Kill The Old Ones!

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Sieg dreamt of this moment a couple of times, whether he’d like to admit it or not.

Since he laid his eyes on Ren and saw a glimpse of what he could do, Sieg had been watching closely—more closely than one should, more closely than anybody in this whole stadium.

He was searching for something—a flaw, a vulnerability, a weakness...anything that he could use or take advantage of when the time comes that he’d need to fight this man.

And he has failed. Not because Ren hadn’t displayed any, but because there was none. Sieg couldn’t see any flaw or weakness, and his master couldn’t either.

’He’s the most complete martial artist I’ve seen. His inability to wield weapons isn’t a flaw; it’s restraint—not of his choosing, but of this world. Fate knew that if they placed a weapon in his hands, nobody would stand a chance against him. Nobody.’

That’s what his master said, word per word.

And that made Sieg feel bitter to the core—not because Ren was lucky or fortunate, but because despite the world placing more shackles on it, Ren freed himself with his own hands.

Sieg feels his existence redundant before Ren, and that does not feel good at all.

Now that he’s standing in front of this man, in this arena, before the attention of the whole kingdom, Sieg felt even more uncertain.

He tried to be faithful to himself. He wanted to trust his hard work, his experience, and the bitterness he had to endure just to stand in this very arena to prove himself. He wanted to believe that he had done more than enough for that and that it would be enough.

But it wasn’t. Enough, that is.

He has seen Ren in close proximity before. He had seen a glimpse of what he could do. But it’s way different now that he’s standing in opposition to him.

Ren doesn’t exude anything—not an oppressive aura, suppression, or killing intent—nothing. But somehow, that makes it worse.

If anything, it just made him feel inevitable.

"Match, start!!" Terry’s excited and energetic announcement blasted on Sieg’s ears.

But despite what the audience expected, neither Sieg nor Ren moved right away. They remained standing in their original position.

Sieg slowly pulled out his greatsword. His movements were deliberate, almost theatrical. His eyes and other senses strained and focused towards Ren, prepared to respond to any movement.

With a loud clang, his greatsword made contact with the floor and suddenly ignited with bright orange flames. Chakra flared from his body, forming a decent cloak around him.

Sieg’s eyes are solemn.

Meanwhile, Ren looked borderline bored. He stood with his arms crossed; his eyes were half-lidded and didn’t look like he was paying attention. It’s as if he’s about to nod off some time soon if nothing interesting happens.

That’s when Sieg suddenly blurred into motion. He appeared like a ghost before Ren with his greatsword held above, hacking down at him. The wreathed flames on the greatsword turned into a torch as he forcibly brought it down with all his might.

Boom!!

Solid met solid. Sieg felt like he had hit a firm and solid wall instead—one that’s more durable, compact, and impervious to anything.

But when he shifted his gaze, what he saw made his pupils constrict.

A single finger. Index finger, to be more specific.

That’s all Ren gave to stop a strike that Sieg put his back into.

His greatsword struck Ren’s index finger, and somehow, that one finger felt like the most solid and impervious wall Sieg had ever encountered.

"Impossible!" He growled.

He didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. This was not just a statement; it’s a blatant insult to him, and it was clear as the blue sky.

It screams to everybody that Sieg thought too highly of himself, and a single finger was enough for Ren to end him.

How could anybody be okay with that? How could Sieg be okay with that?

This man was telling him that all the hard work, blood, sweat, and tears he shed during these past few years were only equivalent to a single finger of his?

All the humiliation he had to endure, the torture, the nightmares, and the despair he felt. The hope, his recovery, his upturned destiny and luck—all of that only amounts to a single finger?

How can that be okay?

So no, Sieg doesn’t believe it. He cannot and will not believe it!

So, he struck. Again and again.

Sieg didn’t hold back. He couldn’t. He wanted to prove something. He wanted to rip off the facade, the lies and deceit, and the pretense that is Soren Marek Vire.

Soren was invincible. He will yield that Soren had, indeed, a black arm, but he is NOT invincible!

He has a weakness, Sieg was sure of it. No man is invincible. And Ren is not.

So he struck. He continued striking with everything that he had. He thinks that so long as he struck enough times, something about Ren had to give, that he would expose a vulnerability—a weakness that can be exploited that is used to defeat him.

But reality was more awful than Sieg hoped.

Regardless of how much he struck, how strong, or from which angle, all he was met with was that same finger—that same index finger of his right hand.

Time and time again, Sieg felt that wall, which gave him a feeling of mounting helplessness in his heart. That wall didn’t budge, didn’t give way, and was completely indifferent to his strength. It looked down on him and disdained to respond to his childish tantrums.

It was insulting.

Sieg knew that his greatsword was sharp; he made sure of it. He also knew that the temperature of his flames was no joke; they could’ve melted high-grade metals at this point—much less skin, flesh, and bones.

Yet to Ren, none of it mattered. His finger did not falter. It didn’t even look singed by the temperature of his greatsword.

"GRAHHH!!"

Sieg let out a war cry, thinking that by doing so, he’d be able to squeeze out enough strength to change his situation and force something to happen in his favor.

Well, a change did happen, but certainly not in his favor.

CLANG!!

In response to his war cry, Ren flicked his finger at the same moment Sieg’s greatsword made contact.

The impact was absolute. For the first time, the immovable object retaliated, and its consequences were serious. The impact nearly caused Sieg to release his hold of his greatsword. The shockwave rocked his whole body, starting from his hand down to the last nerve ending.

Sieg almost lost consciousness because of that.

His attack, filled with rage, determination, and purpose, was defeated by a single flick of a finger.

The impact wasn’t the only thing that made him dizzy; it was what it meant—for him, for Aria, and for everybody that’s evaluating this match.

He could see them, could hear them, too.

Some were laughing at him. Some pitied him. Others were dismissive or disdained him.

They were probably wondering why he was even trying when it’s clear that he’s out of his depth. Had he surrendered from the very beginning, he might’ve just been able to save some dignity for himself.

Yet here he stands: foolish, weak, and utterly and incomprehensibly stupid for biting off more than he can chew, for fighting someone who’s clearly way beyond what he could handle.

’They don’t get it. They don’t understand.’ Sieg hatefully spat as he stabilized himself.

’They have no idea what this means to me.’

’Lily was able to force this man to display his skills—something that nobody managed to do in previous matches.’

’She’s strong, I’ll give her that. But she’s not me.’

’If she could do it, why can’t I? ’

’I’m a man! I’m strong enough! I don’t believe he could humiliate me so! ’

Sieg was losing his mind. His eyes were turning red, and he was breathing heavily like a cornered animal.

’Boy, calm yourself down! ’

His master’s voice came clear, ringing in his own head. Sieg froze upon hearing it.

’Goodness gracious, you fool! It’s only a competition! Victory and defeat are given. You are strong but not as strong as your enemy. It’s alright to admit defeat, to admit that you still have some growing to do! ’

’You’ve already come far. Further than those who used to put you down and look down upon you. Can’t you be satisfied with that? Losing in this stage doesn’t mean that it’s the end of the road for you! ’

’But what if it is!? ’Sieg argued back, screaming in his own mind, forcing the old man to bite back his words.

’You don’t get it, Master! Nobody does.’

’To me, he’s like what I’ve faced at the 7th hall from the 2nd round, only a completely different person! ’

’You know what that’s like for me. You know what I felt in that moment.’

’It’s like that now, all over again. It’s just this time; it’s a real person. Him. And he won’t go away even if you wake me up or remind me or if I defeat him, which I doubt I can.’

He then projected his gaze towards the mental space where he and his master met. His gaze was filled with desperation so thick that he looked miserable.

’Help me, master.’

’Help me defeat him! ’