The arena attendants were still cleaning scorch marks from my fight with Ava when the next match was announced. I settled back into my seat in the participants' viewing area, eyes locked on the battlefield below.
Alex Karots versus Raven Zeus.
Protagonist versus anti-villainess. Destined Hero versus the Principal's daughter. This was one of those matchups that would define the power hierarchy for the entire first year, and I wasn't about to miss a single second.
Alex emerged first—blue hair catching the light just right, those distinctive bluish-white eyes scanning the arena with surprising calm for someone about to face an absolute monster. He looked exactly like what he was: a protagonist. Clean-cut features, determined expression, that indefinable quality that made people instinctively root for him.
I hated it on principle.
Raven appeared from the opposite entrance, and the crowd's energy immediately shifted to something electric. She moved with casual confidence that bordered on arrogance, the kind that came from never truly doubting your own victory. Her grayish-white hair fell loose around her shoulders today, and those golden eyes held this expression of mild boredom, like she was a predator facing prey that might—might—provide a moment's entertainment if she was lucky.
Everything about her screamed superiority. The way she walked, the slight tilt of her head, even her breathing seemed calculated to project absolute dominance over everyone watching.
"You may begin when ready," the referee announced, stepping back behind the protective barriers with obvious relief.
Alex drew his sword—clean motion, economical, suggesting years of formal training drilled into muscle memory. The blade sang as it left its sheath, already beginning to glow with channeled mana that pulsed with holy undertones.
Raven didn't draw her weapon yet. She just stood there, one hand resting casually on her sword's hilt, looking almost disappointed already. "Whenever you're ready, Alex."
The dismissiveness in her tone would've shattered most fighters' composure completely. Alex, to his credit, merely smiled—that bright protagonist smile that promised he'd never give up regardless of the odds.
Then he attacked.
His opening strike was textbook perfect—a diagonal slash augmented with water magic that would overwhelm most defenses through sheer volume and pressure. Water and blade became one seamless entity, the technique creating a pressurized edge that could slice through reinforced steel like butter.
Raven's blade flickered.
That was it—just a flicker of movement almost too fast for normal eyes to track properly. Alex's entire attack was redirected downward, his stance completely broken, and suddenly Raven's sword was pressing gently against his throat with surgical precision.
She pulled back immediately, returning to her ready position like nothing remarkable had happened. "Again."
Alex's shocked expression lasted maybe half a second before transforming into renewed determination. Of course, I thought with amusement. Protagonists don't learn caution from near-death experiences—they get excited by them.
He attacked again, this time with significantly more complexity and aggression. His sword wove intricate patterns through the air, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next, creating a continuous offensive that left no obvious openings to exploit. The technique was genuinely impressive—clearly something he'd drilled for thousands of hours until it became instinct.
Raven blocked every single strike with minimal movement, her blade shifting only as much as absolutely necessary to redirect each attack. She wasn't even attempting counter-attacks, just casually demonstrating the fundamental gap between their skill levels like a teacher correcting a student.
Alex's frustration was starting to show, his attacks becoming faster and more desperate as he tried to find any weakness in her defense.
Then he committed.
Holy light erupted along Alex's blade as he deployed one of his signature techniques. The attack came from three angles simultaneously—clever use of light refraction to create illusory strikes alongside the real one. Smart tactical thinking, the kind that would've overwhelmed most opponents.
Raven's response was almost lazy in its efficiency.
Her stance shifted, weight lowering into a more grounded position, and her blade became a barrier that didn't just block impacts—it absorbed them completely. Each of Alex's strikes hit that defense and simply stopped, all momentum nullified instantly like they'd hit an immovable wall. The rebound force sent him stumbling backward, his grip on his sword wavering dangerously.
My eyes narrowed with genuine interest. Demonic Sword Formation Art. One of her father's signature techniques, and she's already mastered it to this degree at her age.
The art had seven formations, each representing a completely different combat philosophy and tactical approach. I'd read about it in the novel's descriptions, but actually seeing it executed in real-time was something else entirely. The way she transitioned between defensive postures, how the technique seemed to predict incoming attacks before they fully formed...
I need to learn that eventually, I decided, filing the thought away for later. That would complement my spear work perfectly if I can figure out the principles.
Alex refused to give up, because of course he didn't—protagonists were constitutionally incapable of knowing when to quit. His attacks continued relentlessly, each one showing slight variations as he desperately probed for any weakness in her seemingly perfect defense.
The crowd was absolutely eating it up—the underdog protagonist battling valiantly against overwhelming odds. They wanted desperately to see him succeed, to witness the miracle comeback that would justify their faith in destiny's chosen one.
They were going to be severely disappointed.
Raven's bored expression finally shifted. Not to interest exactly, but to the clear decision that playtime was officially over and she had better things to do.
Her blade cut through the air with devastating force, and reality itself seemed to protest the movement, dark energy trailing in the weapon's wake like a comet's tail made of condensed violence and killing intent.
Alex's eyes widened in genuine fear. He threw absolutely everything into defense, holy magic erupting around him in a protective barrier that shone like a miniature sun, brilliant white light that made people shield their eyes.
The barrier shattered on impact.
Not slowly with dramatic cracks spreading across its surface. It just broke, and Raven's strike continued through unimpeded, catching Alex across the chest with the flat of her blade and sending him flying across the entire arena like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane.
He hit the ground hard, rolled twice from sheer momentum, and didn't move again.
"Winner: Raven Zeus!"
The crowd erupted—half cheering wildly for Raven's absolute dominance, half sympathizing with Alex's valiant but ultimately doomed effort. Medical staff rushed immediately to his unconscious form, checking for serious injuries while praise for both fighters echoed throughout the massive Colosseum.
I leaned back in my seat, processing what I'd just witnessed with clinical detachment.
Alex had been completely outmatched from the very start. Raven was a full rank above him—B- versus his C—and had years of elite training under the Principal's direct supervision. But what really struck me was how easily she'd won. She'd barely touched any of her real arsenal, barely scratched the surface of her actual capabilities.
No Corrupted Thunder Art. No higher forms of her sword techniques. Nothing that even approached her actual combat limits or true fighting style.
She's been holding back against literally everyone, I realized. Saving her true strength for when it actually matters, for opponents who can push her.
The thought was simultaneously frustrating and genuinely exhilarating. When we eventually fought—and we absolutely would, that much was certain as death and taxes—she wouldn't be holding back anything. I'd face the real Raven Zeus, the anti-villainess who could stand toe-to-toe with the protagonist even with all his ridiculous plot armor fully activated.
"Truly a cockroach-like existence," I muttered under my breath, watching medics help Alex slowly regain consciousness. Even defeated and humiliated, he'd somehow left a positive impression. The crowd loved him. They wanted him to succeed against all odds.
That was the protagonist's real power—not his techniques or his holy affinity or his destined bloodline, but his supernatural ability to make people believe in him unconditionally, to inspire hope even in defeat.
Well, belief and hope wouldn't save him from what was coming in the future.
"Next match Noha Kai vs Riyan Descartes!"
The announcement echoed through the Colosseum, and I felt my pulse quicken slightly with anticipation.
I stood, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension building there. This would be different from fighting Ava. My cousin had technique and overwhelming power, but she fought with a certain noble restraint, always aware of appearances and reputation and family politics.
Noha? Noha would try to break me, and she'd smile the entire time while doing it with genuine joy.
As I walked toward the arena entrance, I caught Raven watching me from across the viewing area. Those golden eyes held a promise—Soon, Yan. We'll settle things soon.
I nodded slightly, acknowledging the unspoken challenge with a small smile.
But first, I had a battle-hungry martial arts genius to deal with.
The crowd's roar washed over me as I emerged into the arena proper, the sound almost physical in its intensity. Noha was already waiting, bouncing on her feet like a professional boxer before the opening bell, barely able to contain her excitement.
Her grin widened dramatically when she saw me. "Finally! FINALLY! Everyone else was so boring I wanted to scream, but you? You took down the Asura Princess like it was nothing! This is gonna be SO much fun!"
The referee raised his hand cautiously. "Combatants ready?"
I settled into my stance, spear materializing in my hands as I channeled mana through the familiar weapon. Dark Spirit Spear Art techniques aligned with battle instinct honed through months of intensive training.
Noha's aura flared brilliant red, eager and violent and joyful all at once. "Come on, Riyan! Show me what you've got!"
"BEGIN!"
She moved first.
Not with reckless abandon like some battle-hungry idiot, but with calculated precision that belied her excited demeanor. Her opening strike was a straight punch aimed at my center mass, aura condensed around her fist to devastating effect.
I deflected it with my spear's shaft, redirecting the force downward—
Her other fist was already coming in from the side, targeting my ribs with pinpoint accuracy.
I twisted, taking the hit on my spear instead of my body, but the impact still sent vibrations up my arms. Strong. Really strong.
Noha didn't let up. Her attacks came in continuous flowing sequences—punches, elbows, knee strikes, kicks—each one transitioning seamlessly into the next like she was performing some deadly dance. No wasted movement, no unnecessary flourishes, just pure efficient violence backed by years of dedicated training.
I defended, my spear becoming a whirling barrier that deflected and redirected her strikes. But she was adapting in real-time, each exchange teaching her more about my defensive patterns and timing.
Genius martial artist isn't just a title, I thought, genuinely impressed. She's reading my movements, predicting my responses.
Her fist blurred forward in a feint. I moved to deflect—
She pivoted mid-strike, converting the punch into a spinning back kick that caught my spear and nearly tore it from my grip with sheer force.
"Yes! YES!" Her grin was manic now, eyes shining with pure battle joy. "You're actually keeping up! This is amazing!"
I couldn't help but smile back, adrenaline singing through my veins. "You're not bad yourself, Noha."
"Not bad? I'm INCREDIBLE!" She laughed, launching herself forward again with renewed enthusiasm.
This time I went on the offense. My spear thrust forward in a straight line, simple and direct—then curved mid-motion, the tip arcing toward her shoulder instead of her chest.
Noha's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she adapted instantly, deflecting the spear tip with her forearm while simultaneously countering with a palm strike toward my face.
I leaned back, letting it pass centimeters from my nose, then swept low with my spear aimed at her legs.
She jumped, flipping backward in a display of acrobatic skill that would've made gymnasts weep, and landed in a perfect ready stance five meters away.
We stared at each other for a moment, both breathing slightly harder, both grinning.
"You're holding back," she accused, though she didn't sound offended. "I can tell. You've got more than this."
"So are you," I countered. "That wasn't even close to your full speed."
Her grin somehow widened further. "Then let's stop playing around!"
Her aura exploded outward, red energy crackling around her entire body like living flame. When she moved this time, it was with speed that left afterimages burned into the air.
I channeled darkness into my spear, the weapon drinking in light as I met her assault head-on.
Our exchange became a blur of motion—her fists and feet against my spear, each impact sending shockwaves rippling across the arena floor. The crowd was going absolutely insane, unable to properly track our movements as we pushed each other harder and harder.
Noha was incredible. Every technique I used, she analyzed and adapted to within seconds. Every pattern I established, she broke through with creative counters that forced me to constantly evolve my approach.
But I had something she didn't—the accumulated knowledge from the novel, understanding of techniques and principles that hadn't been fully developed yet in this timeline.
I shifted my spear work, incorporating elements from Dark Spirit Spear Art that emphasized unpredictable angles and momentum manipulation. My strikes began coming from directions that seemed physically impossible, the spear bending space itself as darkness warped around it.
Noha's eyes lit up with pure delight. "THAT'S IT! That's what I wanted to see!"
She pushed herself harder, her martial arts reaching levels that bordered on supernatural. Her movements became art—every strike perfect, every counter flawless, her body moving with efficiency that defied normal human limitations.
We were both bleeding now—minor cuts and bruises accumulated through dozens of exchanges. Both panting from exertion. Both absolutely loving every second of this insane battle.
Then I saw my opening.
Noha overextended slightly on a spinning kick, her balance shifting just fractionally too far forward. It was barely noticeable, the kind of micro-mistake that only existed for a split second.
I drove my spear forward, darkness exploding from the tip in a concentrated blast that caught her square in the chest and sent her flying backward.
She hit the ground hard, rolled once, and... started laughing.
"Winner: Riyan Descartes!"
Medical staff rushed forward, but Noha waved them off, sitting up with that manic grin still plastered across her face despite obvious pain.
"That was PERFECT!" she shouted across the arena to me. "Next time, I'm winning though! I figured out like six different ways to counter your darkness technique just now!"
I couldn't help but laugh, genuinely enjoying her unhinged enthusiasm. "Looking forward to it, Noha."
As they helped her out of the arena, she kept chattering excitedly about the fight, analyzing techniques and already planning improvements to her style.
Sick battle freak indeed, I thought fondly. But an honorable one.
The announcement came: "Final match will be held tomorrow! Raven Zeus versus Riyan Descartes for first place!"
I looked up at the viewing area where Raven sat, those golden eyes locked on mine even from this distance. Her sweet smile promised absolutely nothing gentle about our coming battle.
"Tomorrow then, Ven," I muttered. "Let's see who's really stronger."
Current Tournament Standings:
Finals: Raven Zeus vs Riyan Descartes