Gon's Harem System
Chapter 203: Talkative opponent

Chapter 203: Talkative opponent

The wind had shifted again, carrying with it the murmur of thousands, watching, waiting, whispering.

Gon walked with quiet purpose, each step deliberate, until he came to a stop before his next opponent.

The mage stood at the edge of a flattened stone plateau that had formed amidst the broken terrain.

He was younger than Gon expected, perhaps not much older than himself, but carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who had never once doubted his place in the world.

His dark hair was tousled by the wind, his robes loose and sleeveless, fluttering around a lean but wiry frame. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Well, well," the mage said, smiling broadly as Gon approached. "So it is true. The son of the infamous Duke of Hanan, alive and kicking... with mana, no less."

Gon didn’t reply at once. He simply watched the boy, cautious, calculating.

The mage didn’t seem offended by the silence.

In fact, he laughed lightly, crossing his arms. "You’ve been quite the talk up there." He gestured vaguely to the crowd, an ocean of nobility, knights, courtiers, and commoners alike, all packed into the marble stands high above the arena.

"Half of them came just to see you. To watch the ’duke’s disappointment’ either shine like gold, or crumble like stale bread."

He leaned forward a little, voice conspiratorial. "Tell me, do you feel it yet?"

Gon tilted his head. "Feel what?"

"The pressure," the mage said, almost gleefully. "The weight of all those eyes. Those expectations."

He raised his arms theatrically. "They’re watching your every twitch. Every blink. Every misstep. Just imagine the sound they’ll make if you fall. Gasping in unison. What a melody that would be."

Gon turned, just slightly, glancing up toward the roaring stands. He saw them clearly now.

A sea of faces, eager, judgmental, curious. Some were leaning forward in anticipation. Others were pointing. A few were even laughing. Watching him. All of them.

He turned back to the mage.

Then shrugged.

The mage blinked, then burst into a laugh. "You really are something else, you know that?"

"I didn’t come here for commentary," Gon said, his tone even. "Are we going to fight or not?"

The mage placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Oh! Impatient, are we? Not even a little small talk? No sharing of life goals? No heroic speeches about honour and legacy?" His grin widened. "You Warborn types are so predictable."

Gon’s gaze remained level. His stance didn’t shift. "I asked you a question."

The mage whistled softly. "Right then. No need to pout about it." He stepped back onto the plateau and rolled his shoulders, stretching as though preparing for a leisurely stroll rather than a battle.

"Very well," he said with a grin, "since you’re in such a rush to be humiliated, let’s begin."

With a sharp flick of his wrists, the air around him shimmered for just a second, barely noticeable, like heat rising off stone.

Then, something gleamed in the space beside him, catching the light in a sudden, dangerous flash.

Two lengths of heavy chain erupted from beneath his sleeves, coiling outward like living things.

Each link was thick, easily as wide as a man’s wrist, and forged from some dark, burnished metal that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it.

Intricate sigils were etched into every link, ancient symbols that pulsed faintly with a steady, rhythmic glow, as if responding to his heartbeat... or his intent.

The chains didn’t fall or drag, they moved with purpose, snapping through the air like awakened serpents.

They writhed and curled around him, hovering just above the ground as if waiting for a command.

There was weight in them, yes, but also power, controlled and focused, humming with mana that radiated outward in slow, visible waves.

Even the air felt heavier now. Charged.

Around him, the battlefield seemed to pause for half a second.

And in that brief stillness, the chains coiled tighter, ready to strike.

They hit the ground with a heavy clang, stirring up dust as they coiled beside his boots like twin vipers.

Gon’s eyes narrowed.

The mage gripped the handles hidden in the chain ends and lifted them, the metal links rattling ominously.

"They’re beautiful, aren’t they?" he said, snapping the chains once with a sharp jerk. The sound cracked like a whip, echoing across the arena.

Gon didn’t flinch.

He observed. Measured. Counted the distance. Noted the angle of the mage’s stance, the length of each chain, the ease with which he held them.

A heavy weapon, yes, but wielded like extensions of the mage’s own limbs.

"This should be fun," the mage said cheerfully, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "I’ve been itching to test these on someone who’s not a complete amateur."

Gon still hadn’t drawn his sword. He didn’t need to. Not yet.

The mage twirled one of the chains lazily in a circle, letting it hum through the air like a pendulum. "You know," he added, tilting his head, "I bet the crowd would love it if I made you beg. Maybe I’ll leave you dangling just over the edge. That’d be poetic, don’t you think?"

Gon didn’t respond.

He simply exhaled.

Calmly.

And then moved.

It was subtle, barely more than a whisper of movement.

Just a slight shift in weight, the faintest lean forward, so small it could’ve gone unnoticed by anyone not paying close attention.

But in the rhythm of battle, it changed everything.

That single adjustment was all the chain needed.

In an instant, the length that had been swinging harmlessly at his side transformed from a lazy arc into a whip-crack blur of motion.

Mana flared along the etched sigils, pulsing like a vein of fire through metal, and the chain snapped forward with a sound like thunder splintering the sky.

Its bladed end, a jagged crescent of dark steel, sliced through the air with terrifying speed, cutting a line that shimmered faintly in its wake.

It moved too fast for the eye to track clearly, a flash of light and shadow trailing raw force behind it.

Gon ducked, the metal whistling past his ear, close enough to tug at strands of his hair.

He stepped into the attack, forcing the mage to retreat.

The chains snapped again, once, twice, one from the left, the other from above.

Gon rolled beneath the second, rising with sand clinging to his boots.

The mage looked thrilled.

"Oh, you can move," he said, clearly delighted. "Good. I was starting to worry I’d be bored."