He flicked his hand toward the colossal floating arena.
"The rulers require only one hundred soldiers. One hundred who will march into the Hallow without causing instability. That is the limit."
Silence clamped down for a heartbeat.
Then his voice boomed like a war horn.
"You all understand what that means!"
The crowd erupted as the meaning clicked into place.
Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly.
"Only the last hundred standing…"
Leon nodded.
"A brutal way to sort them. Effective, though."
Down in the arena, divine-stage contestants squared their shoulders, eyes sharpening, stances settling into readiness.
A thousand tiny killing intents bloomed at once.
The goat-man's grin stretched into something wild, almost feral. His goat horns gleamed under the sunlight as he shot his arm skyward.
"So let it be known!"
His voice cracked the air.
"THIS TOURNAMENT—"
He paused, savoring the tension. The entire Crucible leaned forward.
