The night was winding down, and the ballroom had begun to settle into a comfortable hum. The music was softer now, the crowd more dispersed, but a buzz of excitement still lingered from Ari’s earlier exchange with Drelvar.

Unfortunately, it seemed Drelvar wasn’t content to let things rest.

“Ari.”

The smooth yet biting voice cut through the air, drawing attention as Drelvar stepped into the center of the ballroom. The light from the chandeliers gleamed off his polished boots and the hilt of the ornate sword strapped to his hip. His sharp blue eyes locked onto Ari, who was standing near the far wall with his companions.

“Not again,” Yuri muttered, narrowing her eyes.

Kimi’s serene smile tightened ever so slightly. “He just doesn’t know when to stop, does he?”

Finoria grinned, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face. “Well, this should be entertaining.”

Ari remained where he was, his expression calm as the room grew quiet. All eyes turned toward him as Drelvar spoke again.

“I’m not done with you,” Drelvar said, his voice carrying a challenge that was as much for the crowd as it was for Ari. “You think you can dismiss me like some common fool? Let’s see how you handle someone who fights back.”

The crowd murmured, the tension in the air palpable.

Ari stepped forward, his movements unhurried, as though the weight of the moment didn’t affect him at all. He stopped a few paces away from Drelvar, his dark eyes steady.

“You don’t want to do this,” Ari said simply, his voice calm but firm.

Drelvar smirked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Afraid I’ll show everyone you’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be?”

Ari tilted his head slightly. “No. I’m afraid you’ll embarrass yourself.”

The crowd let out a collective murmur at the blunt response.

Drelvar’s smirk faltered for a moment, but his hand tightened on his sword. “Draw your weapon, legend.”

“I don’t need a weapon,” Ari replied, his tone as steady as ever.

Drelvar blinked, confusion flashing across his face. “What?”

Ari gestured toward the empty space in the center of the ballroom. “If you insist on fighting, I’ll humor you. But I won’t need a sword. Or magic. Or anything else.”

The crowd gasped, and whispers spread like wildfire.

“Is he serious?”

“He’s not even going to use a weapon?”

“He doesn’t need one.”

Drelvar’s expression darkened, his pride clearly stung. “Fine,” he spat, drawing his sword with a flourish. The blade gleamed in the chandelier’s light, a testament to its craftsmanship. “Let’s see how long you last without one.”

The Fight Begins

Drelvar lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with practiced precision.

Ari didn’t flinch.

In one fluid motion, he sidestepped the attack, his body moving with the grace of someone who had mastered the art of combat long ago. Drelvar’s blade missed entirely, the momentum carrying him slightly off balance.

Before Drelvar could recover, Ari stepped closer, his movements swift and calculated. He struck with an open palm, a light tap against Drelvar’s wrist that sent the sword clattering to the ground.

The crowd gasped.

“What—” Drelvar stammered, his eyes wide as he stumbled back.

“You’re too aggressive,” Ari said, his tone as calm as if he were giving a lecture. “You overcommit to every strike. It leaves you open.”

Drelvar growled, regaining his footing and rushing forward again. This time, he threw a punch, his frustration clearly mounting.

Ari caught the punch effortlessly, his hand wrapping around Drelvar’s wrist. With a twist, he redirected the energy, spinning Drelvar off balance and sending him sprawling to the ground.

The room erupted in murmurs.

“Did you see that?”

“He didn’t even try!”

Drelvar scrambled to his feet, his face red with humiliation. He lunged again, this time with a flurry of wild punches and kicks.

Ari dodged each attack with minimal effort, his movements precise and deliberate. It was as if he could see every strike before it happened, stepping aside or shifting just enough to avoid contact.

“Slow,” Ari said, his voice devoid of mockery but still cutting.

Drelvar roared in frustration, throwing one final punch with all his strength.

Ari caught it mid-air.

The room fell silent as Ari held Drelvar’s fist in his grip, the difference in strength painfully obvious.

“You’re not ready,” Ari said quietly. With a simple push, he sent Drelvar stumbling back, his balance gone.

Drelvar fell to the floor, gasping for breath as the reality of his defeat sank in. The room was deathly quiet, all eyes on Ari as he turned away from Drelvar without a word.

The Aftermath

Yuri was the first to break the silence, letting out a low whistle. “Well, that was satisfying.”

Kimi smiled softly, her violet eyes glinting with amusement. “I almost feel bad for him.”

“Almost,” Finoria said, grinning as she moved closer to Ari. “You didn’t even break a sweat. Show-off.”

Ari didn’t respond, his focus already elsewhere as he walked back toward the group. The crowd parted for him, their whispers filled with awe and disbelief.

Drelvar remained on the ground, his pride shattered as he stared after Ari.

“You were warned,” Ari said over his shoulder, his voice steady but final.

As Ari rejoined his companions, the room erupted into applause. It wasn’t just for the fight—it was for the reminder of why he was called a legend.

“Drink?” Finoria offered, holding up a glass with a sly smile.

Ari shook his head, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Maybe later.”

As the group moved away from the center of the ballroom, the tension dissipated, replaced by the usual lively banter. For Ari, the fight had been nothing more than a momentary distraction