As the crowd erupted in cheers, a wave of awe and admiration swept through the arena. Even the faces of the super powerhouses seated in the podiums softened, their expressions shifting from detached superiority to genuine respect.
For so long, the Tournament of Destiny had been a source of frustration for them—an event that disrupted their peace, a farce pushed forward by forces stronger than they could challenge. It was an affront to their culture, a spectacle manipulated by those beyond their control. And yet, none of that mattered now.
Because Freya—through her own sheer strength and indomitable will—had shattered the chains that bound her. She had won the tournament. She had proven, to all of Valhalla, that only she had the right to decide her destiny. No one else.
The cheers and smiles filled the podiums—except for one.
Earl Octavio sat frozen, stupefied, his face drained of color. His mind reeled, unable to comprehend how this had happened.
