The atmosphere in the Grand Arena was electric, buzzing with a tension that made the air feel thin.
Above the stadium, a massive magical projection shimmered into existence. It displayed the royal crest of the Empire, followed by the stoic, bearded face of the Emperor himself, watching from the Palace.
Headmaster Alaric stepped onto the podium, his voice amplified by wind magic to reach the thousands of spectators.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Students and Nobles! For the Semi-Finals, His Imperial Majesty has requested a display of true power! Therefore, by Royal Decree, the Level Restriction on Summons is hereby lifted!"
The crowd roared. This meant the Summoners could unleash their strongest monsters. It meant chaos.
I smiled, adjusting my cuffs.
"Finally," I whispered. "The tutorial is over."
Team Vayne stood at the southern gate.
Opposite us, at the northern gate, stood Team Iron.
These weren't students. They were Prince Draven's personal bodyguards—three grizzly veterans from the Iron Empire's front lines. Level 35 Warriors clad in crimson plate armor, wielding greatswords and halberds. They had scars that told stories of brutal trench warfare.
On the sidelines, Prince Draven was pacing back and forth, screaming at his men.
"Don't just beat him!" Draven shrieked, his face still red from the financial ruin I had inflicted on him yesterday. "Cripple him! Break his legs! I want his head on a platter!"
I turned to my team.
Seraphina was already gripping her staff, frost forming on her boots. Toby was shaking, holding another grenade like a lifeline.
"Seraphina. Toby," I said calmly. "Go sit in the stands."
Seraphina blinked, the frost dissipating. "What? Lucas, those are Level 35 veterans. You can't fight them alone. Even with your mana capacity, a 3-vs-1 is suicide."
"It's not a 3-vs-1," I corrected, unbuttoning my suit jacket and hanging it neatly on the arena wall.
I conjured my velvet armchair in the center of the sand and sat down, crossing my legs.
"It is a 3-vs-1," I smiled. "But I'm not the 'one'."
Seraphina hesitated, looked at my eyes, and saw the absolute, unshakeable arrogance of a man who had already read the script.
"Come on, Toby," she sighed, grabbing the relief-flooded support mage by the collar. "Let's go get a hot dog."
The arena fell silent as my teammates walked off the field.
I sat alone in the center of the vast, sandy circle. Three armored giants stood opposite me, grinning behind their visors.
"He's mocking us," the Lead Guard growled, hefting a massive war-hammer. "The rich boy thinks he can buy time."
"Kill him," Draven screamed from the sideline.
The referee blew the whistle. "BEGIN!"
The three guards exploded into motion. They were fast—much faster than students. They closed the distance in a heartbeat, their weapons raised to turn me into paste.
I didn't flinch. I reached into my inventory and pulled out a copy of the Imperial Daily News.
"Arise, General."
The shadow of my armchair didn't just lengthen; it erupted.
A geyser of midnight-blue flame and pure darkness shot into the sky, blasting the approaching guards backward with a shockwave of force.
THOOM.
The ground cracked. The temperature in the arena plummeted to freezing.
From the swirling pillar of darkness, a gauntleted hand emerged, gripping the air.
Nero stepped out.
He was no longer the silent knight from the early chapters. He stood seven feet tall, a monolith of obsidian plate armor adorned with jagged spikes. A tattered cape, woven from the fabric of the Void itself, drifted behind him as if caught in an underwater current.
On his head sat a helm that looked like a crown of thorns, and deep within the visor, two purple flames burned with terrifying intelligence.
[Entity: Abyssal General Nero] [Level: 30 (Elite Boss Rank)]
The crowd gasped. A collective shudder went through the stadium.
"That's not a summon..." someone whispered. "That's a monster."
The Lead Guard scrambled to his feet, staring up at the towering figure. "What... what is this?"
Nero didn't answer. He simply turned his head to me.
I turned the page of my newspaper. "Take out the trash, Nero. I'm trying to read the stock report."
Nero turned back to the guards.
"Die, monster!" the Lead Guard roared, overcoming his fear with veteran discipline. He swung his war-hammer with enough force to shatter a castle gate.
Nero didn't draw his sword. He simply raised his left hand.
CLANG.
The sound was deafening.
Nero caught the war-hammer. He caught it by the head, stopping the strike dead in its tracks with zero recoil.
The Guard pulled, veins bulging. The hammer wouldn't move.
Nero tilted his head.
"Weak."
His voice sounded like grinding stones.
Nero squeezed.
CRUNCH.
The enchanted steel head of the war-hammer crumpled like a tin can in his grip.
Before the Guard could react, Nero flared his aura.
[Skill: Abyssal Fear]
A wave of primal terror washed over the arena. It wasn't magic; it was biological. It was the feeling of a prey animal looking into the eyes of a predator.
The three Level 35 veterans froze. Their bodies locked up against their will.
Nero moved.
He didn't use a technique. He used brutality.
He backhanded the Lead Guard, sending the armored man flying thirty feet through the air. The Guard crashed into the arena wall with a sickening crunch, sliding down unconscious.
The second guard tried to stab him. Nero grabbed the spear shaft, snapped it in half, and kicked the man in the chest. The breastplate caved in. The guard was launched out of the ring entirely, landing in the popcorn stand of the front row.
The third guard dropped his sword and fell to his knees, paralyzed by the purple gaze bearing down on him.
Nero grabbed him by the face, lifted him one-handed like a ragdoll, and tossed him casually onto the pile of his defeated comrades.
Total time elapsed: 20 seconds.
Silence.
Absolute, terrified silence.
I folded my newspaper. "Stock market is up," I noted.
Nero didn't dissolve. He walked toward the edge of the arena.
He stopped directly in front of Prince Draven.
The arrogant Prince, who had screamed for my blood moments ago, was now staring up at seven feet of Abyssal death.
Nero leaned down. The purple flames in his visor flared, inches from Draven's face.
Draven trembled. His knees knocked together. A dark stain began to spread on the front of his pristine military trousers.
Nero scoffed—a deep, metallic sound of disgust.
He turned his back on the Prince and walked toward me, kneeling in the sand.
"It is done, my Liege."
"Good work," I said, recalling my chair and standing up. "Go rest."
Nero dissolved into shadows.
I looked at the referee, who was staring at the carnage with his mouth open.
"Referee?" I called out. "I believe that's a ring-out."
"W-winner!" the referee stammered. "Team Vayne!"
Deep in the entrance tunnel, hidden by the darkness, Kaelen watched the match.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, his breathing ragged. He was still in pain from his own match. He had broken bones, exhausted his mana, and sold a piece of his soul just to barely scrape a victory against fellow students.
And Lucas...
Lucas hadn't even stood up.
Kaelen gripped the hilt of his sword. The Cursed Ring on his finger pulsed violently, reacting to the void energy Nero had released.
Look at him, the Ring whispered, its voice dripping with venom. He mocks you. He sits on a throne while you bleed in the mud.
"He's strong," Kaelen whispered, his voice trembling.
He thinks he is a King, the Ring hissed. Kings can bleed, boy. Kings can die. You have the power now. Use it. Kill him.
Kaelen didn't argue. He didn't defend his former friend.
He simply stared at Lucas's back, his eyes glowing with a faint, toxic green light.
"I will," Kaelen vowed.
[ System Notification: Dominant Performance. ]
[ Reputation Updated: 'The Monster of Vayne'. ]
[ Enemy Morale: -50% (Finals). ]
[ Reward: +1,800 Destiny Points. ]
I walked out of the arena, listening to the hesitant, fearful applause of the crowd.
The Prince was broken. The Hero was corrupted. And the Villain was just warming up.
"Onto the Finale," I whispered.