The tension rose, heavy as if the air itself were crushed by divine power.
Gravity grew unbearable. Even the mightiest warriors trembled—paralyzed, unable to move.
"To all contestants from Celestia and the surrounding cities of Zenric," a thunderous voice echoed from above. "I offer you a welcome of honour. You have shown courage... the will to prove yourselves."
Kamui emerged onto the mezzanine, his presence overwhelming.
"Is that… the Presence of God?" one warrior whispered, beads of sweat trailing down his face.
"If this pressure keeps up, my eardrums are going to burst!" a girl cried out, trying to block her ears—yet the vibrations pierced through the very air around her.
With a slow, deliberate blink, Kamui softened his aura. The crushing force faded like a passing storm.
"Forgive my... intimidating entrance," he said, clearing his throat. "Shall I repeat the announcement once more?"
The warriors below quickly nodded in unison.
In a quieter corner, one commander leaned toward another. "What's up with Captain Kamui lately?"
"Haven't you heard?" the other murmured. "Sir Shimon said Kamui once sensed an unworthy presence that went unchecked. It infuriated him."
"What kind of unworthy presence?"
"A sense of malice. You know how sensitive Sir Kamui is to disturbances like that."
The warriors' gazes turned toward Kamui, subdued and reverent. Even those stationed in the adjoining towers—where the other generals addressed their own divisions—seemed to share the same eerie stillness.
Sazoru, Illya, Kamui, and Madame Yuoli stood on separate balconies, each bearing the same alertness in their eyes. Akira noticed it—the subtle tension in their posture. Something had shifted. He suspected an intruder had breached the gates.
Kamui raised his voice once more, crisp and unyielding.
"When the tournament begins, there will be no excessive violence between either side—enemy or ally. If a death occurs…" His words cut through the silence. "...you will face five years of confinement. Your warrior licenses will be revoked. Your rights to request commissions—stripped away."
His gaze swept over the assembly like a blade. Cold. Judging. Absolute.
It was as if he peered into the soul of every warrior, hunting for even the faintest flicker of evil. And should he find it—he would not hesitate to extinguish it.
"That is all for now."
In the blink of an eye, Kamui vanished—his movement so subtle, it was as if he dissolved into thin air.
A sudden chill swept past Akira. He turned. From the shadows, Kamui emerged once more, his white cloak flowing like mist around him.
"I assume you sensed them too?" Kamui whispered, his voice low and steady. "Keen Instincts are meant to detect hostility. Even the faintest flicker of malice or deceit—it doesn't escape them."
"I did," Akira replied, eyes narrowing. "But the presence is getting transparent. You must've spooked 'em."
Kamui gave a slight nod. "They're aware. You are their target."
His tone dropped, heavy with meaning. "Your immortality… It's not something that can be easily ignored. Though you mask it with your blood magic, suspicions around you are mounting. And you possess skills that defy what should be possible."
Akira's gaze darkened. Kamui's senses were sharper—far sharper—and his insights always struck too close to the truth.
"Be vigilant," Kamui continued. "The tournament cannot be interfered with. Once it begins, you will be transported into another dimension."
Akira stiffened. "Another dimension?"
"The same system used during your warrior's trial," Kamui said. "But this time... death cannot be undone. No magic—no spell—can overwrite what happens there."
"You're the last person I should have concerns about when it comes to death," Kamui said, his voice softening. Trust echoed in every word. "But for the others... if anything happens, I ask you to protect them in my stead."
A pause.
"No matter what happens, if trouble finds you—I will always be by your side."
Akira let out a light, sheepish laugh, gratitude flickering behind his eyes. "You don't need to save me," he said, though his heart warmed at the sentiment.
"Saving you isn't what concerns me," Kamui replied, his gaze sharpening. "It's the truth about the Morians... the ones discussed in my meetings with the other generals. If something were to happen to you—if your immortality were ever exposed—it could shift the balance of the world itself. And not even I would be able to stop it."
The air grew still, heavy with unspoken consequences.
"Wait," Akira asked, tension edging his voice. "Do the generals know?"
Kamui shook his head slightly. "Fortunately, no. Your secrets are safe with me."
"I suggest we halt this furtive whispers, may luck be by your side." Kamui, again, disappeared into thin air.
The weight on Akira's shoulders grew heavier—just slightly—but it was enough to remind him of the responsibilities he carried.
Even so, burdened though he was, Akira's focus remained sharp. His goal was clear: to win, and to be number one.
As he left the rendezvous point, he crossed paths with an unexpected group.
A white-haired young man stood in his way, dressed in flowing green silk garments that clearly marked him as foreign. He wore them with effortless grace, the fabric catching the light like woven mist.
"There you are," the young man said with a grin. "We've been looking all over for you, partner."
"Partner?" Akira raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Look at the board."
He pointed to a holographic display nearby. Names hovered in glowing script above a diagram of teams. Sure enough, Akira's name was paired with two others: Faeilzori Ekyazel and Anna Cryostasia.
"Pleasure to meet you, friend." Faeil extended a hand.
Akira clasped it, his instincts stirring. The scent Faeil carried on him—cool wind, damp leaves, and wild earth—was familiar. It reminded him of E'syar: a land cradled in nature's embrace. The young man's golden eyes, pointed ears, and ethereal beauty confirmed it.
Elven blood.
"You're from a foreign land," Akira noted.
Faeil chuckled softly. "You caught that just by scent? Not bad. There aren't many elves in this region. Most of us… well, we're escapees."
"..." The word "escapees" dragged Akira's attention to the horrifying truth he remembered when he faced E'syar.
His voice dipped lower, his expression softening. "My homeland, Elysia, isn't exactly liveable now for our kind. That's why we came here."
"I've heard things. Sorry for what you've been through."
Faeil shrugged. "It's alright. Humans here aren't half as bad. But the ones back in Elysia?" He scoffed bitterly. "Greedy devils. Honestly, even real devils have more honor than they do."
Akira followed Faeil through the winding halls of the arena, toward the gathering point for their team.
"And what about Anna Cryostasia?" Akira asked as they walked.
"Oh, she's not elven," Faeil replied, glancing back. "I've heard she's an exiled princess from a kingdom of snow. Cold as the land she came from—like ice. That's why she didn't come help me look for you."
Akira tilted his head. "But she has snowy hair like you… (Come to think of it, Sora has it too.)"
Faeil let out a light laugh. "Yeah, well—based on old records, Elysia once experienced a birthrate surge. Seven hundred percent. At one point, our population nearly blanketed the world."
He gave a dramatic shrug. "So, that might explain why you see so many with white hair. It's often a trait linked to mana affinity and… overwhelming power. Not to mention, it adds a certain charm, don't you think?"
Akira raised an eyebrow. "But most of them don't have pointed ears."
Faeil's grin faltered.
"Well… that part of the story is a bit... twisted."
His voice dropped, and a shadow flickered in his eyes. He bit his lip, looking away, as if pulling back a truth too dark to share.
Akira sensed it instinctively—whatever the reason behind Elysia's explosive birthrate, it wasn't something Faeil was ready to speak of. Not yet.
"Never mind I asked," Akira muttered, letting the matter drop—for now.
"You two finally arrived," a sharp voice cut in.
They turned. Standing with arms crossed and a gaze colder than steel, Anna Cryostasia met them with her piercing ice-blue eyes. Her presence alone seemed to chill the air.
She cladded a white atire, unfettered by warrior uniform standards—elegant, regal, and unmistakably foreign. Her appearance mostly described of white snow: pale hair, porcelain skin, and a chill that clung to the air around her. There was no softness in her beauty—only the cold precision of a blade hidden in winter's grace. Even without words, her commanding aura stretched for miles, quiet and merciless, like a storm sealed beneath ice.
"What took you so long?"
"W-Well," Faeil stammered, "it's not exactly easy finding someone in that kind of crowd."
He quickly turned to Akira, deflecting. "Anyway! Akira, why don't you introduce yourself? One of your fortes, perhaps?"
"I'm versatile," Akira replied calmly. "I can adapt to most combat roles—except tank and mage."
"Excellent," Faeil said with a confident grin. "I'm primarily an archer—not built for close quarters. But my marksmanship?" He gave a proud nod. "Top tier."
"What about you, princess—"
An icicle erupted from the ground, stopping just inches from Faeil's throat.
"Address me that once more," Anna said coolly, her eyes narrowing, "and I care not of the consequences may bear."
Faeil gulped. "Alright, alright… sheesh…"
He cleared his throat, now considerably more cautious. "Uh, Anna. Anything you'd like to share? You know, so we can start building some chemistry here?"
"I'm an ice mage with excellent swordsmanship," Anna said coolly. "That's all you'll be getting from me."
Faeil's eye twitched. "Drop the noble pride, would you? We're on the same team. Coordination wins battles—not cold shoulders."
"Jest you not—she's always this antisocial," he added with an exaggerated sigh, then shot Akira an apologetic glance.
Akira shrugged. "Not my first time dealing with someone like her." Akira regained a flashback when he was with Volts.
"Oh really?" Faeil perked up. "Then I might just have to learn from you, team veteran." He laughed, the sound light and cheeky.
Then, with a spark of curiosity, Akira asked, "So—what's your main ability?"
"Wind magic," Faeil replied proudly, thumbing his chest. "No system—pure lineage."
"And you?" he asked in return.
"Blood magic." Akira said, his voice low and steady.
Faeil whistled. "Sounds eerie. Remind me never to spar with you."
As the arena filled with the roar of anticipation, teams of three assembled one by one. From across the four great buildings, only fifty-five teams would enter—and only one would emerge victorious.