The arena floor shifted again as two new fighters walked out—this ti both lightning users. Sparks crackled around their hands, lighting up the air.
Fate yelled instantly,
"OH GREAT, DOUBLE LIGHTNING MATCH! IF ANYONE HERE HAS FRAGILE HAIR, PLEASE HOLD ONTO IT!"
Rhys touched his hair protectively.
"...Is he talking about ?"
Drear replied,
"Yes."
Puddle nodded.
"Your hair flies up like scared cat when lightning hits nearby."
"I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT."
The two lightning users clashed, vanishing and reappearing with bursts of electric light. Their movents were almost too fast to follow.
Rhys leaned forward.
"...Their reflexes are insane."
Puddle pointed.
"Master, see? They move first, think second. You think first, think again, think again, then move."
"HEY—"
"It is okay. Master’s brain very active. Just slow legs."
Rhys groaned into his hands.
In the booth, Fate continued shouting proudly:
"WOW, LOOK AT THAT! NO STUMBLING! NO PANICKING! NO ’WHAT BUTTON DO I PRESS’ MONTS! UNLIKE RHYS, WHO—"
Rhys yelled up,
"STOP USING AS THE BAD EXAMPLE FOR EVERYTHING!"
Drear said quietly,
"It is statistically efficient."
"That is NOT comforting."
Down below, one fighter used Lightning Step, vanishing in a blink and reappearing behind his opponent. The other reacted instantly with Thunder Guard, forming an electric shield.
The clash sent a shockwave through the arena.
The crowd scread with excitent.
Rhys watched every detail—the timing, the rhythm, the spell flow.
"...I need this kind of speed," he murmured. "I can’t keep relying on ’don’t die’ instinct."
Puddle nodded.
"Yes. Master needs ’hit them before they hit you’ instinct. Very useful."
"I have that."
"Master screams first."
"...Okay, maybe."
The match ended with a clean final strike. No chaos. No random side explosions. No unplanned earthquakes.
The arena roared.
Rhys looked at them with real respect.
"...They’re good. I want to reach that."
Puddle smiled brightly.
"And you will. And then you will run so fast your legs go fwoosh."
"That’s not a real sound."
"It will be."
Rhys breathed out slowly.
He felt calr now—not insecure, not jealous—just focused.
He wasn’t comparing himself to them.
He was learning from them.
Up above, Fate started another dramatic scream:
"ALRIGHT EVERYONE, GET READY FOR THE NEXT MATCH! AND RHYS, IF YOU’RE STILL WATCHING, PLEASE WRITE DOWN ’DO NOT GET HIT’ IN BIG LETTERS!"
Rhys shouted back,
"I ALREADY KNOW THAT RULE!"
Drear added,
"You do not follow it."
"STOP GANGING UP ON !"
But even while complaining, Rhys felt sothing strong inside him.
Drive.
Purpose.
Determination.
He looked down at the bright arena.
"...One day, I won’t be the weakest one here. I’m sure of it."
Puddle hugged his arm again.
"I believe in Master. Even when you fall on your face."
"I DO NOT FALL THAT OFTEN."
"Yes you do."
"PUDDLE PLEASE—"
She giggled.
Rhys sighed.
But he smiled too.
The next match started.
The crowd cheered.
And Rhys watched it all—eyes steady, heart steady—ready for the future he wanted.
The arena lights blazed brighter as the next fighters stepped onto the stage. Fate was already bouncing in his comntator’s seat, flipping the page on his notes with unnecessary drama.
He cleared his throat loudly.
"ALRIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEN! MATCH NUMBER THREE OF TODAY—THE SPEED DEMON VS. THE IRON WALL!"
Drear corrected calmly,
"His nickna is not officially ’Iron Wall.’"
Fate waved him off.
"IT IS NOW!"
Rhys squinted at the arena.
"Speed demon? Iron wall? This feels like a video ga matchup."
Puddle nodded seriously.
"Yes. Master must unlock new map soon."
"...Puddle, this is not a ga."
"Everything is ga if you don’t die."
"...That’s not wrong."
The two fighters below moved into position. One was short, thin, practically vibrating with energy. The other was huge—arms thick as stone pillars, chest like a fortress.
Fate pointed at the small one dramatically.
"ON THE LEFT, WE HAVE SEVRA! USER OF FLASH KICK, VOLT DASH, AND POSSIBLE MAKER OF BAD DECISIONS!"
Then he pointed at the massive one.
"AND ON THE RIGHT, GORUN! KNOWN FOR STONE BODY, EARTH BREAKER, AND ZERO EXPRESSIONS!"
Gorun stood completely still.
Sevra bounced in place like a caffeinated squirrel.
The bell rang.
Sevra shot forward with Volt Dash, a streak of blue lightning.
Gorun didn’t move.
Rhys leaned forward.
"...He’s just letting it hit?"
Puddle whispered,
"He is thinking: ’Tiny bug cannot hurt .’"
The lightning attack crashed into Gorun’s chest.
Gorun slid back half a step.
That was all.
Sevra blinked.
"...Uh-oh."
Fate roared,
"YES, SEVRA! THAT WAS THE EQUIVALENT OF PUNCHING A MOUNTAIN AND ASKING WHY YOUR HAND HURTS!"
Sevra jumped back and used Flash Kick, flipping high and striking with a burst of electricity.
This ti, Gorun lifted his arm.
Stone Body activated—his skin hardened like rock.
The kick landed with a loud thunk.
Sevra grabbed his leg, hopping on one foot.
"Ow ow ow ow—WHY IS HE MADE OF PAIN?!"
Rhys covered his face.
"That felt like during the Maxwell fight."
Puddle nodded.
"Yes. Master kicked wall too. Wall won."
"STOP REMINDING ."
Sevra tried again and again—swift attacks, lightning-infused punches, arcs of electric sparks.
Gorun simply stood there.
Finally, Gorun raised one giant fist.
Fate shouted,
"AND HERE COS THE BIG ONE—EARTH! BREAKER!"
Gorun slamd his fist into the ground.
The entire arena trembled.
A shockwave exploded outward, throwing Sevra into the air like a ragdoll.
He spun, hit the ground, bounced, and lay flat.
Sevra groaned weakly,
"...I regret my whole life."
The match ended.
Rhys whistled softly.
"...That guy is a tank."
Puddle nodded.
"Master would bounce higher."
"CAN YOU NOT—"
Drear tapped the microphone.
"Winner: Gorun."
Fate pumped his fist.
"AND THE MATCH IS OVER! REMBER KIDS—IF YOU CANNOT BREAK A WALL, DO NOT TRY TO KICK IT THREE TIS!"
Rhys muttered,
"That advice actually makes sense."
Drear responded,
"You did not follow it."
"I’M GOING TO PRETEND I DIDN’T HEAR THAT."
More matches continued—one after another. Swordsn, mages, strategists, brutes, speedsters. Each fight different. Each fight brutal. Each fight teaching Rhys sothing.
Finally, the last match ended.
The loudspeaker blared:
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