The stadium was packed to the brim, alive with the frenzied energy of anticipation. Thousands of spectators filled the stands, their voices a deafening roar as they waited for the next match to begin. This wasn't just an event—it was a spectacle, the highlight of the year.
The Empire's most prominent figures had gathered here, their seats in the luxury balconies providing a perfect view of the grand arena below. They weren't just here to watch; they were here to invest.
To invest in the future of the Empire.
The sixty-four best cadets of the Class of 2176 were competing, their battles determining not only their strength but their potential as leaders, warriors, and champions. Each clash in the arena was a promise, a glimpse of the power that might one day protect the Empire or lead it to glory.
Beneath the archway leading to the arena floor, Morlowe Deligt stood silently, listening to the crowd's fevered cheers.
"Feeling nervous, Morlowe?"
The voice belonged to Katrina, a blonde-haired girl with a sharp beauty. Her features were flawless, almost doll-like, though her cold expression betrayed little emotion.
"No," Morlowe replied without turning to look at her. "I'm ready to win."
"You know you'll have to beat me eventually, right?" Katrina said, her tone as even and lifeless as her expression.
"Mh... remind me of a time when that didn't happen."
Her lips twitched in the barest hint of a smirk.
"We'll see."
The tournament followed a single-elimination bracket format. No flashy abilities, no intricate skills—only raw talent and mana control were permitted. The rules ensured that only the purest display of martial prowess would decide the victor.
The announcer's voice boomed across the stadium, amplified by mana to reach every corner of the crowd.
"And now, for the match you've all been waiting for! On one side, we have Morlowe Deligt, the Chosen One, known for his grace and precision!"
A wave of cheers erupted from the stands.
"And his opponent, Marcus Ruyar, the Cerberus! A powerhouse with unmatched instinct and brute strength!"
Another thunderous roar filled the stadium as Marcus stepped into view.
The heavy gates groaned as they lifted, allowing Morlowe to step into the sunlight. The arena was breathtaking, a massive chessboard of white and black marble tiles stretching out beneath him. It was said that this ring was commissioned by the Empire's first emperor to honor a legendary battle, its storied history adding weight to every fight held within.
The crowd's voices rose to a crescendo as Morlowe walked forward.
"I bet a fortune on you! Don't let me down!"
"Morlowe! Crush him!"
"You suck! Go home!"
Morlowe ignored the noise, his focus unshaken. His sword hung at his side, its weight as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.
Across the ring stood Marcus Ruyar, a towering figure nearly two meters tall. His massive frame was a wall of muscle, his shoulders broad and his arms thick enough to make his oversized greatsword look ordinary.
"You'd better quit while you can, boy," Marcus growled, his crooked grin revealing two gold teeth.
Morlowe's gaze didn't waver. "I should be the one saying that."
For a moment, his eyes drifted to the Emperor's balcony. Though empty now, the ornate throne at its center seemed to radiate a quiet authority, its presence a reminder of what was at stake.
Hmph. He'll show up later, I suppose.
Morlowe refocused on the task at hand.
An older man with a sharp face and a curling mustache stepped forward,
"Alright, boys. I want a clean fight. Got it?"
"Of course," Morlowe replied calmly.
Marcus sneered. "We'll see about that."
The referee raised his hand, then dropped it.
"Ready... Fight!"
Boom!
The ground cracked beneath Marcus's feet as he lunged forward, his greatsword swinging in a massive arc. The air whistled with the force of his attack, but Morlowe had already moved.
Clang!
Their blades met in a shower of sparks, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the arena. Marcus pressed forward, his sheer strength forcing Morlowe back a step.
"Not bad," Marcus said, grinning. "But I'm just getting started."
His aura flared, a wild, chaotic energy that rippled outward like a storm. His muscles swelled, veins pulsing as he poured more mana into his body.
With a roar, Marcus brought his greatsword down in a crushing overhead strike.
Boom!
The black tile beneath his blade shattered, fragments of marble flying in every direction. But Morlowe wasn't there.
"Too slow," Morlowe said, his voice calm.
He moved like a phantom, his form a blur as he sidestepped Marcus's attack. His sword flashed, aiming for Marcus's exposed side.
Shing!
The blade grazed Marcus's arm, drawing first blood.
The crowd gasped.
"He hit him!"
"No way! Marcus won't lose to that!"
Marcus glanced at the thin line of blood trailing down his arm, then laughed. "That all you've got? Try harder."
He swung his greatsword in a horizontal arc, the sheer force of the strike creating a shockwave that cracked the marble tiles.
Morlowe ducked under the attack, his movements fluid and effortless. His golden aura flared to life, concentrating around his feet.
From the stands, it looked like he disappeared.
"What—" Marcus barely had time to react as Morlowe reappeared behind him, his sword already in motion.
Clang!
Marcus spun, blocking the attack just in time. The impact sent vibrations up his arms, but his grin only widened.
"You're quick, I'll give you that," Marcus said, his aura growing more intense. "But let's see how long you can keep running."
His mana surged again, this time coating his greatsword in a fiery red glow. He swung with reckless abandon, each strike more powerful than the last.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Their swords clashed again and again, the sound of their battle reverberating through the stadium.
To the untrained eye, it seemed like Marcus was overpowering Morlowe, his relentless attacks pushing him to the edge of the ring. But those watching closely could see the truth.
Morlowe wasn't being forced back—he was controlling the fight, luring Marcus into a trap.
"You rely too much on brute force," Morlowe said, his voice steady despite the chaos.
Marcus snarled, his aura flaring wildly. "Keep talking. Let's see if you can keep dodging this!"
He raised his sword high, pouring every ounce of his mana into a devastating final strike.
The air itself seemed to tremble as the blade descended.
But Morlowe didn't move to dodge.
Instead, he stepped forward.
The crowd erupted in confusion and disbelief.
"What's he doing?!"
"Is he insane?!"
At the last possible moment, Morlowe's blade shot upward, its edge glowing with a sharp, ethereal light.
Shing!
His sword struck Marcus's wrist with surgical precision, forcing him to drop his greatsword.
The massive weapon crashed to the ground, cracking the marble beneath it.
Before Marcus could recover, Morlowe moved again, his blade slicing across Marcus's chest. The cut wasn't deep, but it was enough to stagger him.
The crowd fell silent for a moment, stunned.
"You lost the moment you relied on raw power," Morlowe said, stepping back.
Marcus roared in frustration, his aura surging one last time as he lunged forward picking up his sword.
"It's not finished yet!"
A massive surge of aura enveloped Marcus's body. His muscles swelled even larger, veins pulsing beneath his skin. With reckless abandon, Marcus raised his sword high, bringing it down with the intent to crush Morlowe rather than cut him.
"Idiot... you're using your mana so crudely."
Morlowe muttered as a faint golden glow enveloped his feet, stopping at his ankles.
If he had been fast before, now he was a blur.
To Morlowe, Marcus's strikes appeared to move in slow motion, though it was his own speed that had increased dramatically.
The relentless assault continued until, inevitably, Marcus's momentum faltered for a split second.
Now.
Channeling his mana from his feet to his arms, Morlowe planted himself firmly, preparing a decisive strike. His back muscles tensed beneath his clothes, his shoulders relaxed, and his sword sliced through the air.
In a desperate attempt to block, Marcus raised his greatsword, flooding it with energy. But Morlowe didn't miss a detail. In a split second, he infused his aura into his blade.
Unlike Marcus's fiery, volatile energy, Morlowe's mana coated his sword with a sharp, ethereal layer, impossibly precise.
And then, the two weapons collided.
Crack!
Marcus's face twisted in shock and disbelief as the remains of his shattered greatsword fell from his hands.
And then came the impact.
Boom!
Morlowe's strike connected, sending Marcus hurtling out of the ring and crashing into the arena wall.
"And we have a winner!"
The announcer's voice roared above the crowd's frenzy.
Calmly, Morlowe sheathed his sword and turned to the referee.
"Relax, I used the flat side, not the edge," he said before descending the steps he had climbed just moments before.