Reborn as the Last van Ambrose

The arena erupted in cheers as the most recent match of the day concluded with a decisive victory. A stocky fighter from the western provinces had defeated his opponent through sheer brute strength, battering through his opponents defensive, managing to break their arm.

"Next match," the announcer’s voice boomed across the coliseum. "Lord Grim Van Ambrose versus heir Feng Lin!"

Grim rose from his meditation, fighting the heaviness that still permeated in his limbs. He had managed to isolate some of the Ghost Veil’s effects, concentrating the poison in his non-dominant side to preserve his sword arm’s functionality. It was an imperfect solution. His balance would be compromised, his reaction time slower than normal, but it was the best he could manage on short notice.

[Your opponent approaches,] the voice warned.

Across the preparation area, a tall, lean man in crimson robes embroidered with gold thread stepped forward. Heir Feng Lin’s weapon of choice was a curved dao sword with a deep red tassel hanging from its pommel. A blade specifically designed for fire-attribute techniques.

Their eyes met across the chamber. Feng offered a formal bow, exactly deep enough to acknowledge Grim’s status without suggesting any inferiority. Grim responded with the barest tilt of his head, noticing how Feng’s eyes narrowed slightly at the deliberate slight.

Good. Let him begin the match irritated. Grim thought.

As they walked side by side toward the arena entrance, Feng spoke without turning his head. "I look forward to testing my skills against the legendary Ambrose house."

"Don’t worry," Grim replied coldly. "It will be educational, if brief."

Feng’s face remained impassive, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Arrogance is a poor substitute for skill, Lord Ambrose."

"So is poison," Grim said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.