From the front Valerion's formation, the King had watched everything unfold with a steady, unblinking gaze, his mind weighing every shift in momentum, every surge of power, every sign that hope was either rising or being slowly crushed under the weight of a superior force. He had seen Lucas and the others push beyond reason, had witnessed the Ice Belle reshape the battlefield itself, and had allowed himself, even if only briefly, to believe that they might turn the tide completely. But now, as Ken stood against them without fear, without strain, and without even the slightest sign of yielding, that fragile hope had begun to fracture, not entirely gone, but no longer something he could rely on as a certainty.
He understood what that meant.
If the duel could not decide their fate, then the battlefield would.
