For Our Cherished One

The crowd's anticipation reached a fever pitch as we circled one another, blades poised and ready.

Magoth's faint smile never faltered, but his eyes sharpened, scanning for any crack in my defense. I could feel his focus like a tangible force, pressing against me.

I adjusted my stance, shifting my weight forward. My limbs were taut, coiled like a spring, waiting for his next move. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep this up. My muscles screamed with every strike, every dodge. The protagonist's body granted me strength and speed, but even it had limits.

Magoth lunged again, his blade descending in a powerful arc. I raised mine just in time, sparks scattering as steel met steel. The force rattled down my arms, but I held firm, gritting my teeth against the strain.

He wasn't slowing down. If anything, his strikes grew faster, sharper, each one testing the cracks in my defenses.

"You're good," he admitted, his voice steady despite the exertion. "But can you handle this, Eva?"

I froze mid-step, my blade faltering for a split second.

Eva?

That name—it was the protagonist, this body's.

Evangeline Rullet.

But I hadn't told anyone here. To everyone in this area, I was Ellen.

Of course if he was a childhood friend, I could act like I forgot.

But he makes it seem he's unforgettable...

"How do you know that name?" I demanded, my voice shaking slightly as I tightened my grip on the hilt.

Magoth didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze softened, a flicker of something almost... familiar crossing his face.

"You truly don't recognize me, do you?" he asked quietly, a strange mix of disappointment and disbelief in his tone.

"Recognize you?" I parried another strike, my mind racing. "What are you talking about?"

I wanted answers, demanded them, but Magoth didn't wait. His expression hardened, and his blade swung toward me in a sudden, calculated strike.

It wasn't a normal attack.

The moment his sword angled toward me, something primal sparked deep within. My body moved on its own, a surge of energy flooding my veins. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the sharp edge of his blade and the instinct roaring to life within me.

I twisted, narrowly avoiding the first strike, and countered with a precision that wasn't mine. My blade met his in a devastating clash, the force reverberating through the arena.

Magoth's eyes widened slightly, his movements becoming more aggressive, as though testing the limits of what I could do. But I was no longer just Ellen.

The protagonist within me had awakened.

Our battle became a blur of strikes and counters, each move sharper, faster, more decisive. The crowd roared, but their cheers felt distant, muted against the pounding of my heart.

Then, in one final, fluid motion, I stepped into his attack. My sword arced upward, slipping past his defenses with a speed that left him no time to react.

The tip of my blade stopped just below his chin, close enough for him to feel the cold steel against his skin.

Silence fell over the arena.

Magoth froze, his sword falling to his side as he raised his hands in surrender. His expression remained calm, but there was no denying the flicker of shock in his eyes.

"Well fought," he said finally, inclining his head in respect. His voice carried no bitterness—only acknowledgment.

I nodded, barely hearing the official's booming announcement of my victory. My chest heaved as I lowered my blade, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me.

Magoth stepped back, his gaze still locked on mine. There was something in his eyes—approval, curiosity, and something deeper.

"You really don't remember," he said softly, more to himself than to me. Before I could question him further, he turned and walked away, leaving me with more questions than answers.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices pulling me back to the present. For now, I had won.

But as I stepped off the platform, one thought consumed me:

Who was Magoth Harlund, and how did he know me?