A soft chime echoed when Libra rose from her throne.
Her violet gown shimmered beneath the altar's radiance. Every strand of her purple hair swayed gently with the flow of the heavenly wind.
With graceful movements, she unfolded wings of light from her back and floated down toward the center of the arena.
In her left hand rested a small golden scale glowing softly—the symbol of absolute balance.
The moment her feet touched the marble surface of the arena, the entire Colosseum fell silent.
Libra gazed at the two fighters standing opposite one another. One dressed entirely in black, the other gleaming like a living silver statue. Like two worlds that could never become one.
With a beautiful voice that echoed like a heavenly hymn, she raised the scales high into the air.
"The third match!"
She swept her right hand outward while the golden scales in her left trembled lightly.
"Begins now!"
Cheers immediately exploded from every corner of the tribunes.
The Elf race rose to their feet, waving banners and magic staffs while singing songs of victory in piercingly high tones.
Meanwhile, on the human side, the voices of support sounded lower. Not from lack of spirit, but because they were restraining the anxiety tightening within their chests.
Libra slowly flew back to her place between the two thrones. Her wings sparkled like fragments of fallen aurora.
The moment she disappeared into the heights, the arena changed.
The marble floor began to tremble, splitting apart and rising into a colossal altar of white crystal.
Towering pillars stretched toward the heavens, radiating soft light from every side. There were no shadows anywhere—not beneath feet, not behind stone, not even within the gaps of the air itself. Everything seemed drenched in pure light that stripped every secret bare.
For Caelendir Elenvar, this was home.
He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the light to dance upon his skin.
His face remained calm, a faint smile upon his lips. An aura of confidence radiated from his entire being, as though victory had already been written into the sky before the match had even begun.
But for Hayama, that altar was a living hell.
There was no shadow to hide within.
No place to disappear.
His face remained calm, yet his brows furrowed slightly, revealing his awareness of how utterly hostile the battlefield truly was.
His dark eyes moved slowly, tracing every corner of the arena and mapping his enemy—even in a place where he should have been unable to map anything at all.
From the human tribunes, faces tightened with tension.
Some clasped their hands together. Others prayed silently.
"How can a shinobi fight without shadows?" a young soldier whispered nearby.
A former special forces operative swallowed hard.
"That isn't an arena…" he muttered quietly. "It's an execution chamber for a ninja."
The President sat upon his throne with his jaw tightened.
He did not move even as the altar's light illuminated his blond hair now streaked with white. His face looked like stone—hard and resolute—yet hidden beneath that silence was a long and desperate prayer.
At his right side, Johan watched with deep concern.
His fingers clenched tightly against his chest. He understood perfectly well that the arena offered absolutely no advantage for humanity's representative.
Across from them, The Ancient One leaned against his throne.
His golden wings spread wide, a satisfied smile curling along his beak.
"Behold, humans," he murmured softly.
"Even the heavens themselves seem to favor the light."
He closed his eyes briefly, as though savoring the scent of victory beginning to fill the air.
Meanwhile, Libra sat silently between the two thrones.
The scales in her hand moved slowly. One side rose, the other descended, before returning to balance once more.
Her expression remained calm. Yet behind her gaze lingered a subtle concern—a concern only a judge could feel.
That true balance might soon be shaken.
And in the middle of that shadowless altar, the two figures stood firm, as though measuring one another's breathing and distance.
The sky above the arena glittered like shattered glass, reflecting the light of the crystal altar standing proudly at the heart of the Colosseum.
There was not even the slightest trace of shadow.
Everything was bright.
Far too bright.
As though the light itself rejected the existence of anything called darkness.
Caelendir Elenvar looked around with elegant steps. His golden eyes shone like twin miniature suns.
He straightened his posture and directed his gaze toward the red-scarved figure standing motionless before him like a statue.
A faint smile formed at the corner of the elf prince's lips.
"You enter the kingdom of light without bringing your darkness with you, Human. Then tell me—what remains of a shadow such as yourself?"
The air suddenly grew heavy. Several elves in the tribunes chuckled softly. Mocking smiles spread like subtle poison.
"Or perhaps… you came here merely to lose with honor?"
But the shinobi, Shirakumo Hayama, merely stared ahead.
A gentle wind blew against his blood-red scarf. His voice was quiet, yet it shook the hearts of all who heard it.
"A true shadow does not require darkness."
Both factions fell silent instantly. Even the audience seemed to stop breathing for a moment.
They waited.
Who would move first?
Who would launch the opening strike?
"It seems two defeats have disturbed your minds somewhat, President of humanity," said The Ancient One, his hoarse voice rumbling like distant thunder through a valley.
The President glared sharply at him, though before he could reply—
Johan, standing at his side, leaned slightly forward and spoke in a flat tone.
"You are far too confident, Great Ancient One."
The winged being merely sneered mockingly before reclining once more upon his solar crystal throne.
The President stared toward the blinding altar, then whispered quietly,
"Why is the arena shaped like that?"
The concern in his voice was unmistakable.
Johan answered with a heavy sigh.
"That was the only condition that made him willing to represent humanity, Sir."
The President's eyes widened briefly before he returned his gaze toward the arena with another heavy exhale.
Johan also looked back toward the battlefield, followed by the sudden echo of the shinobi's words within his mind.
"If I can only kill within darkness, then I am nothing more than a rat of the night."
In the mythology tribunes, thousands of creatures resumed cheering Caelendir's name. Praises rang out in their ancient language.
Meanwhile, tension and anxiety blanketed the human side.
Yet amidst all that pressure, the shinobi's eyes remained half-closed.
Calm.
Because he was not memorizing the arena.
Nor his opponent.
He was memorizing the shadows that did not exist.