The roar of the crowd was a distant hum to Bianca, a mere backdrop to the taut silence within her own mind. She stood poised at the edge of the concrete ring, the rough texture a stark contrast to the smooth steel of her sword. A backward glance confirmed her position, the precipice a constant reminder of the stakes. Seven figures, their faces a mask of arrogant anticipation, stood before her. The air crackled with their collective aggression.
A guttural laugh erupted from one of the men, a thickset brute with a scarred face. "You honestly think you can take us all on at once, girl? You're a fool! I'll carve you into pieces and toss your worthless carcass off this ring!"
From the pavilion, Rider watched with a knot of anxiety twisting in his gut. His knuckles were white as he clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on Bianca. Beside him, Aingo sat as still and impassive as a stone statue. His eyes, however, held a sharp, analytical glint, devoid of any visible emotion. He observed the scene with the detached interest of a scientist studying a specimen.
Bianca took a deep, steadying breath, the metallic tang of fear mingling with the heady scent of adrenaline. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. "Bring it on, you wannabe! Seven to one? Doesn't matter. You're all just assholes."
The men surged forward, their collective rage a palpable force. One of them, a hulking figure with a crudely forged sword, roared, "Watch your mouth, brat! Women should know their place! We'll teach you some respect!"
Bianca moved with a swiftness that belied her slender frame, sidestepping the initial onslaught. She parried a vicious slice, the clang of steel echoing through the arena. She moved towards the center of the ring, a whirlwind of motion, deflecting blows from all sides. The crowd, initially dismissive, began to murmur in surprise. A lone girl, facing down seven seasoned warriors, and holding her own? It was a spectacle.
Rider leaped to his feet, his voice ringing out with fervent support. "I told you! She's strong! She'll win this, and she'll win the whole tournament!"
Aingo's voice, calm and measured, cut through Rider's enthusiasm. "Not quite."
Rider turned, confusion clouding his face. "What do you mean, Not quite?"
Aingo's gaze remained fixed on the fight. "She's impressive, even I have to admit it. To hold off seven men simultaneously is no small feat. But she's focused solely on defense. She's not creating openings, not taking any risks. She's simply blocking, parrying, and moving, maintaining a constant state of reaction."
Rider's eyes widened as the realization dawned. "She's conserving her energy... but she'll run out of stamina."
Aingo nodded, his expression unchanged. "Precisely."
Bianca's movements, though still fluid and precise, began to show signs of strain. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples, her breath coming in ragged gasps. One of Dargal's disciples, a wiry man with quick reflexes, seized the opportunity. He unleashed a powerful overhead strike, testing Bianca's defenses. She met the blow, the force of the impact jarring her arms. But it was a feint. Another disciple, moving with predatory stealth, kicked her from behind, sending her sprawling onto the unforgiving concrete.
The seven men closed in, their faces contorted with triumph. "You fought well, for a woman," the sneered. "But it's over. We'll eliminate you and everyone else, and then we'll dominate the tournament."
Rider muttered under his breath, his voice thick with worry. "Someone has to help her..."
As the men advanced, Bianca spoke, her voice clear and steady despite her exhaustion. "Wait."
They paused, their eyes narrowing.
"Only one of you can win the tournament, right?" Bianca said, her eyes scanning their faces. "So, what happens after this? You'll have to fight each other. What if the final round is a deathmatch? How can you be sure you're safe from each other?"
A flicker of doubt crossed the men's faces. One of the men scoffed, "Shut up, bitch. We're a team for this match. I'm winning the tournament, anyway."
"What?" another disciple retorted, his voice laced with anger. "Who said you're winning? I didn't come here to watch you steal my glory. I'm the one who'll become the Sword Master!"
"You're both delusional!" a third man shouted. "I'm the strongest here! I'll be the Sword Master!"
The men descended into a cacophony of accusations and threats, their alliance fracturing before Bianca's eyes. Within seconds, they were drawing their swords, their focus shifting from their fallen opponent to each other.
One of Dargal's disciples, a more pragmatic individual, tried to regain control. "Wait! Stop this! This is what she wants! We can't fall for her tricks. Let's finish this match, and then Dargal can decide who's worthy of the Sword Master title."
He turned to where Bianca had fallen, but she was gone. "Where is she?"
"What do you mean, 'where is she'?" another man asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
They scanned the ring, their eyes searching the edges. In that moment of distraction, Bianca emerged from behind them, a whirlwind of furious energy. She shoved them with all her might, sending them tumbling over the edge of the ring.
The crowd erupted in a thunderous roar. Rider leaped to his feet, his cheers echoing through the arena. Aingo's eyes widened slightly, a rare display of surprise.
The seven men, their faces flushed with humiliation and rage, stared up at Bianca from the ground.
Bianca stood at the edge of the ring, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing. "Tell Dargal... tell him I said, 'screw him and his lapdogs.' They were all eliminated by a girl. Yeah, a girl. Bye-bye now."
She turned her back on them, her voice dripping with sarcasm, and walked back into the center of the ring. One of the men, his pride wounded, lunged towards her, but he was intercepted by a guard, who forcefully escorted the seven defeated warriors out of the arena.
Azrael, the tournament announcer, beamed, his voice booming across the arena. "Incredible! More than half of our contenders have been eliminated! We are now down to twenty-three! Who will emerge victorious?"
The crowd roared its approval, their voices a wave of anticipation.
In the ring, a man named Valen, his eyes fixed on Bianca, smiled with an almost childlike enthusiasm. He was unarmed, a stark contrast to the heavily armored warriors surrounding him. Two men approached him, their expressions grim.
"Hey, blockhead!" one of them sneered.
Valen turned, his brow furrowed. "Huh? Are you talking to me? I don't think we've met."
The two men exchanged puzzled glances. "We're not here to make friends. We're the Warrior Brothers, Ben and Carl, and we're challenging you. Draw your weapon and face us!"
Valen scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "This is embarrassing, but I kind of broke my sword with my bare hands. Weapons are expensive, and that's why I'm here. I heard the winner gets a magical sword, one that can't be broken. But now that I think about it, I need a sword to win, don't I? Can I borrow yours?"
The Warrior Brothers stared at him in disbelief. "You're saying you're completely unarmed?" Carl asked, his voice incredulous.
Valen nodded, his smile widening. "Yep!"
A predatory gleam flickered in Ben's eyes. "Useless fool. Your time in this tournament is over."
They charged at Valen, their swords raised. But before they could land a blow, Valen moved with astonishing speed. He seized Ben by the neck, lifting him effortlessly into the air. With a sickening crunch, he crushed Ben's head, flinging his lifeless body out of the ring. He then picked up Ben's sword. "Yay, I got a sword! I hope I don't accidentally crush this one."
Carl, his face pale with terror, turned to flee. But Valen, spotting him, said, "That's not fair, now is it?"
He hurled the sword, its trajectory a blur of motion. It embedded itself in Carl's clothing, dragging him screaming out of the ring.
The crowd gasped, their eyes wide with shock. Rider, his jaw slack, turned to Aingo. "Who is that guy?"
Aingo's voice was low and thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure. But I've heard rumors. He's a hunter, a beast master. They say he hunts wild animals with his bare hands."
"Valen the Beast Hunter," Rider said, his voice filled with awe. "He's been the best for over 20 years."
Valen, oblivious to the attention, stared at his empty hands. "Damn it, I lost the sword. What's wrong with me. A wave of bewildered murmurs rippled through the crowd as Valen, the formidable hunter, dissolved into a spectacle of self-recrimination. Tears welled in his eyes, and a series of choked sobs escaped his lips, a stark contrast to the brutal efficiency he had displayed moments before. The sight of a grown man, a proven warrior, weeping over a lost sword created an unsettling dissonance. However, the bizarre scene was abruptly shattered by a thunderous crash that echoed across the arena.
All eyes snapped towards the source of the commotion. Kael, a towering behemoth of a man, standing a staggering seven feet two inches, was rampaging through the ring. His weapon, a massive sledgehammer forged from solid metal, swung in wide, devastating arcs, sending warriors flying from the ring like rag dolls. With each swing, the pace of his destructive dance increased, a whirlwind of raw power and unbridled aggression. The crowd, initially stunned into silence, erupted into a cacophony of gasps, cheers, and awestruck shouts.
Aingo, his gaze fixed on the carnage, spoke in a low, measured tone. "These are the opponents Bianca will face. Do you still believe she has a chance?"
Rider swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He remained silent, his eyes darting between Kael's destructive rampage and the other remaining contenders. His gaze finally settled on Zack, who moved through the ring with an air of detached indifference, his eyes scanning the environment with a quiet intensity. Rider frowned, a flicker of anticipation replacing his earlier anxiety. He was finally about to witness the true extent of Zack's abilities.
Zack, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around him, moved with a calculated grace. His eyes, sharp and analytical, assessed the remaining contenders, cataloging their strengths and weaknesses. He observed Valen, Kael, and Bianca, mentally dissecting their fighting styles, formulating potential strategies for their defeat should they cross paths. He also noted other fighters, identifying those who posed a genuine threat. All this was done with a subtle, almost imperceptible air, his true thoughts shielded behind a mask of nonchalance. His father, observing from a privileged vantage point, watched his son's movements with a quiet, discerning gaze.
Zack's attention was drawn to an elderly man, seemingly oblivious to the surrounding spectacle. The old man lay sprawled on the concrete floor, a chipped plate filled with a dark, viscous liquid resting on his chest. He sipped from it with a casual air, seemingly undisturbed by the ongoing battles. Zack was perplexed. How had this old man remained untouched? Why hadn't he been ejected from the ring? What purpose could he possibly serve in such a brutal competition? His curiosity piqued, Zack began to move towards the old man, his guard momentarily lowered.
Suddenly, a sharp, whistling sound sliced through the air. Instinctively, Zack drew his sword, the polished steel flashing in the sunlight. A speeding arrow, aimed directly for his shoulder, was intercepted by the razor-sharp edge of his blade, the force of the impact sending a shower of sparks flying.
Zack spun around, his eyes locking onto a figure concealed behind a large rock. The figure, a man with a lean build and a predatory gaze, rose to his feet, a longbow held loosely in his hand.
"Impressive reflexes," the man said, his voice laced with a hint of admiration. "You're the first to ever block my surprise shot. Let's see what else you've got, kid." He nocked another arrow, drawing the string taut, his eyes fixed on Zack.
Zack regarded the man with a dismissive air. "A cowardly tactic," he said, his voice flat. "But if you want a fight, bring it on. Let's make this quick."
The crowd, sensing a clash of titans, surged forward, their attention now focused on Zack. They were eager to witness the true extent of his power, to see if the rumors of his skill were justified. Even King Neon, who had been observing the tournament with a languid air, straightened in his seat, his eyes gleaming with renewed interest.