The atmosphere in the betting area was even more chaotic than before as I approached the same counter with the eyepatch-wearing clerk. He was already dealing with a storm of complaints.
The moment he spotted me, his body stiffened. “…You,” he said slowly.
I didn’t say a word and simply placed the crystal betting voucher on the counter.
He picked it up with visible reluctance, scanned the runic imprint, and then froze. Then a long sigh escaped him, as if he had just swallowed something extremely bitter.
“Black Phantom… against Kaela. By forfeit,” he muttered. He lifted his head and stared at me, disbelief plain on his face. “You lucky son of a bitch. You really struck gold.”
Around us, several nearby bettors overheard and snapped their heads in our direction.
“That’s him?!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me…”
“Is this some kind of scam?!”
“Hooray! I also bet on Black Phantom! I’m rich!”
Ignoring the noise around us, the clerk began processing the payout. A moment later, an absurdly large pouch materialized and thudded heavily onto the counter.
“Ten thousand soul coins wagered,” the clerk said through clenched teeth. “Odds at 1:10. After deducting the 10 percent winnings fee from your profit, the total payout comes to 91,000 soul coins, including your original bet.”
The announcement immediately ignited waves of jealousy from those nearby.
“No way…”
“That’s impossible!”
“My entire life savings… gone to this guy…”
The clerk had clearly done it on purpose—loudly announcing the amount to redirect the brewing resentment toward me. Perhaps this was his own small act of revenge for losing so badly on the bet.
There was almost no doubt that some of these divine warriors who had lost their bets would come after me one way or another—whether out of spite or greed. Of course, I wasn’t worried in the slightest. I could defeat any of them with my eyes closed. Still, dealing with such things would be a nuisance. Fortunately, I could easily change my appearance with the mask.
With that in mind, I calmly reached out, lifted the pouch, and stored it in my inventory. The weight of the coins alone was deeply satisfying.
The clerk watched the pouch vanish, then spoke in a low voice but still loud enough for nearby ears to catch. “So, are you betting again or what?”
Heads turned as conversations died mid-sentence. Even those who had been cursing under their breath moments earlier fell silent, ears pricking as their attention fixed on me. I could practically feel the collective anticipation pressing in from all sides.
However, contrary to their expectation, I shook my head. “No.”
“…What?” someone blurted out.
“I’m done,” I said curtly. “I’ve gotten what I came for.”
A wave of confusion swept through the crowd. Some looked disappointed. A few, however, looked openly frustrated, as if they had been hoping I’d place another outrageous bet so they could trail after me and copy whatever trick they thought I’d used.
The clerk blinked, then snorted. “Smart. Just be careful on the way back.” His last sentence was more of sarcasm than any genuine concern for my safety.
I turned away from the counter and blended into the flow of people moving through the concourse. As I walked, I could feel several presences peeling away from the crowd, keeping their distance but never losing sight of me. Their malicious intent was obvious. Worse, they were clumsy about it, making little effort to hide their hostility.
Although the cursed coat made my appearance difficult to distinguish unless someone stared at my face for an extended period—or knew me personally—being followed this closely meant I wouldn’t be able to slip out of sight without activating Predator’s Veil.
I took a few turns, passed through a denser section of the concourse, then slipped into a shadowed alcove between two support pillars before activating Predator’s Veil. My presence thinned to nothing, and in the span of a heartbeat, I was completely out of sight.
By the time the divine warriors rounded the corner, I was already gone. To them, it must have appeared as if I had simply vanished into thin air.
“Where the fuck is he?!”
“Dammit! We lost him!”
Not far from their frantic shouts, I had already altered my appearance. I now stood as a tall man in refined attire—the familiar form of Lord Genesis, this time without any mask. The divine warriors rushed past me in their search, eyes scanning desperately, yet none of them spared me a second glance.
Without delay, I calmly turned and headed back toward the betting area to place my final bet.
By the time I arrived, Michelle’s match had already concluded, and she had emerged as the winner. I headed to a different counter and placed a twenty-thousand soul coin bet against Black Phantom. At this point, Black Phantom had gained popularity. His odds against Michelle stood at 1:1.2, whereas Michelle’s odds stood at 1:5.
If I won this bet as well, I would have more than two hundred thousand soul coins, which was an absurd amount by any standard. With that kind of money, there were countless ways I could accelerate my growth in a short span of time. Such was the privilege of being loaded.
I returned to the stands just in time to catch the next match already in full swing. It was Lucian versus Saria.
The moment I took in the battlefield, I knew this wouldn’t be a quick bout. Unlike most of the earlier matches, neither side possessed an overwhelming advantage. Lucian hovered above the jungle canopy, mana rippling around him, while Saria had completely vanished from sight—her presence reduced to nothing more than a faint distortion in the air.
Lucian’s eyes shone with focused intent as his magic orb brightened and magic circles formed one after another. Bolts of condensed mana rained down, detonating trees and shredding the undergrowth, forcing Saria to stay on the move. Each time she tried to close the distance, Lucian always seemed to know her position, adjusting his altitude or reshaping the battlefield with suppression spells that narrowed her approach routes.
Even so, Saria wasn’t being driven back easily. She managed to charge in multiple times by seizing brief openings and carrying her momentum forward. Unfortunately, none of her attacks managed to reach Lucian. His sturdy mana shield held firm, enclosing him on all sides and nullifying every strike before it could land.
Before long, Lucian managed to gain the upper hand through the use of layered magic traps—illusionary decoys, delayed detonations, and other misdirection spells—that gradually forced Saria out into the open. Once she was exposed, Lucian seized the momentum and struck her cleanly with {Mana Burst}, ending the match in a single decisive blow. His earlier attacks had already chipped away at her defenses, making that final strike the tipping point. As a result, the victory went to Lucian.
He truly had grown stronger after his class advancement, especially when combined with the tome he had obtained from the Forgotten Vault. At this point, perhaps only someone like Boris and Kaela could defeat him without much difficulty.
The next match was between Kaela’s kin, Krov, and Ronan. Unsurprisingly, Ronan emerged as the victor, despite the fact that Krov fought with savage ferocity—no doubt fueled by the brutal defeat of one of his kin earlier. Even so, Ronan proved himself to be a highly capable divine warrior. He had reached a level where he could likely challenge someone like Boris and not be utterly overwhelmed.
The following match was between Marcel and Karina, the respective leaders of New Hope and Black Gale. On the surface, their combat prowess appeared evenly matched, at least at first glance. That assumption, however, was shattered midway through the fight when Marcel suddenly forfeited without any apparent reason, handing the victory to Karina.
There was no doubt in my mind that he was hiding something. And it seemed I wasn’t the only one holding back my full hand. This Marcel fellow was far more dangerous than he let on…
In any case, the next match proceeded without issue. It was Erika against one of Kaela’s kin, and once again, the outcome was hardly surprising. Erika was a genius swordswoman who had been able to contend against me even back when she was only Gimmel-rank. Now that she had advanced to Daleth rank, the gap between her and Kaela’s kin was unbridgeable.
This wasn’t to say that Kaela’s kin were weak—far from it. Against most newly advanced Daleth-rank divine warriors, they would have been able to secure victory without too much difficulty. However, the opponents they were facing here were simply on another level. These were, after all, the cream of the crop among Fantasia’s divine warriors.
Still, what truly piqued my interest was the next fight.
The commentator’s voice rang out across the Grand Colosseum, noticeably more restrained than before. “Our next match… is between two faction leaders,” he announced. “On one side, the mysterious leader of the Obsidian Order. On the other side, Berthold—the leader of the Silver Herald!”
A hush fell over the stands as the two stepped onto the arena floor.
Berthold stood tall in his silver-white armor, a heavy shield in one hand and a longsword in the other—different from the long bardiche he had wielded in his previous match. A faint golden radiance clung to him, and with a glance through Inspect Eye, I confirmed his class as Crusader Knight.
Opposite him, the leader of the Obsidian Order remained unnervingly still, a black staff resting lightly against the ground.
“Begin!”
The moment the signal was given, dark magic circles bloomed beneath Berthold’s feet. He reacted instantly, slamming his shield into the ground as radiant symbols appeared across its surface. A wave of holy light rippled outward, partially dispelling the curse and granting him an opening to charge forward.
Steel rang out as Berthold closed the distance. Several empowered strikes landed cleanly, forcing his opponent to retreat a step. Chains of shadow attempted to bind Berthold, only to snap apart under a burst of consecrated light. It seemed that Berthold was holding his own, with his skill set being the natural counter to curses and dark magic.
But then, the Great Warlock made his move. Multiple magic circles ignited simultaneously—beneath, above, and behind Berthold. His armor dulled as layered debuffs took hold. His movements grew sluggish, his stamina draining rapidly despite his incredible resistance. Berthold roared and tried to push through, but the pressure became overwhelming.
With a final convergence of dark magic, the arena’s protective mechanism activated. Berthold collapsed to one knee, defeated.
“And the winner is the leader of the Obsidian Order!” the commentator announced.
Obviously, Berthold wasn’t weak. He had fought well—better than most, in fact—but even a Crusader Knight wasn’t enough to overcome a Great Warlock who was fully prepared. The thought left me slightly uneasy when I considered the upcoming battle between that man and Boris.
The final match of the second round was between Boris and the only remaining Gimmel-rank divine warrior besides me. There was no need to elaborate on the outcome, as it ended almost the moment it began.
Not long after, the commentator made an announcement. “And with that decisive victory, the second round has come to an end! Eight contestants remain! Who will become the commander of Istellia’s divine warrior army? We will continue after this short fifteen-minute break.”