A week had passed since the chaotic yet heartwarming feast in Rimuru's chambers, and the anticipation for the Tournament Festival had transformed Tempest into a whirlwind of excitement. Banners fluttered from every rooftop, colorful stalls overflowed with commemorative goods, and the air buzzed with chatter about the upcoming battles. The arena itself had been constructed thirty minutes outside the city on a towering, reinforced mountain peak, its location chosen specifically to contain any tremors or stray energy that might otherwise shake the capital. Whis, with his effortless mastery, had already set up private viewing arrays for every resident who had to remain behind in Tempest. Each screen was fully customizable—viewers could zoom, rewind, or switch angles at will—ensuring no one missed a moment of the spectacle.
Throughout the bustling streets of Tempest, Dragon Ball Z manga volumes had become an unexpected bestseller over the past week. Imported somehow through mysterious trade channels (or perhaps Rimuru's own subtle influence), the colorful books flew off the stalls, especially among the younger adventurers, hikikomori residents, and visiting merchants. Crowds gathered around vendor tables where merchants loudly proclaimed the epic tales of Super Saiyans, world-shaking battles, and a hero with wild spiky hair who could turn golden and unleash unimaginable power.
Opinions were sharply divided.
"It's obviously just some over-the-top fantasy story made to sell during the tournament hype," scoffed a group of veteran adventurers near a food stall, flipping through a volume with skeptical grins. "Golden hair that makes you stronger? Come on. Sounds like something a kid would dream up after eating too many spirit herbs."
"Yeah, total bogus," another agreed, laughing. "No way anyone can actually transform like that. It's fun to read, sure, but let's be real."
Not everyone was so dismissive. A cluster of excited citizens nearby argued back passionately, voices rising over the crowd noise.
"I'm telling you, I saw him! Last week during that small local exhibition match near the western gate!" insisted a wide-eyed goblin merchant, gesturing wildly. "There was this guy with the exact same hair, orange gi, and everything! And standing off to the side, just watching the whole time—yeah, the one with the widow's peak, arms crossed, not lifting a finger. But Goku? He stepped into the ring and fought challengers one by one."
His companion, a human shopkeeper clutching her own manga copy, leaned in. "Go on…"
"First was this big orc—all brute force with some martial arts. Goku didn't even break a sweat. Dropped him with a single palm strike. Then came an elf, a real high-level fighter, all speed and fancy kicks. Goku just sidestepped and tripped him up like it was nothing. After that, a dragonewt warrior with a polearm—strong, skilled, but Goku weaved through every swing and tapped him on the chest. Over."
The shopkeeper's eyes widened. "Anyone else?"
"Yeah, then the Sword Saints' top student stepped up. A Kijin named Kurogane, trained by Hakuro himself. Best young blade in Tempest. Everyone thought this would be a real fight." The goblin shook his head. "Nope. Goku didn't use any tricks or transformations—just pure movement. The Kijin threw everything he had, perfect technique, but Goku was already somewhere else every single time. Ended it with a gentle tap to the shoulder. The Kijin just bowed, looking like he'd seen a ghost."
The shopkeeper gasped. "That's incredible…"
The skeptical listeners cut in. "Any more fairy tales you want to share?" Ignoring the tone he continued.
"And then," the goblin half glared, "just for fun, Goku took on that loudmouth Gabiru and the goblin riders leader Gobta. Beat 'em both in seconds. Easy. The whole time, Vegeta just watched from the sidelines. Didn't say a word, didn't move. But I swear I saw the tiniest smirk on his face."
The shopkeeper clutched her manga tighter. "That's… that's exactly something Goku would do."
The skeptics burst into louder laughter. "You're reaching! Next you'll tell me Lord Rimuru is secretly friends with Majin Buu because a pink guy showed up in the manga too."
Still, the debate spread like wildfire. More and more people who had attended the small warm-up tournament a week earlier began sharing similar stories—whispers of a cheerful fighter who powered up with a dramatic aura and sent shockwaves through the training grounds. The manga sales only skyrocketed as curiosity grew, turning Goku into an accidental local celebrity before he had even stepped into the main arena.
By the time the festival officially began, the rumor had taken on a life of its own. Many still dismissed it as tournament hype or elaborate marketing, but a growing number of citizens scanned the VIP areas and fighter entrances with hopeful, wide-eyed anticipation, wondering if the "Super Saiyan" from the pages might actually make an appearance.
The private VIP box prepared for the most honored guests was a masterpiece of spatial magic crafted by Testarossa. From the outside, it appeared as a modest, elegant pavilion that could easily blend into the arena's grand stands. Inside, however, it unfolded into a spacious hall resembling a luxurious castle interior, complete with soaring ceilings, plush seating arranged in perfect tiers, and an unobstructed panoramic view of the entire arena floor. Refreshments floated gently on enchanted trays, and the atmosphere remained perfectly temperate no matter how intense the battles could become.
In one section of the box sat Rimuru and the other members of the Octagram who had chosen to attend: Ramiris, small and fairy-like, perched on the armrest of her oversized chair while kicking her tiny legs with excitement; Luminus Valentine, regal and composed, her pale blonde hair catching the light as she observed the arena with quiet amusement; Leon Cromwell, dignified and sharp-eyed, already mentally cataloging the combatants below, his curiosity for battle analysis evident in the slight forward lean of his posture; and Dagruel, the giant Titan, who had given a short, rumbling thanks for the invitation before settling into his seat, his ancient eyes narrowing with interest at the energy he could feel radiating from the other side of the dimensional box. "This should be very interesting to watch," he had said simply. Benimaru, Diablo, Shion, Souei, and several others from Tempest's upper echelon sat nearby, their presence radiating quiet confidence and pride in their nation.
Not far from them, in a more secluded cluster of seats, Guy Crimson lounged beside Velzard, his posture effortlessly charismatic, one leg crossed over the other. He made small talk in low, smooth tones, but his crimson eyes kept drifting to his companion's face with subtle curiosity. Velzard, usually so composed and distant, had allowed herself to smile—genuinely—at something Milim had said from across the box. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she even leaned forward slightly to respond to the pink-haired Dragonoid's enthusiastic waving. Guy's lips curved into a knowing smirk. These small changes—the unguarded smiles, the willingness to interact rather than observe from icy remove—were new. Milim had done something to her sister, it seemed. And Guy found himself oddly pleased by it. Velzard, catching his gaze, merely raised an elegant eyebrow, but the faint warmth in her cheeks did not fade.
Nearby, in a generously spacious section reserved exclusively for Beerus's group, only Whis, Wanda, Zairis, Goku, and Vegeta were present. The area felt open and uncramped, allowing the God of Destruction to stretch out lazily if he wished. Whis and Zairis had layered multiple viewing arrays and protective barriers throughout the arena, ensuring everything remained visible and safe.
Rimuru leaned over from the Octagram section, curiosity evident on his face. "Whis, about those safeguards you and Zairis set up… could you explain them to everyone here? I want to make sure all the fighters—and the spectators—understand exactly how this works so no one holds back."
Whis turned gracefully, his angelic smile as serene as ever, and gave a polite bow of his head toward Rimuru and the wider box. "Of course, Lord Rimuru. The spell is quite elegant in its simplicity. A subtle no-damage enchantment permeates the entire fighting grounds. Any strike that would normally prove lethal—be it a fatal wound, dismemberment, or even complete obliteration—will instead trigger a bright red flash across the protective barrier surrounding the arena floor. The fighter receives the full sensation and feedback of the blow for training purposes, but no actual harm is registered. They may continue fighting at their absolute fullest extent without fear of permanent injury or death. It allows true, unrestrained combat while keeping the festival safe and enjoyable for all."
Guy Crimson, who had been lounging with casual interest, suddenly sat up a little straighter, his crimson eyes sharpening with genuine intrigue. He leaned forward, resting one elbow on the arm of his seat. "Interesting. And this works even on someone of Veldora's caliber? A True Dragon's power isn't exactly… gentle. I'd hate for your pretty little spell to shatter the moment the Storm Dragon decides to get serious."
Whis's smile never wavered. He tilted his head slightly, staff resting lightly against his shoulder. "It does indeed function perfectly for beings as powerful as Veldora, Lord Guy. I have calibrated the enchantment to scale with the participants' output. The barrier and spell can easily contain just about everyone and everything present today—including the full might of a True Dragon. The only scenario in which I might require a modest amount of assistance would be if the absolute top-tier individuals here were to actively push against the system in coordinated effort. In that case, my brother Zairis and I could reinforce it together without issue."
Zairis gave a small, confident nod from his position beside Whis, arms crossed. "Precisely. The framework is robust. No one needs to hold back."
Guy's expression shifted. The predatory grin faltered for a moment as he turned his head sharply toward Rimuru, one elegant eyebrow raised in clear disbelief. It sounded almost ridiculous — a single enchantment capable of safely containing a True Dragon's full rampage? Even for someone as ancient and powerful as Guy, the claim stretched the bounds of credibility.
"Rimuru," Guy said, his voice carrying a rare note of skepticism, "you're telling me this attendant can actually pull that off? Against Veldora at his peak?"
Rimuru met Guy's gaze steadily and gave a firm, confident nod. "Yeah, I trust Whis completely on this. If he says the safeguards will hold, they will. Honestly… Whis is far more powerful than anyone here actually realizes. He is the God of Destructions martial arts master."
A stunned silence rippled through the VIP box.
The members of the Octagram — Benimaru, Diablo, Shion, Souei, and the others — froze, eyes widening in visible shock. Even the usually unflappable Diablo allowed his perpetual smile to falter for a split second. Shion's mouth opened slightly, her earlier memory flashing back to how effortlessly Whis had held Beerus back during the chaotic tug-of-war over her food, casually restraining the God of Destruction like it was nothing more than playful banter. The realization hit them all at once: the elegant attendant wasn't just strong… he was the one who trained the Destroyer God himself.
Guy's crimson eyes narrowed sharply, the skepticism instantly replaced by genuine surprise. He leaned forward again, studying Whis with renewed intensity, clearly reassessing the angel in an entirely new light.
Valentine's ancient sky-blue eyes flickered with quiet astonishment, though she maintained her elegant composure. Milim, however, gasped dramatically, her hands flying to her cheeks as stars practically exploded in her golden eyes. "Ehhh?! Whis is Beerus's martial arts master?! That's so cool! No wonder he's so strong!"
Whis simply offered a modest, graceful smile and a small bow, as if the sudden wave of shock and praise meant very little to him. "I merely guide Lord Beerus when necessary. It is nothing worth making a fuss over."
From the spacious Beerus section, the God of Destruction let out a low, irritated growl, his golden eyes narrowing as one ear twitched in clear annoyance. Beerus sat up straighter, glaring sideways at his attendant. "Oi, Whis. You better shut up already. No need to go blabbing about that stuff to everyone."
Whis turned his head toward Beerus with an elegant shrug, a light, melodic chuckle escaping him as he covered his mouth with one hand. "Now, now, Lord Beerus. I was simply responding to the question asked of me. Besides," he added with a playful tilt of his head, "you were the one who told Lord Rimuru that I was your martial arts master after he inquired about our relationship. It is a rather strange one, after all~"
Beerus's ears flattened slightly as he clicked his tongue in mild exasperation, crossing his arms and sinking back into his seat with a huff. "Tch. Whatever. Just don't make a big deal out of it."
The brief exchange only heightened the stunned atmosphere in the box. Rimuru couldn't help but chuckle softly at the familiar dynamic between the two cosmic beings.
Valentine offered a subtle nod of approval, while Milim bounced excitedly in her seat, eyes already sparkling brighter at the confirmation that Veldora could go all-out without anyone worrying about catastrophic collateral. Rimuru smiled in relief, satisfied that the explanation had been clear and reassuring for everyone present.
High above the arena floor, a sleek, floating announcer platform descended into view. The announcer — a sharp-eyed, well-dressed lizardman named Gabil (one of Gabiru's more competent relatives) — tapped his earpiece once, listening intently as Souei's calm voice delivered the final confirmation straight from the VIP box.
"Understood," Gabil murmured, then straightened up with a dramatic flourish, his voice magically amplified across the entire mountain arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, warriors and spectators alike! Welcome to the first official matches of the Tempest Tournament Festival! Thanks to the unparalleled spatial magic and protective enchantments laid down by our honored guests, every fighter may now unleash their full power without fear! Any strike that would normally prove fatal — beheading, piercing the heart, total disintegration — will instead trigger a bright red flash across the arena barrier. You will feel the impact, you will experience the blow, but no lasting harm will be done. This is your permission to fight with everything you have! No holding back! Show us the true extent of your strength!"
A stunned hush fell over the crowd for a split second, followed by a massive wave of excited murmuring. In the fighter waiting area just off the arena floor, the first pair of competitors — a burly orc warrior named Grimgor and a nimble human swordswoman called Lira — exchanged uneasy glances.
Grimgor gripped his massive axe tighter, sweat already beading on his brow. "Did he just say… we can go for the kill?"
Lira swallowed hard, her twin blades trembling slightly in her hands. "Sounds like it. But if they're lying…"
Both stepped onto the arena floor as their names were called. The barrier hummed to life around them, glowing faintly with layered protective magic.
The moment the starting signal rang out, they charged.
Grimgor roared and swung his axe in a brutal overhead arc. Lira dodged with graceful speed, countering with a lightning-fast flurry of slashes. For the first thirty seconds, both fighters still held back instinctively — pulling strikes at the last moment, aiming for non-lethal zones out of lifelong habit.
Then Lira saw her opening.
She feinted left, spun low, and exploded upward with everything she had. Her enchanted blade flashed in a perfect, deadly arc straight toward Grimgor's thick neck.
The orc's eyes widened, but he was too committed to his own swing to dodge.
The sword connected.
For one horrifying heartbeat, it looked like Lira had cleanly decapitated her opponent. Grimgor's head seemed to separate from his shoulders in a spray of blood that wasn't actually there.
Then — FLASH!
A brilliant crimson light exploded across the entire arena barrier, bathing the mountain peak in red for a split second.
Grimgor's body staggered, but his head remained firmly attached. He blinked, touched his neck in confusion, then let out a booming laugh as the feedback from the "killing" blow coursed through him like a powerful electric shock.
"Hah! It really doesn't kill?!" he bellowed, eyes lighting up with savage joy.
Lira stared at her blade, then at the red flash still fading from the barrier, her face breaking into a wild grin. "It's true… We can actually go all out!"
Before they could fully re-engage, Gabil's voice boomed across the arena once more, interrupting the budding clash.
"Hold! Fighters, hold for a moment!" The announcer leaned forward on his platform, a wide grin on his face. "It seems our brave warriors were still hesitating out of old habit in those opening seconds. Now that you've seen the safeguards in action with your own eyes and felt the truth for yourselves — you have my official permission for a full redo! Reset to your starting positions. This time, give us everything you've got from the very first strike! No mercy! No restraint! The barrier will protect you — now fight like you mean it!"
The crowd roared in approval as both fighters were gently guided back to their starting lines by a soft pulse of spatial magic. Grimgor rolled his massive shoulders, a feral grin splitting his face. Lira twirled her blades with newfound confidence, her eyes blazing with excitement.
"Ready?" Gabil called. "Begin!"
This time there was no hesitation.
Grimgor charged with a thunderous war cry, swinging his axe with pure murderous intent. Lira met him head-on, no longer pulling any strikes. Their clash turned ferocious — blades ringing violently, sparks flying in bright arcs, shockwaves rippling outward as both fighters finally unleashed their full killing techniques without restraint. The crowd erupted into deafening cheers as the warm-up match transformed from cautious sparring into a true, bloodthirsty spectacle.
Every time a finishing blow landed — an axe cleaving through a torso, a sword thrust through the chest, or another near-decapitation — the barrier would flare bright red, confirming the "death," yet both warriors kept fighting harder, laughing with exhilaration at the freedom they'd been granted.
In the VIP box, Milim was already leaning so far forward she was nearly standing on her seat, stars glittering wildly in her eyes. "Whoa! That was awesome! They actually went for the head and it worked!"
Guy Crimson smirked, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the sudden spike in savagery. Valentine allowed herself a tiny, elegant smile at the pure thrill now radiating from the arena floor. Beerus gave a small snort of approval from his section, while Whis watched with polite amusement.
The first real warm-up battle had officially begun, and the fighters were no longer holding anything back.
Milim leaned so far forward in her seat that she nearly toppled over the railing, her small hands gripping the edge tightly, stars practically dancing in her eyes. "Ooooh! Look at that one! He's big and fast, but not fast enough! Come on, slice him up!" she cheered, pumping her fist with unrestrained glee. Every time a particularly flashy exchange occurred, she would bounce in place, her laughter ringing out like bells. She was glued to the action, barely blinking, her entire focus locked onto the arena as if she could will the fighters to greater heights through sheer enthusiasm alone.
Valentine watched the proceedings with her usual serene grace, but as the match intensified, small, subtle shifts began to show. When a particularly clever combination landed and the crowd erupted, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She allowed herself a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle at one fighter's dramatic overcommitment that ended in a comical red-flash elimination. Her fingers lightly tapped the armrest in quiet rhythm with the roaring cheers, a tiny liberty she rarely permitted herself. It was nothing overt—just the slightest relaxation of her perfect posture, the briefest spark of genuine amusement in her ancient sky-blue eyes. Guy noticed, of course, and shot her a knowing sideways glance, but said nothing, content to let the slow change unfold naturally.
The booming voice of the tournament announcer suddenly cut through the arena, magically amplified to reach every corner of the stands.
"AND THAT CONCLUDES THE MOCK BATTLE BETWEEN GRIMGOR IRONHIDE AND LIRA SHADOWSONG! After seven hard-fought rounds, Grimgor emerges victorious with five wins to Lira's two! The orc warboss showed why he had no reason to hold back once the advantage was clear — a dominant performance!"
The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and groans as the magical barriers around the arena flickered and dissolved. Grimgor let out a deep, rumbling laugh, slamming his massive axe into the ground while Lira straightened up, breathing heavily but offering a respectful nod to her opponent.
"Next up in the main bracket!" the announcer continued, his voice rising with excitement, "we call forth the following fighters to the central arena…"
Beerus lounged in his section, one paw lazily propped under his chin, occasionally muttering critiques of the lower-level fighters. "Hmph. That one's got power and speed but no technique. He'll be flattened in the next round if he fights a true warrior." Whis smiled elegantly beside him, occasionally pointing out particularly interesting applications of magic or something akin to ki. Zairis remained vigilant, fine-tuning the barriers with subtle gestures. Goku and Vegeta, seated nearby, watched with professional interest, commenting on stances and power levels in low voices.
As the rounds concluded and the brackets advanced to mid-tier fighters— seasoned Tempest soldiers, visiting demon lords' elites, and powerful monsters—the atmosphere in the arena grew electric. The battles grew fiercer, the red flashes of "death blows" appearing more frequently, yet the fighters pushed themselves harder, knowing they could go all out without permanent consequence.
Veldora's name was announced for the next major bracket, and the entire arena seemed to shake with the collective roar. Milim shot upright in her seat, her eyes widening to impossible proportions, literal stars glittering within them. "Veldora!!! Yes! This is it! The main event is starting!" She clapped her hands rapidly, practically bouncing in place, completely unable to contain her excitement. Her gaze never left the arena entrance where the Storm Dragon would soon emerge.
Guy Crimson chuckled deeply, leaning back with a grin. "Looks like the real fun is about to begin."
Valentine's eyes softened just a fraction as she observed Milim's unbridled joy. Without a word, she reached over and gently adjusted a stray lock of Milim's hair that had fallen into the girl's face from all her excited movements—a small, almost maternal gesture that carried centuries of quiet affection. Milim didn't even notice, too enraptured by the impending battle, but Valentine allowed herself that tiny liberty, her expression remaining elegantly composed even as something warmer flickered deep within.
Rimuru smiled from his section of the box, exchanging glances with his Octagram companions. The true highlight of the festival was about to unfold, and with Veldora stepping onto the field, the crowd's energy reached a fever pitch.
The barriers hummed with power as the next fighters prepared to enter, the viewing screens for the general audience glowing brightly, while inside the flawless spatial box, every detail remained crystal clear. The Tournament Festival was truly underway, and the greatest clash of all awaited.