Amos bolted the moment the match began, boots pounding against stone as he veered toward the outer edge of the fortress. *Getting into a straight fight with that guy's a death sentence. One of the upper walkways should do me well,* he thought, eyes scanning the rising towers for a vantage point.
Bryanard didn't run. He didn't even walk. With a low crouch, the veteran knight launched himself into the air in a single, explosive bound. His armored form sailed clean over the central yard, catching the sunlight mid-flight.
"Enhancing magic?" Samwell muttered from the VIP stand, his brow lifting slightly.
"That's probably third stage, right, Father?" asked Matthew beside him, eyes fixed on the airborne knight.
Samwell gave a curt nod. "Yes. It is."
Bryanard's boots slammed into the center of the fortress floor with a heavy thud, dust kicking up around him. No sooner had he landed than two sharp cracks rang out—gunfire.
Bryanard raised his forearms just in time, the bullets ricocheting off the thick plating of his gauntlets with metallic clangs.
"Ah, shit," Amos muttered, revolvers drawn mid-run. "Thought I'd at least be faster than you."
"The Gambler has fired his first shots!" Quincy called, spinning mid-air above the fortress. "But it seems to have done nothing to the Warhammer!"
In the fighters' waiting room, Calvinel chuckled, arms crossed. "Yeah, getting through that armor isn't easy. Dwarven smithing's no joke."
"No wonder he hasn't changed it despite how worn it looks," Zeva added, one brow raised as she quietly wondered whether she could cut through it.
Back in the arena, Bryanard crouched again, this time like a charging bull—war hammer still hanging behind his back, untouched. In the next instant, he surged forward in a blur of steel and momentum.
Amos twisted at the last second, narrowly avoiding the tackle. He spun as he moved, firing off two more shots that struck Bryanard square in the back—though again, they failed to pierce the armor.
Without missing a beat, Amos sprinted toward the nearest tower and darted up the staircase three steps at a time.
"Smart old bastard," he muttered as he climbed. "Not wearing a helmet, knowing I can't go for headshots and kill him in a tournament."
Below, Bryanard strode calmly to the center of the yard, never once glancing away from the upper walkways above. His gaze swept along the ledges, unwavering, until movement flickered on one of them. Amos had emerged into view.
Without hesitation, Bryanard crouched—then launched himself upward in a second soaring leap, the stone beneath his boots cracking from the force. He ascended fast, angling to slam directly into the walkway and crush the bounty hunter in one brutal blow.
Amos didn't flinch. His revolver was already raised. Bryanard, expecting another harmless barrage, lifted his forearms again, fully prepared to shrug it off.
But Amos smirked.
Bang—bang.
The shots struck the knight's chest—and exploded.
Twin blasts tore outward on impact, catching Bryanard mid-air and slamming him back down to the fortress floor with a resounding BOOM. The stone beneath him cratered, dust and debris flying into the air.
"Were those explosive bullets!?" Quincy called out in shock, voice echoing across the coliseum. "Who knew the Gambler had tricks like that up his sleeve!"
In the fighters' waiting room, Ulrich let out a laugh. "Hey! Hitting people with surprise explosions is my thing!"
"Oof, that looked rough. You think Bryanard's okay?" Xain asked, concerned.
Calvinel grinned without missing a beat. "Don't worry. Takes more than that to put the old man down."
Back in the arena, Amos steadied himself. He was leaning backward, one hand holding onto his hat as pieces of the nearby walkway crumbled beside him—partially destroyed by the force of the blast. Beads of sweat clung to his brow. Still, he let out a breath, spun both revolvers in his hands, and laughed down at the crater.
"Ha! Didn't see that coming, huh? Every third bullet in the chamber's an explosive," he called out. "Always gets people!"
But the grin quickly slipped from his face.
Bryanard stirred. The knight pulled himself up slowly from the center of the crater, bits of stone clinging to his armor before falling away. The steel plating, though scuffed and dented in a few places, remained solid. He looked no worse for wear.
Amos's face paled slightly. "Right… you're an enhancer. Explosives don't exactly stick to enhancers."
From overhead, Quincy's voice rang out again. "Even that did nothing to the Warhammer! Is the Gambler running out of tricks!?"
Amos didn't answer. *C'mon, give me a chance here… that ain't all I've got,* he thought, heart thudding.
Then Bryanard laughed.
Not a low chuckle—no, a booming, jolly laugh that echoed across the fortress walls. Amos felt his stomach tighten.
"Here it comes," Calvinel muttered from the fighters' room, already leaning forward on the glass.
Bryanard reached behind his back and drew the massive war hammer free, the metal glinting in the sunlight as he hoisted it with one arm.
"Alright," the knight rumbled, "If you're going to use tricks, then I might as well go all out."
"Ohh! The Warhammer has brought out his war hammer!" Quincy exclaimed as the crowd roared in anticipation.
Bryanard raised the weapon high—then brought it down with full force into the stone below. The impact sent a thunderous shockwave crackling across the arena. The ground split and warped in its wake, tearing through stone and shattering the tower nearest to Amos. The walkway beneath the bounty hunter groaned, fractured—then gave way.
"Oh shit!" Amos shouted, the ground vanishing beneath his feet as he dropped.
"That's not just enhancing magic!" exclaimed Even from the fighters' waiting room, eyes wide.
Something his father realized as well in the VIP stands.
"He's combining enhancing magic with thunder magic," Samwell said, his tone calm but focused, eyes sharp with interest now. "He has thunder affinity."
Plummeting fast, Amos clenched the handle of his right revolver between his teeth, freeing up his hand. In one smooth motion, he reached to his belt, yanked out a coiled whip, and snapped it upward. The tip lashed around a chunk of intact walkway still clinging to the tower.
In the stands, Lia's eyes sparkled. "Ooh, a fellow whip user!" she said, clearly thrilled.
Back in the arena, Amos swung wide in a tight arc. As he dangled above the ruined tower, he grabbed his revolver from his mouth, flipped it in his grip, and leveled it down at Bryanard.
Below, the knight had already reared his war hammer back for a follow-up strike.
The board was set.The pieces were ready.Time to gamble with his life.