"Ladies and gentlemen! Today is the day! The official start of the arena matches!" boomed the announcer, his voice echoing across the massive coliseum. "Today, fighters from all across the world meet—not face to face, but fist to fist! Today is the day when warriors test their mettle—literally and figuratively!"
The crowd erupted in a thunderous cheer, their collective roar rising like a tidal wave, drowning out any other sound. Flags waved, horns blared, and the energy in the air was electric. The arena, a vast circular structure of stone and metal, trembled under the weight of thousands of spectators, each eager to witness the clash of champions.
Amidst the sea of excitement, a tall man with a thick black beard and a nearly bald head leaned toward his companion. His weathered face showed a mix of curiosity and concern as he spoke, his voice barely audible over the crowd. "Boss, you sure this is a good idea? Shouldn't we be out on a mission instead?"
Next to him, lounging comfortably in her seat, was a brunette woman with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor. She wore a relaxed smirk as she scanned the bustling crowd, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Relax, Karv," she replied, her voice steady and confident. "We'll be fine. Besides, this is a golden opportunity. We might find some potential recruits here. If we're lucky, we'll get to them before the other parties do."
Karv sighed, crossing his arms as he cast a skeptical glance toward the arena. "I don't know, Layla. These matches can be unpredictable. You really think we'll find someone worth our time here?"
Layla leaned back further, her gaze fixed on the fighters preparing in the center of the arena. "Trust me, Karv. The best talent often hides in plain sight. And what better place to find fighters with grit than in the heat of battle?" Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Keep watching. You never know when the next star might rise."
The arena floor, a vast expanse of sand and stone, was meticulously prepared for the upcoming battles. Fighters from different regions, each clad in distinctive armor, sharpened their weapons and exchanged final words with their trainers. The atmosphere was charged with a mix of tension and excitement, as each warrior prepared to prove their worth in front of an eager audience.
Karv rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as he observed the fighters. "Alright, I'll give it a chance. But if this turns out to be a waste of time, you owe me a drink."
Layla chuckled, her confidence unwavering. "Deal. But I have a feeling you'll be buying the drinks tonight. Just watch."
As the announcer continued to rile up the crowd, Layla and Karv settled into their seats, their eyes glued to the arena. The first match was about to begin, and with it, the promise of discovering hidden talent in a sea of hopeful warriors.
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"You alright, Adam? You look like you're about to pass out," Lydia asked, concern evident in her voice as she placed a gentle hand on Adam's shoulder. His face was pale, his eyes squinting against the overwhelming noise of the crowd.
Adam turned to her, wincing. "It's loud... really loud!" His face twisted in discomfort, as if the sheer volume was physically weighing him down.
"Oh... yeah, it is pretty intense." Lydia fumbled through her pockets, searching for something. "Here, this might help." She pulled out a small pair of cotton balls, holding them out to him. "I brought these just in case."
Adam gratefully took them, stuffing the cotton into his ears. "It's still loud, but... a bit more bearable. Thanks," he said with a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
Lydia smiled, pleased to see him a bit more comfortable. "So, when's this thing starting?" Adam asked, his eyes flicking toward the arena.
She shrugged casually. "Should be any minute now. The announcer's just doing his thing, riling up the crowd."
Both of them turned their attention back to the arena, watching the announcer pace energetically across the platform, his voice booming even through Adam's makeshift earplugs. The crowd's cheers ebbed and flowed like waves, building in anticipation.
Suddenly, the announcer raised his hand, signaling for attention. The crowd quieted just enough to hear him speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, fighters and spectators, I have just received some exciting news!" His voice crescendoed, brimming with dramatic flair. "This year's festival will be extended for another half a week! And you know what that means—the arena matches will run even longer!"
The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, the arena shaking with the sheer force of their excitement. Adam groaned, pressing the cotton balls deeper into his ears, while Lydia grinned, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"Looks like we're in for a long week," she said, nudging Adam playfully.
He managed a weak smile, still adjusting to the overwhelming sensory experience. "Yeah, great... more noise," he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.
As the announcer continued to bask in the crowd's adoration, Adam and Lydia settled back,
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"Oi... you know that guy?" asked a fighter wearing basic leather armor, his short sword resting on his hip. His eyes were fixed on a lone figure standing across the arena.
Beside him, a fellow fighter in mage's robes shrugged. "I think I saw him during the qualifiers. He won every match, barely broke a sweat. No idea who he is, though."
The first fighter hummed thoughtfully. "Think we should go talk to him? It's good to know our opponents."
The mage nodded in agreement, and together they approached the mysterious figure. The stranger had neat black hair, peculiar eyes, and wore clothes of an unknown origin that seemed out of place even among the diverse fighters gathered.
As they got closer, the enigmatic fighter turned to face them, his piercing eyes locking onto theirs with an intensity that made them hesitate. He said nothing, just stared.
"Y-yeah, uh... what's your name?" the leather-clad fighter asked, trying to break the ice. "I'm Lenal from Awaria Kingdom next door. What about you?"
The stranger's gaze didn't waver. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke. "Danmel. If you wish to know more... make yourself worthy."
Lenal exchanged a bewildered glance with the mage. The cryptic response left them both at a loss. The mage leaned in, whispering, "Lenal... this guy is super weird. Let's just go. He doesn't seem... mentally all there."
With a shrug, Lenal agreed, and they both backed away, deciding it was best to leave Danmel to his mysterious ways.
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"Alright, let's not keep the crowd waiting any longer! Let the first match... BEGIN!" roared the announcer, his voice echoing through the massive arena. The gates to the fighters' quarters creaked open, and ten combatants strode out, each exuding a mix of confidence and tension.
The announcer continued, his voice booming over the roaring cheers of the spectators. "For those of you new to the arena, allow me to explain the rules! The first five matches will be death matches... without the death, of course. It's simple—last man standing wins! To qualify for the second term, each fighter needs to secure victory in at least three matches. Now, let's see who has the strength, skill, and will to emerge victorious!"
The crowd erupted, their collective excitement almost deafening. The fighters took their places in the center of the arena, each sizing up their opponents with wary eyes. Some adjusted their weapons, others their armor, while a few simply stood still, their confidence evident in their calm demeanor.
The announcer's voice rose once more, cutting through the noise. "Who will rise? Who will fall? Let the battle commence!"
The fighters tensed, the anticipation crackling in the air like a thunderstorm about to break.
"Sorry about this, but I'm gonna win!" shouted Lenal, dashing toward his mage friend with a confident grin. The mage responded quickly, summoning blades of air and levitating rocks, his voice rising over the din of the crowd. "I should be the one saying that!" he roared back, launching his magical projectiles with precision.
However, before either could make contact, their ambitions were abruptly halted. Danmel, moving with an almost supernatural grace, closed the distance in an instant. With a swift and decisive motion, he struck both Lenal and the mage, knocking them out cold. The two fighters crumpled to the ground, unconscious before they even realized what had happened.
Danmel stood over them, his piercing eyes scanning the arena for his next opponent. His gaze settled on a burly man wielding a massive battle axe, who charged toward him with a bellowing roar. To Danmel, the man's movements felt like they were unfolding in slow motion, his perception heightened by the strange power of his ethereal eyes. These eyes revealed an eerie, mirage-like vision of the fighter, showing him the man's intentions even before they were executed.
As the burly man closed in, Danmel sighed, disappointment etched across his face. (Is this really where I'll find someone worthy of being my rival? Master, these humans and beastfolk are like children. Even without these eyes, I would have won this tournament with ease.)
The man swung his axe with all his might, but Danmel caught the blade mid-air, gripping it as though it weighed nothing. With a powerful yank, he pulled the man forward, bringing him off balance. The burly fighter stumbled, and before he could recover, Danmel delivered a crushing punch to his head. The man's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.
Danmel stood tall, dusting off his hands as he muttered under his breath, "Pathetic." The crowd roared in a mixture of awe and excitement, but Danmel's expression remained stoic. His search for a worthy challenge continued, though his hope of finding it seemed to dwindle with each passing moment.
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Adam stood frozen, his mouth agape, unable to process what he had just witnessed. His mind raced, scrambling for coherence. (Was that guy... wearing Earth clothes? Like the ones from back home?! Could he be another person who got transported here? Or reincarnated?) His heart pounded as the possibility overwhelmed him. Without another thought, he began pushing through the dense crowd, desperate to get a better look.
Reaching the edge of the arena, Adam leaned over the railing, his eyes locked on the mysterious fighter below. The man's attire was unmistakably modern—clean-cut, practical, and distinctly Earth-like. (Those are human clothes from Earth! What the hell? I've got to find this guy!) Adam's determination flared, and he bolted away from his spot, weaving through the throngs of spectators toward the fighters' quarters.
When he finally reached the entrance, a guard stood in his path. The burly man leaned casually against the doorframe, a kindly but firm expression on his face. "Sorry, kid. No entry for spectators. Only fighters allowed. Go back to your parents, or you'll miss the show," the guard said, his tone gentle but leaving no room for negotiation.
Adam sighed, frustration bubbling up inside him. (What do I do now?) He glanced around, hoping for another way in but found none. (Maybe I can catch him after he either loses or wins the tournament... but that could take ages. Or maybe I could join the fight—) His thoughts halted. (No, wait, I can't. The tournament's already started. Damn it! I should've joined when I had the chance!) He cursed his luck, realizing too late that this might've been a twist of fate he failed to grasp.
Reluctantly, Adam turned back and trudged toward where Lydia was waiting. She raised an eyebrow, curious about his sudden disappearance. "What was that about? Where did you go?" she asked, her tone laced with mild concern.
Adam sighed, the weight of his disappointment palpable. "I thought I recognized one of the fighters, but I can't meet them," he replied, his voice tinged with regret.
Lydia frowned, sensing there was more to the story, but decided not to press. "Well, the tournament isn't over yet. Maybe you'll get your chance," she offered, trying to lift his spirits.
Adam nodded, though the nagging feeling in his gut remained. He sat back down,
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Danmel stood at the center of the arena, his chest rising and falling with a steady, almost bored rhythm. He had just dispatched his final opponent with the same ease as all the others, barely breaking a sweat. The crowd roared, but to him, it was nothing more than a distant, muffled hum—a hollow sound he had grown all too accustomed to. His eyes, sharp and focused, scanned the field. The bodies of the fallen fighters lay around him, sprawled in various positions, some still twitching from the force of his blows, others completely still.
(Pathetic. Pathetic. All of them. Not a single worthy fighter amongst them!) Danmel's thoughts echoed through his mind as he surveyed the defeated competitors. His fingers flexed, his muscles relaxing after the fight, but his heart remained cold. To him, this was nothing more than a game. An easy step on his path to what he truly sought.
He glanced around the arena, the blood still staining the sand beneath his boots. The arena was filled with the echoes of cheers and claps, but they felt so far away. (Is this really the best this world has to offer?) he wondered, his disappointment weighing heavily on his shoulders.
As the announcer's voice boomed across the arena, Danmel felt a strange sensation—an itch in the back of his mind. Something that told him this world, this tournament, wasn't going to be as simple as he had assumed. His eyes flickered to the crowd, his instincts tingling. Among the many faces, one stood out—a young man in the stands who had been watching him intently since the beginning of the matches.
Danmel's gaze narrowed. "Could he be different?" he thought. "No, he's just another human... but something about him doesn't sit right."
With a quiet sigh, Danmel turned his attention back to the arena. The crowd continued to cheer, oblivious to the discontent of the one who had so easily dominated them. He had won his matches—now he would see who his true opponents would be. If any.
(Master said I'd find a challenge here, but if this is all they have, I'll finish this tournament with hardly any effort.)
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Adam sat at the long wooden table, his gaze distant as he absently pushed his food around on his plate. The bustling noise of the dining hall surrounded him—laughter, clinking cutlery, and the hum of conversation—but all of it felt distant. His thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the mysterious fighter he had seen earlier, the one with the clothes that looked eerily similar to those from Earth. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, this person might hold the answers he had been searching for. Was he another traveler like Adam himself? Had he too been transported to this strange world?
His mind spiraled in contemplation, making the events of the day feel like a blur. He had missed his chance again. He had been so close, so ready to finally meet this person, only to be distracted at the last minute by a task with Lidya. Now, here he was, eating a meal with friends, his stomach in knots as the opportunity slipped further away.
"Adam, aren't you going to eat your food? It's getting cold, you know?" Suzi's voice snapped Adam out of his thoughts. He looked up to find her leaning over slightly, her wide, worried eyes fixed on him, her hand hovering in front of his face.
Blinking in surprise, Adam's brow furrowed, and he quickly picked up his fork. "Yeah, just... thinking is all," he muttered, forcing a smile. He stabbed a piece of meat, the fork clinking against the plate as he pushed it around aimlessly.
Suzi studied him for a moment, her expression full of concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her voice soft. "You've been really quiet."
Adam nodded, though it wasn't entirely convincing. "Yeah... just tired, I guess."
He dug into his food half-heartedly, trying to refocus. Suzi and the others had been through their own part of the day—the parade, the revelry, the cheering crowds. Adam couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to enjoy such things. His mind had been consumed by thoughts of the tournament and what the next few days might bring.
"So, how was the parade?" Adam asked, trying to shift the conversation. "Me and Lidya were busy with tournament stuff."
Suzi's eyes lit up, her energy impossible to contain as she eagerly leaned forward. "It was amazing!" she exclaimed, her voice animated as she spoke. "I've never seen so many people in one place before! There were floats, and music, and fireworks! You should've seen the firebreather in the middle of the street! I thought he was going to set the whole place on fire!" Suzi laughed, her infectious enthusiasm drawing a smile from Adam despite himself.
The other girls at the table chimed in with their own excitement, recounting various details about the parade—how they had seen performers juggling flaming torches, dancers weaving through the streets in intricate costumes, and merchants shouting about their wares. It all sounded so lively, so vibrant, yet Adam felt disconnected from it all. He was happy for them, but it was hard to shake the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.
"Sounds like it was fun," Adam replied quietly, forcing a smile as he glanced around the table. "Maybe next time I'll get a chance to see it."
The other girls didn't seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. They continued chatting and laughing, but Adam's mind had already wandered again.
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"Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer's voice boomed across the grand arena, amplified by the sheer excitement in the air. The crowd erupted into cheers, their collective roar nearly deafening. Banners waved, and the anticipation crackled like electricity. "It is time for the second phase—the one-on-one duels! A true test of skill, strength, and strategy!"
The audience leaned forward in their seats, eager to witness the spectacle about to unfold. The announcer continued, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Our first match of the day features two formidable contenders! On one side, we have the enigmatic Danmel—a rookie with three consecutive victories and zero losses! Not a single opponent has managed to lay a hand on him!"
The crowd murmured in awe, recalling Danmel's uncanny agility and precision. His every movement in the previous rounds had been calculated, swift, and efficient. Not once had he shown any sign of struggle, his calm demeanor unsettling to even the most seasoned fighters.
"And facing him," the announcer's voice grew even louder, "is Buller! Hailing from the southern continents, this giant of a beast-folk warrior belongs to the mighty Bear Tribe! Armed with nothing but his bare fists, Buller has proven time and again that his raw power is unmatched. Let's see if man can indeed best beast!"
A towering figure stepped into the arena, the ground seeming to tremble beneath Buller's massive frame. His muscles bulged with every movement, and his thick, fur-covered arms were like tree trunks. The crowd roared at the sight of him, many placing their bets on the ferocious strength of the bear warrior.
Across from him, Danmel stood with his usual calm. His sleek, black attire was unassuming, but his piercing eyes held a quiet confidence that made the crowd buzz with curiosity. His every motion seemed effortless, as if he were completely in control of the outcome before the fight had even begun.
The announcer's voice echoed again, "Fighters, take your positions!"
Buller cracked his knuckles, the sound like small explosions, and let out a deep, rumbling growl. "You're going down, little man," he rumbled, his voice as intimidating as his size.
Danmel simply nodded, his expression neutral. His eyes never left Buller, scanning every muscle twitch, every shift in stance.
The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"
Buller charged forward like a freight train, his massive fists aimed straight for Danmel. The crowd gasped at the sheer speed and power of the beast-folk's attack. The arena shook with every step he took, dust rising in clouds around his feet.
But just as Buller's colossal fist was about to connect, Danmel moved. With a grace that seemed almost supernatural, he sidestepped the oncoming blow, his movements fluid and precise. Buller's punch smashed into the ground, creating a small crater where Danmel had stood mere moments before.
Danmel countered with lightning speed, his fist striking Buller's side. The sound of the impact echoed through the arena, but Buller barely flinched, his thick hide absorbing much of the blow. The crowd held their breath as Buller swung again, this time aiming a powerful backhand at Danmel.
Danmel ducked under the swing, his movements a blur. He pivoted, delivering a sharp kick to Buller's knee, forcing the giant to stagger. Buller growled, frustration evident on his face. He launched a flurry of punches, each one faster and more aggressive than the last, but Danmel weaved through them with ease, his agility unmatched.
The fight continued, Buller's raw strength clashing against Danmel's finesse. Each strike from Buller was like a thunderclap, shaking the very arena, but Danmel remained untouchable, his counterattacks strategic and precise.
Finally, Danmel saw an opening. With a swift, spinning kick, he struck Buller's jaw with enough force to send the massive warrior stumbling backward. Buller collapsed onto the ground, the impact causing a dust cloud to rise.
The arena fell silent for a moment before erupting into wild cheers. The announcer's voice boomed once more, "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the first duel—Danmel!"
Danmel stood over Buller's fallen form, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. For the first time in a long while, a sense of genuine challenge coursed through him. The fight with Buller had been unlike any other—raw, fierce, and demanding. His usually calm demeanor masked the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind.
(That was close... far too close.) Danmel reflected, his gaze lingering on Buller. (My new eyes struggled to keep up. They only gave me a second or two to react—barely enough time to dodge. So they have a weakness...) His eyes narrowed as he analyzed the fight. (It seems these eyes work by reading the opponent's movements, simulating the most likely attack pattern. But even with foresight, my body might not always be fast enough to evade or counter. Buller's speed was deceptive, and he nearly landed a hit several times. Considering his strength, a single blow could have been lethal or, at the very least, incapacitating. I underestimated him.)
Danmel clenched his fists, feeling the faint tremor in his muscles—a reminder of the close calls. (This is the kind of opponent I'll face from now on. Strong, unpredictable, and relentless. I understand now, Master. This is the path I must walk. I will find a worthy rival, someone who can truly test my limits and force me to grow stronger. Only then can I surpass my current strength.)
With a final glance at Buller, Danmel turned and walked towards the fighter's quarters. His steps were steady, but his mind remained restless. The fight had not only been a physical challenge but a mental one as well. His new eyes, a gift and a burden, had pushed him to his limits. The exertion wasn't just on his body—it was on his mind, constantly calculating, adapting, and predicting.
As he reached the quarters, Danmel allowed himself to relax for the first time since the match began. The tension in his muscles eased, and he sank onto a bench. Despite his outward composure, the fight had drained him more than he cared to admit. His eyes throbbed slightly, a reminder of their limitations.
(Rest... I need to rest. This was just the beginning. There will be more fights, more challenges, and I must be ready.) Danmel closed his eyes, letting the faint noise of the bustling arena fade into the background. The battle had been a wake-up call—a reminder that even with his gifts, he was not invincible. But it also reignited a spark within him—a hunger for growth, for challenge.