The arena stood frozen in time. The shockwaves of Igor and Raizel's clash had yet to settle, the last echoes still bouncing off the walls. The ground was obliterated, entire chunks of the battlefield missing, reduced to dust beneath the raw force of their fists.
Dark sat still, his hands tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable. But in his mind, calculations were already running.
Dark: (thinking) This Raizel guy is actually strong. It's obvious—he's only holding back to see how much it takes to push Igor back.
His crimson eyes flicked toward Igor, who remained still, his massive longsword resting against his side.
Dark: (thinking) But Igor... he's only using the weakest points of his blade. If he used the real edges, even for a second, he'd cut through Raizel before he could blink.
His gaze drifted left—to Beatrix, sitting against the stone ruins, her body battered, her breaths uneven. She wasn't watching the fight with anger or frustration. No.
She was watching with haunted eyes.
Dark: (thinking) I don't know what she saw in that fight... but if Igor used it on me, I'd already be dead.
He shifted his attention to his right, to Aric, the announcer. The man stood at the edge of the podium, watching with sharp, professional eyes.
Dark: (thinking) Aric. I remember him from that tournament. Back when Sukojo took control and gained a new body... but does Aric not remember? Or is it because I'm in another world?
He exhaled slowly, his mind unraveling the chaos of the past.
Dark: (thinking) Two years. So much has happened in just two years. It's crazy when you really think about it.
The scene shifted.
Igor and Raizel.
Raizel let out a slow breath, lowering his stance, his aura pulsing like a living entity.
Raizel: Ready?
The frost on his arm thickened. The flames in his palm surged.
Raizel: Set...
Raizel: G—
Before the word could leave his lips—
CRACK.
A soundless impact. A movement too fast for the human mind to perceive.
One moment, Igor was standing in his place.
The next—his knee was already buried into Raizel's stomach.
The force alone sent shockwaves ripping through the battlefield, the air fracturing with violent distortions. Raizel's body folded, his eyes flashing with pain before—
BOOM.
Igor slammed him into the ground with brutal efficiency, a thunderous explosion splitting the battlefield apart. The earth beneath Raizel collapsed inward, forming a crater, his body halfway buried in the wreckage.
Before he could even register the pain, Igor's elbow was already descending.
A killing blow.
The entire arena shattered.
The surface was obliterated. Stone tiles, dust, and debris erupted into the sky like an explosion of destruction, the very foundations of the colosseum groaning under the sheer force.
A deep silence fell.
Igor straightened, his armor humming with residual energy. He turned his back, his greatsword still untouched, and began walking away.
It was over.
Or so he thought.
The camera shifted—
Raizel.
Standing.
Smoke curled from his shoulders. Blood dripped from his mouth. His ribs were shattered, his body barely holding itself together, but—he was standing.
Raizel: Never.
His breath was ragged.
Raizel: Ever.
His flames and frost surged, spiraling into a vortex of chaotic energy.
Raizel: TURN YOUR BACK TO ME, IGOR!
His shout shattered the silence, his aura expanding violently, the sheer force of it knocking loose debris into the air.
He lunged.
And Igor met him head-on.
Fists clashed—
A thousand punches in an instant.
Fire and ice collided with unrelenting force, each impact warping the air, bending reality itself. Igor met each strike with equal brutality, his own attacks launching with mechanical precision, every blow carrying the force to shatter mountains.
The arena quaked.
The sky split.
The seats of the audience began cracking.
Terrified voices rang out from the stands.
Spectator 1: SOMEBODY STOP THEM!
Spectator 2: THE ARENA CAN'T WITHSTAND THIS!
Spectator 3: THEY'RE GOING TO TEAR THIS PLACE APART!
Dark's gaze flicked toward them.
Slowly, he leaned forward.
Then—his voice reached the entire arena.
Dark: Igor.
His lips curled into a faint grin.
Dark: End him.
The camera zoomed fast—straight into Igor's visor.
A deep hum echoed.
His eyes turned red.
Everything—stopped.
A screen flickered into existence above Igor's head. A leveling system notification—just like the ones Dark had seen before.
MODE ACTIVATED: GOD KILLER.
Dark's eyes widened slightly.
Slow motion.
Igor reached for his longsword.
Raizel's body tensed—instinct warning him—
But it was already too late.
In less than a fraction of a second, Igor moved.
And in one second, Raizel had already died a trillion times.
Omnidirectional slashes.
From every direction.
From every possible angle.
The arena became a slaughterhouse.
Steel ripped through flesh, muscle, and bone.
Raizel's body wasn't cut—he was erased.
A trillion slices in a single second.
Blood exploded outward, spraying across the battlefield in an unrelenting storm of crimson.
The spectators miles away were drenched in the mist of what was once a warrior.
Then—time resumed.
Igor's visor dimmed. His blade hummed softly.
Raizel's body stood motionless.
Then—
Pieces.
His arms, his legs, his torso—fell apart.
Chunks of flesh, bone, and remnants of a man who once carried the title of Conqueror.
His blood pooled like rivers, flooding the battlefield.
Igor stood over him, silent, unmoving.
Then—he turned.
His crimson visor locked onto Dark.
Igor: Just as you requested, my Emperor.
Dark stared.
His fingers curled slightly in his pockets.
His breath—steady.
But his mind?
Dark: (thinking) What...?
Blood still poured across the arena floor, soaking into the shattered stone where Raizel once stood. The stench of scorched earth, burning flesh, and iron filled the air, mingling with the ghostly silence that followed Igor's omnidirectional execution.
The audience remained frozen, their expressions a mixture of awe, fear, and sheer disbelief. No cheers. No roars of triumph. Just stunned silence.
Beatrix, seated among the spectators, her own injuries momentarily forgotten, stared wide-eyed at the scene before her. She had faced Igor and survived, but now she questioned whether that had been a mercy or a calculated decision on Igor's part. The memory of the visions he had inflicted upon her resurfaced, sending a shiver down her spine.
Beatrix: (thinking) If he had used that against me... I wouldn't have just lost. I wouldn't have even known I had died.
Her fingers twitched, still feeling the phantom weight of her odachi in her grasp. She had trained her entire life, honed her body into a weapon, yet this—this was beyond anything she had ever encountered.
Igor remained unmoving. His greatsword, still wet with blood, reflected the flickering torchlight like a blade carved from the void itself. His visor glowed faintly, scanning the battlefield, ensuring no lingering threat remained.
Then, ever so slightly, he tilted his head toward Dark.
Igor: My Emperor.
His voice carried no emotion, no satisfaction, only absolute obedience.
Dark exhaled, barely blinking, his crimson gaze locked onto the battlefield. The title—"God Killer"—lingered in his mind, each syllable weighing heavier than the last.
Dark: (thinking) What the hell did I just witness?
He had known Igor was powerful. He had known Igor could erase anything that stood before him. But this wasn't just dominance. This wasn't just overwhelming power. This was absolute destruction.
And yet—Igor had done it so casually. Like it wasn't even a battle, but merely another command followed, another task completed.
The murmurs in the stands grew louder, whispers slithering through the crowd like a tide of uncertainty.
Merchant Lord: (whispering) He killed Raizel... just like that?
Arena Veteran: (clutching his chest) He didn't even need to fight. He just... ended it.
Young Fighter: (shaking) This isn't a tournament. This is a massacre.
Even Aric, the ever-composed announcer, struggled to find his words. His grip on his parchment tightened, sweat beading at his brow. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Aric: (thinking) I've hosted thousands of battles... and I've never seen one end like that.
Dark finally took a step forward, his boots crunching against the bloodstained stone. The sound alone was enough to make some of the audience members flinch, as if even his movement carried the same inevitability as Igor's blade.
Dark: Igor.
Igor turned fully, standing at attention.
Dark let his gaze sweep across the battlefield one last time before speaking, his voice carrying through the arena, unwavering.
Dark: You never disappoint.
Igor: It was as you commanded.
The simple response sent another shiver through the crowd. There was no pride in Igor's tone. No arrogance. No sense of satisfaction. Just compliance.
This wasn't a warrior celebrating his victory.
This was a blade being sheathed after it had fulfilled its purpose.
Dark: (thinking) And that's what scares them the most.
From the far end of the stands, a group of mercenaries huddled together, their voices hushed but urgent.
Mercenary 1: (whispering) Igor was a legend here for years, but now? He's not just a legend. He's something else.
Mercenary 2: (eyes darting toward Dark) No... he is something else.
The realization set in. It wasn't just Igor they feared. It was the man who commanded him.
The man who had tamed the God Killer.
Dark lifted his gaze toward the sky, exhaling slowly, letting the weight of everything settle in. The tournament was over. No one else would dare step onto the battlefield after this.
No one could.
Dark: (thinking) So this is the moment. The moment everything shifts.
Beatrix, still sitting, watched him closely. Her lips parted slightly, a breath of disbelief escaping.
Beatrix: (thinking) He controls Igor. Igor. That's not something a normal person can do. That's not even something the strongest warlords could do.
She clenched her fists, her thoughts spiraling.
Beatrix: (thinking) Then what the hell does that make Dark?
Before the silence could stretch further, Aric finally found his voice.
Aric: ...This concludes tonight's final match!
His tone was forced, but he did what he could to maintain the illusion of normalcy.
Aric: Igor is victorious once again!
There were no cheers. Only the distant echoes of the wind, carrying the weight of everything that had transpired.
Then—
A slow, deliberate clap.
One man.
One voice.
A lone figure near the highest part of the arena stands, rising to his feet.
Man: Well. That was something.
All eyes turned toward him.
He wore a deep, high-collared coat, the edges lined with faintly glowing runes. His dark, shoulder-length hair was slicked back, his golden-red eyes gleaming under the torchlight.
And on his lips—a smirk.
Dark narrowed his eyes slightly. He had sensed this man's presence from the moment he arrived, but now—he finally moved.
Beatrix: (whispering) ...Who is that?
Igor, still standing beside Dark, remained motionless, visor locked onto the man as if already assessing his next opponent.
Dark: (thinking) This guy. He's different.
The man descended the steps at a steady pace, his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets. There was no fear in his steps. No hesitation. Just certainty.
The moment he reached the edge of the battlefield, he exhaled, shaking his head slightly.
Man: Igor, Igor, Igor. You never change, do you?
Dark's expression remained unreadable.
Dark: You know him?
The man smirked.
Man: Know him? I studied him. I watched every battle, every kill, every single time he erased someone from existence like they were never even there.
The man then tilted his head, his gaze locking onto Dark with an unsettling sense of amusement.
Man: But you... I don't know you.
He took another step forward.
Man: And that? That makes things interesting.
Dark said nothing, simply watching him.
The man stopped just a few feet away, finally introducing himself.
Man: My name is Caelum Drakar.
The name sent a ripple of recognition through the crowd.
Beatrix's breath hitched.
Beatrix: (whispering) The Forgotten Conqueror...?
Caelum's smirk widened slightly at the sound of his title.
Caelum: You can call me whatever you like. But for now?
His golden-red eyes gleamed.
Caelum: Just think of me as the next problem you'll have to deal with.
The tension thickened.
Dark exhaled slowly, his crimson eyes glinting. His grin and smirk widening.
Dark: ...Finally.
To Be Continued...
End Of Arc 5 Chapter 8.