NOVEL NEXT Chapter 209: Promise He Made
Then the emissary's voice boomed across the arena:
"Now, the two warriors have entered the preparation zone. The moment you've all been waiting for has come. Both opponents, prepare yourselves!"
The coliseum fell silent — tens of thousands of eyes locked on the massive iron gates. The air tasted like metal and expectation.
"Nolan! Step into the arena!"
The gate before him slid open with a deep, grinding groan. A flood of sunlight and thunderous noise burst in as Nolan stepped through the tunnel. His boots struck the stone floor with calm, deliberate rhythm — each step a percussion that matched the crowd's heartbeat.
When he emerged, the arena erupted —
"Nolan! Nolan! Nolan!"
The sound hit him like a physical wave. He stopped at the center, cloak swaying in the wind, his expression unreadable — eyes steady, waiting. For a moment the world seemed to frame him: sunlight, sand, and a ring of roaring faces. A thin smile ghosted across his mouth, like a calm before a storm.
Then came the next announcement.
"And now — Luthar, the Champion of the Empire! Step into the arena!"
The opposite gate rumbled open. A storm of cheers exploded like a tidal wave.
"Luthar! Luthar! Luthar!"
A massive figure emerged from the shadows — broad-shouldered, wrapped in silver armor that gleamed like polished steel under the blazing sun. His steps were heavy and sure, each one echoing authority. Dust spiraled with every footfall. He carried no weapon — he didn't need one. The champion's presence alone was a weapon.
The coliseum shook with divided chants,
"Nolan! Luthar! Nolan! Luthar!"
until both names merged into a single, deafening roar of anticipation. The noise was a living thing, pressing in from all sides.
At last, the two men stood face to face in the heart of the grand arena — the hero and the champion, their presence alone bending the air between them. For a beat, time felt thicker, like syrup. The sun threw highlights across Luthar's armor and threw Nolan's shadow long across the sand.
Both men faced each other at center arena. Nolan smiled; Luthar returned the grin like a challenge. It was a smile that said: this is the moment we were born for.
"The fight begins," the emissary intoned.
They advanced slowly, confident, eyes locked. Then they paused, breathing the same hot air. Luthar towered over Nolan; Nolan glanced up as their faces drew close. Luthar's expression darkened.
"You dare look me in the eye?" he snarled. A clawed gauntlet slid from his hand as he lunged to slash Nolan.
SFX: KRSSHHH — WHOOSH.
Nolan was already gone. Quicker than the eye could track, he blurred sideways and reappeared in front of Luthar. The champion blinked, baffled. "What the hell—? That's fast," he muttered under his breath. He fought down the urge to transform. Winning cleanly would be better.
Nolan didn't let him collect himself. Calm, almost gentle, he spoke low and cold. "Hey. What are you thinking about?" he asked.
Luthar's jaw tightened. Nolan stepped closer, voice harder. "If you're not thinking about what you did to your wife, Cynthia, then you'll pay with your life. I heard what you tried—trying to take a child for your ritual, to summon something that could end the world. Where is that child now?"
Luthar's eyes flared. "Who are you? Do I know you? How do you know my wife's name?" Rage cracked his words.
"I met her," Nolan said. "She told me enough." He didn't flinch. "Today you'll learn the meaning of pain."
Luthar snarled and lunged again—this time the arena felt the promise behind his roar. Nolan readied himself; the crowd held its breath. The final clash was not just for a title now. It was for justice.
Luthar's face went red. "How dare you speak to me like that — about my wife!" he spat.
Nolan didn't flinch. Luthar lunged, faster than anything Nolan had faced that day. Nolan felt the air sing with the speed; it matched the velocity he'd seen before against Kyrion — terrifying, but not impossible. He could push faster if he needed to.
Luthar's clawed strike aimed for Nolan's neck, but Nolan slipped behind him in an instant. He hooked Luthar's leg, pulled hard, and slammed the champion to the sand. The arena roared as Nolan flipped up and landed lightly behind him, watching.
Luthar scrambled to his feet, face streaked with sand and—worse—humiliation. He wiped his mouth, controlled his fury, and met Nolan's calm, unblinking stare. The crowd hummed with electricity; this fight had already become personal.
"How did you just move? You moved really fast just now. Look—that's it. Well… nothing. You're just weak. Nothing else. And don't worry. I promised your wife I'm going to let you be." Nolan said.
The words slipped out like a blade. The silence that followed was the sort of silence used only in tragedies and legends. Luthar's knuckles whitened around his gauntlet.
"You old bastard. So she— you thought… you bastard. Don't worry, I have time. Don't… humiliating you. And killing you. Today. In this tournament. Even if you die, no one's going to say anything to me. I'm the Champion of the Empire. And not only that. After I'm done doing that, I'm going to go kill my wife, Cynthia. I left her there, so she was going around telling people about this, right? She's going to pay." Luthar said.
A chorus of gasps. Somewhere in the stands, someone swore. The announcer's voice trembled for a heartbeat.
But Nolan didn't say a word. That was when Luthar started to run toward Nolan. Nolan didn't say anything either. Again, everybody in the arena started shaking. Stones lifted on their own as red energy covered Nolan's body.
SFX: ZZZRRR — RUMBLE — WHISTLE.
The air around Nolan shimmered, and fine grains of sand rose in a halo around his boots like a miniature cyclone. The crowd leaned forward as if the answer to the world's questions would arrive with the next instant.
"What did you just see? What did you just see right now?" Nolan shouted. Then he punched Luthar, running with full speed.
Impact — THUD. Luthar's armor bucked, metal singing. The champion staggered; he wasn't used to being carried by momentum instead of commanding it. Nolan's fist moved like a piston—crisp, precise, and brutal.
Luthar tried to strike back, but Nolan didn't punch his stomach—Luthar flew back and slammed into the arena wall. Sand sprayed like confetti in slow motion. Nolan didn't give him space. Before Luthar could get back to his feet, Nolan grabbed him and punched him on the jaw. Nolan punched Luthar on the jaw repeatedly. Luthar flew high, then down, slammed by the impact of the punches. He was shocked, still in disbelief.
Every blow painted the air with the sound of war. The crowd's cheers became a drumline, rising to a fever pitch with each hit. Up close, Nolan's focus was a white-hot thing; his eyes were the only calm in surrounding chaos.
Before he could regain his balance, Nolan carried him up and punched him on the jaw again. Nolan punched Luthar so hard that Luthar flew high and then crashed down. Nolan didn't let up. In mid-air Nolan also flew. Nolan and Luthar flew, and Nolan began pounding Luthar's body with his right hand. He put his left hand on Luthar's neck and started punching Luthar's face continuously.
SFX: BAM — BAM — THWACK. Each strike sent out a shockwave that rattled teeth and made nearby banners flutter.
"Take that back. Take that back! She is such an innocent soul—she actually loves you, I can tell. You want to kill her. You bastard," Nolan shouted as he rained blows down on Luthar.
Nolan's voice carried across the arena — part accusation, part impossible calm. Luthar's vision blurred at the edges; sound tunneled. For a warrior of his size and training, this was unfamiliar terrain: being overwhelmed by a smaller, colder force of will.
Nolan kept punching Luthar really hard. Luthar moved downward and slammed into the ground.
For a split second, everything slowed like a scene framed for the final shot — sand spinning in slow arcs, the champion's eyes wide and raw, Nolan's fist caught mid-follow-through. The crowd made a sound like a held breath released all at once.
Luthar rolled, spitting sand and fury. He rose with the raw animal look of someone who'd been pushed beyond the script. Blood flecked his lip; a crack of his gauntlet suggested metal bent where it shouldn't have. He was massive, but now there was hesitation. Pride was a wound.
The champion's arm glowed then — a cracked halo of dark light crawling across his metal. A change, half-transformation, and the atmosphere in the arena turned viscous. The sky seemed to tilt. Luthar let out a roar that was equal parts pain and command: an order to the world.
Nolan's feet never stopped. He moved like water along a breaker's curve, his body an orchestra of efficient violence. He stepped, ducked, twisted, and struck not because he wanted to win a title but because he intended to end what Luthar had started.