Rocot: Reborn

Following the opponent's steps, Roccod felt the ground shaking, which was the breath of a powerful opponent. He seemed to be filled with an indescribable excitement, which was exactly the real battle he longed for after his rebirth.

"Lockold, are you ready?" The opponent's voice was low and powerful, as if trying to explore the fear in Lockold's heart.

"Are you ready? I was born for this moment." Rocot responded with a sneer, moving forward at a steady pace.

The opponent wielded a weapon, a chain whip wrapped in black flames. With a roar, the black flames spread out, and the temperature of the arena seemed to rise.

Rocot stared at the chain whip, thinking about a countermeasure. He knew that it was unwise to fight with strength alone, and this required a battle that relied more on wisdom and skills.

He grasped the hilt of the sword with both hands, feeling the sharp cold air gushing out from the sword and the sharp contrast with his body temperature. At this moment, Rokod suddenly swung the sword, and the dust in the sky was raised to compete with the opponent's black flame. In the arena, the intersection of the two forces produced a violent collision sound, which could be clearly heard even by those in the audience.

Roccod's steps were as fast as a dragon, and his momentum was as great as a rainbow. In the swirling dust, his figure seemed even more elusive like a phantom. He knew that this battle was not only to prove his own strength, but also to prove his existence and regain the glory he had lost.

At this moment, a stronger wave of magic power emanated from the opponent. The tip of Rokod's sword drew silver rays in the air, colliding with the opponent's oncoming black flames. For a moment, under the intersection of light and darkness, the arena became a magical stage.

Everyone held their breath and watched the duel between the two forces, their hearts were shaken. The power of these two warriors was beyond their imagination and was no longer within their reach.

As the swords clashed, Rocot became more and more courageous. His figure seemed to be integrated with the sword. Every time he swung the sword, it was carried with the force of wind and thunder. He could feel the connection between himself and the sword becoming deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the sky. Rocot felt the danger approaching. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, ready to make the final move. He knew that the next scene would determine the outcome.

But at this critical moment, the opponent's fighter suddenly made an unexpected move...

The warrior on the opposite side suddenly swept the chain whip in his hand, causing the ground bricks and stones to crack, but at the last moment, it paused slightly, stopping not far from the tip of Rocot's nose. "Your vision is far sharper than the edge of a sword, Rocot." The opponent's voice suddenly softened, revealing a bit of appreciation.

Roccod's heartbeat nearly stopped, and the wrinkles between his brows relaxed, revealing a look of vigilance and confusion. "How... did you know my name?" He gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, and pointed the tip of the sword at the slightly opened black flame.

The opponent took off his helmet, revealing a young and handsome face that was quite similar to Rocot. "Perhaps, in your history, my name is still a secret." The other party said in a deep voice, "I am you, or what you could have bee, should the fates have been kinder to you, Rocot."

Roccod's mind seemed to be frozen by frost, unable to comprehend what the man in front of him said. "What I can become... you mean?" His voice suddenly became hoarse, suppressing the surging emotions.

The warrior on the other side looked at him quietly. "I am your potential, your anger, and your true rival." He swung his chain whip, and the sand and stones rose again, accompanying his figure as he walked away. "You, Rocot, must face your truest self before you can embark on the road of revenge."

Rocot's breathing became rapid. He stared at the figure disappearing in the dust, and his tightly clenched fingers gradually relaxed. The sword trembled silently, as if responding to Rocot's inner desire and doubt.

Suddenly, Rocot saw a dazzling light pouring out from the cracks in the ground, and the arena shook, and the ground shook like a giant beast awakening. The audience screamed and fled, but Rocot knew that it was not a natural earthquake, but a precursor to some kind of magic.

He stood in unusual calm, the moment of decisive confrontation approaching. The cold wind blew on his cheeks, the gravel hit his armor, and an inexplicable excitement permeated Rocot's blood - the prelude to a grand battle was slowly opening.

As the ground shook, a dark shadow appeared like a ghost at the other end of the arena. It gradually cleared the mist, and a new figure came into Rocot's sight. In the shadow, there was a petite woman wearing a strange robe. She held a magic wand with a strange totem carved on it, and the magic power was swirling around her, like a storm was coming.

Roccod stared at the woman who suddenly appeared, and felt a long-lost feeling...

The brightly lit venue was enveloped by layers of magical aura. The woman stretched out her hand, just like pulling a bow and arrow from a string. The magic wand drew a curved arc in the air, drawing a complex magic circle. The shimmering spells disappeared like flowers, illuminating her face—innocent and brave, like a combination of the moon and a warrior, and left a deep mark in Rocot's sight.

She advanced step by step, each step leaving deep marks in the fierce magic tide. As if implying an inexpressible tenacity and passion, Rocot's fighting spirit was ignited one by one. However, this time, the magic light shining behind the woman was like her own shadow, carrying an indescribable sadness.

"Who are you?" Rocot's voice echoed in the empty arena, shaking the dust and silence.

The woman tilted her head slightly, her bright eyes staring at Rocot as if looking in a mirror. "You should know the answer, Rocot." Her voice was clear and cold, like a silent winter night.

That name made Rocot's scimitar pause in mid-air. He felt a chill running down his spine, squeezing his heart hard. His opponent, the one who always tortured him to the depths of his soul on the battlefield - was it her? Was she his own daughter?

How could he... that thin and small body, how could he possibly endure those cruel wars? Those bloody wars with crows cawing all the time? !

Rocot was stunned. However, at this moment, something strange happened. He felt a chaotic vibration, and a brilliant light flew out from her fingertips, forming a fierce monster that rushed towards him.

Inspiration made him thrust his sword to meet the attack, but under the powerful impact, he could only retreat again and again. The increasingly violent magic fluctuations tore through his defenses. Finally, he flew out of the arena in a panic and fell into the vast sea of ​​poppies.

He lay on the bright red flowers, looking at the woman in the center of the field. Rocot felt his heart racing. He felt like he was going to collapse, going crazy—

Because he saw that familiar face.

"Daughter...you..." He couldn't finish the sentence. His chest was in so much pain that it felt like it was tearing apart. He felt himself trembling and could no longer hold his breath.