“Explosive action in the first round, folks!” the announcer’s voice boomed across the stadium. “Over in Arena One, Marcus Heiser has fallen! That leaves only Harold Strebern, crown still on his head, holding his own against Lucia and Seraphine!”

  The crowd was a sea of shifting attention, heads snapping between the three simultaneous battles. It was overwhelming—twelve fighters unleashing spells and skills all at once, a chaotic storm of movement that demanded focus from every spectator.

  “And in Arena Two—look at that! The monstrous skeletal rat has been launched straight off the stage!” the announcer continued. “Its bones are now embedded in the tournament walls! Elias and Rose’s combined assault has put their opponents on the ropes—this fight is looking heavily one-sided!”

  The massive screen hovering above the arena shifted, switching to the third battleground.

  “Meanwhile, in Arena Three, Lamine has just broken free from Hector’s binding spell! Now both teams are scrambling for the fallen crown at the center!”

  The crowd roared, each development announced igniting fresh waves of cheers and shouts. But while the common spectators reacted purely for the spectacle, the nobility among the stands had more than just entertainment at stake. Their attention was sharp, their gazes locked onto their own bloodline’s battles—not just for pride, but for the gold they had wagered.

  Lord Ferris and Lady Ferris sat rigidly, their eyes locked onto Arena Two, where their son Elias fought.

  “Your son’s victory seems inevitable,” Lord Harland mused, swirling a glass of fine wine between his fingers.

  “Indeed,” Lady Ferris replied smoothly. “It does seem that way.”

  “I’ll admit, I was wary at first,” Lord Ferris remarked, eyes narrowing. “That necromancer had me concerned—but it turns out she’s far too inexperienced for something like this. Her victory against that make-believe assassin? Pure fluke. Honestly, neither of them should have made it past the first round.”

  Lord Harland leaned back, fingers steepled over his lap. His gaze flickered toward the battlefield with a trace of amusement.

  “That Rose girl certainly has a temper,” he mused. “Half the match, she’s been yelling at Elias.”

  Lady Ferris exhaled disapprovingly, her sharp gaze flicking toward the young girl in question. “So unrefined. Elias won’t stoop to her level.”

  “Unrefined or not, she just turned the entire battle in their favor,” Lord Ferris noted, watching as Rose’s latest attack coated the battlefield in a thick cloud of spores. “A clever strategy—spreading those spores across the arena while Elias manipulated the airflow. Sleeping spores, perhaps?” He tapped his chin. “It must have been our son’s plan.”

  On stage, Enya’s brows furrowed as she forced herself upright, yellow eyes flickering. Her body screamed in protest, her limbs sluggish and unresponsive, but as long as she focused, she could still stand.

  Across from her, Elias formed another spell circuit. Rose stood beside him, her breathing uneven, shoulders rising and falling with exhaustion. She had stopped summoning plantlife.

  Enya narrowed her eyes as she analyzed the situation. That last attack must have completely drained Rose. The plant she summoned that unleashed the spores must have been a powerful spell with a high mana cost. That, and combined with all the roots conjured from around the arena must have caused her to hit her limit.

  That was until Rose’s hand darted behind her to her belt, and Enya’s eyes went wide.

  She pulled out a small vial of blue liquid, popped the cork, and downed it in a single gulp.

  Enya’s stomach dropped.

  You can use mana potions in the tournament?!

  Her fingers clenched into fists. That changed everything. If Rose could just replenish herself, it meant she could keep summoning. Worse—Elias wasn’t even slowing down, with or without mana potions. With absolute focus on, she could still sense more mana radiating from Elias, and from the spell circuit he was conjuring.

  How does he still have so much mana?!

  Enya shook her head. She didn’t have time to dwell on it. She shoved a hand into her pocket and pulled out a badge, turning to Pell.

  “Take this,” Enya said, tossing the badge over.

  Pell caught it, blinking down at the small emblem in his skeletal hand. He recognized it. It was the same badge they bought from the trinket seller; one with the capability of summoning a blinding light. His soul-flames flickered as he glanced back at her.

  “Why are you giving this to me?”

  Enya sucked in a breath, forcing herself to ignore how her legs shook beneath her.

  “I need you to run forward as far as you can and use it. Try not to blind Risha. In the confusion, I’ll summon Numbskull.”

  Pell’s posture shifted. He understood the plan. Create chaos. Distract them. Summon the big guy.

  His flames thinned, a sign of reluctant acknowledgment. With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on the badge.

  “Fine.” His tone was dry. “But I’m still not gonna hit a kid. This is all on you.” With that, Pell bolted forward, badge in hand.

  Elias then made his move.

  He swept a hand through the air, his spell circuit flashing in unison. A lined disturbance appeared in the air before him, before a massive wave of water exploded across the battlefield.

  It wasn’t an attack, but more of a flood. A cascading torrent splashed down and swept over the stage, soaking everything in its path. Water sank into the tiles’ cracks as it surged over them, drenching the remnants of burned plant-life and roots, while also pooling at the feet of Fred and Risha.

  The moment the icy shock of wetness hit her, Risha’s face twisted in annoyance. She flicked her soaked hair out of her face, glaring across the battlefield.

  “Way to ruin my clothes…” she muttered, shifting her claymore back into position.

  “Risha! Pell’s rushing them! Get ready to move and don’t look back!”

  Enya’s voice carried over the stage, sharp and urgent.

  Risha almost turned to respond—almost. But she caught herself, her instincts snapping into focus. Instead, she gritted her teeth, keeping her gaze locked on the enemy.

  “Alright!” she manage to shout. Her body was still sluggish, the lingering effects of the spores making every movement feel like she was dragging herself through a pit of tar. But she had energy left—and she wasn’t about to waste it.

  She forced herself forward, her claymore glinting under the sunlight and reflection from its now wet surface.

  A sudden rumble shook the arena.

  Rose slammed both hands onto the ground, her body lurching forward as she poured everything she had into her next spell. The tiles in front of her split apart, a deep tremor splitting the battlefield as two enormous roots erupted from the ground.

  But these weren’t like her previous summons.

  The vines twisted together, coiling and thickening, forming towering plant structures with jagged, spiral-shaped heads. Large, curling petals unfurled from their tops, revealing rows of jagged, thorn-like protrusions.

  The arena fell silent for a fraction of a second. Then—the plants twitched. A rapid series of cracks echoed through the air as massive, sharpened thorns launched from their open mouths. Each thorn was the size of a grown man’s arm, flying in a brutal arc.

  Fred and Risha saw the first volley strike the ground in front of them, breaking tiles and sending debris airborne. Following it, the next round adjusted, aiming directly for them.

  The thorns weren’t fast—but they didn’t need to be. Their sheer power was clear in the craters they left behind, each impact gouging deep holes into the arena.

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  One hit—and it was over.

  Fred lunged forward, his erratic movements in an attempt of drawing fire away from Risha. The massive plant turrets relentlessly launched their thorns, each one slamming into the arena floor with thunderous force.

  He dodged left. Then right. But he wasn’t fast enough.

  A thick, jagged thorn pierced through his left arm, cracking the bone with a sickening snap. The impact sent him staggering, but before he could recover—

  Another thorn struck.

  It tore through his ribs, splitting two apart, his skeletal frame shuddering as cracks spread like a web through his form.

  Fred barely had time to react. The relentless barrage continued, each impact breaking him apart bit by bit. But he was accomplishing his goal—attracting the focus of their attacks away from the stunned Risha.

  Pell sprinted forward, clutching the flashbadge in his bony grip. He ran as fast as his frame allowed, but distance was a problem. It was daylight—the badge’s range would be weaker under the harsh sun. He had to get closer to make a difference.

  Honestly, he found the entire situation to be dangerous and ridiculous. The fact sheer children were capable of such destruction and lethality was mind-boggling. Being only a merchant, he had never experienced such dangerous combat. Though, maybe the surrounding children were different—considering they were most likely training to become War Paragons since they were young.

  Risha struggled to sprint, her body still reeling from the lingering effects of Rose’s spores. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to focus. Her grip tightened around her claymore, its weight familiar, grounding her senses.

  “Come on,” she growled, forcing one foot forward, then another. The blade scraped against the ground as she staggered, but she kept moving. A few more steps. Then a half-measured sprint.

  Fred, still barely holding himself together, continued to run away, now missing several ribs and both arms.

  Beside Rose, Elias raised his hand, his fingers forming another double-layered spell circuit.

  The air shifted, thickening with tension. A sharp, crackling hum echoed through the battlefield as arcs of electricity snapped to life above him.

  The moment he began casting, the entire arena knew what was coming. Every fighter on stage, every noble in the stands, even the announcer paused, watching with bated breath.

  In the VIP section, Lord Harland’s eyes glinted with intrigue. “This will be interesting,” he mused, reclining in his seat. “If that girl can’t defend against this… it’s over.”

  The Ferrises said nothing, their gazes locked onto their son, watching with unwavering intensity.

  Risha’s breath hitched as a sharp chill ran down her spine. In that instant, her senses snapped back, overriding the sluggish haze of the spores. She saw what was happening in front of her. What spell Elias was about to use.

  Lightning. He was about to call down lightning.

  Her pulse pounded against her ears as her gaze flicked toward the water pooling across the battlefield. Pell and Enya were safe. But she and Fred? If that bolt hit, the electricity would rip through the flooded stage, surging through every surface it touched. There would be no escape, no second chances—only instant defeat. Her badge would shatter. Fred would be obliterated.

  There was no time to hesitate.

  Risha moved.

  She pushed forward with all her strength and grounded herself, her claymore swinging around her body in one fluid motion. Her grip tightened, both hands locking onto the hilt as she coiled her muscles, shifting her stance. The flat of her blade rested against her back, arms drawn to the upper left—a poised execution of raw force.

  She couldn’t keep up with launching any of her wave-slashes. Getting within striking distance of Rose or Elias was also impossible for her. Risha cursed inwardly for letting such a stupid attack by Rose completely incapacitate her—but there was still one thing she could do in this situation.

  “Valiant Riposte!”

  Brilliant white energy burst from her claymore, a radiant aura exploding outward. The light consumed her, its intensity so blinding that her actual form vanished beneath the glow, her armor and skin flickering like distant shadows within the brilliance.

  Elias’s spell circuit burst.

  A crackle of raw power tore through the sky. Energy coalesced, electricity writhing into form as the air itself seemed to tremble beneath the force of the incoming spell. The sky flashed white—then twin bolts of lightning screamed downward.

  Several dozens of meters away, Fred was still running, his skeletal form darting left and right, drawing the attention of the massive plant turrets. But the moment Risha became the focus of Elias’ spell, the turrets fired one last volley before adjusting their target.

  Two enormous thorns shot out at once.

  The first struck dead center, slamming through Fred’s sternum with devastating force. Cracks raced across his entire frame, the impact shattering his skeleton into pieces. Bone fragments scattered as his broken form collapsed to the ground. The second thorn didn’t even hit—instead, it pierced through the air, past his shattered form and lodging itself into the tiles behind.

  The turrets, however; didn’t stop firing.

  Now locked onto Risha, they fired another volley—two massive thorns, each the size of a spear, arcing straight for her.

  And between them? The lightning strike from Elias. It streaked right past the thorns, reaching her first.

  The attack ripped through the air, a blinding cascade of destruction, tearing toward Risha with the force of a finishing blow. Everything in its path would be annihilated, the sheer energy surging through every waterlogged inch of the battlefield.

  Yet Risha stood her ground.

  Unmoving. Blade poised. The glow of her Valiant Riposte skill burning her image into the monitors above.

  “Enya… it’s up to you,” Risha gritted out, muscles tensing as the incoming flash of light bore down on her. Her fingers clenched tighter around her claymore. She had only one shot. “I’ll at least take one down with me!” she shouted, right as the twin bolts of lightning struck.

  The air detonated.

  A blinding explosion of blue-white light erupted from Risha’s body, electricity crackling like a raging storm, tendrils of raw energy snapping across the battlefield.

  The moment the spell hit, Risha’s body reacted.

  She twisted, her claymore swinging in a wide arc as pure electricity surged through her. The energy, rather than destroying her outright, was absorbed into the blade, crackling violently along the steel. The raw power fueled her, amplifying her next attack.

  With a grunt, she released it.

  A single wave-slash, infused with blinding electricity, carved through the air—a reflection of Elias’ own attack, now redirected at full force.

  The instant the slash left her blade, Risha’s badge erupted.

  A deafening pop split the air as the fragile emblem shattered, signaling her elimination. Her body convulsed, the aftershock of the attack locking her muscles in place. She barely held herself up, sinking to one knee, her breath ragged.

  The electrified wave-slash surged forward, its edges snapping and crackling with energy. The two incoming thorn volleys—still mid-flight—disintegrated the moment they touched its path.

  But Risha barely noticed. Her entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out, her nerves overloaded, and her breath shallow.

  But she still managed a weak grin.

  Across the battlefield, Rose barely had time to react. The moment she saw the counterattack coming, she stumbled back, her body sluggish from mana depletion.

  Desperation flickered across her face. She threw up her arms—and the ground responded.

  A massive wall of thorned vines erupted in front of her, thick and gnarled, moisture still clinging to their surfaces. It was the last defense she could muster.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  The lightning-infused wave-slash struck.

  The entire plant-based barrier exploded.

  Electricity ripped through the vines, supercharging the moisture, sending shocks rippling through every fiber of the plant’s structure. The moment the energy detonated, a shockwave erupted outward, tearing through the battlefield.

  Rose was launched backward.

  She soared through the air, crashing straight into the tournament walls with a sickening crack. The stone behind her splintered from the sheer impact, sending debris cascading onto the stage.

  A second later, her badge shattered.

  The announcer’s voice exploded across the stadium.

  “A double knock-out on stage two! What a match, folks!”

  The crowd erupted, cheers and gasps blending into a chaotic roar.

  Smoke curled from the remnants of the battlefield, the acrid scent of scorched plant-life and burned ozone lingering in the air. The massive plant turrets, their caster eliminated, wilted instantly. Their roots crumbled, their towering frames collapsing into heaps of withered vines.

  Risha remained kneeling, her body trembling as faint arcs of electricity snapped across her tunic and skin. Her muscles refused to obey, locked in place by the lingering charge still pulsing through her.

  She didn’t care.

  Through the numbness, through the burning, she still grinned.

  “Got… er…” she managed, her voice ragged but triumphant.

  She was eliminated, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

  In a brutal, final trade, she had taken Rose down with her—using Elias’ own power against him.

  Now, only two remained.

  Elias and Enya.

  Elias' smirk was gone. His spell should have ended the match, yet here he stood, without a teammate. Still, it wasn’t a complete loss. Risha was out, and so was his annoying teammate. That meant no more counters, no more interruptions. Rose had proved her worth, and now, it was just him versus one weakened opponent.

  No distractions. No liabilities.

  Before his spell was cast, he had clearly seen it—how the necromancer wavered. The spores were still affecting her, her stance sluggish, her focus strained. His remaining opponent was on her last legs, while he still had mana to spare. The advantage was still his.

  Then something unexpected happened.

  Through the dissipating haze, as the smoke curled away from the battlefield, a small, brown object came spinning through the air—flipping end over end, aimed straight at him. A faint light flickered from its center, pulsing brighter by the second.

  From somewhere down the stage, a gruff, hollowed voice rang out. It didn’t belong to any of the girls. It wasn’t Risha. It wasn’t Enya. Nor was it his teammate who was now lodged into a wall.

  It was a man’s voice—no, a decrepit, middle-aged man’s voice.

  “Surprise!” Pell’s tone was mockingly cheerful.

  Elias' head snapped toward the sound.

  Pell was too slow to get close enough for the badge to work effectively—but he didn’t need to.

  He had thrown it.

  “Wha—” Elias barely managed to utter before his eyes flicked back to the spinning object.

  The glow intensified. Then, in an instant, the badge erupted—a blinding, all-consuming burst of light, akin to staring directly into the sun.

  Across the stage, Enya’s eyes remained shut, her spell circuit primed and ready.

  She wasn’t just going to summon Numbskull.

  She could feel the overwhelming flood of mana still pouring from Elias, an endless reservoir of power. In her weakened state, she knew one thing for certain—she couldn’t defend herself or put up much of a fight, even with Pell assisting her.

  One extra minion wouldn’t be enough.

  She needed two.

  Faint yellow streaks flickered from beneath her closed eyelids, the glow of her absolute focus state still active. But this time, her senses weren’t on the battlefield. Instead, she sent her will outward—beyond the arena, beyond the tournament grounds.

  She reached back to the inn.

  Back to the dungeon core.