manynovel Chapter 15 Showdown
Chapter 15 Showdown
The following day, the dueling arena was bustling with noise, the clamor echoing throughout the entire arena.
Hector stood silently on the highest viewing platform, his face calm and expressionless, looking down at the duel unfolding below.
This was not the final battle of this selection, but in Hector's heart it was more important than any battle that would follow.
The two sides fighting were Achilles and his brother.
The cheers and applause in the stadium were all dedicated to Paris's valiant attack.
His good brother didn't listen to a word of last night's conversation; he kept swinging his sword, valiantly swinging it, forcing Achilles to dodge constantly, and seemed to have the upper hand.
But these tumultuous sounds, Paris's relentless advance, and Achilles's evasive retreats could not soothe the growing disappointment in Hector's heart, nor could they reverse Paris's already predetermined defeat.
He gazed at his brother, who was behaving erratically and agitatedly, and sighed silently in his heart: What are you doing, Paris...?
In the center of the dueling arena, the battle raged on.
"Face me! You coward!"
Paris's eyes turned bloodshot, and he suddenly let out a furious roar.
He swung his longsword frequently, his moves crude yet carrying a stubborn, brute force that he wanted to vent.
He repeatedly launched fierce attacks on Achilles opposite him, trying to close the distance between them.
Paris wanted a resounding victory; he needed a resounding victory to shatter the wonderful yet nightmarish fear and unease that lingered in his heart from last night.
Achilles' defensive stance, which he didn't attack, seemed more like weakness to Paris. Paris used sharp curses and harsh roars to vent the anxiety, fear, and resentment churning within him.
"You have disappointed me." Faced with Paris's insults, Achilles felt only absurdity, ridiculousness, and deep disappointment.
Achilles always dodged to the side, his movements light and graceful, effortlessly avoiding all of Paris's slashes and thrusts.
He looked at the Trojan prince before him, who was completely overwhelmed by his emotions, and the disappointment in his eyes grew even deeper.
This was not the kind of showdown he had hoped for.
Achilles craved a fierce battle of equal strength, and Paris was the warrior he had chosen during this selection process to be most worthy of fighting alongside him.
But from the moment they officially clashed, from the moment they met, Achilles only saw a Paris who was trying to appear calm, but whose aura was extremely chaotic and worried.
At that moment, Achilles had a premonition that his expectations might be dashed today.
What happened next was exactly as he had initially predicted. He didn't experience a fierce battle where both sides were evenly matched and fought with all their might; all he saw was a mad dog that kept attacking.
Achilles was certain that if he wanted to end this farce, he only needed to lightly trip the disheveled prince before him, and he would fall like a wild boar that had stumbled into a swamp, losing all face.
Clang—!
A sharp, piercing sound of metal clashing suddenly rang out as the two swords clashed fiercely once more, scattering tiny, blinding sparks.
Taking advantage of this brief stalemate, Achilles intently observed Paris opposite him.
Paris's chest heaved noticeably, and his breathing became rapid due to the constant attacks, clearly indicating that his physical and mental strength had been greatly depleted.
"Is this your true level?"
Achilles spoke slowly, his disappointment undisguised.
"If this is your true level, then you are not even one percent as good as King Hector."
"Achilles!"
These words were like a sharp blade, piercing Paris's last shred of dignity.
His eyes instantly turned bloodshot, his reason completely consumed by rage.
In an instant, countless images from yesterday's dream flooded into my mind uncontrollably.
Paris the glory, Paris the cheers of the people, Paris the blissful happiness.
And finally, there appeared his elder brother, incredibly old and weak, sitting on the throne.
How could he be so sinister!
Why would he have designs on that position!
How could he have such a desire!
His chaotic thoughts completely disrupted his mind.
The duel continued, but Achilles could clearly see that beneath Paris's frenzied and chaotic attacks, his angry eyes were empty and unfocused.
His mind was clearly not entirely on the battle.
At this moment, Achilles was completely enraged.
Achilles respected the honor of duels and cherished every all-out battle. He wanted to learn martial arts from Paris, or rather, from King Hector, Paris's idol.
That's why Achilles kept dodging, hoping that Paris would realize this, adjust himself, and fight a fair fight.
But Paris is still acting recklessly and absentmindedly during the battle.
This is a complete disgrace to this highly anticipated duel that symbolizes honor!
What does he consider honor to be?!
Achilles was furious.
He stopped passively dodging and stopped waiting for Paris to unleash his true power.
Achilles casually tossed aside the massive bull's head that he had always used as a shield for blocking and defense, and firmly gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, his aura suddenly changing dramatically.
When faced with the blade slashing down again, Achilles did not choose to dodge. Instead, he swung his sword and deflected Paris's blade.
He then moved with agile, ghostly steps, his figure weaving and shifting in Paris's sight, so fast that Paris could not fully grasp his movements.
Paris, who had maintained the advantage, saw his attack stall.
Faced with Achilles' opportunity to attack, Paris switched between offense and defense almost instantly, and did so with far more effort and panic than Achilles.
He already had several sword wounds on his body.
In his panic, Paris suddenly remembered his brother's instructions before the match, and immediately focused his attention on Achilles's movements, not daring to relax for even a moment.
But he had clearly forgotten that Hector had warned him to be wary of Achilles's skillful and unpredictable martial arts and to pay attention to the wrists with which he exerted force.
Just as Paris was hastily defending, Achilles suddenly changed his tactics.
He suddenly released his left hand, and the longsword that was originally slashing down from high was suddenly deflected by his assistant's back, the blade was lowered, and with the help of inertia, it drew a tricky and strange arc, swiftly thrusting upwards from the lower right side.
The moves were unpredictable and incredibly fast, leaving Paris no time to react.
With a sharp clang, the sword in his hand flew out and crashed heavily to the ground.
Just like last night's nightmare, a weapon was captured.
But reality was the complete opposite of his dream. Achilles shattered all his pride and wishful thinking in just a few moves and a few dozen seconds.
The immense disparity and humiliation made Paris unwilling to admit defeat. He gritted his teeth and refused to acknowledge his failure; he was determined to fight back.
The next second, a sharp, stinging pain suddenly swept through my limbs!
"Well--!"
Paris instinctively cried out in pain, then clenched his teeth tightly, enduring the excruciating pain. His body went limp, and he collapsed heavily onto the cold dueling arena.
In the blink of an eye, Achilles, with his extreme speed and immense strength, had already left two terrifying gashes on Paris's thighs.
Crimson blood gushed from the gruesome wound, quickly soaking through his trouser legs and staining the sand beneath him red.
The cheers from the viewing platform did not completely stop, but they were no longer as enthusiastic and lively as before, and their momentum had visibly decreased by more than half.
On the field, not everyone is a warrior who only knows how to make a ruckus.
Most of the nobles present had already recognized that the young man who was fighting under an assumed name was none other than Paris, the prince of Troy. However, everyone kept it to themselves, and no one dared to expose this disguise in public.
Seeing Paris severely injured and lying on the ground in a sorry state, all the nobles turned their gazes to the center of the viewing platform.
A complex mix of emotions converged in his vision: mockery, concern, fear, and even calculation.
Hector stood on the high platform, and he could certainly feel these subtle, malicious gazes, but his expression remained calm and composed.
Hector was neither discouraged by Paris's defeat nor enraged by Achilles' actions and the harm he had caused.
Standing in the arena was not the noble Trojan prince Paris, but an ordinary contestant named Therasos from a working-class family in the Middle Nest.
That's it.
The exquisite and luxurious stone railing in front of Hector was bearing the weight he was trying so hard to suppress, and it made a faint, yet clear, creaking sound as it struggled to keep up with the pressure.
The viewing platform was cold and deathly silent. The emperor calmly watched the turbulent emotions of his offspring, which were like a vast ocean, and said nothing.
As far as the emperor was concerned, he didn't care who won or lost; it wouldn't change anything or provide any substantial help to the Great Expedition.
His time was very limited, but the Emperor was still willing to set aside a precious week or two to participate in this grand celebration with his offspring, the Second Primarch.
A large part of the reason was Makado's persuasion, and another part was that he really liked this offspring who bore some resemblance to him, which reminded him of the past.
Moriarty, who was responsible for maintaining order on the field and serving as Sherlock Holmes's bodyguard and attendant for a day, was already drenched in cold sweat. He watched Achilles, who showed no mercy on the field, with a trembling heart and gained a new understanding of the fearlessness of his trusted companion.
"Achilles!"
Paris, lying on the ground, gritted his teeth and growled, raising his head high with his neck in an exaggerated, almost breaking manner, staring intently at Achilles as he approached, his eyes filled with resentment and anger.
Achilles didn't respond. He looked at Paris with disappointment, raised his hand high, and delivered a powerful blow that stunned the stubborn Paris.
The contest, which ended in eight minutes and eight seconds, left Achilles utterly disappointed.
This is not a battle worthy of honor to be offered to the king.
"The victor! Achilles!"