When Gray's sharp gaze locked with that of his opponent, it felt as though the air itself had shifted. No longer did he stand with the nervous trembling from before—his feet were rooted firmly to the ground, like a trunk refusing to yield to the storm. He drew in slow breaths, raising his sword into a ready stance, as though his will alone bore the weight of his weary body.

The aide sneered at that look, his lips curling with disdain, before rushing forward once more. Strike after strike rained down—at Gray's shoulders, arms, and chest without pause. Each blow heavier and faster than the last, sparks flying from the clash of steel.

Gray staggered backward again and again, barely managing to parry, his body swaying with every impact. To many watching, it seemed his fall was only seconds away. Yet despite his sluggish movements and lack of skill, he endured. With every shudder of his blade under the crushing strikes, he bit down on his lip, screaming inside himself:
"I won't fall… I won't fall…!"

The aide laughed boisterously, his voice echoing through the arena.
"Is this all you've got? Just a pup clinging to a sword heavier than his own body?!"

But what stirred the audience wasn't his taunt—it was Gray's refusal to collapse. The duel dragged on, seconds stretching long, and still the boy stood, enduring blow after blow. Murmurs rippled through the crowd:
"How is he still standing…?"
"What kind of resolve is this?!"

In the stands, Ken leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with rare intensity. Within Gray's defiance, he heard an echo from his past—the marshal's thunderous roar in his memories: "Get up! You lack resolve! You have nothing but the will to fight until your very last breath!"

Then, in a flash, the aide found an opening. His blade lashed at Gray's leg with brutal force. The boy couldn't fully block it—his knee buckled, and he crashed onto the dirt, dust rising around him as laughter erupted from the crowd.

"It's over!" the aide sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. "Fall already, you pitiful brat!"

But Gray lifted his head, his eyes blazing like embers, and bellowed with all the strength in his lungs:
"I won't fall… even if my body breaks apart!"

He pushed himself back up, defying the agony, sword raised once more at his foe. His cry rang through the arena, silencing the laughter, forcing even the most doubtful to stare in stunned disbelief.

The aide faltered, caught off guard by his resurgence. In that fleeting hesitation, Gray seized the moment—he surged forward with a desperate strike, pouring every last shred of his strength into it. Their blades collided with a crash, the force of it driving the aide half a step back, shock flashing across his face.

From the stands, cheers began to swell. Those who had dismissed the boy moments earlier now shouted his name with fervor, carried away by the fire of his spirit.

And Ken—he grinned wide, a thrill coursing through him as he whispered under his breath:
"This is what I wanted to see… resolve that refuses to break, even before the impossible."

The duel blazed anew—the aide attacking with renewed ferocity, frustration etched on his face, while Gray parried and stumbled, yet refused to yield. With every passing moment, it was no longer just a match between a trained knight and an unskilled boy.

It had become a battle between arrogance… and unyielding will.