[Congratulations!!!]
[If you have survived in the tournament for this long, you have entered the Mid-Level Stage of the Tournament.]
[All clans that have survived this phase are now classified as Mid-Stage Clans.]
[Mid-Level Challenge Unlocked.]
[Challenge Name: Endless Monsters]
The system message wasn't displayed only to the Wyndhams.
Every participant still remaining in the tournament received it.
The Pendragon wristband possessed a system-like interface that appeared directly within the wearer's mind. Moments ago, that interface had delivered the same message to every surviving clan across the tournament grounds.
The effect was immediate.
Clans that had been locked in fierce battles suddenly stopped fighting.
Weapons lowered.
Skills were interrupted.
People who had been trying to kill each other only seconds earlier now stared at the glowing notifications hanging before their eyes.
The entire battlefield seemed to pause.
Everyone was reading.
Everyone was thinking.
And everyone was calculating their chances.
Then the withdrawals began.
One clan after another chose to leave the tournament.
It wasn't just a few.
It was a massive wave of exits.
The reason was simple.
Most low-level clans had never planned to go beyond this point in the first place.
Their goal had always been to reach the Mid-Level Stage.
That alone was enough to prove their strength and improve their standing.
Now that they had achieved it, reality was setting in.
The next phase wasn't designed for ordinary clans.
It would be far more dangerous.
Far more brutal.
Many leaders understood that immediately.
Rather than gamble with the lives of their members, they chose to leave while they still could.
At the same time, even some Mid-Level clans began withdrawing.
Unlike the weaker clans, their reasons were different.
These clans had already secured the status they wanted.
Risking everything for a chance to climb higher wasn't worth it.
Protecting their current position was the smarter choice.
As soon as the Mid-Level Stage was announced, more clans started exiting.
The number kept rising.
Out of nearly fifty participating clans, more than half had already withdrawn within a short period.
The tournament was rapidly shrinking.
Those who remained behind were either confident in their strength...
Or reckless enough to believe they could survive whatever came next.
High above the tournament grounds, one being watched everything unfold.
His gaze swept across the battlefield.
He watched the withdrawals.
He watched the surviving clans.
He watched the fear, determination, greed, and ambition displayed by every participant.
Nothing escaped his notice.
After all, he was one of the divine beings overseeing the tournament.
Jovisrax.
Inside the VIP room, Jovisrax sat comfortably on a throne-like seat as he watched a massive holographic display floating before him.
Unlike most of the spectators, he wasn't interested in watching the battles directly.
In fact, since the tournament had begun, he had spent very little time looking at the actual fights.
His attention was fixed on something else entirely.
Statistics.
Data.
Numbers.
The enormous holographic screen displayed a detailed map of Ztheu.
Scattered across the map were hundreds of glowing dots in different colors.
Each color represented a different clan.
Every participant was marked individually, allowing their positions to be tracked in real time.
The display was so detailed that it bordered on absurd.
Health levels.
Stamina reserves.
Qi capacity.
Movement speed.
Heart rate.
Body temperature.
Skill usage.
Combat patterns.
Energy consumption.
Even the types of attacks each participant had used throughout the tournament were recorded and categorized.
The information updated every second.
New numbers appeared.
Old numbers shifted.
Patterns formed and disappeared.
For most people, the display would have looked overwhelming.
For Jovisrax, however, it was fascinating.
This was what he had chosen to watch instead of the actual fighting.
His jaw rested against one palm as he leaned slightly to one side.
His gaze never left the holographic screen.
The countless streams of information reflected in his eyes.
'What a disappointment,' Jovisrax thought.
His expression remained calm.
But there was clear dissatisfaction in his eyes.
'I have watched this tournament for years.'
'Yet the outcome rarely changes.'
His gaze moved across the clusters of colored dots.
Many were disappearing now as clans withdrew from the competition.
Others remained.
Mostly the same names.
Mostly the same powerful factions.
'The hierarchy never changes,' he thought.
'The clans at the top remain at the top.'
'The clans at the bottom remain at the bottom.'
A faint sigh escaped him.
Tournament after tournament, the pattern repeated itself.
The strongest clans dominated.
The weaker clans struggled.
And when things became truly dangerous, most chose to leave.
His eyes settled on a particular cluster.
The Synapse Circle.
A small amount of interest finally appeared in his gaze.
'At least they are different.'
'They entered this year's tournament and immediately started disrupting the balance.'
'They've managed to put pressure on several top clans.'
'That's more than most participants accomplish in their entire existence.'
For a moment, Jovisrax continued studying their data.
Then his attention returned to the larger picture.
More dots vanished from the map.
More clans were withdrawing.
The participant count continued falling.
'And the reason is obvious,' he thought.
'Most of them exit the moment they reach the Mid-Level Stage.'
His eyes narrowed slightly.
There was no anger in them.
Only disappointment.
'The moment they achieve their goal, they stop.'
'The moment real risk appears, they leave.'
The number of active participants continued decreasing on the screen.
One clan after another vanished from the map.
Jovisrax watched it all happen in silence.
'I knew giving them a free way out would only make things worse,' Jovisrax thought.
His eyes remained fixed on the holographic display.
More dots continued disappearing from the map.
More clans were withdrawing.
The participant count steadily dropped.
A look of disgust flashed across his face.
'None of these people are worthy of being added to the army.'
'None of them would play any meaningful role in hunting down the Pendragons.'
The thought irritated him.
To Jovisrax, strength wasn't measured by talent alone.
Courage mattered.
The willingness to face danger mattered.
Yet every year, countless clans chose safety the moment they were given the option.
His fingers slowly tightened against the armrest.
'If not for the rules governing these tournaments, I would have entered myself and shown them what a real challenge looks like.'
The thought darkened.
His gaze grew colder.
'I would disable every watch capable of withdrawing participants.'
'I would remove every escape route.'
His grip tightened further.
The reinforced metal beneath his hand creaked softly.
'Then I would step into the battlefield myself and slaughter every weak clan that dared call themselves warriors.'
The room suddenly felt colder.
The killing intent hidden within those thoughts was enough to make the surrounding air tremble.
Jovisrax slowly exhaled.
A small sigh left his mouth.
Yet even that simple breath carried terrifying power.
A cold gust swept through the VIP room like a miniature storm.
The nearby attendants immediately lowered their heads.
No one dared react.
No one dared speak.
Jovisrax eventually loosened his grip and leaned back into his throne-like seat.
'the others just had to force me into coming here,' he thought with annoyance.
His gaze returned to the display.
More clans were leaving.
More participants were disappearing.
Then suddenly, a faint smile appeared on his face.
It wasn't a warm smile.
Nor was it a pleasant one.
It was the smile of someone who had just thought of something interesting.
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Jovisrax turned slightly toward one of the guards standing nearby.
The guard immediately noticed.
Clad in silver armor from head to toe, he stepped forward without hesitation.
Then he dropped to one knee beside the divine being.
Jovisrax leaned forward and whispered a few words into the guard's ear.
The guard's posture stiffened.
Whatever he had heard clearly surprised him.
Still, he asked no questions.
He simply bowed his head.
"As you command," the guard said.
Then he immediately rose and left.
Meanwhile, while the divine being was busy making his own arrangements behind the scenes, the atmosphere among the Wyndhams was completely different.
The moment the system announcement appeared, the tension that had been crushing them began to fade.
Relief washed over several faces.
Some even looked stunned.
They had actually made it.
After everything they had endured...
After all the injuries...
After all the near-death encounters...
They had survived long enough to reach the Mid-Level Stage.
"We did it!" Jim suddenly shouted.
His voice echoed across their section of the battlefield.
"We actually did it!"
A wide grin spread across his face.
"We survived that long."
"We made it to the Mid-Level Stage!"
For the first time in a while, genuine excitement could be heard in his voice.
Although he did everything he could to suppress the shout, the excitement still leaked into his voice.
The reason was simple.
While the tournament had officially reached the Mid-Level Stage, nobody in the VIP section seemed to care.
Not a single person reacted.
Not a single person looked impressed.
To the powerful clans and influential figures gathered there, the Mid-Level Stage was nothing special.
It was merely another weak level.
A step above the Low-Level Stage, perhaps, but still far from the levels that truly mattered.
In their eyes, reaching this point wasn't an achievement.
It was an expectation.
Still, the Wyndhams couldn't help feeling happy.
To them, this moment meant everything.
They had entered the tournament as underdogs.
Most people hadn't expected them to last this long.
Some hadn't expected them to survive at all.
Yet here they were.
Alive.
Even Lucius had a smug smile on his face.
It wasn't a large smile.
Just a small upward curve at the corner of his lips.
But everyone understood exactly what it meant.
The bet.
The Wyndhams had won the bet.
Draven had claimed that the clan would survive until the Mid-Level Stage.
Yet The Wyndhams had made it.
When several members turned toward Draven's section, they found him already looking in their direction.
His expression remained calm.
Almost too calm.
Jake frowned.
"What is that look supposed to mean?" he asked.
"Is he angry or does he just not care?"
John glanced at Draven for a moment before shrugging.
"It doesn't matter," he said.
"He lost the bet."
A grin appeared on John's face.
"He can try to hide it all he wants, but we know he's feeling the loss."
Several people chuckled.
The mood around the Wyndham table had become much lighter.
For the first time in a while, people were actually smiling.
"What I'm really waiting for," John continued, rubbing his hands together, "is seeing what benefits this new level will bring to the clan."
His eyes practically sparkled.
John was already imagining all the possibilities.
By the look on his face, he was halfway through planning his future.
The tournament wasn't even over yet, yet he was already daydreaming about how much their lives might change after it ended.