Chapter 139: Opening Round
[Lower Stands – Betting Pool Central]
Victor Arkwright adjusted his slightly-too-large sunglasses, scanning the frantic crowd placing bets via handheld crystal slates linked to his discreet network.
Business was booming. The odds on Michael Wilson winning the whole tournant were surprisingly high, fueled by whispers of his Labyrinth performance, but the smart money was still pouring onto Eric and Leon.
"Keep the lines moving!" Victor barked at one of his hastily recruited runners, a nervous-looking comrce student.
"Odds on Lionheart vs. Stromfang in the semis are 3-to-1! William vs. Wilson final is paying out 5-to-1!"
He grinned, rubbing his hands together. Boss is gonna love this. We’re gonna clean up.
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[Arena ]
The early matches were, as Denish William predicted, largely predictable. Higher seeds dispatched lower seeds with brutal efficiency.
There were occasional upsets, monts where sheer desperation or a lucky critical hit allowed an underdog to snatch victory, drawing gasps and cheers from the crowd, but mostly, the hierarchy established by the previous trials held firm.
I watched passively from my waiting platform as nas were eliminated. Seraphina Croft won her match swiftly, her arrows pinning her opponent before they could even close the distance.
Kaelen Vance, however, lost. He managed to defend adequately, his healing keeping him in the fight longer than expected, but his offensive capabilities were non-existent. He erged from the simulation looking pale but resigned, having done his best.
Then, the main screens focused.
[Match 7: Leon Lionheart (Seed #2) vs. Garris Thane (Seed #31)]
Leon stepped onto his platform, sword drawn, Holy Fla already coalescing around the blade.
His opponent, a burly Class B student specializing in earth magic, looked terrified. The mont the match began, Leon didn’t hesitate.
"Lionheart Sword Style—Form Two: Crimson Fang!"
He surged forward, his flaming blade descending like a teor. Garris barely had ti to raise a crude stone wall before the attack shattered it, the force sending him tumbling out of the virtual ring. Victory in under thirty seconds.
The crowd roared, especially the section filled with Lionheart supporters. Arnab Lionheart, watching from his private box, rely took another slow sip of his drink, his expression unreadable.
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[Match 11: Eric William (Seed #3) vs. Hanna Jett (Seed #30)]
Eric’s match was even faster. His opponent, a nimble rogue-type student, tried to use stealth. Eric simply stood still, closed his eyes, and then pointed.
"Lightstyle Sword Arts: Sky Piercer."
The needle-thin beam of light lanced through the simulated arena, striking the exact spot where Hanna was concealed in shadow. Instant elimination. Ten seconds flat. Pure, arrogant, overwhelming power.
Denish William allowed himself a curt nod.Somiya clapped delicately. That was the dominance expected of a William.
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[Match 14: Aiden Stromfang (Seed #5) vs. Marcus Pell (Seed #28)]
Aiden’s fight was pure chaos. His opponent, a defensive shield user, turtled up imdiately.
Aiden responded by unleashing a relentless barrage of lightning-infused slashes, turning the arena into a crackling storm.
"Storm Fang Blitz!" he roared, his dual blades a blur. The shield cracked, buckled, and finally shattered, Aiden’s follow-up strike sending
Marcus flying. It was ssy, inefficient, but undeniably effective.
Scark Stromfang bellowed with laughter from his viewing box, slamming his mug down. "AHAH..A BOY, AIDEN! SHOW ’EM THE STORM!"
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[Match 15: Lyra Braveheart (Seed #6) vs. Jin Korvus (Seed #27)]
Lyra faced a water mage. Fire t water in spectacular explosions of steam and scalding spray.
Lyra, initially reckless, was forced to adapt, weaving water barriers to defend against counterattacks while searching for an opening for her fire.
It was a longer, more strategic fight than Aiden’s, showcasing her dual affinities but also her occasional impatience. She eventually won by trapping Jin in a boiling water vortex.
Allen Braveheart sighed from his study. Still too impulsive. But she adapted. Progress.
One by one, my friends and rivals secured their places in the next round.
Selena’s elegant shadow-and-light dance dispatched her opponent quickly. Elara’s precise archery found its mark without fail. Chris’s unyielding defense simply outlasted his challenger.
Aurelia used cunning traps and misdirection, winning without breaking a sweat. Maria’s overwhelming ice magic froze her opponent solid.
The Top 10 seeds all advanced easily. The disparity in power was stark.
And then, the final match of the first round was announced.
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[Match 16: Michael Wilson (Seed #1) vs. Alex Vonstel (Seed #32)]
A different kind of hush fell over the Colosseum. Not the silence of awe, but the quiet tension of morbid curiosity.
The Rank 1 versus the absolute lowest qualifier. The ntor versus the student he had inspired.
I stepped onto my platform. Across the simulated space, Alex materialized, shield raised, stance low but surprisingly steady.
His eyes, though wide with nervousness, held no trace of the despair I’d seen before. They held fire.
Good, I thought, drawing Draken.
The blade felt light, responsive in my hand. Don’t disappoint , Alex.
The starting gong echoed.
[BEGIN!]
Alex didn’t charge. He didn’t flinch. He held his ground, shield angled perfectly, his entire focus narrowed to a single point: .
I walked forward slowly, deliberately, not unleashing any overt power.
My steps were asured, my blade held low in a neutral guard. The crowd murmured, impatient. Why isn’t he finishing it?
I stopped five ters away. "Show what you’ve learned, Alex."
He took a deep breath, the sound barely audible over the hum of the arena.
Then, he roared—a raw, unpolished sound of pure determination—and charged. Not wildly, but with controlled aggression, shield leading, sword ready for a low thrust. Basic Knight Academy Form 1. Textbook. Predictable.
I sidestepped easily, letting his montum carry him past. As he stumbled slightly, trying to recover his balance, I tapped the flat of Draken lightly against the back of his knee.
He yelped, his leg buckling, dropping him to one knee.
"Stance is too high," I said calmly.
"You overcommitted. Exposes your lower body."
Alex grit his teeth, pushing himself back up. His face was flushed with embarrassnt, but he didn’t retort.
He adjusted his stance, lower now, shield tighter to his body.
"Again," I prompted.
He charged again. This ti, he feinted high with his sword before driving his shield forward in a bash. Better. Unpredictable.
I parried the sword easily, then planted my foot, eting his shield bash with my own shoulder, reinforced with a subtle pulse of mana.
CLANG!
The impact reverberated. Alex staggered back, shield arm numb, eyes wide with surprise at the force behind my seemingly casual block.
"Shield bashes require full body weight behind them," I instructed, stepping back smoothly.
"Don’t just push with your arm. Drive from your legs. Explode through the impact."
He nodded, absorbing the correction, his breathing evening out. He wasn’t just fighting; he was learning, even now.
I spent the next minute like this—parrying his attacks, pointing out flaws, forcing him to adapt.
I didn’t use any flashy skills, no Ice Domain, no Aura Dominion. Just pure, fundantal swordsmanship, amplified by my superior stats and the Weapon Master trait. It was a lesson disguised as a duel.
_______________________
The crowd grew restless.
"Is he toying with him?"
"Just finish it already!"
"This is pathetic! The Rank 1 is holding back!"
Eric William scoffed from the waiting area. "See? He pities the weak. A true warrior shows no rcy."
Leon frowned, watching intently. No... this isn’t pity. Michael is... teaching him?
Maria, watching from her platform, allowed a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. He really is different.
Finally, after Alex managed a surprisingly solid shield block that actually forced to slide back half a step, I decided it was ti. He had shown his growth, his tenacity. Humiliating him further served no purpose.
"Good block," I acknowledged. "But you left your sword arm exposed."
Before he could react, I activated Swift Step. My form flickered. I reappeared inside his guard, Draken’s hilt tapping sharply against his sword hand. His weapon clattered to the virtual floor. Simultaneously, the flat of my blade pressed gently against his throat.
Checkmate.
Alex froze, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. He stared at the blade, then up at . Defeat was clear, but the despair wasn’t there. Instead, there was a grudging respect, and a burning desire to improve.
[Match Over. Victor: Michael Wilson.]
The virtual world dissolved.
I stepped out of my pod back into the roar of the Colosseum. The crowd’s reaction was mixed—polite applause mingled with frustrated boos and confused murmurs.
I hadn’t delivered the swift, brutal victory they expected from the top seed.
Alex erged monts later, looking exhausted but strangely exhilarated. He walked straight over to , ignoring the stares, and bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Brother Michael," he said, his voice clear and strong. "For the lesson."
I simply nodded, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "You fought well, Alex. Keep training."
As he walked away, head held high despite the loss, I knew I had made the right choice. Crushing him would have been easy.
Forging him into sothing stronger? That was the real victory.
But as I turned back to the waiting area, I saw Eric William watching , his eyes filled with a cold, predatory light.
My restraint hadn’t earned his respect. It had only confird his belief that I was weak, sentintal.
The first round was over.
The stage was cleared and the real battles were about to begin.
(To be continued)
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