Will of the Battlefield

Chapter 65: Realization

The Drevlornian noble was in mid-air, and almost everyone wanted him to fall outside the line.

But Donovan Young refused to fall.

The moment Thane’s punch launched him backward, the Drevlorn noble twisted in mid-air.

His boots scraped against the stone. A screech echoed throughout the arena along his gliding path.

The white boundary line came closer and closer.

Luckily, for him, he managed to halt his momentum, barely.

Donovan planted one foot, then the other.

His body lurched violently, but somehow he remained inside the fighting circle.

The crowd erupted. Many had believed the match was already over.

Donovan himself spat blood onto the stone. His stomach felt as though a warhorse had kicked through it.

Pain radiated through every nerve. Yet he stood, straightening his aching body, his body screaming to give out at any moment.

The Drevlorn noble forced his back upright. His breathing had become ragged after the punch.

He took small, slow breaths, trying to force his condition to stabilize, and slowly but surely, it did.

A long inhale, followed by a slow exhale.

Years of brutal training returned. His father had never been merciful. The Young family did not raise weak men.

Donovan had been beaten, broken, and forced to stand again and again.

Pain was familiar, and it was expected. For him, pain was merely another opponent. That was where his arrogance came from.

The crowd gradually quieted. Even those who disliked him could not help respecting his endurance.

Across the battlefield, Thane uttered, "You are tough. It felt like I hit a wall." He unclenched his fist, curling his fingers into a fist repeatedly.

The giant wiped blood from his nose. "Let’s see how much you can endure."

Donovan answered by rushing forward, the stone slipping beneath his feet.

This time, there were no words, only action. freёwebnoѵel.com

The distance vanished as a fist crashed into Thane’s jaw.

The giant answered immediately. His own punch slammed into Donovan’s ribs.

The exchange began, and neither man stepped back.

The crowd watched in stunned fascination. There were no elaborate techniques.

No graceful swordsmanship, no clever feints.

Only two powerful young men standing in front of one another and trading blows. Their egos were at stake.

Punch exchanged with another punch.

Kick, elbow, hook, and knee. Donovan had a variety of hits; Thane only answered with his hammer-like fists.

He never practiced martial arts. He only knew punches and slamming throws.

Every strike carried enough force to make the audience wince.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed continuously across the arena.

Donovan struck faster. Thane struck harder.

Neither possessed any intention of retreating. A hook opened a cut above Thane’s brow.

Blood rolled down the giant’s face. Moments later, Thane’s fist smashed into Donovan’s cheek.

The Drevlorn noble staggered. A tooth flew from his mouth.

The crowd roared.

No matter how much technique and swordsmanship mattered, crowds still liked this style of combat more.

Where a fist smashed into a face, where bodies fought with brute, pure force and endurance.

Where rage turned into a form of combat and led into victory.

Back and forth. Again and again.

This duel ignited the raw human instinct, the desire for true strife.

The battle became less a duel and more a test of will.

Who would quit first?

Who would collapse first?

Who possessed the greater determination?

Minutes passed. The fighters began to resemble battered veterans rather than academy aspirants.

Thane’s nose bled freely. A bruise darkened half his face, and the cut on his brow turned his vision red.

Donovan looked worse, much worse.

Blood dripped from his nose. Cuts lined his cheeks.

His left eyebrow had split open. One eye had begun swelling shut.

Yet the Drevlornian noble continued fighting through gritted teeth.

Refusing to yield. Refusing to bend.

Far away, Etno watched silently. The Krynovan swordsman narrowed his eyes.

He had expected strength from both, but had not expected this level of stubbornness.

"They’re both insane," one of his teammates muttered.

Etno did not disagree.

Back in the ring, another exchange shook the arena.

Donovan’s fist connected first, a perfect strike.

Thane’s head snapped sideways. For the first time, the giant visibly staggered.

The crowd gasped. Donovan saw it as an opportunity.

He gathered every ounce of strength remaining in his body.

Then attacked, another punch and another.

The giant absorbed them and then answered with one final punch.

A simple punch backed by impeccable power.

It crashed directly into Donovan’s chest. The impact echoed throughout the arena, stealing his breath away, forcing his lungs into recoil.

The Drevlorn noble froze, as if stunned by the attack.

Then his legs gave out. Donovan dropped to one knee.

The entire stadium fell silent. The arrogant noble struggled. He tried to rise but failed miserably.

His body simply refused. There was too much damage and exhaustion.

Too many blows. The fight was over, or so everyone thought.

Thane walked forward, breathing heavily... he placed one finger on the side of his nose, blowing blood off.

Too little blood compared to what covered his face. His baggy shirt was torn. Yet his eyes remained clear.

The giant grabbed Donovan by the hair. The Drevlorn noble tried to resist and stand, but there wasn’t any strength left in his body.

With a grunt, Thane lifted him, then threw him beyond the boundary line.

The crowd erupted. A deafening roar filled the arena.

Many spectators jumped from their seats. Others began chanting Thane’s name.

Yet strangely, Thane did not celebrate.

He frowned. His instincts told him something was wrong.

The giant looked around. The cheers continued.

But his eyes searched the arena. Then he found Rimon. The young man lay outside the boundary line, eliminated.

Thane blinked. "What?"

His gaze shifted to Sky.

The girl was fighting desperately, all alone.

The realization struck him instantly. While he and Donovan had been exchanging blows, the team battle had continued.

The other two Drevlorn candidates had not been idle.

They had been winning. Thane’s eyes widened. "Sky!"

At that exact moment, Donovan’s companions saw their leader fall.

Their expressions hardened. The hesitation vanished.

One attacked from the front, the other from the side.

Sky managed to block strikes, but she was exhausted and outmatched.

A kick struck her knee as she stumbled.

A sword followed, then another.

The final blow landed cleanly against her temple as Sky collapsed unconscious.

"No!" Thane moved.

The giant exploded forward, his feet felt heavy.

He crossed half the battlefield, but it was too late.

The referee’s voice rang out before he could reach her.

"Match concluded!"

The arena froze. Silence spread. The cheering stopped.

The referee raised his hand, his expression remained firm.

"Victory." A pause. "Team Donovan Young."

The words struck the crowd like a hammer. Disbelief appeared everywhere.

Some spectators immediately protested. Others looked confused.

After all, everyone had just watched Thane throw Donovan out of the arena.

Yet the rules were clear. The rules everyone seemed to forget in the heat of the moment.

If two members of a team were eliminated, the final member was automatically eliminated as well.

Rimon had fallen... so had Sky.

The result had already been decided. Thane stood beside Sky, who was unconscious.

His massive fists slowly clenched.

Not from anger or frustration, but from realization.

He had been so focused on defeating Donovan that he had forgotten something important.

This was not a duel. It was a team battle. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

And for the first time since entering the academy trials, Thane had lost.