The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

The distance between Clark and Matson stretched out to a mere 50 meters, a battleground charged with anticipation. Clark's hand clenched tightly, his knuckles whitening under the pressure.

With a thunderous shout that echoed through the air, he bellowed, "Mugen!" As if responding to his command, the earth beneath him began to stir, coalescing into a mass that surged forth towards his outstretched palm. The malleable clump of soil gradually transformed, shaping itself into a wooden sword with the elegant curves of a katana.

"I shall unveil the culmination of my relentless training," Clark declared with conviction, adopting a poised stance. His grip tightened around the katana's hilt as he launched himself forward, a blur of motion. His movements exuded confidence, purpose, as he lunged with unwavering determination.

The spectators in the crowd barely had time to blink before Clark had covered a staggering 5 meters, his agility astounding. Matson's lips curled into a derisive grin. "As always, your techniques bear an extraordinary moniker."

With a sneer lingering on his face, Matson's demeanor abruptly shifted, morphing into a focused intensity. "But make no mistake, you will never best me!" He spread his hands apart, snapping his fingers with a resounding crack. "Double-Edge."

A dark, ferrous substance emerged from the ground surrounding Matson, gradually taking shape. The iron coalesced into a compact, short sword, its blade resembling that of a kukri sans the grip. Matson matched Clark's prior display of swiftness, hurtling forward with an astonishing burst of speed. A subtle transformation rippled across his legs, the skin gaining a hardened veneer.

The disparity became apparent—Matson possessed the ability to activate his body enchantment twice a day, while Clark was limited to a single use. And so, their convergence loomed ever closer until the inevitable clash ensued.

A metallic clank pierced the air as iron and wood collided, reverberating for a fleeting moment before a splintering crack resonated. The wooden katana yielded to the might of the iron sword.

Glimpsing the struggle etched on Clark's countenance, Matson's smile widened, oozing smug satisfaction. "Realize, my dear friend, this is the stark difference in our strength!" With renewed vigor, Matson applied pressure, his blade inching closer to Clark, causing deep fissures to mar the surface of the katana.

Yet, Clark remained steadfast, unyielding in his resolve. Ignoring the telltale signs of strain, he pushed beyond his limits, invoking body enchantment once more, surpassing the threshold for the day. Muscles bulged in his right hand, surging with newfound might, enabling him to slash through Matson's defenses with a fierce determination.

Caught off guard, Matson's hand hung suspended in mid-air, his gaze fixated on Clark as he prepared for the final assault. A sly grin danced upon Matson's lips as he dropped one of his blades. "Foolish move."

Undeterred by Matson's taunt, Clark raised his katana high overhead, a testament to his unwavering courage. With a resolute determination, he brought the blade hurtling downward, aiming unerringly for Matson's head, seeking the decisive blow that would alter the course of their duel forever.

Matson shook his head in apparent disappointment. "You remain unchanged, just as I expected." His smile stretched wider, brimming with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Activate!" With a surge of power, an iron pillar materialized from beneath Matson's feet, hurtling toward Clark's chest with unyielding force.

Thump!

Clark was sent hurtling back, propelled five meters away before the force of impact propelled him airborne. His trajectory abruptly halted as he crashed into an unexpected iron wall that materialized behind him.

Cough.

Cough.

The collision of iron against his chest left Clark gasping for breath, the oppressive pressure triggering a fit of coughs that wracked his body.

Within the glass-enclosed room, Elizabeth's eyes welled up with tears as she witnessed Clark's deteriorating condition. Her grip tightened around the crystal button, the only means to halt the merciless duel.

Though her anguished cry went unheard, the audience could sense Elizabeth's plea to end the match, a sentiment not lost on Matson.

"Miss Elizabeth, let us uphold fairness and integrity," Matson declared, his gaze shifting back to Clark with a mocking grin. "Nevertheless, I shall offer you a chance to surrender," he taunted, leisurely advancing toward his fallen opponent.

Among the spectators, those who had placed their bets in Matson's favor reveled in their impending victory. "Thank the heavens, my prediction was spot-on," one of them gloated, extending a hand toward their companion.

"No! Master Clark hasn't given up. Look, his eyes are still open," the other person retorted, pointing to Clark lying prone in the arena.

At Desmond's side, Clementine wore a triumphant smile as she witnessed Clark's desperate plight. "Remember, you promised to marry my daughter," she reminded Desmond, her grip on his hand tightening, eliciting discomfort from Alice, who stood nearby.

Desmond's lips twisted in response. "Draw closer, not marriage. Besides, that is contingent upon your daughter's choice, and the match has yet to reach its conclusion," he retorted, his brows furrowing as his unwavering focus remained fixed on Clark's struggle.

Is the buff nullified? How could he suffer defeat?

[System Conclusion: System analysis indicates that Matson's trait does not manifest as an inherently malevolent trait; instead, it renders Clark's buff effect ineffective. Furthermore, Matson's trait strengthens to the extent of neutralizing Clark's regenerative abilities.]

I comprehend. That explains his repeated losses. Only by growing stronger can he hope to conquer his most formidable adversary.

It seems that I need not concern myself about his origins in the future. His custom skill bears a striking resemblance to one found in one of the countries of my previous world. Could it be mere happenstance? Or could he, too, be a reincarnator?

Observing Desmond's lack of interest in her daughter, Clementine let out a resigned sigh. "Well, at least there's some progress," she muttered, shaking her head before refocusing her attention on the ongoing duel. Alice, standing beside Desmond, couldn't help but feel a growing sense of worry over the outcome of the battle.

On the field, following the impact that sent Clark hurtling away and crashing into Matson's iron wall, a disorienting dizziness washed over him, accompanied by a loss of auditory perception. His vision blurred as he watched Matson draw nearer, his words blending into an incomprehensible murmur.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Clark struggled to his feet, his legs trembling, as he clutched his katana with a vice-like grip.

Amidst Clark's suffering, Matson's laughter rang out. "Behold, this is the mighty Clark you all idolize. Feeble and frail, each and every one of you. If you dare, face me all at once!" Matson lunged forward, delivering a powerful blow to the nape of Clark's neck with the blunt side of his sword.

Thud.

In Clark's blurred vision, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Matson before the latter vanished from sight. A few moments later, his strength depleted, and he crumpled forward, descending into unconsciousness.

Though many spectators harbored disdain for Matson, there were still cheers resounding through the arena. Those who cheered included loyal Matson supporters and those who had emerged victorious from their wagers.

Inside the glass-enclosed room, Elizabeth collapsed as she witnessed Clark's fainting spell, her eyes swollen and red. Her heart screamed for an immediate end to the match, but she received a message from Clementine.

Meanwhile, Matson, basking in the triumphant cheers, extended his hands skyward, his eyes closed.

Ah, the fragrance of victory, a scent I relish the most.

He lingered for a while, but the arena remained unchanged.

"We shall now proceed to the second match, featuring Gibson versus Diana," Elizabeth's voice resonated throughout the room, prompting several guards to approach the arena. They swiftly removed Matson and Clark from the battleground.

The barrier that had momentarily suppressed magic dissipated, and two guards lifted Clark's body, levitating him through the air. Simultaneously, Matson strode out on his own, addressing the inquiries from his supporters.

"With that, we shall take a brief intermission," Elizabeth's voice declared, and the glass-enclosed room descended to the ground.

Elizabeth emerged and immediately rushed toward Clark, still suspended in mid-air. The guards who had cast spells on Clark halted their steps, allowing Elizabeth to draw closer.

Sobbing, Elizabeth cradled Clark's cheek. "I told you not to fight," she choked out, her voice filled with sorrow. She began chanting an incantation, causing Clark's body to emit a soft glow as the bruises that marred his form slowly began to heal, albeit at a sluggish pace. "I hope this is sufficient," she murmured, concluding her treatment.

With that, she made her way back toward the glass-enclosed room.