The brief respite between rounds lasted barely twenty minutes—just enough time for the stage to be repaired and for the remaining five hundred fighters to process that they'd survived the first cut. The atmosphere in the contestant seating area had changed noticeably, becoming heavier somehow, as everyone realized the competition was only getting more brutal from here. Half of them would be gone within the next few hours, and the randomness of the matchups meant anyone could face anyone.
Meanwhile, the five hundred eliminated fighters made their way to the back sections of the seating area.
Jade sat quietly in his seat while conversations buzzed around him. Some fighters were analyzing previous matches with intense focus, clearly trying to identify patterns or weaknesses in potential opponents. Others sat in meditation, conserving energy and centering themselves for whatever came next. A few were engaged in animated discussions, their voices carrying a mixture of excitement and nervous energy that spoke of how high the stakes had become.
Then the holographic displays flickered to life again, and Majordomo Prime's projection materialized above the stage with that same dignified bearing.
"Round two begins now," he announced simply, and the bracket updated to show the new matchups. "Two hundred and fifty fighters will advance. Two hundred and fifty will not. The same rules apply. Fight well."
He vanished, and the first match appeared on every screen:
PARTICIPANT 19,847 VS PARTICIPANT 34,221
Two fighters Jade didn't recognize stood and made their way to the stage, and the second round officially began.
The matches proceeded with the same brutal efficiency as before. Jade watched them, noting the diversity of talents on display—each fighter bringing something unique to the arena. The variety was impressive, and more importantly, the skill level had noticeably increased. These weren't just talented fighters anymore—these were warriors who understood their abilities intimately and knew how to apply them with devastating effect.
Then match seventeen was called, and Jade heard Rivan's sharp intake of breath from several rows away.
MATCH 17
PARTICIPANT 27,384 VS PARTICIPANT 8,923
"You've got to be kidding me," Rivan said, his voice somewhere between disbelief and hysteria. "Another assassin? Amen I cursed? Is this some kind of cosmic Joke ? Amen I fated to only ever fight people who want to stab me in the back?."
"Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something." Orion replied, his time dry while patting Rivan on the shoulder. "At least you have experience with them now, you know what to expect'
"That's—that's Kiera Shadowbane. Rank 15. She's an assassin specialist who's eliminated people without taking a single hit. She's terrifying !."
Several contestants turned to look at Rivan with expressions that ranged from sympathy to amusement, rememberimg his previous impossible victory and wondering if his luck would hold.
Rivan stood shakily, his legs looked unsteady as he made his way toward the stage entrance, and even from this distance Jade could see the way his hands were shaking.
His opponent was already on stage—a woman with short dark hair and eyes so cold they looked like chips of black ice. Her entire presence screamed lethality, and the way she stood suggested someone who'd killed before and would do it again without hesitation if the rules permitted. When Rivan stepped onto the stage, she studied him with an expression that clearly said she found him wanting.
The referee called the start, and Kiera vanished immediately.
What followed was ten of the most absurd minutes Jade had witnessed in both his lifetimes combined.
Rivan immediately threw a wild punch at where he thought she might be—which was completely wrong—but his fist happened to create enough wind displacement that it revealed her position for half a second before she repositioned. He spun around to attack that location, tripped over a piece of broken stage floor, and his stumbling dodge happened to take him out of the path of her knife that would have caught him in the kidney.
She appeared behind him with both daggers raised for a killing strike, and at that exact moment Rivan's boot lace 'which he'd tied poorly before the match' came undone and caused him to step awkwardly. The awkward step turned into an uncontrolled spin as he tried to regain balance, and his elbow swung out in a wide arc that caught Kiera directly in the jaw with his enhancement-boosted strength behind it.
The woman's head snapped to the side, and she staggered backward with visible shock on her usually expressionless face.
The crowd erupted into laughter mixed with disbelief, and the commentators were already losing their composure.
"Is—is this really happening again?!" one of them stammered. "Participant 27,384 just landed a hit on Kiera Shadowbane by 'tripping' !"
The match continued in this impossible vein. Kiera would set up a perfect killing blow, and Rivan stumble or randomly decide to attack in a completely illogical direction that happened to be exactly where she'd repositioned. At one point she threw three daggers simultaneously from different angles in a pattern that should have been inescapable, and Rivan—who'd been trying to wipe sweat from his eyes—bent forward at that exact moment so all three daggers sailed over his head and embedded themselves in the barrier wall behind him.
"This isn't luck anymore!" another commentator exclaimed. "This is—I don't even know what this is! Probability manipulation? Reality warping? Divine intervention?!"
By the eight-minute mark, Kiera was visibly frustrated in a way that clearly never happened to her. Her usually cold expression had cracked into something approaching genuine anger, and her attacks were becoming increasingly desperate as nothing seemed to land no matter how perfect her positioning or timing.
Finally, in what had to be her last-ditch effort, she used some kind of shadow-binding technique that should have frozen Rivan in place for a finishing strike. The shadows wrapped around his legs and started crawling up his body, and victory seemed certain.
Except Rivan's ability suddenly flared brighter—probably a panic response flooding more power into his body—and the burst of energy disrupted the shadow bindings just enough that he could move. He threw a completely uncoordinated punch that had absolutely zero technique behind it, missed Kiera entirely, but the shockwave from his enhanced fist happened to knock loose a chunk of the already-damaged stage floor that flew up and smacked her directly in the temple with a sound like a gong being struck.
She went down hard, her eyes rolling back in her head, and didn't get up.
The referee checked her, confirmed she was unconscious, and raised his hand." Winner: Participant 27,384!"
The arena exploded into absolute pandemonium. Half the spectators were laughing so hard they were crying. The other half were staring in stunned silence like they'd just witnessed something that violated the fundamental laws of reality. Even the fighters in the contestant area looked shellshocked, their expressions ranging from amused to horrified to deeply confused.
Rivan stood in the center of the stage looking like he couldn't quite process what had just happened, staring at his fist like it belonged to someone else, and then his face split into the most enormous grin Jade had ever seen.
"I WON!" he screamed, jumping up and down like a child. "I BEAT RANK 15! I ACTUALLY BEAT RANK 15!"
"Please exit the stage," the referee said with admirable patience, though even he looked mildly dazed by what he'd just witnessed.
Rivan practically floated back to his seat on a cloud of manic joy while Orion stood there with both hands covering his face, shoulders shaking with what was definitely laughter mixed with disbelief mixed with resignation.
The matches continued after that, though people kept glancing at Rivan with expressions that suggested they were seriously considering whether he actually possessed some kind of unknown luck-manipulation talent. The conversations around the seating area had shifted to include speculation about probability powers and divine favor and whether someone could actually be blessed by fate itself.
Then match thirty-four was called, and the entire atmosphere changed immediately.
PARTICIPANT 847,392 VS PARTICIPANT 2,109
The name next to his made several fighters suck in sharp breaths, and Jade heard multiple whispered conversations break out around him.
"That's Aldric Stormwind," Kara said quietly from beside him, her scarred knuckles flexing unconsciously. "Rank 5. He's a swordmaster—like, genuine sword intent and everything. People have been calling him the best blade user in the entire tournament."
Lysander's voice carried from several rows back, dripping with condescension and barely concealed anticipation. "Well, this should be enlightening. Let's see how our mysterious hooded friend fares against someone with actual skill and not just enhanced reactions. Sword intent isn't something you can dodge with parlor tricks."
Several people turned to look at Lysander with varying expressions of annoyance, but he just smiled that cold aristocratic smile and settled back in his seat like he was about to watch his favorite show.
The moment the names appeared, a figure several rows away stood up smoothly. The man was tall and lean with dark blue hair pulled back in a warrior's tail, and the sword strapped to his back was immediately eye-catching. A blade easily as long as Jade was tall with a straight, double-edged design that gleamed like captured starlight. The weapon's crossguard was elegant and minimal, crafted from what looked like dark steel inlaid with silver that formed geometric patterns, and even sheathed, there was something about it that demanded attention. The grip was wrapped in deep blue cord that had clearly seen extensive use, worn smooth in places from years of dedicated practice.
The man—whose watch identified him as participant 2,109—turned to look directly at Jade across the seating area, and his eyes held an intensity that spoke to years of dedicated training. Battle intent radiated from him in waves that were almost tangible, and several nearby fighters actually shifted in their seats as if physically affected by the pressure of it. He inclined his head slightly toward Jade in acknowledgment before turning and making his way toward the stage entrance with measured, confident steps.
Jade stood and made his way toward the stage entrance as well while conversations erupted throughout the contestant area. This was his first match against a top-ranked fighter, and everyone wanted to see if he could maintain his effortless dominance or if the skill gap would finally show.
The spectator sections were buzzing with excited chatter that carried even down to the stage level. Commentators were already building hype, voices rising with genuine enthusiasm.
"This is the matchup we've been waiting for!" one of them announced. "Participant 847,392—the mysterious fighter who hasn't struggled in a single match—facing off against Aldric Stormwind, rank 5, whose sword techniques have been nothing short of masterful!"
"Aldric's been cutting through opponents like they're made of paper," another commentator added. "But 847,392 has been ending matches in seconds without breaking a sweat. Something has to give here!"
They both entered the stage from opposite sides, and when they met in the center, Jade could see the magnificent sword on Aldric's back up close. The blade had to be at least six feet long—a true longsword with perfect balance between cutting edge and thrusting point.
Aldric studied Jade for a long moment, his gaze moving from his hood to his empty hands to his relaxed stance, and then he spoke with a voice that was calm and measured. "You're not carrying a weapon. Are you planning to fight barehanded against a swordmaster?"
"I'll be fine," Jade replied simply, keeping his tone neutral and unbothered.
Internally, though, he felt a flicker of self-criticism. 'My weapon mastery is still only at intermediate level. I really should have focused more on developing that skill properly instead of relying so heavily on raw stats and bloodline abilities. Something to work on after this is over.'
Aldric's expression didn't change, but approval flickered in his eyes or recognition that Jade wasn't being dismissive or arrogant, but simply confident in his capabilities. He reached back and drew his sword in one smooth motion, and the moment the blade cleared its sheath, Jade felt the pressure in the air change.
This wasn't just a weapon. This was an extension of his will, forged through years of training and countless battles until the distinction between wielder and blade had blurred into something singular and deadly.
"I respect your confidence," Aldric said quietly, settling into a stance that somehow managed to look both relaxed and coiled for explosive movement simultaneously. "But you should understand, swords don't have eyes. Once my blade is in motion, it cuts everything in its path regardless of intention. If you're not careful, you'll be badly hurt."
The warning wasn't a threat or a boast. It was a simple statement of fact delivered with the same tone someone might use to mention that fire burns or that falling from heights causes injury. He was giving Jade one last chance to reconsider, to grab a weapon or surrender before steel met flesh.
Jade appreciated the gesture, actually. It spoke to a level of honor and professionalism that was rare in competitions where ego often overrode common sense. But he simply nodded once in acknowledgment and settled into his own ready stance—weight distributed evenly, hands relaxed at his sides, body loose and prepared to move in any direction.
The referee looked between them, seemed to assess that both fighters were ready and aware of what they were getting into, and then called out simply: "Begin!"
Aldric moved...
...