Chapter 222: Chapter 222 – Unfinished Business

Just like before, the moment the referee uttered the word “BEGIN,” Maximus lunged forward.

Like a bull released from its pen, his massive body shot forward with surprising speed for someone his size. His powerful feet slammed into the floor, leaving cracks with every step. In an instant, the twenty-meter gap between them vanished.

Isaac didn’t move.

He simply stood there, his small frame slightly crouched, both daggers held loosely at his sides. His grey eyes stared straight at Maximus as he approached with terrifying speed.

And just as Maximus came within range, Isaac moved.

His body dropped low, ducking under Maximus’s right fist as it shot forward like a cannonball. The punch missed his hair by mere centimeters. At the same moment, his left dagger slashed toward Maximus’s stomach.

SWISH!

Maximus twisted his body, dodging the dagger with agility—more agility than a man his size should possess. But Isaac had already moved again. His right dagger thrust upward, targeting the ribs.

Maximus deflected with his forearm.

CLANG!

The sound of metal meeting hardened flesh. Isaac’s dagger rebounded, but left a thin red scratch on Maximus’s arm.

Maximus looked at the scratch, then laughed. “Finally, a worthy opponent!”

He lunged again, this time with a more coordinated combination of punches and kicks. Right punch, left punch, low kick, sideways elbow—all unleashed within three seconds, like an unrelenting storm.

Isaac dodged with precise, minimal movements. Tilting his head centimeters to avoid a punch. Leaping slightly to dodge a low kick. Bending a little to evade an elbow. Every motion was economical, energy-efficient, and perfectly timed.

The Announcer shouted with explosive enthusiasm. “THE FIGHT BEGINS WITH HIGH INTENSITY! MAXIMUS IS ATTACKING LIKE A STORM, BUT ISAAC MOONFALL MOVES LIKE A SHADOW! NOT A SINGLE STRIKE HAS LANDED!”

Maximus growled in frustration. He swung his fists harder, faster, and more brutally. The arena floor around him began to crumble—deep cracks, craters from his punches, marble fragments scattering in all directions.

Isaac kept evading.

But occasionally, in the gaps between Maximus’s relentless attacks, his daggers would strike. Never with full force—just quick strikes, like a snake biting then withdrawing. But each strike left its mark: a scratch on the arm, a thin cut on the cheek, a shallow stab at the shoulder.

Maximus was beginning to bleed.

His wounds were small—nothing serious—but their number kept growing. And each new wound made his face redder, not from pain, but from frustration.

“HOLD STILL, YOU DAMN SHADOW!” he roared, his fist clenching and slamming hard into the floor.

CRASH!

The arena floor shattered in a three-meter radius. Marble fragments flew in every direction, creating a thick curtain of dust.

Isaac wasn’t there.

He’d already leaped back, landing lightly ten meters from Maximus, his body still in a ready stance.

Maximus was like a storm—attacking with brutal force, destroying everything in his path. But Isaac… Isaac was like a tiger stalking from the shadows. Silent, patient, waiting for an opening. And when that opening came, he struck like lightning, then retreated back into shadow.

Maximus leaped out of the crater he’d created. Dust still clung to his body, mixing with blood from the small cuts. His breathing was slightly heavier than before—the first sign of fatigue.

“KEEP RUNNING, SHADOW!” he shouted. “I’LL CATCH YOU SOONER OR LATER!”

Isaac didn’t answer. He just waited.

Maximus lunged again.

This time, he didn’t rely solely on strength. His movements were more controlled, more measured. He tried to corner Isaac, cutting off his escape routes, forcing him to fight at close range.

Isaac retreated slowly, his eyes constantly moving, reading every one of Maximus’s movements. The daggers in his hands spun slowly, ready.

They exchanged blows again. Maximus unleashed a deadly combination of strikes—right punch, left punch, kick, elbow, knee—all in unpredictable rhythm.

Isaac blocked, dodged, and countered.

The thud of Maximus’s punches striking Isaac’s arms, the hiss of Isaac’s daggers slicing Maximus’s skin, the sound of their increasingly heavy breathing—all merged into a tense symphony of battle.

“THESE TWO FIGHTERS ARE EXCHANGING BLOWS WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED AND FEROCITY! MAXIMUS WITH HIS BRUTAL POWER, ISAAC WITH HIS SPEED AND PRECISION! WHO WILL LAST LONGER?!”

Maximus grabbed Isaac’s arm, for a moment, he’d actually caught him. A victorious smile began forming on his face.

But Isaac had already moved.

His small body twisted like a snake, slipping free from Maximus’s grip with an impossible motion. At the same moment, his dagger slashed across Maximus’s wrist.

SWISH!

Blood sprayed. Maximus roared, releasing his grip. The wound on his wrist was deep, for the first time, a serious injury.

“HE DID IT! ISAAC MOONFALL HAS SERIOUSLY WOUNDED MAXIMUS! THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IN THIS FIGHT!”

Maximus clutched his bleeding wrist, his eyes blazing with pure fury. “YOU… I’LL KILL YOU!”

He leaped with full force, both fists raised high, ready to smash Isaac with his entire body weight.

Isaac waited.

Just as Maximus reached the apex of his leap, the moment he couldn’t change direction, Isaac moved. He leaped upward, straight toward Maximus.

Their eyes met in mid-air.

Maximus saw something in Isaac’s eyes, and Isaac’s body split.

One, two, three—three identical figures shot from his position. One left, one right, one straight ahead. All three attacked with daggers drawn, all three appearing real.

Maximus froze in mid-air, unable to change direction, unable to dodge.

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!

Three slashes, three new wounds.

One on the right shoulder, one on the left waist, one on the right thigh.

Maximus landed hard, his body lurching. Blood flowed more freely from three new sources. But he was still standing. His eyes searched for Isaac among the three figures.

Two figures vanished.

One remained—the real Isaac, standing three meters away, his daggers dripping with blood.

Maximus staggered. His mighty body was now covered in wounds—none fatal, but many. Too many. Blood flowed from a dozen points, soaking his tattered combat uniform.

But he was still standing. Still clenching his fists. Still staring at Isaac with burning hatred.

“Not… over…” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

Isaac didn’t answer. He just took his stance again, body slightly crouched, daggers ready.

They stared at each other.

Maximus—badly wounded, losing blood, but still filled with rage.

Isaac—exhausted but calm, his grey eyes showing no emotion.

Then Maximus lunged one last time.

Not a measured attack, not strategy—just blind, consuming rage. He swung his fist with all his remaining strength.

Isaac waited until the last second.

As Maximus’s fist was about to strike his face, he ducked. The fist shot past above his head. And in the same motion, Isaac leaped, spinning in the air, and…

SWISH!

His dagger slashed across Maximus’s neck.

Not deep. But enough to make him lose.

Maximus stopped. His hand reached for his neck, feeling warm blood flow through his fingers. His eyes widened in disbelief.

He dropped to his knees.

The Colosseum fell silent.

Maximus tried to rise, but his body wouldn’t obey. He fell again, this time sitting back, both arms limp at his sides.

Isaac stood before him, his daggers still dripping blood.

The referee ran to the center of the arena, checked Maximus’s condition, then raised his hand.

“MAXIMUS TREYBERN CANNOT CONTINUE THE MATCH! VICTORY GOES TO ISAAC MOONFALL OF DRAKEFIELD ACADEMY!”

Cheers exploded. Half the spectators—Drakefield supporters and those who simply wanted to see a good fight—cheered enthusiastically. The rest fell silent in disbelief.

The scoreboard changed.

NINE STARS ACADEMY: 7 WINS – 6 LOSSES

DRAKEFIELD ACADEMY: 6 WINS – 7 LOSSES

Isaac stood in the center of the arena, his breathing heavy, his body trembling with exhaustion. But his eyes remained sharp, still alert. He gazed toward the Nine Stars bench.

Toward Yukie.

After a few seconds, he lowered his head, then walked away from the arena. His steps were unsteady, but he refused help from his teammates who rushed toward him.

The Announcer didn’t miss the moment.

“ISAAC MOONFALL HAS DEFEATED MAXIMUS TREYBERN IN AN EXTRAORDINARY BATTLE! THE SCORE NOW STANDS AT 7-6! NINE STARS STILL LEADS, BUT THE MARGIN IS ONLY ONE POINT! THE MATCH IS NOT OVER YET!”

Maximus was lifted onto a stretcher. His face was pale, frustration and resentment evident in his expression. On the Nine Stars bench, Violet exhaled slowly.

Arianna watched Isaac with a complicated expression. She’d just been defeated by the same person, and now watching him defeat Maximus, who knew what was going through her mind.

Yukie remained silent. Her eyes followed Isaac until he sat down on the bench.

On the Nine Stars bench, Violet sat with an unreadable expression. She turned toward the bench.

I knew what she was thinking.

I was next.

But unfortunately, I wasn’t the one she called.

Violet turned to her side.

“Isabel,” she called.

Isabel instantly froze because my hand was still on her ass, still squeezing and sending small waves of [Lustful Touch] that made it almost impossible for her to think clearly.

Violet continued, “Now it’s your turn.”

Isabel turned to me, her eyes wide.

I could read two things in that expression: fear at having to face me, and… such profound relief at being able to leave. Leave here. Leave my side. Leave my hand that wouldn’t stop tormenting her with unwanted pleasure.

“I-I… yes, Instructor!” Isabel answered, her voice slightly unsteady but trying to sound firm.

She stood up so quickly she nearly bumped into the seat in front of her. Her hands straightened her uniform—an unnecessary gesture, since her uniform was fine, but she needed an excuse to move away. To catch her breath. To calm her flushed face.

I let her go.

But just before she fully escaped, my fingers squeezed once more as a warning. Isabel gasped, nearly stumbled, then dashed away without looking back.

Nerissa, still sitting beside me, watched Isabel’s departure with a strange expression. Maybe she suspected something was wrong. But she didn’t ask. She just sat quietly, trying not to look at me.

In the arena, Isabel had already descended. Her opponent from Drakefield was a young man with short hair and a pair of short swords—name on the side display: RONALD VOSS, DUAL BLADES SPECIALIST, A-RANK.

The Announcer immediately declared with enthusiasm that was beginning to sound slightly forced. “NEXT MATCH! ISABEL MERCEDES OF NINE STARS VERSUS RONALD VOSS OF DRAKEFIELD! AFTER THE EPIC BATTLE BETWEEN MAXIMUS AND ISAAC, WILL WE WITNESS AN EQUALLY THRILLING FIGHT?!”

The spectators’ cheers responded, but not as enthusiastically as before.

I exhaled slowly.

Boring.

Isabel would win—that was clear. Ronald Voss might be a competent fighter, but Isabel was an A-Rank Assassin with far more combat experience. The fight would happen, Isabel would win, and the score would become 8-6. Then maybe Drakefield would send another fighter, and Isabel might lose or win again. A boring cycle.

What was more interesting was what was happening behind me.

Arianna.

She’d been sitting restlessly beside Violet. Occasionally glancing back, toward me, then quickly looking away. Her hands twisted the edge of her uniform.

Then, suddenly, she stood.

Violet turned. “Arianna?”

“I… need to use the restroom for a moment, Instructor,” Arianna answered quickly. “Just a moment.”

Violet nodded indifferently, her eyes already back on the arena.

Arianna walked past the middle rows, then descended the stairs toward the corridor beneath the stands. Her steps were fast, almost like running.

I smiled.

This was more interesting than the arena fight.

I stood. Nerissa looked at me suspiciously.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice trying to sound casual but clearly wary.

I didn’t answer. I just walked past her, following the direction Arianna had taken.

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