Thirty minutes earlier—during the intermission.
The private couples' booth Krampus had arranged was exactly the sort of facility only he would think to add to a tournament stadium.
It was hidden behind several layers of spatial magic, soundproofing runes, privacy barriers, and a politely worded sign that read:
FOR POST-BATTLE CUDDLING, EMOTIONAL RECOVERY, CANOODLING, OR WHATEVER ELSE CONSENTING ADULTS REQUIRE. PLEASE CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES.
Krampus had argued that warriors fought better when their emotional and physical needs were properly addressed.
Makarov had argued that Krampus was a shameless pervert.
Krampus had countered that those two statements were not mutually exclusive.
In any case, Logan and Bernard had made excellent use of the facility.
They had entered shortly after returning from the regeneration pods.
They emerged ten minutes later.
Ten minutes was apparently all they needed.
For the moment, however, neither man appeared interested in getting dressed.
Logan lay sprawled across the oversized couch in his werewolf form, his enormous red-furred body occupying most of the cushions. One thick leg dangled over the side while his tail rested limply against the carpet. His ears were flattened in lingering irritation, although the relaxed looseness of his muscles suggested that most of his actual anger had already been thoroughly worked out.
Bernard sat beside him, equally transformed, one powerful arm resting behind Logan's shoulders.
His other hand moved slowly through the thick red fur covering Logan's abdomen, fingers tracing the deep separations between the granite slabs of his abs.
Logan stared at the ceiling.
"I still say that was bullying."
Bernard's fingers continued stroking his stomach.
"It was a tournament match."
"It was bullying disguised as strategy."
"Those are often the same thing."
Logan turned his head and glared at him.
Bernard remained perfectly calm.
That calmness only irritated Logan more.
"They kept putting debuffs on me."
"They did."
"They rattled my bones with sound magic."
"They did."
"They made my legs feel heavy."
"Yes."
"They ruined my balance."
"Yes."
"They trapped my head in a bubble."
Bernard's mouth twitched.
"And then," Logan continued, his voice growing increasingly offended, "that blond sailor bastard covered me in soap and turned me into a soapy wet dog in front of the entire country."
Bernard's shoulders began to shake.
"Don't laugh."
"I am not laughing."
"You're smiling."
"I'm comforting you."
"You're comforting me while smiling."
Bernard raised one hand and began scratching behind Logan's ear.
The effect was instantaneous.
Logan's ear flicked.
His entire body stiffened in an effort not to react.
Bernard scratched a little deeper.
Logan's tail thumped once against the carpet.
The large werewolf's expression darkened.
"Stop using underhanded tactics."
"You mean ear scratches?"
"Yes."
Bernard scratched the base of his ear again.
Logan's eyes half-closed before he caught himself.
"That is exactly the sort of dishonest crap Billy and Matthew were doing."
"Then perhaps you should develop resistance to it."
"How the hell am I supposed to develop resistance to this?"
Bernard leaned closer, his fingers gently combing through the fur along Logan's scalp before rubbing the soft inner edge of his ear.
Logan released a low, involuntary rumble from somewhere deep in his chest.
The sound was suspiciously close to a growling purr.
Bernard smiled.
"I don't think you can."
"Bastard."
Logan did not move away.
Instead, he shifted closer until his broad head rested against Bernard's side. Bernard responded by giving him a firm head pat, then resumed dragging his palm across Logan's furry granite abs.
The irritation in Logan's posture gradually faded.
Bernard knew him too well.
Logan did not truly hate Billy or Matthew for the way they had fought. He understood tactics. He understood exploiting an opponent's weaknesses. He had spent years hunting monsters through forests, tracking beasts through rain and mud, and surviving encounters where honor mattered far less than coming home alive.
But understanding something did not mean he had to enjoy it.
He had wanted a fight.
A real fight.
Axes against fists. Strength against strength. A battle where both warriors crashed together until one could no longer stand.
Instead, he had been slowed, softened, rattled, blinded, trapped, slipped, blasted, and thoroughly washed.
It had been effective.
That somehow made it worse.
Bernard's voice softened.
"They fought you that way because they were afraid of facing you directly."
Logan's ear twitched again.
"You think so?"
"I know so. They spent most of the match preventing you from landing a clean hit. Do you know what that means?"
"That they're cowards?"
"It means they respected your strength."
Logan grunted.
Bernard continued stroking his abdomen, slowly moving his hand upward through the thick fur covering Logan's chest.
"Matthew knew that one solid axe strike could end the match. Billy knew that if you got your hands on him, no amount of soap would save him. They used everything they had because anything less would have gotten them crushed."
Logan considered that.
His green eyes drifted toward the enchanted screen on the wall, where highlights from the preliminary battles were still cycling.
The screen showed him charging through one of Billy's bubble prisons, only to have Matthew strike the ground with a sound wave that disrupted his footing. Billy had immediately followed by spraying a layer of enchanted soap beneath his paws.
The mighty werewolf had slid across the battlefield on his stomach.
The crowd had laughed.
Logan's ears flattened again.
"They made me look ridiculous."
"You still looked strong."
"I looked like someone threw a dog into a bathtub."
"A very large and attractive dog."
Logan turned toward him.
Bernard's expression remained completely sincere.
After several seconds, Logan's mouth pulled into a reluctant grin.
"You're lucky the sex was good."
"I know."
"And the aftercare."
"I know."
"And the ear scratches."
Bernard scratched behind his ear again.
Logan's tail resumed thumping.
"…Those too."
Bernard leaned down and pressed a brief kiss against the top of Logan's head.
The last of Logan's wounded pride finally loosened.
His gaze returned to the tournament display.
The top-eight contestants were listed across the screen.
Billy.
Erik.
Logan.
Erza.
Bernard.
Adam.
Carlo.
Matthew.
Logan's eyes settled on Erza's portrait.
A little girl with scarlet hair and an expression far too serious for her age stared back at him.
He felt a brief stab of discomfort.
Fighting an adult man was one thing.
Fighting a girl so much younger than himself was another.
Still, he had watched Erza's preliminary battles.
She was not fragile.
She was not helpless.
And she certainly did not fight like a child.
Her entire style revolved around direct armed combat, overwhelming weapon variety, aggressive enchantments, and the stubborn refusal to retreat even when an opponent was stronger than her.
In other words, she was precisely the kind of opponent Logan enjoyed.
"No bubbles," he murmured.
Bernard followed his gaze.
"No bubbles," he agreed.
"No debuffs from someone singing at me."
"Probably not."
"No soap."
"I doubt Erza carries soap into battle."
Logan sat upright, rolling his thick shoulders as renewed anticipation entered his eyes.
"Just weapons."
"Many weapons."
"Good."
"And enchantments."
Logan paused.
"What kind of enchantments?"
Bernard smiled faintly.
"The kind made by a little girl who has spent the past week researching how to kill werewolves."
Logan stared at him.
Bernard gave him another reassuring pat on the head.
"Be careful what you wish for."
The intermission ended.
Half an hour of eating, drinking, betting, arguing, and replaying tournament highlights had done nothing to quiet the spectators.
The stadium remained a living storm of voices.
Thousands of people packed the magically expanded seats, stamping their feet and waving banners while the floating screens above Magnolia continued broadcasting the Fairy Games across the town.
Inside the announcer booth, Krampus leaned toward the communication lacrima.
His neon-blue halo spun above his horns as he spread his arms with theatrical enthusiasm.
"Ladies, gentlemen, beastfolk, children, mysterious hooded strangers, and people pretending they did not place financially irresponsible bets—welcome back!"
The audience roared.
Laxus sat beside him, one massive arm resting against the booth's counter.
"And now," Laxus announced, "we're moving on to the second battle of the top eight!"
The screens changed.
Two portraits appeared.
Logan McGrath.
Erza Scarlet.
The response was immediate.
Several men began howling like wolves.
A group of girls from Fairy Tail raised handmade Erza banners and shouted her name.
Krampus glanced toward the battlefield roulette still spinning on the central screen.
The wheel slowed.
Its glowing pointer clicked between several options before finally stopping.
RUINED CITADEL BATTLEFIELD.
The floating displays shifted to reveal an enormous stone basin surrounded by broken towers, collapsed walls, cracked stairways, and scattered pillars. The terrain offered open spaces for direct fighting but enough ruins for tactical movement and cover.
Krampus nodded approvingly.
"Oh, that's a good one. Wide enough for Logan to swing those tree-chopping arms around without accidentally shaving the landscape bald."
"And enough loose weapons and stone for Erza to work with," Laxus added.
Krampus raised one claw.
"Contestants, prepare for transportation!"
In the waiting chamber beneath the stadium, Logan stared at the transportation circle beneath his feet.
He had already fastened the central belt of his spiritual equipment around his waist, but he had not yet activated its full transformation.
Across from him stood Erza.
The top of her head did not even reach his chest in his human form.
That fact did not help his discomfort.
Logan scratched the back of his neck.
"Listen, lass…"
Erza looked up at him.
Her expression was composed, but her scarlet brows drew slightly together.
"Yes?"
Logan struggled to find an appropriate way to phrase what he was thinking.
He did not want to insult her.
He also did not want to sound like a grown man eager to crush a young girl with two axes.
"You're quite a bit younger than me."
"I am aware."
"And smaller."
"I am also aware of that."
"And I don't usually fight children."
Erza's eyes narrowed.
Logan immediately realized he had chosen the wrong opening.
Before he could correct himself, Erza folded her arms.
"Are you planning to surrender because of my age?"
"No."
"Are you planning to hold back?"
Logan hesitated.
Erza's gaze sharpened further.
That was answer enough.
"Then I will defeat you before you decide whether to take me seriously."
There was no childish whining in her voice.
No wounded pride.
Only the cold certainty of a warrior who had heard doubts about her size and age too many times already.
Logan studied her more carefully.
Her hands bore calluses.
Her stance remained balanced even while standing casually.
The magic around her was controlled, compact, and heavy with the presence of countless stored weapons.
This was no helpless little girl.
This was a young warrior.
A fierce one.
The awkwardness in Logan's chest slowly gave way to respect.
He smiled.
"That's more like it."
Erza's expression relaxed by the smallest amount.
"I watched your previous fights, Uncle Logan."
"Uncle?"
"You are old enough to be one."
Logan winced.
He was only twenty-eight.
Still, from Erza's perspective, that probably qualified him as ancient.
"And what did you learn?" he asked.
Erza glanced toward the glowing portals beginning to form around her.
"That you are a total blood cow."
Logan blinked.
"A what?"
Erza's expression remained entirely serious.
"Cana and Ultear explained it to me. Your HP bar is so thick and long that unless I possess a move capable of instantly killing you, you will probably grind me to death through endurance."
Somewhere in the observation room, Cana choked on her drink.
Ultear buried her face in both hands.
Logan stared at Erza for several seconds.
Then he burst into laughter.
It was a deep, booming sound that filled the chamber.
"So that's what the girls are calling me?"
"It is an accurate strategic assessment."
"A blood cow."
"Yes."
Logan wiped a tear from one eye.
"I like you, lass."
Erza's fingers closed around the hilt of a weapon beginning to emerge from her Treasury.
"I hope you still like me after the match."
The transportation circle erupted.
Space folded around them.
Logan and Erza appeared at opposite ends of the Ruined Citadel Battlefield.
The audience's cheering rolled over the arena like thunder.
For a moment, neither contestant moved.
Then their spiritual equipment activated at the same time.
Crimson magic exploded around Logan.
His body surged upward, expanding from a massive human man into an eight-foot wall of fur, muscle, claws, and predatory power. Red fur swept across his entire frame, dark along the outer edges but brighter across his chest, shoulders, and thick forearms. His leonine-wolfish muzzle lengthened, sharp teeth flashing beneath curled lips while pointed ears rose from the top of his head.
His eyes remained green, vivid and fierce beneath heavy brows.
A broad leather-and-metal girdle wrapped around his waist, supporting a furred barbarian loincloth that covered his hips and rear while leaving the fronts of his gigantic thighs exposed. Reinforced greaves protected his shins and heavy paws. Armored vambraces covered his forearms, while a black X-shaped harness crossed his bare, fur-covered chest and connected to brutal metal pauldrons over his shoulders.
Every part of the armor looked practical.
Primitive.
Heavy.
It did not conceal his body so much as frame it like a weapon.
His twin axes materialized in his hands.
Each weapon had a thick, dark handle and a broad crescent blade engraved with dim red runes.
A barbarian warrior had taken the field.
Across from him, silver and crimson light spiraled around Erza.
Her scarlet hair lifted in the magical current as pieces of armor assembled around her body in a seamless transformation sequence.
A crimson dress formed first, fitted through the torso before spreading into a layered battle skirt that fell around her armored hips. Silver plates covered the bodice, shoulders, forearms, and lower legs, each polished surface marked with elegant red highlights. A high silver collar framed her neck, while a pair of compact pauldrons gave her small silhouette a knightly authority far greater than her height suggested.
Armored gauntlets enclosed her hands.
Silver boots locked around her calves.
A red cloth panel flowed behind her like the shortened train of a royal war dress.
The final flash of magic deposited a silver circlet against her scarlet hair.
She looked like a young knight-king stepping from a legend.
Behind her, golden portals opened one after another.
Swords, spears, axes, and other weapons waited within their shining depths.
Krampus gripped the edge of the announcer's table.
"Oh, that transformation sequence was excellent."
Laxus glanced at him.
"You added the slow turn at the end, didn't you?"
"Presentation matters."
"You spent three days adjusting the skirt physics."
"Combat readability matters."
"You're full of crap."
Krampus ignored him.
On the battlefield, Logan rolled his neck.
Erza drew a large longsword from the nearest portal.
The blade was almost as tall as she was.
Logan lowered his axes.
"Give me a proper fight, Erza."
Erza raised her sword into guard.
"Do not regret asking."
The starting bell rang.
Logan charged.
The stone beneath his paws shattered.
His enormous frame accelerated with shocking speed, each stride carrying him across several metres. His axes swept back as he prepared to strike.
Erza thrust out her free hand.
Ten portals opened behind her.
Weapons launched from them like bullets.
Swords screamed through the air.
Spears followed.
A pair of heavy maces spun between them.
Logan did not slow down.
His axes became blurs.
CLANG!
The first sword was knocked upward.
CLANG! CLANG!
Two spears shattered against opposite axe blades.
Logan twisted his torso, allowing a mace to pass within an inch of his ribs, then struck its handle and redirected it into another incoming sword.
Steel collided in a storm of sparks.
Every weapon Erza fired was parried, deflected, or broken.
Logan emerged from the barrage without losing momentum.
Erza's eyes widened slightly.
Fast.
Too fast.
For someone that large, he should have required time to recover after every movement. His axes should have dragged his arms outward. His weight should have made rapid changes in direction difficult.
Instead, he moved with the efficiency of a master who had spent decades understanding exactly how much force each motion required.
He reached her.
The right axe descended.
Erza caught it with her longsword.
The impact drove both of her feet into the stone.
Cracks spread beneath her boots.
Her arms screamed.
Logan's second axe came from the side.
Erza abandoned the longsword.
The weapon vanished into her Treasury one instant before the axe could cleave through it.
A broad shield appeared on her arm instead.
BOOM!
The strike threw her across the battlefield.
Erza twisted in midair, dismissed the shield, and summoned a spear.
The spearhead stabbed toward Logan's throat the moment she landed.
Logan tilted his head.
The blade passed through the fur beside his neck.
His axe hooked beneath the spear shaft.
One sharp turn ripped it from Erza's grasp.
She released it without hesitation.
Twin short swords replaced it.
Erza slipped inside the reach of Logan's axes and slashed toward his ribs.
One blade scraped across his armored harness.
The other cut through the fur above his hip.
A thin line of blood appeared.
Logan grinned.
"Good."
His knee rose.
Erza crossed both swords in front of her body.
The kick struck them like a battering ram.
Both blades snapped.
Erza flew backward, dismissed the broken pieces before they could strike her, and replaced them with a two-handed hammer before her feet touched the ground.
She landed in a crouch.
The hammer swept low.
Logan jumped over it.
Erza rotated with the momentum and brought the weapon upward toward his jaw.
Logan crossed his axes.
The hammer struck between them.
The shockwave blasted dust from the surrounding ruins.
For several seconds, they remained locked together.
Erza pushed with both hands.
Logan held her back with one arm.
She released the hammer.
A curved saber appeared in each hand.
Logan's eyes sharpened.
Erza changed weapons as naturally as another fighter changed foot placement.
Her individual skills were still basic.
Solid, certainly, but not exceptional.
She knew how to stand.
How to cut.
How to thrust.
How to defend.
Yet she did not possess Logan's mastery with any one weapon.
What made her dangerous was the transition between them.
There was no hesitation between sword and spear.
No adjustment between shield and twin blades.
No uncertainty when shifting from a hammer's momentum into the light, flowing movements of sabers.
Each weapon style flowed into the next.
The ending position of one became the opening stance of another.
Her Treasury did not merely give her more weapons.
It allowed her to build an entire martial art around constant change.
Logan's grin widened.
Now this was a fight.
He attacked harder.
His axes descended from alternating angles, each blow heavy enough to pulverize the stone beneath Erza's feet.
Erza blocked the first with crossed sabers.
The second shattered one of them.
She replaced it with an axe.
Logan hooked the axe and tore it away.
Erza summoned a rapier into her empty hand and thrust for his eye.
Logan turned his head, the blade grazing his cheek.
He slammed the flat of one axe into her side.
Her armor absorbed most of the impact, but she was still thrown through a ruined pillar.
Stone collapsed around her.
The crowd gasped.
A golden portal opened within the dust.
A chain weapon shot from it and wrapped around Logan's wrist.
Erza emerged behind it, pulling with both hands while four floating swords attacked from his blind side.
Logan spun.
His axes struck the swords aside, but Erza released the chain and sent another wave of weapons from above.
The battlefield became a sea of steel.
Swords circled Logan like a school of predatory fish.
They darted in and out, attacking from changing angles while Erza remained among them, switching between weapons in her hands and coordinating the rest through her magic.
One sword cut Logan's shoulder.
Another pierced his thigh.
A third scraped across his back.
The wounds should have disappeared almost instantly.
They did not.
Logan glanced at the sword embedded in his thigh.
Magic crawled across its edge.
An anti-regeneration enchantment.
The next blade carried a different inscription.
Silver magic.
Wolfsbane.
Erza had enchanted some weapons specifically to inflict increased damage against werewolves.
Logan tore the sword from his leg.
His blood dripped onto the stone.
He looked toward Erza.
She stood between a dozen floating weapons, breathing heavily but refusing to lower her guard.
This little girl had researched him.
She had examined his strengths.
She had prepared counters for his regeneration, his species, his reach, and his preferred fighting distance.
She was using everything she possessed to defeat him.
And he had entered the battle worrying about chivalry.
Logan's smile disappeared.
Not from anger.
From respect.
Holding back now would be the true insult.
"Alright, lass."
Erza sensed the change immediately.
Logan's posture lowered.
His breathing deepened.
Until now, he had relied almost entirely on his physical abilities.
There had been little need for anything else during the preliminary rounds.
His basic statistics were absurdly high. Every ordinary swing of his axe carried the power of a full-strength combat spell from a regular mage. His speed, durability, and regeneration allowed him to dominate most opponents without consuming much magic at all.
That efficiency mattered.
Logan had only begun properly learning magic after joining Fairy Tail. His physical reserves were monstrous, but his MP bar remained comparatively short.
Against a difficult opponent like Matthew, he needed to remain steady.
If he used his magic at maximum effort from the beginning, he could empty his reserves in five minutes.
Then he would become a sitting duck.
Or perhaps a sitting puppy.
Logan hated that phrase the moment it entered his mind.
But Erza was different.
Her magic capacity was smaller than his.
Her attacks were dangerous enough to force him to respond seriously, yet unlikely to survive a prolonged contest of attrition.
She was the perfect opponent for him to finally go all out.
Logan inhaled.
The Blood Moon Magic within The Barbarian awakened.
Red light flooded through his body.
The whites of his eyes became luminous crimson, making his green irises shine like emeralds suspended inside blood. Neon-red highlights appeared throughout his fur, tracing his shoulders, arms, spine, and thighs like molten markings beneath the surface.
The runes on his axes ignited.
Both weapons became blood red.
The air around him grew heavy.
Cold.
Predatory.
Erza's floating swords trembled.
Because what Krampus had done to Logan's skillset was far from ordinary system design.
When he had first conceptualised The Barbarian's combat evolution, he had deliberately looked beyond conventional axe techniques. Logan's raw physicality, werewolf anatomy, and explosive close-range power made him an ideal candidate for something far more exotic than standard martial progression.
So Krampus had done what he always did when bored: he had stolen inspiration from another world entirely.
Specifically, he had taken the flowing, rhythmic principles of Breath of the Moon swordsmanship from a certain demon-slaying franchise and reinterpreted them through the lens of axe combat.
Of course, he had not simply copied it.
That would have been too simple.
Instead, he had rebuilt it from the ground up for Logan's body.
The sweeping circular cuts became axe arcs.
The footwork was adjusted for quadrupedal bursts of acceleration.
The breathing patterns were rewritten to sync with Logan's massive lungs and werewolf stamina cycles.
And the blade trajectories were reimagined as Blood Moon Magic outputs rather than pure sword technique.
The result was something that should not have existed in any sane combat system.
A hybrid axemanship style that generated spinning crescent slashes of crimson moonlight, each one following unpredictable, layered paths through the air.
And most importantly, Krampus had ensured that the entire system remained brutally efficient.
The crescents were not expensive spells.
They were simply the physical force of Logan's strikes, refined and shaped by Blood Moon Magic into visible trajectories.
Which meant the style did not meaningfully drain his MP.
It only amplified what he was already doing: hitting things extremely hard, extremely fast, and in increasingly complicated geometric patterns.
In short, Krampus had given Logan what looked like an overdesigned anime final boss technique…
Without ever fixing the one flaw that would have made it balanced.
On the battlefield, Erza sent every floating weapon forward.
Logan moved.
His left axe swept horizontally.
A crescent-shaped slash of red moonlight tore through the air.
It did not travel straight.
The crescent curved sharply upward, circled behind one sword, and struck another from the side.
Logan's second axe followed.
Three more crescents appeared.
Then six.
Then twelve.
They spun across the battlefield along eerie, intersecting trajectories. Some expanded. Others narrowed. Several curved around ruined pillars before returning from unexpected directions.
Erza's swords collided with them.
Steel shattered.
Enchantments burst apart.
The entire school of floating weapons was swallowed by a storm of blood-red moons.
Logan advanced through the storm.
His axes never stopped moving.
Every swing produced more crescents.
Wide ones.
Thin ones.
Crescents hidden inside larger crescents.
Some rotated like thrown blades.
Others changed direction in midair with no warning.
Erza blocked one with a greatsword.
A smaller crescent curved around the blade and cut her shoulder.
She ducked beneath another.
Three more descended from above.
Her armor rang beneath repeated impacts.
Uncle Logan had entered some kind of berserk mode.
That was the first explanation Erza's mind offered.
The second was immediately forced to reject it.
His aggression had increased.
His attacks had become fiercer.
His aura felt like a predator under a blood moon.
Yet his martial arts remained precise.
Every step was controlled.
Every rotation of his hips fed perfectly into the axes.
Every crescent occupied a deliberate path designed to restrict her movement and funnel her toward the next attack.
It was not mindless berserk fury.
It was grandmaster axemanship performed with berserker intensity.
That was much worse.
Erza parried another crescent.
The impact threw her sword from her hand.
She summoned a shield.
Two crescents struck it from opposite angles.
The shield split.
A third crescent cut across her armored skirt.
A fourth struck her side.
A fifth carved a line across her breastplate.
Erza staggered behind a broken wall.
What is wrong with these attacks?!
Normal flying slashes travelled in straight lines.
These did not.
They curved, split, circled, crossed, and returned like they were alive.
Dodging one only placed her in the path of another.
Blocking one allowed a smaller slash to hide in its wake.
Trying to parry them was like attempting to deflect an entire flock of steel birds during a hurricane.
I'm getting slashed into a sieve here!
Her armor had already begun to fail.
Several plates were cracked.
One shoulder guard hung from a broken strap.
Blood ran from shallow cuts along her arms and legs.
The safety magic would prevent fatal damage, but that did not mean the attacks stopped hurting.
Logan crashed through the wall.
Erza leapt away just before both axes tore through the stone.
She landed twenty metres back.
Her breathing had become ragged.
Her magic reserves were draining quickly.
If she continued fighting normally, Logan would grind her down exactly as Cana and Ultear predicted.
The blood cow assessment had been correct.
She hated that.
There was only one option left.
Her trump cards.
The fight had to end soon.
Whether she won or lost.
Erza opened ten portals.
Ten swords emerged.
Each was a real weapon from her Treasury.
Not disposable magical projections.
Real weapons.
Weapons she had purchased.
Maintained.
Sharpened.
Enchanted.
Organized.
And carefully recorded within the save-file structure of her spiritual equipment.
Her heart ached.
I'm sorry.
Logan charged toward her.
Erza fired all ten swords.
He raised his axes, preparing to parry them from the air.
Erza clenched her fist.
The enchantments inside the swords overloaded.
"Broken Phantasm!"
All ten weapons exploded.
The detonation swallowed Logan.
Fire and magical force expanded across the battlefield in a single violent sphere. The ground collapsed beneath him, ruined walls disintegrated, and a shockwave blasted dust against the surrounding barriers.
Krampus shot upright.
"Oh! She did it!"
Laxus stared at the smoke cloud.
"She blew up ten swords."
"She turned their entire magical histories into explosive force."
"So they're gone?"
Krampus nodded solemnly.
"Not merely broken. Broken Phantasm self-destructs the weapons' save files from the Treasury. They cannot be restored through the spiritual equipment."
Laxus winced.
"That's expensive."
"Extremely."
Inside the smoke, Erza felt ten connections disappear from her Treasury.
Not damaged.
Not inactive.
Gone.
Her money-saving village girl heart screamed.
Those swords had cost months of carefully managed mission rewards.
One had been purchased at a discount from a travelling merchant.
Two had been repaired by Adam after she found them in a damaged weapons stall.
Another had possessed an excellent balance and a comfortable grip.
All gone.
Deleted.
Erased from the save file.
This was not merely a powerful attack.
It was Krypton money-burning pay-to-win behaviour.
Erza wanted to cry.
However, the result was worth the price.
The smoke parted.
Logan had been blasted into a crater.
Large portions of his fur were burned. Blood covered his chest and arms. Several deep wounds crossed his torso, and one of his pauldrons had been torn away.
For the first time in the entire battle, Erza had dealt meaningful damage.
Her analysis supplied the next problem immediately.
His regeneration will repair that in approximately eight seconds.
Eight seconds.
That was enough.
Erza turned and ran.
Behind her, Logan's fingers dug into the stone.
He had not expected the swords to explode.
The little lass truly was willing to burn money to win.
He respected the commitment.
More importantly, he could feel the enormous concentration of magic gathering in the distance.
The explosion had not been Erza's finishing move.
It had been preparation.
Logan forced his regeneration to maximum output.
His MP bar dropped sharply.
Burned fur regrew.
Wounds sealed.
Broken tissue knitted together beneath crimson light.
Eight seconds became two.
Logan rose from the crater fully restored.
Erza had already created the distance she needed.
A golden greatsword emerged from her Treasury.
Unlike the other weapons, this one appeared slowly.
Reverently.
Its broad blade shone with dense magical inscriptions. Gold formed the central body while silver lines ran along its edges. Red jewels were embedded into the guard, each one containing another layered enchantment.
Erza wrapped both hands around the hilt.
She had saved for months to purchase the materials.
Rare magically conductive metal.
Monster cores.
Light-element crystals.
Reinforcement lacrima.
Mana-storage jewels.
After gathering everything, she had personally commissioned Boss Krampus to forge the weapon.
Then she had spent an entire month enchanting it to hell and back.
Every night after training, she had added another layer.
Light amplification.
Mana compression.
Structural reinforcement.
Heat resistance.
Recoil absorption.
Anti-regeneration.
Anti-monster.
Anti-werewolf.
Armour penetration.
And several additional enchantments that Ultear had warned might be excessive.
The weapon was named Excalibur.
Inside the announcer booth, Krampus pointed excitedly toward the screen.
"See! This proves I'm not playing favorites with Logan. I also made a bunch of weapons for little Erza."
Laxus glanced sideways at him.
"She paid you."
"At a heavily discounted guild rate."
"She bought all the materials."
"I supplied craftsmanship."
"She performed most of the enchantments herself."
"I provided emotional encouragement."
"You told her to add more lasers."
"And was I wrong?"
Erza raised Excalibur.
Every enchantment activated.
Golden light erupted from the blade and climbed into the sky.
Her remaining magic poured into the weapon.
The air trembled.
The ruined stones around her began to lift from the ground.
Logan narrowed his glowing red eyes.
That was the big one.
His axes slammed together.
The two weapons fused with a burst of crimson moonlight.
Handles extended.
Blades expanded.
Metal folded and reshaped until Logan held a gigantic double-edged greataxe nearly ten feet long from end to end.
The axe head alone was three feet long and three feet wide.
Each side curved outward into a massive crescent. If the outer tips of the two blades were connected, they would form a perfect circle—a red moon with two hollow sections cut through its centre.
Logan gripped the weapon with both hands.
His feet sank into the stone.
Blood Moon Magic flooded through the greataxe.
He combined the internal breathing method Krampus had taught him with the full rotation of his hips, spine, shoulders, and arms.
The weapon began glowing with ominous red moonlight.
Across the battlefield, Erza brought Excalibur down.
"EXCALIBUR TITANIA!"
The golden blade released everything.
A colossal cannon of golden light erupted from the slash.
It consumed the ground beneath it as it travelled, carving a burning trench through the ruined citadel. The beam expanded until it was wider than a house, its surface filled with layers of rotating magical symbols.
The audience screamed.
Logan swung the greataxe overhead.
His voice thundered across the battlefield.
"ÉIRÍ GHEALACH NA FOLA!"
The Rise of the Blood Moon.
The greataxe descended.
A gigantic crimson wheel tore through the air.
From a distance, it resembled a solid red moon.
Up close, it was composed of millions of wildly spinning crescent-shaped slashes layered together around a central rotation. Each crescent crossed another at a different angle, creating a weapon that functioned less like a single projectile and more like a divine circular chainsaw made from moonlight.
The blood moon struck the golden cannon.
The entire stadium shook.
For one suspended moment, neither attack moved.
Gold and crimson filled the screens.
Erza screamed as she forced more magic through Excalibur.
Logan roared and drove his greataxe deeper into the swing.
The blood moon began rotating faster.
Its millions of crescent blades tore into the light cannon.
The golden beam split.
Layer by layer, the crimson wheel chewed through it like a chainsaw cutting through a pillar of sunlight.
Erza's eyes widened.
The blood moon emerged from the other side.
It reached her.
The impact swallowed the little knight.
Her remaining armor shattered.
Excalibur flew from her hands.
The crimson wheel exploded into a revolving, ball-shaped storm filled with countless red crescent slashes.
Had the attack continued unchecked, it would have torn Erza to shreds and transformed the Fairy Games into footage that could never be legally broadcast before midnight.
Fortunately, Krampus's safety measures reacted the instant Erza lost consciousness.
Golden chains erupted around her.
A transparent sphere sealed her body.
The remaining crescent slashes struck the barrier and spiralled around it in a screaming red hurricane.
Inside, Erza remained unharmed.
Outside, the Ruined Citadel Battlefield was carved into thousands of intersecting trenches.
The storm gradually faded.
Silence fell over the stadium.
Logan stood at the centre of the destruction.
His red fur glowed beneath the fading Blood Moon markings. The gigantic greataxe rested against one shoulder while crimson steam rose from its blades.
Several metres away, Erza lay unconscious within the safety barrier.
Her silver armor was broken.
Her red dress was torn and covered in dust.
Her scarlet hair spread around her small body.
The floating screens froze on the image.
A gigantic red werewolf in barbarian armor stood triumphantly over a tattered-looking little girl.
Inside the announcer booth, Krampus stared at the display.
Laxus stared beside him.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Laxus finally leaned toward the communication lacrima.
"No mercy for lolis from Logan."
Krampus slowly nodded.
"Absolutely none."
The audience erupted.
A large portion of the men rose from their seats and cheered.
Several slammed their fists against their chests.
Others raised mugs and shouted Logan's name.
They understood.
Logan had seen Erza's determination.
He had acknowledged her preparations.
He had recognized her willingness to sacrifice valuable weapons and pour everything she had into a final attack.
Then he had answered with everything he possessed.
No condescension.
No dismissive restraint.
No insulting assumption that her age or gender made her unworthy of his strongest technique.
It was brutal.
It was excessive.
It was strangely honourable.
The male spectators understood Logan's actions in a way that only men watching two warriors settle matters through spectacular violence could fully understand.
A noticeable majority of the women saw something else.
They saw a huge beastman use an apocalyptic blood-moon attack on a little girl.
Booing spread through several sections.
"YOU COULD'VE HELD BACK!"
"SHE'S A CHILD!"
"MONSTER!"
"PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!"
Logan's ears slowly lowered.
He glanced toward the audience.
Then toward the unconscious Erza.
The crimson glow faded from his body.
His greataxe separated back into two axes before vanishing.
Logan approached Erza's barrier and crouched beside it.
"Lass?"
The barrier transported her away to the regeneration chamber before he could say anything else.
Logan remained crouched for a moment.
His tail rested against the broken ground.
From the Fairy Tail booth, Bernard stood and applauded.
Logan looked toward him.
Bernard smiled and gave him a slow, reassuring nod.
Logan's ears rose again.
Krampus cleared his throat inside the announcer booth.
"In Logan's defense, I have examined his intent through the safety system. He possessed no malice whatsoever."
The booing lessened slightly.
"He did not attack Erza because she was a little girl," Krampus continued. "He attacked her because she proved herself to be a warrior worthy of respect. Logan is demonstrating true advocacy for gender equality through martial virtue."
Laxus leaned back in his seat.
"You're laying it on thick."
"I'm saving his public image."
"You're saying he nearly turned her into diced meat because he respects women."
"When you phrase it like that, it loses some nuance."
Krampus gestured toward the frozen image on the screen.
"Look at that! He refused to demean her with condescending restraint. He treated her as an equal combatant and answered her strongest attack with his strongest attack. That is respect!"
Several men in the audience cheered even louder.
One woman threw a drink at the screen.
Krampus sank slightly in his chair.
"This is not working."
Laxus rested his chin on one fist.
"Just announce the winner."
Krampus sighed.
The results appeared across every floating screen.
WINNER: LOGAN MCGRATH
The men erupted again.
The women's boos returned with renewed strength.
Logan stood alone in the devastated battlefield, raising one uncertain hand toward the crowd.
That only made the image worse.
Krampus muted the broadcast lacrima.
He leaned toward Laxus.
"Should I release the full footage later?"
Laxus looked at the frozen image of the enormous red werewolf standing over Erza.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Do you want Logan to become the public enemy of every woman in Fiore?"
Krampus stared at the screen.
Logan's fierce expression had been captured at the worst possible moment. Blood Moon light still burned in his eyes. His axes were raised. Erza looked tiny beneath him.
It was magnificent tournament footage.
It was also a public-relations catastrophe.
Krampus covered his face with both hands.
"Why does producing entertainment require so many moral dilemmas?"
Laxus unmuted the communication lacrima.
"Get ready for the next match!"
The crowd roared once again.
Behind him, Krampus continued staring at Logan's frozen victory image.
He would need to make a decision before the tournament recordings went on sale.
Maybe a special commentary track could provide context.
Perhaps an interview with Erza after she recovered.
Maybe a heroic montage showing Logan's respect for strong female warriors.
Or perhaps he should quietly bury the footage and pretend the recording lacrima malfunctioned.
Krampus's halo spun anxiously.
Logan McGrath had advanced to the semifinals.
And by nightfall, he might also become women's public enemy number one.