Perched high upon the elite stands, the Hero found himself submerged in a deafening cacophony. The roar of the crowd was a tidal wave, crashing against the stone walls of the stadium. Surrounding him were the A-Rankers and the high-tier aspirants, their faces masked with a chilling sense of superiority—an unspoken arrogance that radiated like a physical weight. Yet, the Hero's gaze remained fixed, ignoring the elite circus around him, focused solely on the blood-stained sand of the arena floor below.
The preliminary matches began with the lower-ranked students. Since their status was deemed "common," the proctors didn't even bother announcing their Classes. But as far as the Hero was concerned, the stakes were just as lethal.
The first duel featured a stark contrast. On one side stood a boy with no weapon, relying purely on Brute Strength and a body forged like a fortress. Opposite him was an opponent wielding a long, thin blade that flickered in the sunlight like the tongue of a venomous serpent.
The moment the signal flared, the swordsman lunged—a blur of steel and lethal intent. Swoosh! The blade whistled through the air, carving a deep, crimson furrow across the brawny boy's shoulder. Blood sprayed onto the parched earth, but the Hero's breath hitched in his throat. The boy didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He swung a massive fist in a counter-attack—and though it missed, his face remained a mask of eerie, unsettling calm. There wasn't a single trace of agony in his eyes.
The swordsman struck again and again, his blade dancing through flesh, painting the sand red. Yet, the weaponless boy stood like an immovable mountain. He had spent years transforming his body into a vessel capable of absorbing pain, turning his very nerves into iron through brutal training.
Watching this, the Hero looked down at his own trembling hands. A single bead of cold sweat dripped from his brow, hitting the stone floor.
"I have the stats. The System gave me the power. But do I have the soul to endure this? If that blade were carving through my flesh right now, would I stand my ground, or would I shatter under the weight of the pain? I am a god in numbers, but a child in reality. I don't even know the first thing about true suffering."
He realized then that stats were merely a foundation; Pain Tolerance and Visceral Experience were the true architects of victory. Though the brute-strength user eventually won, his body was a roadmap of scars and fresh wounds. The Hero watched every subsequent fight with predatory intensity—scanning every magical flare, every flicker of speed, and every hidden technique, etching them into his mind.
After an eternity of minor skirmishes, the Proctor's magically amplified voice thundered, vibrating through the very marrow of the spectators' bones.
"Next Match: Class [Beast Master] vs. Class [Angel]!"
The Hero's heart plummeted as he saw his friend step into the arena. Perched upon his shoulder was the Baby Griffin, but it was no longer a mere hatchling. It had undergone a monstrous transformation—larger, more predatory, and radiating a fierce, unbridled power.
The Hero's mind went numb.
"How did it grow this fast?" A cocktail of anger and bewilderment swirled in his chest. His friend had kept a secret. He hadn't just possessed an [Egg Hatching] skill; he harbored a [Rapid Growth] ability—a rare, high-tier power he had never mentioned.
But the Griffin's behavior was even more disturbing. The moment its predatory eyes locked onto the Hero in the stands, it went feral. It hissed, its feathers bristling in a state of pure terror. It could sense it—the suffocating 'Killer Aura' emanating from the Hero. The beast recognized the scent of the one who had slaughtered its Brother. The creature was a frantic mess of grief and instinctive dread.
Then, the Hero's eyes shifted to the opponent: 'The Angel.' She was an enigma, someone who hadn't appeared in any of the previous tests. He immediately triggered his [Scan] ability, but his vision was met with a jagged, crimson glitch:
[Warning: Target Level is too high! Scanning is impossible for a Level 1 Host.]
A sense of suffocation washed over him. Every other student here had progressed to Level 1.5 or 1.7, while he remained stagnated at Level 1, trapped by a System that only permitted absolute Level-ups (from 1 to 2). 'They'll see me as a fraud,' he thought, his shirt clinging to his back as cold sweat drenched his skin. 'A 'genius' who can't even level up.'
Before the duel could even commence, the world seemed to tilt. The Hero noticed the fear abruptly drain from his friend's face. But it wasn't replaced by courage. His eyes turned hollow—vacant abysses where a soul used to reside. It was as if his very "will to fight" had been erased, replaced by a cold, external puppetry.
The Hero's world spun as he watched his friend raise a trembling, mechanical hand. Without a shred of emotion, his friend began to issue a command—not to fight the Angel, but to slaughter his own pet, the Griffin.
"No..." A jagged whisper escaped the Hero's lips. He surged halfway out of his seat, his lungs seizing as he watched the unfolding nightmare.
The Hero's breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as the deafening roar of thousands of spectators washed over him. Yet, amidst the chaos, the only sound that echoed in his ears was the frantic, rhythmic thud of his own heart. The scent of dry dust and the faint, metallic tang of blood drifting up from the arena floor seemed to paralyze his senses.
He stared at his trembling hands, his mind spiraling into a chaotic abyss. What do I do? Why isn't this useless System helping me? He cursed himself. He was a tactician, a chess player who always calculated ten moves ahead. But today, trapped in the stands of this massive arena, he was forced onto a board where he couldn't even see the opponent, let alone count the pieces they held.
His mind raced through the permutations. Jump into the arena? The moment his feet touched the sand, the Knights would restrain him and drag him out for violating the rules. What if I use my XXX Rank? He could, in theory, rush to the Human Grandmaster's chambers and use his absolute authority to force an end to the match. But the sheer distance and the time it would take to explain the situation made it an impossible luxury. He simply didn't have the time to reach the room and negotiate while an execution was happening right in front of him.
Desperate, his gaze snapped to the girl. There was no fear in the Angel's eyes, nor a shred of mercy. All he saw was absolute, chilling contempt. She was looking down on his friend not as an equal human being, but as pathetic trash meant to be crushed under her heel.
System, can you tell me anything about the Angel class? he demanded internally.
[System Window: No.]
I know, you bastard, the Hero snarled in his mind. In this twisted game, he had been entirely stripped of his right to play. His greatest weapon—information—was locked away, leaving his hands tied while a tragedy unfolded before his very eyes.
He cast a sweeping glance at the roaring crowd. Thousands of faces, flushed with excitement, cheering blindly at the spectacle. They didn't care about the lives at stake or the dark magic at play; they only cared about the flashy skills and the entertainment. A bitter truth settled in the Hero's chest: If that wasn't my friend down there... would I just be another face in this crowd, watching the show without caring?
Then, a sharp realization pierced through his panic. His analytical mind finally clicked, rapidly calculating the variables.
It was highly probable that the beast wouldn't obey. His friend wasn't some supreme Double SS-Rank powerhouse with absolute authority. He was a standard Beastmaster who had only just formed a contract with this high-tier Griffin. The bond was still raw, the dominance fragile. A newly contracted beast wouldn't possess unwavering loyalty—especially not for a command as extreme and unnatural as suicide. The beast's own primal, deeply ingrained instinct for survival would naturally rebel against such a harsh order from a master who wasn't overwhelmingly stronger than it.
Gripping the edge of the railing, cold sweat dripping from his chin, the Hero locked his intensely focused eyes on the Griffin, waiting to see if his tactical deduction would hold up against the Angel's dark control.