The window flickered again, and finally, only my name remained.
***
TEAM 12
Kael [Britain]
***
It seemed as though everyone in the stadium was holding their breath.
Strangely, Aldric didn't flinch. A few seconds ago, he had seemed genuinely troubled, but now his serious expression had returned, along with that faint smile on his face.
Murmurs spread throughout the stadium.
Eventually, Aldric spoke again.
"Well... it seems the teams have been decided."
He released his cane, which remained standing upright as though fixed to the ground, and clapped his hands.
The system display vanished immediately.
Another replaced it. A tournament bracket appeared across its surface, displaying all the participants in different branches.
The window suddenly crackled. The bracket vanished, then reappeared. It seemed to have changed slightly.
The various duos now appeared matched against one another.
It felt somewhat strange to create teams only to split them apart at the very beginning of the tournament.
I began searching for my name among the tournament branches. After a few moments, I found it.
It was placed in an empty branch with no opponent in the first round.
So that was how the system had chosen to solve the problem.
Given my current level, any help was welcome, including this. For once, luck seemed to be on my side.
Aldric clapped his hands once more and declared in a loud voice.
"Let the first round begin!"
The display changed and revealed two faces.
***
Eliot V/S Iskar
***
Aldric snapped his fingers, and a stone arena suddenly rose from the ground at the center of the stadium.
Eliot and Iskar headed toward the arena while I followed the other participants, who leaned against the walls surrounding the central field.
A man dressed in black and white, evidently a referee, stepped onto the arena as well and took position at its center.
The referee looked at both fighters before raising a hand.
"State your name and affiliation."
The first to answer was a lean young man with short brown hair and a confident smile.
"Eliot. House Vance of Southern Edria."
Facing him stood a broad-shouldered man who looked nearly ten years older. His dark skin was marked by several pale scars stretching along his neck and jaw.
"Iskar. House Dren."
The referee nodded.
"Victory is obtained through surrender, inability to continue fighting, or by leaving the arena. Lethal attacks are forbidden."
A brief silence followed.
"Begin."
The referee stepped back.
For several seconds, neither fighter moved. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Then Eliot suddenly lunged forward. His sword left its scabbard in a smooth, almost elegant motion.
The blade cut through the air with a speed that surprised me. I had expected skilled fighters, but not this level from the very first exchange.
The steel shot straight toward Iskar's shoulder with the precision of a man who had repeated the movement thousands of times.
Yet Iskar did not retreat. He did not even attempt to dodge.
Instead, he simply raised his left arm in front of him.
A sharp metallic clang echoed through the arena.
The sword had struck a steel bracer hidden beneath his sleeve. Sparks briefly burst from the point of impact.
Several spectators gasped in surprise while Eliot's expression darkened.
Before he could even recover his balance, Iskar launched his counterattack.
He charged forward.
His shoulder slammed into Eliot's chest with unbelievable force.
The impact echoed throughout the stadium.
The air seemed to leave the young man's lungs all at once as his body was driven several meters backward across the stone floor. Yet Iskar gave him no time to recover. Despite his massive build, his movements were surprisingly light.
Where I had expected the sluggishness of a giant, I found the mobility of a predator.
He immediately pressed his advantage.
A second strike.
Eliot barely managed to intercept it, but the force behind the attack was so overwhelming that his boots scraped across the stone. He continued to slide backward despite his guard, unable to completely halt his opponent's momentum.
The stands erupted in applause.
One participant muttered beside me.
"They're not holding back..."
The two men were fighting seriously.
Every strike seemed intended to crush the other.
Eliot gritted his teeth. His expression changed. He had probably realized that the fight would slip away from him if he continued exchanging sword blows.
He extended his free hand.
A faint bluish glow appeared around his fingers.
Ether.
I immediately felt the air around the arena vibrate. Luminous particles condensed along his palm before transforming into several brilliant strands that shot toward Iskar at incredible speed.
Cutting through the air effortlessly.
Iskar immediately crossed his arms in front of his face.
The projectiles struck him head-on.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
A series of muffled explosions shook the arena.
A cloud of dust rose from the center of the field, completely swallowing Iskar's silhouette. For several seconds, no one could see what was happening inside.
The spectators instinctively leaned forward. Even the other competitors watched attentively.
A figure suddenly burst through the smoke.
"What?!" Eliot shouted.
The disbelief in his voice betrayed his fear.
Those attacks had been powerful.
Powerful enough to seriously injure an ordinary fighter. Yet Iskar kept advancing as though they had never touched him.
Iskar charged straight at Eliot.
In less than a second, he was already upon him.
His fist cut through the air.
Eliot tried to defend himself.
Too late.
The blow struck his abdomen.
The air violently left his lungs.
His body folded in half beneath the force of the impact.
Before he could recover, Iskar seized his arm and pivoted.
The movement was executed with terrifying mastery.
Eliot was lifted off the ground and thrown over his opponent's shoulder.
He crashed heavily onto the stone slabs. A disturbing crack echoed throughout the arena.
The stadium gasped as one.
It was far more brutal than any training session I had ever endured with Doran.
Even when he beat me without restraint, there had always been a measure of control. An unspoken certainty that no one was truly risking their life.
Here, that certainty did not exist.
The referee watched without intervening.
Motionless.
At the center of the arena, Eliot attempted to stand.
His legs trembled.
His breathing was chaotic.
A drop of blood fell from his lips before he spat a crimson spray onto the white stone.
Across from him, Iskar had stopped.
He did not attack again.
He did not attempt to finish his opponent.
He simply waited.
Standing perfectly still.
Like a predator utterly certain that its prey could no longer escape.
Several long seconds passed before Eliot slowly raised his hand.
"I surrender..."
The referee nodded.
"Victory goes to Iskar of House Dren."
Applause immediately erupted throughout the stadium.
The system display updated.
I watched Iskar leave the arena under the crowd's cheers.
His expression had remained perfectly calm from beginning to end. No joy. No relief. No pride. As though this victory had been nothing more than a formality.
And for the first time since arriving at this tournament, a thought crossed my mind.
Perhaps I had greatly overestimated my own level.