“My turn!” Boris exclaimed as he rose to his feet, a wide grin spreading across his face while the two contestants exited the arena.
“Go, Boris!”
“Sir Boris, I know you will win.”
Tuilë and Michelle cheered at him.
The stands stirred at once. Even before the commentator could make the announcement, the crowd’s attention shifted naturally toward Boris’s massive frame. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck once, and began making his way down the steps with unshaken confidence.
As he emerged from the gate onto the arena floor below, the leader of the Obsidian Order appeared in silence from the opposite entrance. Draped in layered jet-black robes, his face was concealed beneath a hood etched with faint red runic markings. A heavy, oppressive aura clung to him as he stood there, a slender black staff resting calmly in his grasp.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the last match of this round is about to begin!” he announced. “On one side, we have Boris—the Unstoppable, the Titan of the Colosseum!”
“And on the other side,” the commentator continued in a lower tone, “the enigmatic and fearsome leader of the Obsidian Order—a Great Warlock whose name remains shrouded in mystery!”
A wave of cheers erupted as both contestants advanced toward the center of the arena, stopping only when roughly thirty meters separated them.
I couldn’t help but feel a trace of unease at this match. Curses were a Warlock’s domain. Not to mention that this man’s class was Great Warlock. Against most opponents, the battle would already be decided the moment the first spell took hold. Boris, however… I wasn’t sure how effective curses were against him.
“Begin!”
The instant the barrier sealed, black magic surged forth. Dozens of curse sigils bloomed in the air, stacking layer upon layer as they converged on Boris—weakening hexes, corrosion, soul erosion, and countless other maledictions unleashed at once.
Any ordinary Daleth-rank divine warrior would have collapsed on the spot. Boris, however, didn’t even flinch. He stepped forward, then forward again, as the curses struck his body and shattered on contact, dispersing like smoke against an unseen wall.
“What…?”
The leader of the Obsidian Order stiffened. He raised his staff sharply, chanting again as darker, more refined curses manifested. This time, he aimed directly at Boris’s internal organs and energy circulation. Still, nothing happened to Boris.
Instead, Boris broke into a laugh. “Hah! That tickles!”
Ah, so that’s it… The passive skills Boris gained from his class—stacked resistances, immunity to ordinary curses, and sheer physical supremacy—layered together into something sickening and turned him into an invincible tank. Against him, conventional cursecraft was almost meaningless.
Boris exploded forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he crossed the arena in a single charge. The Great Warlock barely had time to react before a massive fist slammed into his side.
“Urgh!” Blood sprayed as the man was sent flying, smashing through a jagged outcrop of volcanic rock before skidding across the scorched arena floor.
Before he could recover, Boris was already in front of him again. A follow-up strike tore through his shoulder, leaving bone visible beneath scorched robes. The Great Warlock retreated desperately, layering dark red barriers and summoning shadow constructs simply to buy himself a moment of breathing room. It looked as though the match would end brutally and quickly.
Then the Warlock laughed—a madness-laced, broken sound that sent a chill through the arena.
“You leave me no choice,” he rasped. “Great Warlock Transformation: Hell Fiend.”
In that instant, mana surged inward, feeding directly into his body. His flesh twisted and expanded, bones reshaping with sickening cracks as infernal heat poured into the arena. Within seconds, the man was no longer human. In his place stood a towering fiend with molten and cracked, volcanic stone-like skin. Horns wreathed in hellfire rose from his head, and every breath he exhaled sent waves of scorching heat.
It was a true Warlock transformation skill. And as a Great Warlock, the result was monstrous—enough to make the entire crowd fall silent. Even Boris stopped advancing, though the grin on his face never faded. “A transformation skill? Now that’s more like it.”
“Then I will show you my transformation.” He inhaled deeply and invoked, “Adamant Flesh: Diamond Body!”
A faint, crystalline sheen spread across his body, refracting light like cut gemstones. It was the upgraded form of Adamant Flesh: Steel Body—unlocked only after his advancement to Daleth rank, or so it seemed.
The fiend roared and charged first. Molten claws tore through the air, carrying blistering heat that could melt steel. Boris met the attack head-on. The impact thundered across the arena as claw struck hardened diamond flesh, shockwaves rippling outward and cracking the scorched ground beneath them.
The crowd watched in disbelief as the two collided again and again. Infernal strikes met unyielding blows. Fire washed over Boris’s body, yet failed to leave so much as a scorch mark. At the same time, Boris’s punches landed with crushing force, deforming the fiend’s molten hide and sending fragments of cracked stone flying.
Everyone present seemed to think that they were almost equally matched. But then, Boris shifted his footing. When the fiend lunged again, Boris didn’t block or counter with brute force. Instead, he stepped inside the attack, catching the fiend’s arm at the elbow and shoulder. With a sharp twist of his hips, he redirected the momentum entirely.
The massive fiend was wrenched off balance. In one smooth motion, Boris dropped his center of gravity and executed a brutal throw, slamming the fiend headfirst into the ground. The arena shook as volcanic stone shattered beneath the impact.
Before the fiend could recover, Boris seized one of the creature’s legs, twisted, and rolled, executing what was likely a Sambo technique. The fiend’s massive body was flipped and pinned, its overwhelming strength rendered meaningless,
“Gah—!”
Subsequently, Boris drove a hardened elbow straight into the fiend’s chest, the blow ringing out like a hammer striking a bell. Cracks spiderwebbed across the creature’s torso, and with a violent surge of light, the arena’s protective mechanism activated.
The fiend’s form collapsed, shrinking rapidly as the transformation was forcibly undone. The arena fell into silence, stunned by what everyone had just witnessed.
Only after a few seconds did the commentator finally find his voice and shout, “What an unbelievable match! With overwhelming technique and sheer dominance, the victor is Boris, the Titan of the Colosseum!”
With that, the third round came to an end. As usual, the commentator announced a fifteen-minute intermission before the semifinals.
With some time to spare before the next matches, I told Michelle and the others that I needed to use the bathroom, then headed straight toward the betting area. Passing through a secluded section of the concourse, I put on the Mask of a Thousand Races and changed my appearance back into Lord Genesis. The timing was perfect to redeem the voucher.
The only reason I chose to collect the winnings from my bet on Black Phantom against Michelle now was to avoid drawing attention to myself. It would have been extremely suspicious if someone redeemed a betting voucher the moment Black Phantom failed to appear and forfeited the match. People, particularly other divine warriors, might suspect that I was working with Black Phantom and attempt to gang up on me. In that case, it could become impossible to redeem the voucher at all.
I went to the same counter where I had placed the bet as Lord Genesis and redeemed the voucher. Unlike the gruff clerk with the eyepatch, this clerk didn’t question anything and promptly handed over the winnings. Since I had wagered twenty thousand soul coins, the total payout came to 92,000 soul coins after deducting the winning fee, including my original bet.
All in all, the amount of soul coins I now possessed had reached a truly staggering level.
Soul Coins: 195,480
It seemed my calculations were slightly off, and my total amount of soul coins didn’t quite exceed two hundred thousand. After all, there was the deduction from the winnings fee, so it couldn’t be helped. Still, one couldn’t underestimate just how many things could be accomplished with this kind of money.
For one thing, I would be able to purchase a legendary-rank skill, which would really come in handy. Unfortunately, there was no way I could obtain one in District D, or even District C. Compared to epic-rank skills, legendary-rank skills existed in a realm of their own. If an epic-rank skill could decide the outcome of a small skirmish, then a legendary-rank skill could flip the tide of an entire large-scale battle. The difference between the two was nothing short of night and day.
After actually going to the bathroom to take a leak, I returned to the stands where my friends were seated. By the time I arrived, the next match was already underway, and it was the fight between Michelle and Ronan.
The arena had transformed once again, and this time into a vast, open icy field. The ground was a smooth expanse of frozen terrain, with biting winds sweeping across the battlefield and visibility stretching in every direction. There was no cover, no terrain to manipulate, and nowhere to hide. It was an awful matchup for Michelle.
Her Nature’s Power skill struggled to gain traction in such an environment. Vines and roots had nothing to latch onto, and the icy surface severely limited how much she could reshape the battlefield. Even her long-range bow attacks were far less effective here. With the open sightlines and treacherous footing, Ronan was able to read her shots early and evade them using his movement skills.
Still, Michelle didn’t fold easily. She maintained pressure with sustained fire, forcing Ronan to constantly reposition while weaving in suppressive shots and whatever brief terrain disruptions she could manage. Frost cracked beneath Ronan’s boots as he advanced, enduring the harassment and steadily closing the distance.
The real problem was that the fight dragged on. In any other terrain—forest, jungle, or ruins—Michelle would have held the advantage. Here, however, every exchange favored Ronan’s endurance and composure as he drew closer and closer. Furthermore, Ronan was clearly extremely experienced at dealing with archers, as he also possessed the Projectile Defense skill, and it was at a higher level than my own.
After several exchanges yielded no success, Michelle could only click her tongue and lower her bow.
“This terrain’s bad,” she muttered. Then she took a step back and raised her hand. “I forfeit.”
A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd, but I understood her reason for forfeiting. She wasn’t conceding because she was weaker; she was conceding because continuing the fight would only drain her unnecessarily and accomplish nothing. In a different arena, the outcome would have been entirely reversed.
Since Michelle was aware that I wanted Boris to become the commander, there was no reason for her to stake everything and reveal her hand here. Besides, Michelle herself had already said that she had no interest in the position, even remarking that I should have participated in the tournament when the three of us had dinner at the inn the night before.
“Not bad, missy. I would’ve liked to invite you into the Crimson Crest if I didn’t know the fame of your party,” Ronan said, inclining his head slightly in respect as the barrier fell.
Michelle simply smiled and returned the nod before exiting the arena. And just like that, the semifinals continued, with terrain proving just as decisive as raw strength.