The atmosphere in the arena was different now—less chatter, more dread. Everyone had seen Rank 1 fight before, but never like this. This was no duel, no measured exchange. This was a hunt.
The referee's voice echoed like a sentence being passed:
"Final match for today—Rank 1 versus Ranks 2 through 10. All at once."
Gasps spread through the crowd. Even the seasoned fighters in the audience leaned forward, unable to look away.
On one side stood nine of the strongest contenders in the entire division, each with their own pride and power. Rank 2, a lightning-fast spear wielder. Rank 3, a heavy-armored juggernaut. Rank 4, the assassin whose blade never missed. And the rest—each dangerous enough to dominate in their own right.
Opposite them stood Rank 1. No flashy armor, no booming aura meant to intimidate. Just calm, absolute confidence radiating from someone who didn't see opponents—only prey.
The moment the signal was given, Ranks 5 and 6 tried to rush in from opposite sides, hoping to corner him.
They never made it.
With a blur of movement, Rank 1 vanished from their sight, reappearing between them. His palm strike slammed into Rank 5's chest—enough force to lift him off his feet and send him crashing into the arena wall. Without even turning his head, Rank 1 spun, catching Rank 6's sword mid-swing. A twist, a yank—and the weapon was gone. A single kick sent Rank 6 sprawling.
"Two down," he muttered.
Rank 2 didn't hesitate, lunging forward with a lightning-coated spear thrust aimed at his heart. Sparks flew as the spear was caught between two fingers. A sharp tug pulled Rank 2 off balance, and a backhand blow knocked him unconscious before he could recover.
Rank 3 roared, charging in with his massive warhammer. The ground cracked under his steps, each swing heavy enough to crush bones. But Rank 1 simply sidestepped, placed one hand on the warhammer's shaft, and shoved Rank 3 backward with such force that the juggernaut skidded across the arena floor like a ragdoll.
Ranks 7, 8, and 9 tried a coordinated assault—blades, chains, and fire converging from three angles. For a moment, it looked like they might overwhelm him. But Rank 1 ducked under a blade, caught the chain mid-swing, and yanked Rank 8 into Rank 7, knocking both out in a tangled heap. A flick of his wrist sent a compressed burst of energy slamming into Rank 9's chest, ending his fight instantly.
That left only Rank 4 and Rank 10.
Rank 4, the assassin, moved in silence, his dagger flashing toward Rank 1's neck. But before the blade even reached halfway, Rank 1's hand clamped around his wrist. The assassin's eyes widened—then a sharp twist and a palm strike sent him crumpling to the ground.
Rank 10, trembling now, tried to back away. But Rank 1 didn't give him the luxury. In two steps, he closed the distance, delivering a single, clean punch to the stomach. Rank 10 fell without a sound.
The crowd erupted into stunned silence.
Nine fighters lay scattered across the arena floor, defeated in less than two minutes. Rank 1 didn't even look winded.
He turned toward the spectators, his voice carrying effortlessly:
"If this is the best the rest of you have to offer, you'll never touch my position."
With that, he walked off the stage, leaving the nine in the dust—both figuratively and literally.
---