The grand hall shimmered with golden light. A long marble table stretched beneath crystal chandeliers, where the six victors now sat among the most powerful — the King, the Queen, and their royal children.
Silver platters lined the table, each bearing roasted meats, gleaming fruits, and wine that caught the light like molten ruby. The tension of battle had faded, replaced by laughter, chatter, and the clinking of goblets.
Across the table, the King raised his goblet.
"You've all earned your place here," he declared. "The first round was but a glimpse of what lies ahead. May strength and honor guide you."
The Queen smiled gently, her gaze soft but sharp as she studied each of them — as though weighing not just their power, but their hearts.
Selaira walked through the quiet corridors of the castle, her steps soft against the stone floor. The echoes faded as she reached the highest terrace — where the horizon bled gold and crimson.
She knelt into a lotus position, the evening wind brushing against her silver hair. The sun dipped lower, its light dimming… until its warmth began to twist — slowly darkening into black, as though her very presence drew the light away.
A faint clink came from the sword strapped to her back. Without turning, she spoke softly — her voice calm, yet cutting through the silence. "So… tell me. Who sent you?"
Trickster asked again, but Selaira stayed silent.
In the next instant, she twisted beneath him, her movement so swift it caught him off guard. His balance broke — and before he could recover, she was already on her feet.
In one fluid motion, she struck forward, her hand shooting out to grip his neck tightly.
"You fool, you think you can take me down?" she hissed.
Her nails began to lengthen into sharp, glimmering claws, their tips glowing faintly crimson. As they pressed closer, Trickster's armor started to distort and soften, the metal rippling as if melting under invisible pressure.
A flicker of concern crossed his eyes — this was no ordinary magic.
Eleza landed beside them with a rush of wind, her air-forged blade cutting through the tension. With a swift swing, she forced Selaira to release Trickster and leap back.
"You should've told me someone was acting suspicious, Trickster," she said sharply, her eyes locked on Selaira. "Good thing I followed you… silently."
The air around Eleza shimmered faintly — her sword humming with compressed wind, ready to strike again. Selaira only smirked.
Selaira smirked faintly, her form beginning to blur. "Goodbye."
Before Eleza or Trickster could move, her body dissolved into the air itself, scattering like mist in the wind — gone without a trace, leaving only a faint whisper echoing through the dusk.
The next morning, the arena filled again with loud cheers. Everyone gathered to watch the second round begin.
Rex and Ema stepped into the arena. Rex rolled his shoulders, small flames flickering around him, while Ema tightened her grip on her massive sword.
The announcer raised his voice, "First match, Rex versus Ema!"
Rex smirked, "Ready for round two?"
Ema calmly replied, "Always."
The horn blew — the fight began.
Rex dashed forward the moment the horn blew, thrusting his spear straight at Ema's chest. She shifted her stance and easily parried it, sparks flying. Without missing a beat, she swung her heavy sword downward with full force.
The clash echoed through the arena—crack!—Rex's spear split in two.
"Damn… not again, my spear," he muttered, jumping back with a frustrated grin.
Flames burst across Rex's arms as he powered up, but before he could even move, Ema drove her sword into the ground and launched forward with blinding speed.
In an instant, she grabbed his collar and slammed her fist straight into his chest — BOOM! — sending Rex flying clear across the arena, crashing hard into the far wall.
She didn't give him a chance to recover. In a blink, Ema closed the distance. "I can't mistake—you're not the type to go down that easily," she said coldly.
Then came the barrage — one punch after another, each landing with a sharp crack, echoing through the arena as dust and flames burst around them.
He caught both her wrists, his neck starting to glow like molten lava. In the next instant, he tried to unleash it upward—but Ema slammed her hand over his mouth.
BOOM!
The blast exploded in his own face, smoke bursting out around them. Rex staggered back, coughing through the heat—barely hurt, but definitely rattled.
Ema grabbed him by the ankles, spun him around with sheer brute force, and wham! slammed him into the ground. Without stopping, she twisted again—
CRASH! His head smashed into the arena wall, leaving a deep crack and debris flying.
Rex lay there, the wall behind him half destroyed.
She yanked him up again with one arm and hurled him back toward the center of the arena. His body bounced across the ground with five heavy thuds—each one shaking the floor—before finally sliding to a stop in the fighting zone.
He stood up slowly, dust falling from his body. Ema noticed his ribs were clearly broken, his breathing heavy — but what caught her off guard was his expression. That usual cocky smirk was gone. His face was cold, calm, and silent — like someone who had decided to stop holding back.
His arms erupted in blazing fire, the ground beneath him cracking from the heat. In a blink, he closed the distance — Ema barely had time to react before his molten punch landed square on her chest. Her heavy armor shattered instantly, pieces flying across the arena, leaving her standing in her black combat underlayer, breath sharp and eyes wide.
She raised her hands slowly. "I give up," she said, a faint smile curling on her lips. As Rex stepped closer, she leaned in, whispering softly near his ear, "I know now what kind of man you are… still holding back, aren't you? The kind who can't go all out against his favorite woman."
Rex's face flushed bright red. "W–Who said that?" he stammered, looking away.
Ema laughed softly, brushing dust off her armorless shoulder. "Ha ha, okay, okay… relax, flame boy."
The old man stretched his shoulders. "Yare yare… been a while since I warmed up."
The fight began.
Kyron dashed forward with lightning speed, his strikes sharp and precise — but the old man deflected every single one with calm ease.
Kyron stepped back, created his clones, and launched a flurry of attacks, hiding his true body among them. The old man smirked, "Cheap tricks." With quick chops, he took down every clone, his movements so clean it looked like he was brushing away flies.
He appeared behind Kyron.
"Tsk, old man, you think you're fast?" Kyron growled, trying to get away, but the old man was already behind him again.
Frustrated, Kyron lashed out wildly — a mistake. "You shouldn't lose your temper," the old man said, sliding past his attack and leaping up. He aimed a snap at Kyron's forehead — but Kyron moved faster, and the snap landed on his arms instead.
A sharp crack echoed. Kyron screamed as both arms twisted unnaturally.
The old man landed softly. "Damn, that's what I warned you about. If I'd hit your head, the shock would've gone through your body and into the ground. But since you blocked it… well, that's why your arms are done."
He sighed, then tapped pressure points across Kyron's body, healing the fractures. "You'll live… but you can't move for now."
The announcer raised his hand. "Winner — Ryo!"