Because the tournament was not open to the public world of the Paragons, the location of the Paragon Battle Royal was never announced early. Most of the time, it was revealed just a day—or sometimes only hours—before the event began.
Even then, the location was only disclosed to high-ranking figures in the Paragon world first. After that, the information trickled down to the clans that had earned the right to participate.
Lucius had only received the update earlier that same day. That alone explained why they were using their current means of transportation. It was quiet. Modest. Nothing that would draw unnecessary eyes or suspicion their way.
So far, the trip had been smooth.
Everyone looked calm on the surface. No shouting. No pacing. No obvious tension. But beneath that calm, the truth was clear. More than half of the people on board were nervous, even if none of them wanted to admit it out loud.
Alex was no exception.
He sat quietly, his body relaxed but his mind restless. He replayed his training over and over, breaking it down piece by piece, trying to settle his breathing and steady his thoughts.
'I never really managed to Reflect Gwen's qi attacks cleanly,' Alex thought as he stared out through the plane's small window.
The clouds drifted past slowly, almost mocking how fast his heart was beating.
'They're too strong for me,' he admitted to himself. 'Way too strong.'
He clenched his fingers once, then let them relax.
'There aren't many people like them in this world,' he continued inwardly. 'At least… I hope there aren't.'
Over time, Alex had improved. That much was undeniable. His ability to Reflect energy had grown sharper, faster, more instinctive. Against most fighters, he could already feel the flow and respond before thinking.
But when it came to the trio—Tamsin, Gwen, and Merrick—it was different.
Every attempt failed.
Every Reflection collapsed under sheer pressure.
Compared to them, Alex knew the truth. In pure performance, in raw handling of force, he still came up short. And that gap lingered in his mind as the plane carried them closer to the battlefield waiting ahead.
He was confident he could Reflect anything below their level of power. Anything manageable. Anything reasonable. And he hoped—quietly, almost foolishly—that he wouldn't meet someone as strong as the trio in this tournament.
'Heck, what am I even saying?' Alex snapped inwardly.
The thought annoyed him.
'This is a major tournament,' he continued, bitterness creeping in. 'They warned me clearly about the danger. That alone means I will meet people as strong as them… maybe even stronger.'
There was no escaping that truth.
Alex exhaled slowly and turned his gaze toward the plane window, searching for anything—anything at all—to distract his mind for a moment.
It should have been impossible. They were high in the sky, surrounded by thick clouds that blurred everything into white and gray. No landmarks. No movement worth watching.
Yet his eyes caught something.
The engines.
They didn't look like normal plane engines. They were old, yes. Worn metal. Patched parts. But there was something off about them. Something that didn't sit right once you really looked.
Alex narrowed his eyes and activated his spiritual sight.
Instantly, the truth revealed itself.
Mana flowed around the engines in steady, controlled currents. Wind energy gathered, compressed, and released in cycles far too precise to be natural. The air itself bent and moved as if guided by invisible hands.
'I knew he wasn't normal,' Alex thought. 'That pilot… he's probably a mage. Wind-type.'
The mana wrapped around the engines, pulling in more air, pushing it back with controlled force, propelling the plane forward faster than any ordinary machine should manage.
'Or maybe…' Alex paused, another idea forming. 'This could be like those modified tech systems the Dragon Roar Clan uses.'
The thought made sense.
'At this speed,' he calculated, watching the flow closely, 'we're probably already breaking past normal limits. We'll reach the destination sooner than expected.'
Almost right on cue—
BOOM.
A sudden violent jolt slammed through the plane.
The entire craft shook hard. Seats rattled. Bodies lurched forward. A few people were nearly thrown out of their seats as the plane dipped and roared through turbulence.
Alex's grip tightened instinctively.
"What the heck was that?" Jim snapped, annoyed as he pushed himself off the floor.
He wasn't the only one down.
Several others had fallen hard, seats shifted, bags scattered. Groans filled the cabin for a second or two. The sudden stop had caught almost everyone off guard.
Almost.
Lucius was still seated, calm and unmoved. John stood beside him, steady. And Alex—out of everyone—was still on his feet.
'That was a strong hit…' Alex thought. 'Luckily, I managed to Reflect most of it away from me.'
Even so, his heart was still pounding.
That push wasn't normal. Not even close.
Alex frowned and turned toward the window, eyes locking onto the engines again.
The change was obvious.
The thick wind currents he had seen earlier were gone. No swirling mana. No forced airflow. Just dull metal and faint heat. The plane's speed had dropped sharply, like it had slammed into an invisible wall and survived by sheer luck.
Something had forced it to stop.
Before anyone could ask out loud, the cockpit door slid open.
The old, frail-looking pilot stepped into the cabin. His back was slightly bent, his skin wrinkled, yet his eyes were sharp. Too sharp for a normal man.
"Sorry for the push," he said.
His voice was steady. Flat. Not apologetic in the slightest.
"That's what happens when the plane is forced to stop all at once," he continued, glancing around the cabin. His gaze lingered, as if daring someone to complain.
Jim opened his mouth.
Jake followed suit.
John shook his head once.
Both of them stopped.
The old man noticed and smiled faintly.
"Good," he said.
"We've arrived at Rome. The plane will land at my dock. From there, you'll continue your journey by boat. Everything is already arranged."
With that, he turned around, walked back into the cockpit, and shut the door behind him.
The cabin went quiet.
Nothing else was said as the plane flew a short distance farther, cutting through the clouds before descending toward a massive cruise ship below.
The ship had no runway.
It didn't need one.
The moment the plane's wheels touched the deck, it stopped—clean and sudden, like it had hit an invisible lock. No screech. No slide. Just a firm halt.
A few men stepped out to meet them.
They were dressed in tattered clothes, rough and worn, like people who lived on the edges of society. Their builds were solid. Their stares sharp. For a second, it looked like they might attack the Wyndhams right there on the deck.
They didn't.
Without a word, the men gestured and led them forward.
The arranged boat was already waiting.
Everything moved fast after that. Quiet. Efficient. No wasted steps. The Wyndhams boarded, and the boat pulled away almost immediately.
Their destination was close.
They would arrive in no time.
---
Meanwhile.
On the other side of the world.
Four teenagers stood together inside a wide hall. Every wall, every surface, glowed with layered LED panels. Images shifted constantly—Rome's colosseum, past battles, collapsed arenas, blood-soaked grounds, roaring crowds.
History, playing on repeat.
A heavily built man stood before them. He wore a black hat pulled low over his head. His arms were crossed. His presence alone filled the room.
"These are recordings from previous tournaments," he said, his voice deep and steady.
The images changed again.
Fighters clashing. Systems flashing. Bodies falling.
"In all these years, the Synapse Circle has never taken part," he continued.
The hall stayed silent.
"But today, that changes."
He took a step forward.
"We've shown the world our minds—building cars, advanced electronics, medical breakthroughs. They think that's all we are."
A pause.
"They're wrong."
The screens flared brighter.
"With the information gathered from past tournaments, the system has confirmed something important," he said. "A one hundred percent chance of victory."
His gaze hardened as he looked at the four teenagers.
"And that's exactly what I expect from you."
He straightened.
"Go out there."
"Show them the power of the Valdeiro."