I Awakened The SSS Class Abyssal Warlord

As Lina's twin daggers clattered to the ground, they dissolved into a swirling silver mist, evaporating into the air as if they were never real.

The blood staining Valcran's hand followed suit, drifting into vapor along with the entire body he had impaled, leaving nothing but thin tendrils of mist curling around his fingers.

The crowd gasped, realization dawning on them that they had been deceived—but instead of disappointment, the arena erupted in thunderous cheers, thrilled by the clever display of skill.

Mistral Veil, Lina's class skill, had triggered.

It was an advanced illusion-based ability that allowed her to weave lifelike phantoms, manipulating sight, sound, touch—even the sensation of blood and pain—to deceive the senses of anyone who fell into its grasp.

Back in the waiting room, Oliver let out a long, shaky breath, relief washing over him. "That's my Rin," he muttered under his breath, a small smile creeping onto his face.

The crowd was ecstatic—they expected nothing less than a spectacle from Dante's Divine Vanguard, and Lina had delivered in the opening moments.

But down in the arena, Valcran stood unfazed, brushing mist off his coat sleeve.

His expression remained eerily calm, as though he had seen through the deception from the start.

"What an interesting skill," Valcran said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the mist-shrouded arena. "But you won't win by hiding."

The mist thickened, crawling across the entire battlefield and obscuring the arena floor from view.

The audience groaned in frustration, unable to see what was happening—their view was completely blocked by Lina's tactical veil.

Inside the mist, Valcran's senses sharpened. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes constantly shifted, tracking the faintest flickers of movement.

"Are you going to attack, or—"

His words were cut off by the sudden appearance of a gleaming dagger thrusting toward his chest.

Valcran twisted his body with inhuman grace, narrowly avoiding the strike.

Lina appeared for only a heartbeat, her eyes cold and focused—and then she vanished into the mist once more.

The next attack came from his blind spot—then another.

Each time, Valcran reacted smoothly, his instincts guiding him to avoid or deflect the blows with minimal movement.

Lina was relentless, her blades flashing in and out of existence, her presence like a ghost flickering through the mist.

But each time, Valcran's evasions grew sharper, more precise, until her pattern began to unravel before his eyes.

Slowly, the mist began to thin, Lina's Mistral Veil fading as her class skill's duration ended.

The arena came back into view, and the crowd leaned forward in anticipation.

Valcran's lips curled into a faint smile.

"Enough playing around," he said, his voice low—almost amused.

A radiant golden light enveloped his body, forming into a suit of heavy, ornate battle armor that covered him from head to toe.

Every plate shimmered with divine energy, the engraved chains across his arms and chest humming with power.

Aegis of the Fallen Tyrant—his class skill, an enhancement that drastically increased his defense, physical strength, and resistance to all forms of physical and magical assault.

The weight of his presence grew oppressive, as if the air itself bowed beneath the sheer pressure radiating from him.

Lina's grip on her daggers tightened.

The real battle was about to begin.

Valcran's golden boots slammed into the ground, the force cracking the arena floor beneath him as he charged forward like a living battering ram.

His speed was shocking for someone clad in such heavy armor, and Lina found herself on the defensive, weaving and twisting through each brutal swing of his gauntleted fists.

Her daggers flashed, deflecting what blows she could, but the sheer power behind his strikes sent painful shocks up her arms every time blade met fist.

His movements were relentless, overwhelming—each missed strike carving deep trenches into the arena floor, sending debris flying into the mist-filled air.

As they fought, Valcran's voice rang out, loud and dripping with deranged arrogance.

"Look at you—dancing around like a frightened little rat."

He swung again, Lina barely ducking under his fist.

"You're beneath me. All of you are beneath me!"

Another punch—Lina leapt back, landing lightly, her eyes never leaving him.

"I should have been Eldoria's ruler. Not that simpering emperor cowering behind his court! I was destined to command, to break the chains of this pathetic empire and forge my own!"

His golden fist crashed down where Lina had stood a moment before, sending cracks racing outward.

"And now? Now I'm here—entertaining worms! The same worms who should have been kneeling before me, not cheering from their filthy seats!"

Lina no longer heard him.

She'd stopped listening the moment he claimed he could overthrow the emperor. He hadn't even managed to land a solid hit on her—yet he thought he could topple someone powerful enough to hold an empire together?

Her mind was clear. Her focus absolute. Every step, every breath, every movement was dedicated to evasion—survival—waiting for the moment.

Valcran roared again, his frustration mounting. His swings grew wilder, his words more venomous.

"When I get out of here—I will tear down everyone who ever dared look down on me! The emperor, the nobles, the cowards who exiled me—I'll bury them all in chains and drag them through the streets like the dogs they are! But for now…"

He surged forward, fist raised to crush her.

"…I'll pour all my frustration into you!"

But just as his fist descended, Valcran's whole body seized up. His movements slowed, his limbs felt heavy, like they were weighed down by stone.

His armored hand trembled in the air before finally dropping uselessly to his side.

His golden armor, once radiant and imposing, suddenly felt suffocating—a cage rather than protection.

He coughed violently, dark red blood splattering the arena floor, followed by more streaming from his nose, then his eyes.

"What… what did you… do to me?" Valcran rasped, his voice losing its arrogance, replaced by panic.

Lina stood calmly, her daggers glinting in the dim light.

"The mist," she said softly. "It's not just mist."

Valcran's eyes widened.

"Its primary function is to deceive the senses, yes… but after prolonged exposure, it begins to disrupt your nervous system. Your senses dull, your reaction time slows, and your strength… drains away."

More blood oozed from Valcran's nose, dripping onto the gold plates of his armor.

"It also ruptures the blood vessels in your head—not enough to kill you, of course."

Lina's lips curled into a cold smile.

"That part is my job."

Before Valcran could respond, Lina exploded forward in a blur of motion—faster than she'd moved the entire fight.

Valcran's mind screamed at him to dodge, but his body lagged behind his thoughts.

The first dagger plunged into his chest—then another—and another.

Strike after strike, Lina's blades pierced his chest, finding flesh again and again.

Each stab was precise, ruthless, her expression cold and unyielding.

Valcran's knees buckled.

Blood gushed from his mouth as the light in his eyes flickered.

His grand ambitions — his dreams of conquest and revenge — all crumbled with every thrust of her blades.

The final stroke was a clean, gliding cut across his throat.

With that He collapsed into a growing pool of his own blood, his lifeless eyes staring upward, filled with regret — not for his sins, but for dying before he could make anyone bow to him.

The arena erupted into deafening applause.

The spectators rose to their feet, cheering wildly.

No words were necessary — their awe and admiration were written in every clap, every shout, every roar of approval.

Lina flicked her bloodstained daggers once, cleaning them, before casting a sidelong glance at Valcran's corpse.

"Maybe you'll have better luck taking over Hell," she said quietly, before turning on her heel and walking back toward the waiting room.

The cheers followed her all the way.