*The Rise of the God of Death*
*Chapter 29: Daimon vs Zoldink*
The Quarter Finale had come to an end, leaving only four contenders standing: *Daren*, *Zoldink the Swordmaster*, *the mysterious cloaked warrior*, and *Daimon*. With one week to rest and prepare for the Semi-Final, tensions began to rise.
On the first day, *Daren and Daimon sat beneath a shaded tree*, exchanging thoughts.
"I'm heading to my village for a few days," Daren said casually.
Daimon looked toward the horizon. "*Watch your back.*"
Daren blinked. "Why? What's wrong?"
"I'm planning to investigate the mysterious one. If he's who I think he is... he may try something dirty. And you're his next opponent."
A brief silence passed before Daren grinned. "*Thanks, Daimon. I owe you. Stay sharp.*"
With that, Daren departed, climbing into a small carriage.
Meanwhile, Daimon scoured the city for clues about the cloaked warrior—but *every path led to a dead end*. No name. No origin. Not even a whisper. It was as if he had stepped out of *another existence*.
A week passed.
The Semi-Finals began. *Daimon vs Zoldink*.
As both warriors stepped into the arena, a calm silence spread across the crowd.
Zoldink knelt with honor. "*I am Zoldink. It's a pleasure, Daimon.*"
Daimon nodded. "*Likewise. Let's make this worth it.*"
The duel ignited.
Both clashed with incredible force, their swords *ripping the air* with every strike. The pressure cracked the arena stones beneath them. Zoldink, realizing he was being pushed back, called out:
"*Blue Vortex!*"
A massive spiral slash exploded toward Daimon. His regular sword cracked under pressure—until with a shimmer, he summoned his *Black Cursed Blade* from the transferral ring. The dark sword met the vortex in a *thunderous clash*, countering it with a raw slash—not even a named technique.
As their blades collided again, Zoldink created distance and yelled, "*Vortex Cut!*" His ultimate attack. A blur of motion—he vanished, reappearing mid-air, descending toward Daimon with inhuman speed.
But Daimon didn't flinch.
*He dropped his sword.*
Standing still, empty-handed, he waited.
Zoldink smirked, thinking Daimon had grown arrogant. But as his blade neared Daimon's chest—it was *caught by his bare hand*.
Gasps echoed in the arena.
But Zoldink—he saw *something no one else did*.
Time froze.
In his mind's eye, he saw *himself*, lying in a pool of blood, a dark *Cursed Energy* swirling above him. Whispers clawed at his sanity. The aura wasn't just powerful—it was *ancient, forbidden... alive*. The cursed energy *pierced him*, cutting through his spirit.
Zoldink awoke, *gasping on the arena floor*, a bloody gash across his stomach. Daimon stood above him, unreadable.
With a faint grin, Zoldink whispered, "*I admit defeat... I only hope you can stop him.*"
Those words hit Daimon harder than any strike.
Zoldink *knew something*—he was connected to the cloaked warrior.
As medics carried Zoldink away, Daimon turned his gaze toward the next match.
*Daren vs The Mysterious One...*
And the real storm was just beginning.