Gon's Harem System
Chapter 101: Gon’s cunning

Chapter 101: Gon’s cunning

The arena was quiet for just a breath before the fight began.

A charged silence, stretched tight like a bowstring.

The crowd, still recovering from the previous match, leaned forward in anticipation.

The tension was different this time. Less about spectacle, more about precision.

Two fighters, standing still, measuring, calculating.

Two swordsmen.

No flashy magic, no tricks or distractions. Just skill, sharpened through sweat, time, and countless battles.

The arena held its breath, the air thick with the weight of what was about to unfold.

Erlo flexed his prosthetic arm, the movement smooth despite the mechanical nature of it. He rolled his shoulder, testing its range, as if ensuring every part of him was ready.

The metal gleamed in the sun, polished but not pristine, each scratch and dent a silent record of past fights.

It was a stark contrast to the well-worn hilt of his sword, wrapped in leather that had molded to his grip over years of use.

His stance was solid, calm, composed, unshaken.

He was not tense, nor was he hesitant.

He stood like a man who had done this a thousand times before, who had no need for showmanship or intimidation.

His blade rested loosely in his hand, his grip light, his posture easy.

To an untrained eye, he looked almost casual, like a man standing at ease, unconcerned by the fight before him.

But it was a deceptive stillness.

Beneath the calm, he was coiled, every muscle primed, every nerve attuned to the slightest shift in the air between them.

His stance wasn’t just relaxed, it was efficient, stripped of tension that would only slow him down.

The sun caught the edge of his sword, sending a brief glint of light flashing across the arena.

The sun hung high, beating down on the sand between them.

The crowd murmured, shifting in their seats, but the fighters did not react.

The match began. Erlo moved first.

A single step forward, controlled and steady. There was no rush, no wasted movement. Every motion was deliberate, each shift in his body carrying the weight of experience. He didn’t lunge recklessly or strike out of impatience.

He simply closed the distance with the precision of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

His sword came up, the blade catching the light for just a moment before slashing toward Gon’s midsection.

Gon saw it coming, his body reacted before his mind had time to process.

The moment the blade entered his space, he activated shadow step and vanished.

One second he was there, the next, gone, then he was behind Erlo.

The crowd barely had time to gasp before Gon’s blade was already moving.

A quick, sharp strike, he wasn’t testing Erlo. He was attacking.

But Erlo didn’t flinch, he spun fast.

His body moved with the fluidity of someone who had fought too many battles to be caught off guard.

Metal clashed against metal, a sharp, ringing sound cutting through the arena.

Sparks flew as Gon’s blade met Erlo’s prosthetic arm, the strike redirected in an instant.

The force of it sent a tremor up Erlo’s shoulder, but he absorbed it effortlessly, shifting his stance to turn the momentum in his favor.

Gon clicked his tongue. No easy openings.

Erlo was solid, unshaken, his defense as precise as his attack.

There was no hesitation in his movements, no gaps in his guard.

If Gon wanted to land a real hit, he would have to work for it.

So he stepped back, activating shadow step again.

His form blurred, fading like smoke caught in the wind.

One moment he was there, the next he was slipping from sight, silent and untouchable.

But Erlo didn’t flinch. He had seen Gon’s Shadow Step before, he had studied it and broken it down in his mind.

It was a technique that let Gon shift in and out of sight for brief moments, dodging attacks and repositioning himself with eerie precision.

To an untrained opponent, it was overwhelming, an impossible blur that struck from nowhere.

But Erlo was not untrained, he was a veteran.

He had fought ghosts before. He had faced enemies who moved like whispers, who struck from nowhere and vanished before steel could find them.

Trickery, illusions, speed, it was nothing new to him.

And he had survived them all, so he didn’t chase shadows.

He adjusted his stance, planting his feet just enough to stay grounded but loose enough to move in an instant.

He was waiting.

Not passively, not helplessly, but like a predator watching for the slightest flicker of movement, the smallest breath out of place.

Because no matter how fast Gon was, no matter how well he could slip between sight and shadow, he was still there..

And no matter how fast Gon was, no matter how well he could disappear, he still had to reappear to strike.

And Erlo would be ready. Gon appeared again, this time to the side.

He struck fast, his blade a blur, cutting through the space between them in a flash of steel.

The angle was tight, precise, meant to slice through Erlo’s defense before he could react.

But Erlo blocked.

His sword met Gon’s with a sharp clang, the impact rippling up both their arms.

The force alone would have knocked a lesser fighter off balance, but Erlo barely shifted, absorbing the blow with practiced ease.

Gon didn’t pause.

A second strike came, faster, sharper, aiming for the gap that should have been there.

But Erlo blocked again.

His blade moved like an extension of himself, meeting Gon’s with perfect timing.

It was a battle of speed versus precision.

And neither of them was giving an inch.

A third strike came, swift, relentless.

But this time, it was a feint.

Gon’s blade twisted mid-swing, the motion so seamless it was nearly impossible to track.

Erlo’s sword moved to block, just as Gon had intended.

The wrong way.

For the first time in the fight, a gap appeared. A fraction of a second. A sliver of an opening.

And Gon took it.