Since I was in Group B, it wasn’t my turn yet. So, I took a seat among the spectators and observed the arena below. The Grand Colosseum was massive enough to house over a hundred thousand people, and even with nearly all divine warriors as well as the natives of Fantasia present, there was still ample empty space scattered across the upper tiers. The scale alone made the tournament feel monumental.
“Let us welcome the Group A contestants!” the commentator exclaimed.
Before long, the arena gates rumbled open, and Group A’s participants poured onto the arena floor amid roaring cheers from the stands. Dozens upon dozens of divine warriors spread out instinctively, each staking out space while sizing up potential threats with weapons already drawn. Some wore confident expressions, others looked cautious, and a few were visibly overwhelmed by the sheer number of opponents surrounding them. In this group alone, there were well over a hundred participants.
The commentator’s voice rang out once more, brimming with excitement. “Group A contestants, take your positions! This stage will be a free-for-all—only the top eight will advance! Everyone else will be eliminated!”
It was clear that this free-for-all stage existed to weed out the weak, forcing those without sufficient strength, awareness, or resolve to fall early so that only the elites would remain for the later rounds. There would be no room for hesitation here.
“Begin!”
The instant the signal was given, the arena exploded into chaos.
Spells lit up the field, shockwaves rippled across the stone floor, and steel clashed against steel as fragile alliances formed and shattered within seconds. Some divine warriors were eliminated almost immediately, sent flying by overwhelming force or caught in crossfire they couldn’t react to in time.
And then, amid the chaos below, I spotted a large, muscular, bald, bare-chested man, Boris. He stood near the center of the arena, utterly unmoved by the pandemonium around him. As opponents rushed him from multiple directions, he stepped forward without a hint of hesitation. A single stomp cracked the arena floor, and a powerful shockwave burst outward, hurling several attackers off their feet at once. Another divine warrior charged him head-on—only to be stopped dead, unable to push him back even an inch.
“Oho! Look at that!” the commentator exclaimed loudly. “We’ve got a monster in Group A! That bald titan isn’t budging at all! What an absolute wall!”
Boris advanced like an unstoppable fortress, each strike overwhelming his opponent. He didn’t even bother activating Adamant Flesh, as though none of his opponents were worthy of the effort. Watching from the stands, I couldn’t help but feel impressed by what he had become.
I figured that this was only natural. Although the participants of the tournament were all capable divine warriors, the majority were still Bet-rank. Only a portion of them had reached Gimmel rank. As for Daleth-rank divine warriors, they could be counted on one hand, and each of them was similarly cutting through their opponents with overwhelming ease.
Nevertheless, Boris was on a completely different level. He was someone who had once withstood the advance of thousands of monsters while still in Gimmel rank. Now that he had advanced to Daleth rank, even I wouldn’t be able to defeat him without resorting to my signature skills.
Just as I had expected, the round concluded swiftly, with Boris standing among the eight winners. As a matter of fact, the one who had defeated the most participants was none other than himself. It wasn’t that Boris was being particularly aggressive; rather, he stood out like a sore thumb. Others kept ganging up on him, believing that numbers alone could bring him down, only to be crushed one after another.
As the dust settled, the arena floor was littered with groaning bodies and cracked stone. Since this was a free-for-all battle, casualties were inevitable. However, the Grand Colosseum possessed protective mechanisms similar to the dueling cube; it could nullify fatal damage inflicted by other divine warriors and rapidly heal severe injuries. As a result, there were zero deaths. That said, this didn’t mean the participants could fight recklessly. Pain was very real, and there was still a small chance of death if someone was truly unlucky.
Even so, the commentator could barely contain his excitement, repeatedly drawing attention to Boris’s overwhelming dominance as healers rushed in to retrieve the eliminated contestants. Even the spectators had begun chanting his name, their voices rolling through the colosseum like thunder. Meanwhile, the other seven winners maintained a wary distance from him, seemingly recognizing Boris as the greatest threat among them.
Watching from the stands, I narrowed my eyes slightly. Boris had drawn a tremendous amount of attention, which was both a blessing and a curse. If this continued, he would inevitably become the focal point of the entire tournament, making him the perfect figure to stand as commander in the Battle of Divine Will. At the same time, that same spotlight would paint a target on his back, drawing hostility from other powerful divine warriors eager to take him down.
Still, if anyone could endure that pressure, it was Boris.
Not long after, the commentator’s voice boomed across the Grand Colosseum. “Spectators, turn your attention to the arena once again! The winners of Group A have been decided! Next up, Group B contestants, please make your way to the arena floor!”
A low murmur rippled through the stands. I rose from my seat and adjusted the hood of my coat, ensuring that the Mask of a Thousand Races sat firmly in place. Most of Group B’s contestants were already gathered in the waiting area beneath the stands, and they soon poured out toward the arena with varying degrees of confidence and tension etched across their faces.
I descended the steps at a steady pace and entered the passage leading to the arena, blending in with the flow of contestants. The arena floor stretched out before us, still bearing the marks left behind by Group A’s battle.
Roughly more than a hundred participants fanned out across the field, instinctively carving out space between one another. Some kept their distance and observed quietly. Others openly assessed potential targets, eyes sharp with calculation. I had no intention of drawing attention the way Boris had, so instead, I moved forward without haste and stopped near the outer edge of the arena.
I noticed that quite a few of them had already formed small teams. Considering there were only four groups that the divine warriors were divided into, it wasn’t unusual to find one or two acquaintances in the same group, especially for those belonging to a guild or faction. They had a sizable number of members, with at least a couple of dozen participating—the odds of several of them being placed together were fairly high.
Regardless, drawing attention now would be pointless. Yet for some reason, the thought of acting as a dark horse—an unrecognizable figure sweeping through the tournament with ease—made me feel oddly giddy.
The commentator continued, clearly riding the momentum of the crowd. “Group B will follow the same rules! This is a free-for-all! Only the top eight will advance to the next stage! Everyone else—eliminated!”
I activated Inspect Eye, scanning the arena for information. There were indeed a couple of Daleth-rank divine warriors among the participants. But then, amidst the crowd, a familiar figure caught my attention: an Asian swordswoman with twin katanas on her back. Wait… is that Erika?
Erika Saito Lv. 5/80 (EXP 980/10,000)
HP: 100%
MP: 591/591
Rank: Daleth [4]
Patron God: Istellia (Goddess of Imagination)
Class: Sword Monarch
Strength: 674 | Dexterity: 749 | Stamina: 657
Mind: 505 | Magic Power: 312 | Luck: 231
Total Attribute Points: 3,128
Sword Monarch? Not Sword Master or Sword Dancer? My eyes widened slightly in surprise. After all, Sword Monarch was a unique class—one with the potential to eventually evolve into Sword Emperor. I had expected that her subsequent class might remain closer to the Samurai class, but it seemed I had been mistaken. It must have been her extraordinary talent with the sword, coupled with the fact that she mastered both Sword Intent and Sword Aura, that allowed her to unlock this path.
Furthermore, after completing her class advancement, she must have grinded quite a bit since her level was higher than Boris’s and Michelle’s. What happened back in the tenth scenario had clearly left an everlasting effect on her.
Almost as if sensing my gaze, Erika slowed her steps. Without turning her head, her eyes flicked in my direction. Huh, did she notice that her status was being pried on?
Her gaze remained on me for a few moments, yet there was no sign of recognition. The Mask of a Thousand Races did its job perfectly, distorting not only my appearance but also the faint impressions tied to identity and familiarity.
Still, she didn’t look away immediately. Her hand brushed against the hilt of one of the twin katanas on her back, seemingly to warn me of what I just did. Then, as if satisfied, she turned her attention elsewhere as she repositioned herself among the other contestants.
Even though she couldn’t recognize me, she could sense that someone had been observing her status. That alone spoke volumes about her sensitivity to intent—and just how far she had climbed since we last fought side by side. How interesting.
Both the Moonlight Dagger and the Voidstep Dagger rested comfortably in my grip as I steadied my breathing.
“Begin!”
The instant the signal dropped, the arena descended into chaos. I activated Predator’s Veil without hesitation, and aided by the effects of my cursed coat, I melted into the turmoil, moving as quietly as a shadow.
Shouts rang out across the arena.
“On the left! Watch the left!”
A sharp cry of pain cut through the commotion as steel met flesh. “Damn it, who hit me?!”
“Gahaha! Come on, is that all you’ve got?!”
The ground shook as a heavy impact cracked the arena floor, followed by a furious roar. “Get away from me—!”
“Aargh!”
“…!”
Magic surged everywhere, and steel clashed against steel as fragile alliances formed and shattered in the span of heartbeats. Explosions of elemental magic tore chunks from the arena floor, sending shards of stone flying in every direction. Amid the pandemonium, figures were hurled aside—some eliminated almost immediately by attacks they never even saw coming.
In the midst of it all, I moved unseen. With Mana Sense spread thin and wide, I threaded my way through gaps others didn’t even realize existed. A half-step to the left avoided a sweeping blade. A slight adjustment in timing let a fireball pass just behind my back, scorching the air but never touching me. To everyone else, I was nothing more than air—something they failed to perceive at all.
Soon, my first target revealed himself without knowing it. A Bet-rank divine warrior charged forward recklessly, empowered by a short-lived buff spell and the false confidence of numbers at his back. He overextended, swinging wide at an opponent who ducked away at the last second.
Seizing the opening, I swung the Moonlight Dagger and slipped the blade beneath his ribs. I twisted, withdrew, and let his own momentum carry him past me. Before he even realized what had happened, the arena’s protective mechanism flared, and his body crumpled to the ground, motionless and eliminated.