"Good," the emissary said, his voice carrying across the chamber. "You’re all here. It looks like everyone is complete." He paused, his eyes sweeping over the gathered fighters. "I know many of you are wondering why the numbers dropped so drastically, even after I warned you before. Let me explain again. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
"This tournament isn’t like the one you imagined. For fighters with promise, for those who prove their strength early, they only fight once. But for the weak... the weak must fight each other again and again. Some of them were forced into five battles in a single day just to survive. That’s how the numbers were cut down so sharply.
"The strong don’t need to exhaust themselves. They’ve already shown what they are capable of. But the weak—" his eyes hardened, "—the weak must claw, struggle, and bleed to prove they deserve a place here. That is why you stand in this chamber with so few left. Every one of you has already proven something. Fighting five matches back-to-back is no small feat. Yet most of those who did are gone.
"But still," the emissary continued, his tone sharpening, "there were fighters who stood out during the tournament. Since most of you weren’t present to witness those battles, you should know this—some individuals were truly exceptional. And soon, you’ll see them with your own eyes in the arena.
"Osric, the Necromancer—feared for his dark arts. Lucian, known as The Top—a fighter whose skill with the blade places him among the best. And Erdrick, a man who has ascended to the rank of Swordmaster itself, earning that title through strength none could deny.
"These are not the only ones," he went on, raising a hand to silence a murmur from the crowd. "There are others here as well—many who proved their worth and clawed their way to this point. Do not think for a moment that you are the only ones blessed with strength. No... all who stand here are monsters in their own right."
The walls of the arena shook as the roar of the audience rolled inside, deafening and thunderous. The crowd was already on fire—cheering names, chanting for blood—even though the fighters had yet to step foot on the sands.
"Hey, enough with the long speech," Osric muttered, stretching his arms lazily. "Let’s just get to the crowd. I’m ready for my performance."
"Yeah. Let’s do this," Tharion added with a smirk.
The emissary narrowed his eyes at them, then raised his voice. "So, are you all ready?"
"Yes, we are," the group replied in unison.
"Good. Then go to the stands where the participants rest. Just like last time, you’ll wait there until your names are called. When I announce you, return here and make your entrance through this very gate into the arena."
Everyone nodded and began moving toward the participant seating. The emissary turned, lifted his arms, and his voice boomed over the arena.
"You all!" he shouted. "Are you ready for this match?! This will be one of the toughest battles yet!"
The crowd roared, stomping their feet and clapping, their voices crashing like thunder.
"And remember," the emissary continued, "our king is present! The Hero himself is here! And even the King of Sindra and Prince of Sindra have graced us with their presence!"
The audience erupted into a frenzy of cheers, waving flags, stomping harder, calling out names. The air itself vibrated with excitement.
"Now... for our next fight!" the emissary bellowed, drawing out the suspense. "From Team Nolan, we have—" he paused for dramatic effect, "—Celia! The demi-human from Sindra! Official rank E, but a warrior who has already proven herself beside the legendary Nolan!"
The crowd reacted with a mix of surprise and curiosity, murmurs rising:
"But she’s in Nolan’s team..."
"Am sure are performance will be outstanding even if her rank is E!"
Celia stood up from her seat, her expression calm but her tail twitching with nerves.
"Be safe," Nolan said softly, meeting her eyes.
Celia gave him a small smile. "I will." Then she turned and walked with firm steps toward the back gate that led to the arena floor.
"And now," the emissary thundered, his voice rising above the crowd, "her opponent—Wilfric of the Empire! An S-rank adventurer! Known across the continent as The Earthbender! His strength shakes the ground itself, and today he will face Celia head-on!"
The cheers exploded, half for Celia, half for Wilfric, as the two fighters prepared to step into the arena.
"All the way from Sindra!" the emissary’s voice thundered. "Celia, the demi-human—skilled with the sword—steps into the arena!"
The heavy gate slid upward with a grinding rumble. Celia walked through, her boots striking the ground with confidence, though her tail betrayed a flicker of nerves.
The crowd erupted into cheers. Some called her name, others shouted in curiosity about Nolan’s teammate.
I’m ready for this. I have to win, Celia told herself as she raised her chin, eyes fixed on the battlefield ahead.
"And now, her opponent!" the emissary continued. "From the Empire—Wilfric! Not just an adventurer, but a Swordmaster! This will not be an ordinary duel. Both combatants are sword-users. Both wielders of steel. Such a clash is rare... and promises greatness!"
The second gate creaked open. A tall man in black armor, a long blade strapped to his back, strode into the arena with slow, heavy steps. His presence alone drew shouts from the stands.
"Wilfric! Wilfric!" the crowd chanted, their cheers split now between the two fighters.
The emissary raised his hand. "And now—Celia of Sindra versus Wilfric, the Swordmaster!"
The arena shook with the roar of the audience, anticipation thick in the air.
"Are you all ready for this?!" the emissary roared, his voice echoing across the arena. The crowd responded with a deafening cheer.
"Now tell me—who do you think will win?" he continued. "A Swordmaster of rank S, or a rank E demi-human from Sindra? Remember—Team Nolan himself proved to be outstanding, and though for some reason he is still listed as rank E, his performance was beyond even S-rank! Will Celia, his comrade, also shock us today?"