what I am?"

"You have wings."

"Fair enough."

The bell rang.

The angel vanished in a flash of light.

Dean barely avoided the first strike. The second cut through the air where his neck had been, while the third forced him onto one knee. Dean rolled away as another slash tore into the sand.

The angel flew above him.

Dean looked up.

The sword of light came down.

Dean crossed his spear over his head.

The impact drove him into the ground.

For a moment, the angel had him pinned.

"Yield, Decanus."

Dean laughed.

"Not happening."

Holy energy surged through his body.

Dean pushed upward, throwing the angel into the air. He jumped after him and struck him across the chest, sending the angel spinning before he crashed into the arena floor.

The angel tried to stand.

Dean landed beside him.

The spear pointed toward his chest.

The angel looked at it, then laughed.

"I surrender."

"And Decanus wins!"

The audience roared.

Dean looked around the arena.

The tournament had been going for what felt like hours. His body was tired, his wounds were beginning to sting, and sweat covered his face, but the crowd hadn't lost interest.

If anything, they were becoming more invested.

He could still hear his name.

"Decanus!"

"Decanus!"

"Decanus!"

Then someone shouted from the highest section.

"How far can he go?"

Another voice answered.

"Until someone finally stops him."

Dean looked up.

He couldn't see who had spoken.

He wondered again who had told all these people that he would be here.

Someone had known.

Someone had expected him to enter this tournament.

And whoever that person was, they had been right.

Dean turned back toward the arena.

The next gate opened.

A demon stepped through.

This one was different from Varek and Razael. He was lean, almost slender, wearing a dark red coat and carrying a single black dagger. His horns were short, and his expression was relaxed.

He looked at Dean and smiled.

"Decanus."

Dean sighed.

"Let me guess. You've heard of me."

"Everyone has."

The demon drew his dagger.

"My name is Kael."

Dean raised his spear.

"Let's get this over with."

Kael laughed.

The bell rang.

He vanished.

Dean spun.

The dagger struck his spear.

Kael appeared behind him.

Dean turned.

Another strike.

Then another.

The demon was faster than anyone Dean had fought that day. Dean blocked, but Kael kept moving, attacking from every angle. A cut opened along Dean's cheek.

Dean touched the blood.

Kael smiled.

"Finally."

Dean looked at him.

"You wanted to hurt me?"

"I wanted to see if you could bleed."

Dean's smile slowly appeared.

"Congratulations."

He tightened his grip.

"You did."

Kael charged again.

This time Dean didn't wait.

He stepped into the attack.

The dagger pierced his shoulder.

Dean grabbed Kael's wrist.

The demon's eyes widened.

Dean drove his forehead into Kael's face, twisted his arm, and slammed him into the ground. Kael tried to escape, but Dean's spear stopped beside his head.

The demon froze.

Dean pulled the spear back.

"Enough?"

Kael stared at him.

Then he laughed.

"Enough."

"And Decanus wins!"

The crowd erupted so loudly that Dean almost couldn't hear the announcer.

Kael sat up slowly and rubbed his face.

"You're terrifying."

Dean looked toward the gates.

"I've been called worse."

Another gate opened.

Dean stared at it for several seconds before sighing.

"Of course."

The next opponent walked into the arena.

Then another.

The tournament wasn't slowing down.

Neither was Decanus.

One after another, they came.

A warrior with an enchanted axe. A sorcerer who filled half the arena with flames. A demon wielding twin black blades. A beastman whose body could regenerate from almost any wound. A human swordsman who had apparently never lost a duel before entering this dungeon.

Each of them was stronger than the opponents Dean had faced at the beginning. Each forced him to think, adapt, and spend more energy than the last.

But one by one, they fell.

"And Decanus wins!"

Another bell.

Another opponent.

"And Decanus wins!"

Another clash.

Another surrender.

"And Decanus wins!"

The words became almost rhythmic.

Dean would enter the next fight, exchange blows with an opponent who would have been terrifying to him only a short while ago, find the opening, and end the battle. Sometimes it took a minute. Sometimes several. Once, he spent nearly ten minutes fighting a swordsman who refused to stay down.

But the result never changed.

"And Decanus wins!"

By the time the final fighter of the sequence collapsed, Dean was standing in the center of the arena with his spear resting against his shoulder. He was exhausted now, genuinely exhausted, but he was still standing.

The crowd stood with him.

Nobody was asking who Decanus was anymore.

Nobody was wondering whether the rumors were true.

They knew.

The name echoed through the arena as though it belonged there.

"DECANUS!"

Dean looked toward the countless spectators.

For a brief moment, his eyes passed over the same faces that had been watching him from the beginning, the people who had apparently known he would come.

He still didn't know who had told them.

He still didn't know why.

But the thought remained in the back of his mind as the next gate slowly began to open.

Who the fuck is behind all this?

Dean tightened his grip on the spear.

Whatever the answer was, he would find out eventually.

For now, there was another opponent waiting.

Dean stepped forward.

The crowd roared.

And the tournament continued.