Fifteen minutes passed quickly, and the arena soon transformed once again—this time into an environment resembling the interior of a volcano, with rivers of molten lava flowing through jagged channels and waves of heat distorting the air.
It was safe to say that, other than me, there were no Gimmel-rank divine warriors left in the third round. The remaining contestants were all Daleth-rank elites, each one being among the strongest divine warriors in Fantasia. Even so, I stood apart. Among those still at Gimmel rank, I was undoubtedly the strongest Fantasia had ever seen. If I were to advance just one more step, there would be nothing here capable of standing in my way.
The commentator’s voice rolled across the arena, introducing the next stage with barely concealed excitement. The volcanic terrain wasn’t merely for spectacle. Lava flows cut off direct paths, narrow rock bridges formed natural choke points, and sudden eruptions forced contestants to stay constantly on the move. Unlike the forest terrain that favored concealment and ambush, this battlefield clearly rewarded mobility, awareness, and control.
Since I was going to throw away my match against Michelle, I didn’t bother heading toward the contestants’ entrance. Instead, I slipped into a quiet section of the concourse and removed the Mask of a Thousand Races. My features reverted to their original form. With that done, I turned my attention to the stands, searching for Boris and the others.
There were tens of thousands of spectators packed into the Grand Colosseum, but Boris was easy to find. His sheer size, his baldness, and the fact that he was still shirtless made him stand out no matter where he sat. Without hesitation, I made my way over, weaving through rows of seats and murmuring spectators.
Behind me, the commentator announced, “Now then! The first match of the third round is about to begin! On one side, the ever-adaptable Michelle—master of battlefield control!”
Cheers erupted as Michelle emerged onto the volcanic arena, looking extremely calm despite the oppressive heat. She calmly surveyed the terrain as if already calculating her routes and positioning.
“And on the other side,” the commentator continued, pausing slightly, “the undefeated dark horse—Black Phantom!”
A fresh wave of cheers surged through the stands as spectators eagerly turned toward the opposite gate. However, seconds passed without so much as a movement. Murmurs rippled through the stands as Black Phantom was nowhere to be seen.
“…Black Phantom?” the commentator repeated, confusion creeping into his voice.
The murmurs grew louder, turning into open chatter.
“Where is he?”
“Did something happen?”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Down on the arena floor, Michelle frowned slightly, glancing toward the vacant entrance. Even she looked genuinely puzzled by the absence.
I finally reached Boris’s row and found that the others were already there. Tuilë was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, while Lucian sat upright beside her, eyes fixed on the arena as if trying to piece together what was happening.
“Hm? Lad! Where have you been?” Boris asked the moment he noticed me, turning his massive frame slightly. “I tried looking for you and thought you didn’t come to watch the tournament.”
I had told Boris beforehand that I wouldn’t be participating in the tournament and had even asked him to take on the role of commander. Because of that, it made sense that none of them suspected I was competing under a different identity, especially when they had no idea that I possessed a mask that could change my appearance.
“Yo, Maxim,” Tuilë greeted, lifting her larger hand casually. “You’re missing out on some of the most interesting matches.”
Lucian glanced at me next, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “That timing was… conspicuous.”
I took a seat beside Boris and kept my expression carefully neutral. “Sorry. I had something to take care of.”
Before any of them could probe further, the commentator’s voice rang out again. “It appears that Black Phantom has yet to enter the arena. We ask for your patience as we confirm the situation.”
The crowd didn’t seem very patient at all. Complaints rose in volume, with some voices rising above the rest as accusations of foul play or cowardice were thrown around. It couldn’t be helped since Black Phantom had drawn an enormous amount of attention by this point, both fame and infamy alike, especially after defeating Kaela in the most unexpected way possible.
Tuilë tilted her head and murmured, “I wonder where that mysterious Black Phantom is. Also… why do his two daggers seem awfully familiar…?”
Uh-oh, did she notice? I thought. Both the Moonlight Dagger and the Voidstep Dagger were weapons my party members had seen me use before. The latter, especially, was something they knew I’d taken from the Forgotten Vault. Even from this distance—and despite my concealment skills, skilled Daleth-rank divine warriors like them could still pick up on such details with their heightened perception.
Keeping my expression neutral, I played dumb. “I have a feeling the match won’t be happening.”
Boris laughed. “Hah! Figured as much. That masked fellow always had strange timing.”
A moment later, the commentator cleared his throat and stated, “After verification from the officials… Black Phantom has failed to appear for the match and is nowhere to be found within the colosseum. Therefore, this match is concluded by forfeit, and Michelle is declared the winner by default!”
A wave of reactions swept through the stands—boos, groans, and heated arguments—while Michelle, down on the arena floor, blinked in brief surprise before lowering her guard. She looked toward the empty gate one last time, then turned away without lingering. Perhaps I should tell her later that Black Phantom had been me all along and explain why I’d chosen to forfeit, though judging by her reaction, she didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.
“Well, it’s my turn next,” Lucian said as he rose to his feet.
“Break a leg! I know you can do it, kid!” Tuilë called out, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
“Hey! I’m not a kid!” he snapped back, scowling as he turned and headed into the concourse leading down to the arena.
I watched him go, then leaned back slightly as the crowd’s attention shifted away from Black Phantom’s disappearance. Not long after, the commentator’s voice rang out across the Grand Colosseum.
“Now then! Moving on to our next match of the third round!” he announced. “On one side, the master of magical supremacy—Lucian!”
Cheers erupted as Lucian stepped onto the volcanic arena, heat waves rippling around him as mana gathered instinctively around his hands. He paused briefly to survey the terrain, eyes sharp and focused, before taking out his magic orb and assuming his position.
“And on the other side,” the commentator continued, raising his voice, “the steadfast leader of the Crimson Crest—Ronan!”
A different kind of cheer followed as Ronan emerged from the opposite gate. He moved with calm confidence, his expression composed and unshaken despite the nearby rivers of lava.
As the barrier sealed around the arena, footsteps approached from behind. I glanced back just in time to see Michelle returning to our row. The moment she spotted me, her eyes lifted slightly in surprise.
“Maxim, you’re here.” She raised her hand and gave a small wave.
“Mhm. I had something to take care of, so I only managed to come now. Oh, and congratulations on making it to the semifinals,” I said with a faint smile. Although my words sounded a bit like sarcasm to me, since I was Black Phantom. The only reason she won this round and got to the semifinals was that I’d forfeited by not showing up.
“Did I miss anything?” she asked quietly.
“No, you’re just in time,” I replied. “You’re up against one of them next, depending on how this goes.”
She nodded, eyes already locked onto the arena below.
Soon, the match began with Lucian making the first move. Multiple magic circles flared into existence across the volcanic terrain. Fire-resistant barriers, delayed detonations, and layered magic traps forced Ronan to advance with extreme caution. From this angle, it appeared as though Lucian had seized control early, steadily tightening the noose.
However, it wasn’t as simple as it looked. Ronan endured the onslaught and continued pushing forward, absorbing the heat and spell backlash through precise timing and his multitude of skills. Each time Lucian attempted to reposition or create distance, Ronan would be able to adjust, cutting off escape routes and forcing the fight closer and closer. Even if he was receiving one tiny injury after another, his movements never slowed.
The turning point came when Lucian attempted a finishing sequence, stacking multiple spells and detonating them in rapid succession to overwhelm Ronan in one decisive strike. Ronan took the gamble, charging straight through the chaos and sacrificing defense for momentum. He shattered Lucian’s final barrier and landed a decisive point-blank strike with his sword.
The arena’s protective mechanism flared immediately, and the victory went to Ronan.
“That was… close. Lucian almost won,” Michelle said beside me.
I nodded in agreement. Ronan was a very capable fighter who had secured victory through sheer endurance, sharp judgment, and impeccable timing. And that made him far more dangerous than most people realized. As expected of the leader of one of Fantasia’s largest factions, he was no ordinary opponent.
“An incredible display from both sides! And now, moving on to our next match!” the commentator suddenly announced.
The holographic screen shifted, promptly highlighting two new names.
“On one side, the peerless Sword Monarch—Erika! And on the other, the fierce and unyielding leader of Black Gale—Karina!”
Cheers erupted instantly as both contestants stepped onto the volcanic arena. Erika stood with her twin katanas resting at her back, her expression composed, as though the oppressive heat meant nothing to her. Karina entered from the opposite gate, with auburn hair tied back and a massive war axe resting on her shoulder. Her presence was aggressive and unrestrained as she rolled her neck and grinned.
The barrier rose, and the moment the signal was given, Karina charged head-on, her axe cleaving through the air with overwhelming force. However, Erika neither retreated nor dodged. Instead, she stepped forward, unsheathing her twin katanas in one smooth motion as she deflected the strike and slipped past the axe’s arc.
Clang!
Karina pressed the assault relentlessly, chaining heavy swings together, each blow powerful enough to crush a large stone. Yet Erika matched her pace with ease. Sword Aura and Sword Intent intertwined seamlessly as she redirected each attack by the narrowest of margins. Every clash carved faint scars into the arena floor. But while Karina’s strikes remained brute and forceful, Erika’s momentum only continued to build.
It didn’t take long for Erika to find her rhythm. She slipped inside Karina’s reach, her blades moving like flowing water as they carved shallow but accumulating wounds across Karina’s body. Before long, Karina was overwhelmed by the relentless pressure, her movements growing heavier with time. One final clash decided the outcome.
Erika parried the axe and, through an unknown sword skill, moved as though she had teleported two meters forward, passing straight through Karina’s guard. A split second later, a clean slash opened across Karina’s chest, and she collapsed to the ground as the arena’s protective mechanism activated.
With that, the winner of this match was decided.