The wind suddenly kicked outward in a spiral — air molecules tearing along the surface of the invisible weapon . The crowd gasped. The Jedi above shifted uneasily. Even the Force around the field seemed to hum with apprehension.
But Yoda only smiled — slow, knowing, the kind of smile born of centuries.
"Very interesting, indeed," the Grandmaster said . "A myth, you carry… like the heroes of old. Of the High Republic, and before." He raised his saber again, eyes gleaming. "Now let us see… if your myth stands tall before mine."
Yoda moved. A blur of motion — zigzagging unpredictably as he launched himself forward in full Ataru form. He knew now to avoid a direct line of attack, to evade the pressure that broke through even Force defenses.
Jin-Woo wasted no time. With a twist of his wrist, the invisible Excalibur Proto flared, and the wind around them erupted into a spiraling vortex. A towering air funnel burst into existence, surrounding both him and Yoda. But it wasn't just wind — the storm was infused with his shadow mana, laced into every molecule.
The effect was instant. Yoda staggered. His movement slowed. His vision warped. The Force around him rippled as the storm weakened its connection — severing, distorting, dragging his senses into a haze. Every motion took more effort, every breath felt like wading through pressure.
Jin-Woo moved forward, calm, unstoppable. The Excalibur Proto — still invisible — shifted in his hand. He stepped through the spiraling storm toward Yoda's position, preparing to bring the blade to the Grandmaster's neck.
To mark the end. But the moment never came.
A surge of electricity burst through the storm.
CRACK—SHHHHHRRRRR!
Plo Koon stepped forward, arm extended, unleashing his [Electric Judgment ] in a brilliant blast of yellow energy. The storm shattered around them like glass caught in a sonic pulse. The invisible pressure dispersed. The air snapped back to stillness.
Jin-Woo recoiled, immediately taking distance. The dust cleared.
And now three Jedi Masters stood beside Yoda — Windu, Tyvokka, and Plo Koon — all silent, all with sabers ready. Their presence surrounded Yoda like a wall.
Up above, a HoloNet journalist leaned forward from her observation balcony — eager, stupid, desperate to frame the next soundbite about Jedi defeat.
But Jin-Woo's helmet turned. He didn't say a word. Just a look — a silent, freezing glare.
Her voice died in her throat. She stepped back from her microphone, trembling. The feed went quiet.
Back on the field, Yoda's eyes narrowed. His voice was calm but edged with old pain.
"This… is not what I taught you," he said quietly, gazing at Plo Koon. "My former Padawan. Any reason… you interfere with this duel?"
Before Plo Koon could answer, Windu spoke.
"Master… if you had lost, then what?" His tone was firm. "Would we simply allow the Jedi Temple to fall to this false hero? He is not a hero. That much is clear. He's selfish. He has no allegiance to any moral code — not the Republic, not the people."
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. He tilted his head slightly, eyes hidden behind his armor, voice dry and mocking.
"Go ahead. Add more numbers. After all… ganging up on someone is exactly what the good guys do."
Tyvokka leaned in, voice low as he whispered toward Mace Windu, "Master Windu… all the audience sees us as villains now. Perhaps we need to ret—"
But Jin-Woo cut in, his voice cold and sharp, slicing through the moment like a blade.
"That Jedi Temple you cling to? It'll look real nice once I blow it to smither-screen."
Windu's jaw tightened. His stance shifted—Vaapad flaring sharper, his presence turning more aggressive.
"What is that?" Windu snapped. "First a challenge, now a threat? What are you offering, Armored Man—some kind of carrot? Or an electric stick?"
Jin-Woo's posture shifted. From behind his mask, a single purple eye flared to life—burning with menace, glowing like a dying star.
"Oh… you misunderstand," he said slowly, his voice laced with layered fury. "They're both threats."
He raised one hand, fingers splayed as if counting.
"First… if you monks step in and help Yoda… if you gang up on me and win?" He laughed once, empty and sharp. "Then the entire galaxy will remember you not as Jedi… but as cowardly Senate dogs who jumped a man standing alone. You'll never escape that stain."
"Second… if I win. Fair and square. One-on-one." He stepped forward slightly, the ground cracking beneath his boots. "Then I'll burn your precious Jedi Temple on Coruscant to the ground. Reduced to dust. You'll have no sanctuary. You'll be homeless monks wandering in your own city."
"Third…" He turned his head slightly, his gaze falling across Plo Koon, Tyvokka, Windu. "You all gang up on me… and still lose."
His voice dipped, dark and dangerous.
"Then tell me, Jedi… do you really think you'll still have a face left to show the galaxy?"
"Three options. All of them… change your lives forever."
Yoda's ears twitched as he looked up at Jin-Woo, his eyes showed no malice—only wariness.
"Rude to us, must you be… hmm?" Yoda asked softly, his tone half-chiding. "Respect, even among rivals, there should be. Or… forgotten, it has become?"
Jin-Woo's voice came cold, echoing slightly from within the helmet.
"You tried to cross a line, old man."
"My face. My identity. That's privacy. Sacred. You don't get to claim it just because you wear robes and swing a glowing stick.".
"I don't like it. Not at all. You want a duel? Fine. But don't pretend this was anything less than a provocation."
"The winner decides everything. Always has. In every chaos… the one who walks away is the one the galaxy calls 'justice.' Remember that."
Yoda's face didn't change, but his gaze flicked toward Mace Windu and he whispered just low enough for only the Council to hear.
"Normally, scold you, I would," he muttered. "Rush in, you often do. But this time… right, perhaps you are."
He turned his head slightly. "Uncover him, we must. A fear I have… not just a warrior, he is. A relic, maybe. An ancient Sith, perhaps. One from the old times, before the records."
Then Yoda's eyes narrowed as he turned to Plo Koon.
"Plo Koon… now, your judgment, I need. That forbidden spark — Electric Judgment. The others feared it, called it unruly. But against his aura… and that invisible weapon… it may be what we lack."
Plo Koon's eyes glinted behind his mask. He gave a slow nod. "Understood, Master Yoda. I'll strike at your signal."
Tyvokka's great Wookiee form rumbled, stepping forward as well. His stance widened — deliberate and powerful — as he prepared for a coordinated clash.
Windu stepped up beside them, the violet edge of his saber humming low. "Then let's test the myth… together."
Jin-Woo said nothing. But in that moment, he knew.
They had made their choice.
His mind moved fast, calculating every angle. So… Electric Judgment again. The third version of the Force's oldest cheat code. Even if it's just the Jedi's diet version of Sith lightning… it always finds a way to mess with Magecraft. That includes Invisible Air.
His fingers flexed around the grip of his weapon.
But this sword… this isn't bound by modern rules. When something starts to brush against True Magic—then you stop hiding it.
Jin-Woo's voice cut through the growing tension like a slow blade.
"Invisible Air—off."
The wind shrieked once—and then stilled.
In a flash, the veil of compressed wind that had cloaked his sword dissolved into mist.
And Excalibur Proto revealed itself to the world.
A weapon of impossible craftsmanship. A blade not forged—but sealed. Two sets of interlocking restraints wrapped around the gleaming metal, each line of the seal engraved in archaic, . Its shape was elegant, divine, and yet—heavy. Like a sleeping myth unshackled. The air shimmered around it from sheer presence alone. ( img here
The crowd gasped. A wave of murmurs and stunned silence crashed through the audience.
Up in the press balcony, the Twi'lek reporter spun toward her camera crew, lekku twitching wildly.
"Quick! Get this—record it! This might be the signature weapon of the Armored Man! That thing was covered by wind before—it's been invisible this whole time!"
Her crew scrambled into action, cams zooming in as the sword's gleam danced across the feed.
Elsewhere,
Duchess Satine stood tall, a sigh in her voice as her eyes fixed on the blade. "I wish Obi-Wan could've seen it too…"
"Am I interrupting?" The voice came casually from beside her—calm, familiar, and amused.
Satine turned in surprise. "Obi-Wan?"
Standing there was the Jedi Knight himself, arms folded beneath his robe, expression composed. But before Satine could speak—
Bo-Katan's hand flew to her blaster. "One more spook from you, Jedi, and I will shoot you."
Obi-Wan raised both hands in mock surrender, his tone dry. "Fine by me. I get enough threats from Mandalorians as is."
Satine exhaled, her gaze shifting back to the battlefield. "Obi… did you know? That the Armored Man was a swordsman? Like you Jedi?"
Obi-Wan's eyes followed the blade now gleaming in the sunlight. His voice was calm.
"If I did," he said, "I'd already be down there, defending Master Yoda myself. But… Master Qui-Gon told me to stay hidden. Just in case the parade drew in someone with bad intentions."
Bo-Katan muttered under her breath, arms crossed. "Smart move, for once."
From the Death Watch and True Mandalorian seating section, the quiet tension shifted.
Jaster Mereel leaned forward, his voice firm and resonant.
"The Armored Man never needed the black saber to prove himself," he said, eyes fixed on the battlefield. "That myth-forged sword alone proves it. He was born to be the hero this galaxy needs."
Pre Vizsla, sitting beside him with a glint of pride and obsession, smirked.
"Then that myth sword will be my new second symbol," he said coldly. "Once I defeat the Armored Man myself. One-on-one. In the Creed."
Jango Fett, seated on Jaster's other side, glanced toward him with a tilt of the helmet.
"You still have ten years," Jango said. "An agreement with the Armored Man. You and Death Watch don't get to rampage before then."
He turned his visor slightly, voice sharper now.
"And how do you expect to do better than your father, Tor Vizsla? He was cleaved in half by the Armored Man on Korda Six ."
Pre Vizsla's jaw clenched, but he didn't look away.
"The legend of the Mythosaur will rise again," he said, eyes narrowing. "And when I defeat him by Creed—one warrior against twenty—I'll multiply that feat tenfold. I will be the new myth. The new legend of the Mandalorian age, Jango."
Jango's gaze held steady, quiet and unreadable beneath his helmet.
"…We shall see."
Meanwhile, in the upper gallery, veiled behind layers of political illusion,
Darth Plagueis—masked as Hego Damask II—sat unmoving, his eyes never leaving the unfolding clash below.
San Hill quietly approached from the shadows, lowering his voice. "Sir Damask… a transmission."
Plagueis nodded once. The moment San Hill stepped aside, a shimmering sphere activated beside his seat—hidden from the crowd's view. A secure, encrypted holofeed flickered into view.
"Sidious," Plagueis said quietly, "did you see the image I forwarded you? The sword that the Armored Man revealed?"
Sidious' holographic form materialized in full hooded regalia. "I saw it, Master. Clearly. I've reviewed the footage four times already."
Plagueis' voice remained cold, analytical. "You've traveled Naboo. You understand the hidden temples and secrets buried beneath its surface. That sword—does it originate from this world?"
Sidious frowned slightly beneath the hood. "I'm afraid not. There is no known artifact on Naboo matching that weapon's description. And if I may say so, Master… it would be wise to avoid confrontation with the Armored Man. That sword may possess properties capable of peeling away the Force cloaks we've spent decades perfecting. The Jedi could become suspicious."
Plagueis' eyes narrowed. "So my instinct was correct. That wind covering it… it wasn't just concealment. It repelled us. That weapon is a bane to us Sith… to any being who dwells in evil."
Sidious nodded once. "Then allow me to propose my solution instead . One month from now—when I take the Chancellorship from Valorum—the Viceroy should eliminate both the Queen of Naboo and the Armored Man. Quietly. Efficiently."
Plagueis paused, his thoughts spiraling. "…I still don't understand. Every calculation I make, every thread I pull—this Armored Man remains… unyielding. It feels as if no matter what we throw at him… he will win."
Sidious smirked darkly beneath the hood. " Master, it's time you return to Coruscant… before you grow senile."
With that, the transmission cut.
Plagueis sat in silence for several seconds, the holosphere fading beside him. He exhaled slowly.
"The apprentice begins to sneer at the master, huh…?" he murmured. "How predictable."