The World Is Mine For The Taking

When I saw Titania's opponent, the first thing that hit me was a strange sense of déjà vu. No, not déjà vu exactly. It was more like her appearance tugged at something buried in my memory, like someone had described her to me before, though I couldn't quite place it.

The referee stepped onto the platform, the air seeming to thicken with his presence. His voice rang out, clear and commanding, slicing through the crowd's growing murmurs like a blade.

"You know the rules. Victory is achieved when your opponent is either incapacitated or pushed off the platform. Killing is to be avoided wherever possible. Show the honor befitting swordsmen and adhere to these terms." He scanned them both with a stern gaze before raising his hand. "Prepare yourselves."

Titania and her opponent shifted into their stances, the tension between them crackling like static electricity. Each movement was deliberate, precise, radiating a readiness to strike at a moment's notice.

The referee's hand dropped sharply. The match had begun.

***

Titania's POV

The moment I laid eyes on her, unease coiled in my gut like a snake preparing to strike. My opponent was strange—no, more than strange. She was an enigma, her very presence sending warning signals through my instincts. I scanned her for weaknesses, any opening I could exploit, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Her stance should've been riddled with flaws—she stood so casually, almost arrogantly—but it felt deliberate, calculated. The illusion of carelessness only masked the lethal precision beneath. It was as if she dared me to make the first move, baiting me with her feigned vulnerabilities.

The crowd grew restless.

"Huh? Why aren't they moving? The match already started!"

"Are you kidding me? This is boring as hell!"

"Come on! Clash swords already! What are you waiting for?"

Their shouts grated against my nerves, but I didn't move. She didn't either. We stood there, locked in an unspoken battle of wills, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of the first strike.

Her eyes pierced through me, calm yet intense, like a predator sizing up its prey. I couldn't sense any intent to kill, but that didn't mean I could let my guard down. One slip, one mistake, and she'd be on me like a wolf tearing into a wounded deer.

The arena buzzed with tension, the spectators' frustration a dull roar in the background. Time felt warped, stretching out as we stared each other down. And then, I saw it—a single, fleeting moment where her guard faltered.

A crack in her armor.

I moved instantly, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. My speed was blinding, the ground beneath me blurring as I surged forward like a lightning strike. My sword arced through the air, its blade gleaming in the harsh light, aimed to end the match in one decisive blow.

But something was wrong.

"—!?"

An icy chill shot down my spine, freezing me mid-strike.

My blade cleaved through empty space, the whoosh of displaced air mocking my effort. She wasn't there. She'd vanished as if she'd been a mirage all along.

The lingering echo of my attack hung in the arena, a sharp, jarring reminder that I'd been outmaneuvered. My opponent was no ordinary fighter.

The moment I saw her, I knew something was wrong. Her presence was chilling, unnerving in a way I couldn't put into words. I turned back to see her standing there, unmoving, as if she were a statue carved from cold, unfeeling stone. Her eyes were pitch black, empty of any emotion, like twin voids that sucked the air from my lungs. Her short hair, barely reaching the nape of her neck and even shorter than Leon's, floated unnaturally, shifting as if stirred by an invisible breeze. She wasn't muscular—far from it. Her petite frame looked delicate, almost frail. Yet the aura she exuded was anything but weak. She was strong, terrifyingly so, and I could feel it in my bones.

I steadied myself, tightening my grip on my weapon. My eyes locked on hers, refusing to falter. She stood motionless, her gaze fixed solely on me. There was something off, something that gnawed at the edges of my mind. Her posture, her stance—it was riddled with openings. Openings she wasn't bothering to hide anymore, unlike earlier when she was cautious and calculated. Now, she exuded confidence, like a predator toying with prey.

I didn't engage. Not yet. Instead, I held my ground, muscles coiled like a spring. Her eyes never wavered, cold and lifeless, staring through me as if I weren't even human. My pulse quickened, a bead of sweat rolling down my temple. Then it hit me—a sharp, icy chill raced down the back of my neck, freezing me in place.

Something was coming.

From behind—something was coming. Fast.

I barely registered it before my vision spun. Suddenly, I was tumbling, the ground rushing away from me as if I were flying.

No. That was impossible. I couldn't be lifted like that so easily. But I felt weightless. Completely weightless.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—blood. A stream of crimson followed me through the air. And then I saw the platform below.

A body.

My body.

It stood there, headless, blood pouring from the severed neck like a grotesque fountain. For a moment, it remained upright, but soon it collapsed in a heap, pooling blood soaking into the platform beneath it.

Headless…? Was I dead? No. That couldn't be. I couldn't die like this. Find more adventures on My Virtual Library Empire

But before the horror could fully sink in, my vision snapped back to normal.

"Ahhh!" I gasped, dropping to my knees as I clutched my neck. It wasn't bleeding; it wasn't severed. Thank the gods, I was still alive. My breathing came in ragged bursts, my body trembling. What just happened? Was it an illusion? A hallucination?

"It's impressive you're still holding it together," my opponent said, her voice as cold and detached as her eyes. She was beside me now, close enough for her shadow to stretch over me. "Most people scream, cry, or lose their minds when they see their own death. But you… you're different. Your sanity is stronger than most."

I didn't understand a word of what she was saying. My body moved on instinct, swinging my sword at her in a desperate attempt to drive her back. But no matter how fast or precise my attack was, it hit nothing but empty air. She was gone before my blade could even reach her.

"You're still fighting. Impressive," she said, her voice echoing around me. "But it's over."

A new sensation flooded my senses—sharp, cold, and terrifyingly real. She was going to kill me. I could feel it, the inevitability of death bearing down on me.

Before the final blow could land, a metallic clang reverberated across the platform.

"Hey! Don't interfere with the battle!" the referee shouted.

By the time I realized what had happened, Leon was by my side, his arms wrapped protectively around me. His sword was locked against hers, stopping her blade inches from my neck. His glare was fierce, his entire body radiating fury.

"This person is trying to kill her opponent," Leon growled, his voice dripping with venom as he addressed the referee. "You expect me to just stand by and let my loved one die? Fuck that. Titania means everything to me. I'm not going to lie down and let her be slaughtered." He tightened his grip on his sword, his glare never wavering. "And let me inform you—she's the Princess of Bethlan. If something happens to her, do you really think the Kingdom of Milham will sit idly by?"

The referee hesitated, his authority faltering under Leon's words.

The referee's voice cut through the noise, firm and final. "Contestant number 54 is disqualified! Contestant number 76 is declared the victor of this battle!"

The announcement was met with a chorus of boos from the crowd. Their disappointment was palpable, their jeers ringing out like a wave of discontent. I couldn't blame them. From their perspective, the fight must've seemed like a dull exchange—just a few fleeting dashes and slashes with no real impact. They had no idea how long it had felt for me, how every moment dragged on like an eternity.

Leon's gaze hardened as he turned to my opponent. "You… You swung that sword with the intent to kill, didn't you?" His voice was sharp, laced with anger. "Why the hell would you do that? You know the rules. Killing is prohibited."

She didn't answer. She just stood there, her face blank, her emotionless black eyes locked on him. Her stoic expression didn't waver, not even under the weight of his accusation.

Leon wasn't finished. "Oh, I get it now," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "Sure, killing's against the rules. But if someone accidentally dies, there's no real consequence, is there? No one's held accountable for a little 'unfortunate mishap.' That's what you were banking on, wasn't it?"

She still didn't respond. Not a word, not a flicker of emotion. She simply stared at him, unbothered, as if his words didn't even register. Then, without warning, she turned away. Her movements were calm, deliberate. Sliding her sword back into its sheath, she walked off the platform with the same eerie composure she'd maintained throughout the entire fight.

The battle was over. She had already been declared the winner. She had no reason to linger, no interest in dragging things out any longer.

Leon, however, wasn't ready to let it go. His eyes followed her retreating figure, burning with unspoken fury.