The arena shook.
Not from magic.
From impact.
Draven's grip tightened, fingers digging into the man's arm like iron driven through flesh.
Then he pulled.
Violent. Sharp.
The man's body was yanked forward, balance destroyed in an instant, guard collapsing completely.
Draven's fist was already waiting.
**BOOOOM.**
It drove into the man's abdomen.
Not a strike.
A collapse.
His body folded instantly.
Eyes bulging. Blood erupting from his mouth.
Air left him in a broken, strangled choke.
But Draven didn't stop.
He swung him.
Using the arm still trapped in his grip.
And hurled him into the ground.
**CRAAAASH.**
Stone exploded outward as the arena floor cratered, dust erupting in a violent wave.
Before it could even settle—
Draven moved again.
His fist dropped, aimed to end it.
But the pressure changed.
Suddenly.
Violently.
His body dropped.
His feet sank into the stone, cracks spiderwebbing outward beneath him.
Gravity.
Amplified.
His strike slowed—just for a fraction.
And that was enough.
The man's eyes snapped open.
His leg whipped upward.
**CRACK.**
It landed clean.
Draven's head snapped back as force rippled through him, blood spraying from his lips.
The man twisted violently, ripping his arm free with a surge of mana—bone grinding, flesh tearing—
He staggered back, a grin forming through the blood on his face.
"…If this is all the son of the Demon King is—"
He spat blood aside.
"…then I'll be taking that bounty."
He moved.
Fast.
His hand shot out and seized Draven's arm.
**SNAP.**
Bone broke cleanly.
Then he twisted, trying to disengage, to create distance, to reset the fight.
But—
**CLINK.**
A chain snapped tight around his leg.
His eyes widened.
Too late.
He was yanked backward violently, dragged across shattered stone.
And before he could react—
Draven was already there.
A small fist, wrapped in dense, compressed dark crimson mana, waited without hesitation.
**BOOOOOOM.**
It slammed into his face.
His head was driven straight into the ground.
Stone erupted.
The arena trembled.
Dust swallowed everything.
Silence followed.
For half a second.
Then a voice cut through it.
Low.
Cold.
"…You little prick."
Draven stood over him.
Blood ran from his mouth, from his brow, down his jaw.
But his eyes burned.
Crimson. Alive.
"…I was gonna ask you something…"
His hand flexed once—bones cracking back into place as they began to heal.
"…but you're just a waste of time."
The man coughed beneath him, body twitching, blood pooling as he tried to move.
But the pressure—the presence—was suffocating.
Draven tilted his head slightly.
"…All that talk…"
A faint scoff escaped him.
"…and all you did was make me heavier."
His foot lifted slowly.
Deliberately.
"…Didn't even do it right."
The man's eyes trembled, trying to focus, trying to understand.
Draven's gaze sharpened.
"…You should've switched it up."
A pause.
"…Increase."
His foot hovered above the man's skull.
"…then reduce."
A faint, cold grin touched his lips.
"…Might've actually been interesting."
Then—
his leg came down.
**CRRRRRAAAACK.**
The impact crushed everything beneath it.
Stone shattered.
Blood sprayed.
The man's body went still.
Completely.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unbroken.
Draven stood there, foot still planted, dust drifting slowly around him.
Then he lifted it.
Looked down once.
"…Fucker."
The arena fell silent all at once.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Because the moment the man's body stopped moving—
no one else did either.
Not a step. Not a breath too loud.
Draven stood in place, blood still fresh on his hands, chest rising slowly.
His eyes lowered briefly to what remained beneath his foot.
"…Tch."
A faint exhale.
So that was it.
His gaze narrowed slightly.
So he did.
He wasn't just increasing it…
He was lightening himself too.
It clicked.
The speed. The movement. The timing.
"…Like a damn fly."
Draven turned.
Slowly.
Toward the rest.
Forty-six remained.
And every single one of them was staring at him.
Lucien met his eyes first.
Frozen.
Not just fear.
Understanding.
Tharic stood behind him, barely breathing, body locked rigid.
Across the arena, Seryna didn't move.
Kaelira's grin had faded—not gone, but sharpened into something more serious.
Lucien's sister watched silently, expression unreadable, fingers slightly curled at her side.
No one attacked.
No one even tried.
Because now they understood.
Draven looked at them.
Not long.
Just enough.
Then he looked away.
Like they weren't worth keeping.
His gaze lifted to the stands.
Thousands of eyes watched in silence.
No cheers. No whispers.
Only tension.
Draven stared at them for a moment.
Then moved.
No warning.
No buildup.
One step.
And he vanished.
The ground cracked where he had stood.
In the next instant, he reappeared at the far end of the arena, directly before the barrier.
The massive translucent wall shimmered, layered with dense runic formations folding over each other.
Absolute.
Unbreakable.
From the stands, voices finally broke.
"…What is he doing?"
"That's the boundary—"
"It's a fourth-star barrier—"
"There's no way—"
But Draven didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
Dark crimson mana wrapped around him, compressed tightly like a second skin.
He stepped forward.
And touched it.
For a moment—
nothing happened.
The barrier rippled.
Like disturbed water.
Then—
Draven walked through it.
Not forced.
Not shattered.
Not broken.
Simply passed.
Like stepping through something that had never been solid to begin with.
The ripple sealed behind him, leaving the barrier intact.
Untouched.
And Draven stood on the other side.
Silence returned.
Complete.
Total.
The arena froze.
Participants. Spectators. Even the unseen voice above.
No one spoke.
Because no one understood what they had just seen.
A fourth-star barrier.
Bypassed.
As if it meant nothing at all.
Draven didn't look back.
Didn't acknowledge the shock.
Didn't acknowledge the impossibility.
He simply stood outside now.
Free.
Chains at his side clicked softly in the wind.
And for the first time since this began—
he was no longer inside their rules.
Which meant—
everything after this…
was no longer a game.