Mork and Luke stepped into the new arena. The floor was already prepared, identical to the battlefield used in the earlier Battlelok duel. Without a word, both moved to opposite sides of the arena, waiting for the instructor's signal.
Mork stood before an army of red stone statues—soldiers carved in perfect formation. Across from him, Luke faced an army of blue statues. The two glanced at each other from a distance.
Mork looks calm, Luke thought bitterly. Like he already knows the outcome.
Mork's eyes were calm and steady, but beneath that stillness his mind was sharp. This isn't about strength, he reminded himself. It's about seeing the end before the first move.
At the instructor's command, the duel began.
Both turned their attention to the battlefield. For a brief moment, neither moved. They studied the terrain, calculating, planning—each searching for a path to victory.
If I rush, I lose, Luke told himself. I won't be humiliated again.
Luke made the first move. He pushed his soldiers one block forward—a typical opening move.
Safe. Simple. Reliable.
Mork did not hesitate. It was as if he already knew what had to be done. He advanced his knights two blocks ahead.
Fear makes men cautious. Confidence creates pressure.
The duel progressed turn by turn. Luke continued pushing his soldiers forward, drawing closer to Mork's forces. I'll overwhelm him with numbers, Luke thought. He can't break a wall this wide.
Meanwhile, Mork moved his troops with purpose, shaping his army into a precise formation. His knights formed the tip of an arrow, sharp and narrow. His foot soldiers filled the center, while the archers and the king remained positioned safely behind.
Everything points forward, Mork thought. No hesitation. No retreat.
By the time Luke's soldiers reached the center of the arena, he began advancing his knights as well.
Now, Luke thought. Now I crush him.
Mork responded immediately, driving his knights and soldiers forward.
The two armies collided.
Luke's soldiers and knights were spread wide, covering a large area of the battlefield. He's trapped, Luke told himself. All I have to do is close in.
Mork's forces, however, were tightly packed, focused entirely on the center.
Wide formations waste strength, Mork thought. The heart decides the battle.
As the clash unfolded, Mork's army tore through the middle of Luke's formation. Luke felt a jolt of unease—but he refused to panic.
Encircle him, Luke ordered silently. Break him from the sides.
But Mork had no intention of stopping.
Instead of retreating or turning to defend, he ordered a relentless charge forward. His troops pushed through the broken center, cutting deeper and deeper into Luke's ranks.
Ignore the noise. Ignore the losses, Mork told himself. Only the king matters.
Straight toward the king.
By the time Luke realized Mork's true objective, cold dread settled in his chest. No… he's not trying to win the fight. He's ending it.
Luke's archers, the final line of defense, unleashed a storm of arrows. Many of Mork's soldiers fell. Stop him. Stop him now, Luke pleaded silently.
But the advance did not slow.
Mork's troops crashed into the archers, tearing apart their formation and carving a path straight to the king.
This is the end, Mork thought.
In a single decisive moment, Luke's king was struck down.
The Battlelok duel was over.
Luke stared in disbelief as his king fell. I lost… again. He looked up at Mork and saw him smiling—calm, victorious. The sight burned deeper than any wound.
The instructor stepped forward. "The duel has ended. Lord Mork is victorious once again and has earned a B-rank in his tactical trial. As for Mister Luke, having lost again, you will receive a D-rank."
Luke lowered his head. So this is how far I fall. His eyes burned red, tears gathering, threatening to spill.
"Now," the instructor continued, "we move on to the next trial—the Trial of Endurance."
Two massive doors opened, each leading to a separate arena. The instructor gestured for them to proceed.
Mork walked forward without hesitation, confidence steady in his stride. One step closer, he thought.
Luke followed slowly, his gaze fixed on the ground.
I won't forget this, he promised himself.
Just before stepping inside, Luke glanced at Mork—not with rage this time, but with something quieter… heavier.
Almost like a sigh.