The silver Knight

Kaizen winced, pain flashing across his face as he forced himself to his feet. His breathing was labored, but his gaze was sharp, taking in the boy across from him with a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect. "For a kid, you're strong," he said, his voice low, tinged with both admiration and exhaustion.

The boy—Number 3—pressed his lips into a thin line, his small frame trembling as he stood straighter. His glowing red eyes burned with defiance. "I'm the weakest where I come from," he said, his tone flat and unyielding, carrying the weight of truth. "I'm here to earn a license. To fight in the war. And for that to happen—" He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing into a fierce, unrelenting stare. "You have to lose."

"War?" Kaizen murmured, his voice low and edged with caution.

The boy straightened, the last shreds of his black bandages slipping from his small hands to the cracked ground below. His glowing red eyes, disproportionately large for his youthful face, shone with an unsettling intensity, cutting through the gloom like twin beacons. "I'm not from the Penta," he said, his tone steady but carrying an undercurrent of defiance. "I come from the outside world, a place called Darkwater Town."

There was a weight to his words—a strange blend of pride and grim determination, far too burdensome for one so young to bear.

Kaizen let out a sharp breath, his features hardening into a mask of grim resolve. "I'm sorry, kid," he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. "But I have to defeat you too. It's the only way I can keep moving forward. The only way I can survive."

The boy didn't flinch. Instead, he held Kaizen's gaze with a calm steadiness that seemed far too old for his years. For a moment, the world around them seemed to still. The fractured ground, the lingering haze of dust, the faint hum of energy in the air—all faded into the background as they stood across from each other.

There was no anger in their eyes, no malice. Only the solemn recognition of shared purpose. Two warriors, bound by forces larger than themselves, caught in the fleeting pause before the storm. For that brief instant, they understood each other perfectly, a quiet respect passing between them like a whispered promise. Then, as if on cue, they shifted, the fragile peace breaking apart as the next clash loomed.

The tension coiled tight, suffocating the air between them. In the blink of an eye, Kaizen launched himself into the air, his arms spread wide like a bear pouncing on its prey. His shadow loomed over Number 3, but the boy didn't flinch. He stood motionless, watching Kaizen descend with the calm of someone who already knew the outcome.

As Kaizen closed in, Number 3 shifted. In a single, fluid motion, he sidestepped and slashed at Kaizen's side, his movements swift and surgical. Before Kaizen could react, the boy was behind him, and Kaizen's body twisted unnaturally, as though the trajectory of a bullet train had been violently altered. He was hurled sideways, crashing against the jagged wall with a force that shook the chamber.

Kaizen groaned but didn't stay down. With a guttural roar, he shoved aside the rocks pinning him, his body trembling with raw energy. His veil surged outward, tearing through the space between them like a storm. He charged forward again, the ground splitting beneath his feet as he closed the distance.

But Number 3 was gone.

Kaizen's eyes darted upward, catching the faintest flicker of movement near the rocky ceiling. The boy was suspended there, as though gravity itself had bent to his will. Kaizen didn't hesitate. He sprang upward like an arrow loosed from a bow, his punch cutting through the air with precision and fury.

The impact was cataclysmic. Light exploded outward from the point of collision, a blinding fissure that split the room into two halves. Both figures were thrown back, crashing down onto the rocky floor with bone-rattling force. Dust and debris settled around them as they lay still for a moment, each drawing ragged breaths, the battlefield trembling beneath their shared power.

"To avenge my brother!" Kaizen roared, his voice echoing off the shattered walls as he lunged forward, his fist already rising for the attack.

"They'll kill me if I fail this exam!" the boy shouted back, his green hair wild around his face, his glowing red eyes blazing with desperation. Veins surged along his arms and cheeks, his small frame trembling with raw energy. Without hesitation, he charged to meet Kaizen head-on.

The space between them vanished in an instant.

"Ahhhhhh!" Kaizen's cry tore through the air as he drove his punch forward with all the fury he could summon.

The boy answered with equal ferocity, his own fist surging upward to meet Kaizen's.

Their punches collided with a thunderous crack, and the room seemed to implode under the force. A wave of smoke and dust erupted outward, consuming everything in its path. The air shook with the clash, and the walls around them groaned in protest as deep cracks splintered across the stone.

Through the haze, they stood locked in place, their fists still pressed together, neither yielding. The battlefield around them bore the weight of their struggle, crumbling under the sheer force of their resolve.

Kaizen leaned into his punch, every ounce of his strength driving forward. The kid—Number 3—matched him, his smaller frame rigid with determination, refusing to give ground. Neither moved, their fists locked in an unyielding clash.

Kaizen's fury boiled over, heat radiating from him in waves that seared the air. Number 3 winced as his hand began to burn, the skin prickling under the oppressive heat. Desperation flashed in his red eyes, and with a sharp, guttural cry, he unleashed his veil.

The blast erupted between them, a shockwave that tore through the room. The walls shuddered, a section collapsing in a cascade of rubble. Overhead, the roof cracked and crumbled, falling in heavy chunks. Smoke and dust swallowed the scene, thick and suffocating, blotting out all sight.

For a moment, nothing could be seen—only the sound of debris settling, the groan of fractured stone.

As the dust cleared, the devastation came into view. Amid the wreckage, Kaizen and Number 3 still stood, their fists pressed together in the exact same position as before. Their bodies sagged, shoulders heaving, exhaustion etched into every line of their figures. The energy that had driven them moments ago was gone, drained by the force of their battle, but neither had yet surrendered.

Behind the door, where the air quaked with the echoes of a deadly clash, a figure waited. The door itself, once glorious and golden, was now cloaked in twisting vines, as if nature sought to reclaim it. Slowly, it began to creak open, groaning with the weight of the battle's outcome. Light spilled through the widening gap, illuminating the wreckage within.

Two silhouettes emerged from the haze beyond the door. One towered like a mountain, broad and unyielding, while the other was small, almost fragile by comparison. Both figures were veiled in shadow, their eyes hidden beneath a blackness that seemed alive, though it was only the interplay of light and shadow.

Then, as if their strength had been wrung from them all at once, they collapsed. Simultaneously, the towering one and the smaller fell to the ground with a hollow thud, their battered forms sprawled before the man who waited.

Jaxor stood there, silent and still, save for the glint in his cunning, narrow eyes. He gazed down at the fallen fighters, his lips curling into a smile that was neither warm nor kind. It was a smile of quiet triumph, the kind that spoke of control and power. They lay at his mercy now, and he savored the moment with chilling satisfaction.

"Heh heh heh," Jaxor chuckled darkly, his voice low and brimming with malice. "You both can't lose at the same time. That simply won't do." His hand stretched out, steady and deliberate, toward Number 3, as though the decision were his alone to make.

With an air of finality, Jaxor hoisted a figure onto his shoulder, their limp form swaying slightly with each step. He turned and began his slow march through the twisting corridors of the maze, his boots echoing against the cold stone walls. The shadows seemed to part for him, the path clearing as if the maze itself bowed to his presence.

At last, Jaxor emerged into the open, where the candidates who had cleared the exam were gathered. The sky above was an expanse of pale blue, deceptively serene, while the cold air carried whispers of exhaustion and relief.

When they saw him, the candidates froze, their conversations falling into stunned silence. Eyes turned toward him, widening in disbelief. Among them, three figures stood out—three whose expressions tightened with anxiety, their wide eyes betraying a mixture of fear and hope.

Without hesitation, the three broke into a jog, their steps quickening with urgency as they moved toward Jaxor. The tension in the air thickened, as though the fate of all present hung in the balance of what—or who—he carried.