Overwhelming Firepower

The waiting room was small, cold, and reeked of sweat and dried blood.

Lucen sat alone on a splintered bench, elbows resting on his knees, coat folded beside him. Somewhere outside, the crowd roared. Another fight had begun, or ended. There was no other person in the waiting room except him.

He closed his eyes for a moment. It was quiet here. Just a single mana lamp on the wall, the distant chants of gamblers, and his own breathing.

He flexed his fingers slowly. He started thinking about which character he could remember who was good at unarmed combat. It must be a character that he knew well enough that he would be able to perform his techniques.

’Still, I need to be careful, the last time I was too into it that I was almost consumed by the character’s personality.’

Lucen remembered the feeling of being overwritten. When he gave speeches using Acting Adept, it felt like he was simply wearing a role. But fighting, especially with someone else’s instincts, someone with real presence, was different. There, it was easy to lose track of who he was.

’As long as I keep myself steady, Acting Adept won’t overwrite me. I just need to be careful,

He smiled faintly.

’And in a way... Gaining pieces of cool personalities isn’t the worst thing. I did have a chuuni phase back in high school, after all.’

The thought made him chuckle under his breath.

Lucen exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and thought of the one persona that matched what this moment needed. Flashy. Fearless. Fights like a devil-may-care showman who treats battle like a stage.

Acting Adept was now in use.

In an instant, the air around him shifted. His stance loosened, one foot sliding forward with casual confidence. His shoulders squared with that familiar, cocky tilt. He flicked his head lightly to the side, as if tossing away the tension, and his expression curved into a devil-may-care smirk.

Lucen wasn’t just preparing to win. He was preparing to perform. Footsteps echoed outside the door. A guard called from beyond the iron gate.

”Lucen Thornefang! You’re up next!”

Lucen rose slowly, coat slung over his shoulder with one finger, the picture of relaxed menace. As he walked toward the gate, he twirled the coat once and slid it back on like a cloak before battle.

’Time to raise the curtain.’

***

Lucen stepped into the arena the noise hit him like a wave. Cheers, jeers, laughter, and the sound of coins being passed around.

Lucen’s coat fluttered behind him as he walked, a sleek black longcoat with deep crimson lining and silver-thorn embroidery curling around the cuffs like creeping vines. It wasn’t meant for battle. It was designed to be remembered.

This was what Lucen was practicing to sew before, but he failed, so he asked professionals. This was an early design for the uniform he planned for Thornefang to use.

”Tsk, it’s another noble brat.” One of the spectators in the lower seats spoke.

”Heh, this is the kind I like watching being broken down.”

The nobles and rich merchants wearing masks had a different reaction from those in the lower seats.

”Is that really the Iron Duke’s son?”

”I was expecting either a sickly boy like in the rumors, or a hard-a** like his father. But this guy looks like a c*cky b*stard.”

Even those close to Lucen were quite surprised by how Lucen carried himself.

”His demeanor changed again...” Sir Thalos mumbled to himself.

”Come on, little leader!” Mark shouted.

”I bet everything on you, so you better win!” Harlik shouted as well.

The opposite gate opened, and a man stepped out wearing light, sleeveless clothes that showed off his lean but honed frame. His body was built like a blade, no wasted bulk, only precision and purpose.

He moved with the casual readiness of a fighter who’d bled more times than he could count and stopped fearing pain long ago.

A strange crest was stitched into the side of his sash, unfamiliar, likely a remnant of a disbanded mercenary group.

He was bald, with a single thin scar running across his scalp and sharp black eyes that locked instantly onto Lucen. Even without aura or mana, the man radiated danger.

”Facing off against the Iron Duke’s son Lucen Thornefang in his debut match,” the announcer bellowed, ”is a long-time arena fighter, former mercenary, and veteran of thirty-four matches, Kard Medin, the Bonecutter!”

The crowd cheered. It wasn’t just some low-level thug facing the Iron Duke’s son but a true veteran of the arena. Kard walked towards Lucen with an intense glare.

”This isn’t the place for a noble brat like you to play around. You better surrender now, before I send you back to your father, broken.”

”You’re right,” Lucen said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. ”This isn’t the place for a noble brat like me.”

He took a casual step forward, coat swaying behind him.

”It’s stinky, it’s filthy... and my playdate?”

He gestured lazily at Kard and waved a hand in front of his nose, grimacing like he’d caught a bad whiff.

”Smells about the same. Looks even worse.”

Gasps and laughter broke out across the lower seats to those who heard what Lucen said. Kard did not respond and simply glared at Lucen, wanting to attack right this very moment. S

Seeing the two seemed about ready to strike at each other, the announcer raised both arms, silencing the crowd with a grin.

”Alright, you lot know the rules, but for the new blood, let’s make it clear!”

”No weapons. No mana. No aura. Just your fists, your feet, and whatever else you’ve got the guts to throw.” The announcer pointed at Lucen briefly.

”The fight ends when one man taps out, blacks out, or bleeds out.” He then glanced at Kard.

”No rounds. No breaks. No excuses.” The announcer then looked at the two fighters, and he brought down his hand in a chopping motion.

”Fight!”

***

The announcer’s hand dropped.

Kard was already moving. He dashed towards Lucen and punched with a fast, precise jab aimed at Lucen’s throat.

Lucen didn’t flinch. He leaned just enough for the punch to pass by, barely grazing a strand of his hair. He blinked lazily.

”Geez, you’re already going for the kill? You must be fun at parties.”

Kard followed up immediately, an elbow aiming for Lucen’s ribs.

Lucen twisted his hips, coat fluttering dramatically as he stepped aside. He didn’t dodge far, not because he couldn’t, but to make a point, and then flick. Lucen casually flicked Kard’s forehead with two fingers.

Kard’s head jolted slightly. The crowd gasped. Lucen stepped back with a grin, shaking his hand.

”Oof. Tough skull. You sure there’s anything left inside?”

Lucen’s voice wasn’t too loud, but it was loud enough for some people to hear. Laughter rippled through the stands.

Kard said nothing. His glare was sharper than his strikes. He lashed out with a knee.

Lucen caught the motion early due to his skill battle instinct, and drifted sideways, slipping past it with ease. As he did, he knocked the back of Kard’s head lightly with the back of his knuckles.

Not a strike. Just an insult, ”boop,” Lucen said playfully.

Kard spun, fury rising, and swept his leg in a low arc meant to take Lucen’s legs out from under him. Lucen jumped lightly, coat trailing like a black flare, and landed in a crouch on one foot.

He gave a theatrical bow toward the crowd.

”Elegant attempt. But I’ve danced with much prettier ladies who had better timing.” The laughter got louder.

***

Humiliation boiled in Kard’s chest. Precision gave way to brute rage. He rushed in, fists flying in sharp, vicious arcs.

One aimed for Lucen’s cheek. Lucen tilted his head to the side, the punch skimming past his jaw.

Another strike came fast toward his gut. Lucen leaned back, just enough for the punch to miss, then flowed into a sideways step as if he were skating.

He let the momentum carry him behind Kard’s guard and gave him a light pat on the shoulder.

”Almost had me there. Come on, keep on trying. You can do it, I believe in you.”

Kard roared and raised both arms for a crushing overhead hammer blow. Lucen waited until the last second.

Then he vanished sideways, a blur of black and crimson, and brought his heel down, hard, on the side of Kard’s calf.

Kard staggered. Lucen casually circled him, never breaking stride.

”Sorry about that,” Lucen said lightly, circling Kard. ”You’re leaving so many openings, it’s like you want me to do it, but I’m still cheering you on.”

Kard turned fast, throwing a straight punch out of reflex. Lucen caught it, not with strength, but with motion. He let the momentum pass him, twisted his body, and redirected it harmlessly past him.

Then, with a grin, he brought his fist up from below in a sharp, clean uppercut.

Crack.

Kard’s head snapped back. He stumbled two steps. Lucen let the moment breathe. He cracked his knuckles.

”Okay. I think I’m warmed up now.”

Kard looked like he was going to continue as he took a shaky step forward, fist twitching, then his knees gave out beneath him. He collapsed, face-first, with a dull thud.

”Oh, is it nap time already?” Lucen spoke while looking at his fallen opponent.

The entire arena froze for a heartbeat. Then the announcer raised her voice, breaking the silence with disbelief barely masked.

”T-The winner is... Lucen Thornehart!”

Hearing the announcement, the audience in the lower seats cheered, while the noble and rich merchants were still in awe of what they had witnessed.