Chapter 110: Cooking the Armor
The four Blood-Iron fighters stared at their dead shields.
The captain looked at his. The blue glow was completely gone. The spiritual links that had made them invincible were silent.
"How did you—" he started.
Holden didn’t answer. He simply walked out of their formation and back to his team, spinning the Star-Forged Sword once before resting it on his shoulder.
The crowd was buzzing. Nobody had seen what happened. One second the Phalanx was advancing. The next it was broken, and Team Soup’s leader was standing behind it like he had teleported.
The Blood-Iron captain’s face changed. Confusion turned to frustration. Frustration turned to something darker.
He reached behind his back.
"Illegal weapon!" Maeve’s voice burst through Holden’s earpiece. "Holden, he’s got a concealed weapon! It’s a barbed whip, tournament-banned! He’s going for Lyra!"
Holden’s eyes snapped to the captain’s hand.
The brute had pulled a coiled length of black metal from a hidden sheath at his lower back. Barbs jutted from every inch of the whip.
The captain didn’t look at Holden.
He looked at Lyra.
His arm swung.
The whip uncoiled like a striking snake, the barbed end tearing through the air toward Lyra’s legs. It was a hit meant to break her knees and cut her muscles.
Lyra tried to dodge but coming out from behind Emric’s shield left her off-balance. Her footing wasn’t set yet. She was a half-second too slow.
Holden moved.
His left hand shot out.
The barbed whip wrapped around his forearm. The jagged metal teeth dug into his skin.
And stopped.
The barbs scraped against his Rank 2 Iron-Body like nails on a rock. They didn’t penetrate. They didn’t even leave a mark. The whip was wrapped tight around his arm, the barbs pressing hard enough to gouge normal flesh to the bone.
Holden’s skin didn’t budge.
The arena went quiet.
"You aimed at the wrong person."
His voice sounded completely flat and cold.
He then pulled back hard.
The captain was yanked off his feet. His tower shield dropped onto the sand. His body flew through the air, dragged by the whip still wrapped around Holden’s forearm.
Holden walked to the center of the ring, pulling the captain behind him like a suitcase.
The other three Blood-Iron fighters took a step back.
"Wait," one of them said. "That’s impossible. That whip goes through plate armor."
Holden didn’t look at them.
He reached down with his free hand and grabbed the captain by the collar of his iron chestplate. He hauled the massive brute upright, holding him at arm’s length. The captain’s feet dangled in the sand.
"Let go of me!" the captain roared. "Do you know who I am?! I’ll break your—"
Holden drew his Star-Forged Sword with his right hand.
He activated Hellfire Cleave.
WHOOSH!
Crimson fire erupted along the blade, but Holden didn’t swing it. He pressed the flat side of the blazing sword directly against the captain’s chestplate.
The fire didn’t slash or cut. It just pressed flat against the iron, pouring heat into the metal
For one second, nothing visible happened.
Then the captain’s eyes went wide.
The iron chestplate began to glow. First red. Then orange. Then a bright, angry yellow. The thick metal plates that had protected him through dozens of brutal fights were turning into a stove.
The heat transferred inward instantly. There was no gap between the armor and the captain’s body. The iron pressed against his chest, his stomach, his sides. Every piece of metal touching his skin became a brand.
"I YIELD!" the captain screamed. "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!"
He clawed at his chestplate, but the latches were on the sides, under his arms. He couldn’t reach them. His fingers scraped uselessly at the glowing metal, blistering the tips before he pulled them away.
"PLEASE! IT’S BURNING! IT’S BURNING!"
Tears streamed down his scarred face. The toughest brute in the northern territories, the man famous for crippling other fighters, was sobbing like a child.
Holden held the blade there for exactly three more seconds.
Then he pulled it away.
The captain collapsed to his knees in the sand, gasping, his chestplate still glowing faintly orange. Steam rose from every gap in his armor.
The other three Blood-Iron fighters dropped their weapons.
All three of them raised their hands in the air, their faces white with terror.
"We surrender!" the one with the missing ear shouted. "We surrender! Don’t cook us!"
The referee stumbled into the ring, his whistle hanging forgotten around his neck. He looked at the sobbing captain, the three surrendering fighters, and the calm kid standing over them all.
"T-Team Soup advances!" he managed.
The Colosseum exploded.
The roar was louder than yesterday. Louder than the first round. A hundred thousand people were on their feet, screaming, stamping, shaking the very foundations of the building. The underdog story was spreading like wildfire. A team from a border academy had just dismantled the most feared squad in the tournament without taking a single injury.
[Ding!]
[4x Blood-Iron Academy Elites (Rank 2, 3-Star) Defeated!]
[Base Reward: 2,000 KP]
[Upset Victory Bonus: +2,000 KP]
[2x KP Booster Applied!]
[Total: +8,000 KP!]
[Current Balance: 106,790 KP]
Holden closed the notification and dismissed his sword.
Medical staff rushed past him to attend to the captain, who was still whimpering on the ground. His teammates stood frozen, unable to decide whether to help him or stay as far from Holden as possible.
Lyra walked up to Holden. Her expression was complicated. Gratitude, worry, and something fierce all mixed together.
"You didn’t have to do that," she said quietly.
"Yeah," Holden said. "I did."
He looked up at the Royal VIP box.
Prince Oscar looked furious, his face twisted in anger because he couldn’t do anything about it. Beside him, King Aldric’s jaw was clenched tight enough to grind teeth to powder.
Holden raised two fingers to his brow in a mocking salute.
The prince’s mouth opened in a silent scream.
Holden turned his back on the Royal Family and walked off the arena floor with his team beside him.