CHAPTER 157: THE WEIGHT OF SEVEN MINUTES

The Weight of Seven Minutes

The arena went silent.

The runes ignited brighter.

A clock of light formed above them.

The first second began to tick.

Victor rolled his shoulders once. Slow. Controlled. As if settling invisible armor around himself.

He tilted his head slightly, feeling the faint tremor traveling up through the iron platform and into his boots.

Then he planted his feet.

The metal beneath him felt alive — cold, heavy, pulsing. The rising pillars that ringed the circular platform locked into place with a low, grinding hum. Heat from the runes crawled along the air like a living thing, kissing his skin, burning without consuming.

Victor lifted his gaze.

Garron stood where he had emerged — a walking fortress. Motionless. Towering. Breath steady. Massive arms hanging loose at his sides, as if gravity itself bowed to him.

"Come," Victor said, voice calm but edged with something sharp. "I’m ready for your attack."

His words echoed, swallowed by the vastness of the arena.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Garron didn’t move.

Not a step. Not a twitch.

Victor’s brows knitted, just slightly. His eyes flicked over the knight’s stance — relaxed... but coiled. Like a mountain lion carved from steel, waiting without strain.

"Knight Garron?" Victor called out, a faint note of confusion slipping through his control. "What’s the delay?"

Garron’s helm shifted. The sound of grinding metal echoed as he slowly turned his head, visor gleaming under the runic light.

He stepped forward once. The platform trembled. Pillars quivered. Dust rained softly from the ceiling.

"With all respect, Prince..." Garron’s voice rolled out from behind the armor — deep, steady, unshaken. "This trial is not where I strike you first."

Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"I defend. You attack," Garron continued. "You must break me within seven minutes. I counter only when you force me to. That is the test."

The words landed heavier than any blow.

Victor’s gaze flicked instinctively toward Walton.

From his high position, Walton watched with arms folded. He offered no correction. Only a calm smile... and a slow nod.

The message was clear.

You misunderstood.

A faint exhale left Victor’s lips.

William’s voice echoed in his mind, like a ghost brushing the back of his skull.

Think before you move.

Victor clenched his fingers around nothing. Just air. Just heat. Just his own breath.

"...Fine."

He lowered his stance slightly.

"Then I’ll come to you," he said.

And he moved.

His leg drove forward. The floor cracked beneath his step.

In a single breath, he crossed half the arena — boots skidding, muscles coiling, momentum building like a storm inside his ribs.

He swung.

Not wild. Not reckless. A straight, controlled strike aimed for Garron’s chest.

Garron shifted.

Just enough.

Victor’s fist barely missed the layered steel.

In the same instant, Garron brought his massive palms together.

CLANG!

The sound wasn’t a clap.

It was a detonation.

A compressed shockwave exploded outward between his hands — a visible distortion in the air. The pillars shuddered. The platform bowed.

Victor felt it hit him like a moving wall.

His body was hurled backward.

Boots screeched as he skidded across the iron surface, sparks flying at his heels.

He dropped one hand to the floor, dragging it across the metal to stabilize himself. The skin of his palm burned. The vibration rattled his bones.

But he didn’t fall.

He held.

He pushed back to his feet slowly.

And looked up.

Garron stood exactly where he had before.

The realization settled in.

He doesn’t advance. He doesn’t chase.

He waits.

One minute passed.

Victor attacked again.

This time faster. Low angle. A feint to the right, pivot to the left.

He went for the joints in the armor.

Garron blocked.

Not hurried. Not stressed.

Steel forearm met Victor’s strike.

Another thunderclap shockwave flared — smaller this time, but sharper. Controlled.

Victor was flung back again.

He slid. He stopped himself. He breathed.

Two minutes.

Victor came from above this time.

A leap. A twist in the air. A downward strike aimed at Garron’s shoulder.

Garron tilted his body.

Barely.

The blow slid off.

Shockwave.

Impact.

Blood bloomed at the corner of Victor’s mouth.

He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Three minutes.

The clock of light above them ticked louder. Brighter. More... cruel.

Victor’s breathing grew heavier. Sweat traced lines down his spine. The heat from the runes wrapped around his skin like a living cage.

Again.

Left side.

Right side.

Low sweep.

High strike.

Garron didn’t move forward.

Didn’t pursue.

He was a wall that breathed.

Four minutes.

Victor stopped for half a second.

His chest rose and fell faster than he wanted.

His arms felt heavier.

His legs? Slower.

His gaze lifted.

The clock.

Half gone.

The light had shifted.

Half of the glowing circle above them had faded to shadow.

Panic crept into the edges of his thoughts.

No.

Not panic.

Pressure.

He launched himself again.

Harder.

Faster.

His foot cracked the platform this time. Small fractures spread like veins through iron.

He struck with raw will.

Garron didn’t budge.

Shockwave.

Victor hit the ground.

This time he fell to one knee.

His hand pressed against the molten-warm metal. Fingertips shaking.

Five minutes.

His breath came in short bursts now.

He forced himself up.

Pain burned through his ribs every time he inhaled.

What am I missing?

He chased Garron’s eyes through the visor.

No anger.

No pride.

No mockery.

Only observation.

Only patience.

Garron wasn’t fighting.

He was measuring.

Watching.

Reading him.

Victor charged again.

Desperation creeping into his movements.

His strikes grew louder.

Messier.

Less controlled.

He missed more.

He slipped once.

Barely caught himself.

Six minutes.

The light above them thinned, like a dying star.

Victor came to a stop.

Right there.

Right in front of Garron.

He didn’t attack.

He just stood.

His head slowly lifted.

His lungs screamed for air.

Sweat dripped from his jaw.

His palms trembled slightly at his sides.

And then—

A voice spoke inside his mind.

Soft. Ancient. Calm.