The two fighters stood on opposite sides of the crystalline platform, separated by two hundred meters of shimmering surface that caught the arena lights and threw them back in fractured rainbows. Participant 23,441 was a woman in her early twenties, blue flames already dancing along her forearms in nervous anticipation. Her opponent—participant 67,892—gripped twin curved blades that hummed with energy, the metal practically singing with contained energy.
The referee materialized at the stage's center with a flash of light. She was a woman who looked to be in her fifties, with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun and eyes that had probably seen a hundred tournament matches. She surveyed both fighters with the kind of calm authority that came from decades of standing between violent awakeners and making sure nobody died on her watch.
"Are you ready?!" Her voice carried clearly despite the crowd's roar, amplified by the stage's acoustic design.
The fire manipulator nodded, flames flickering brighter with her nervous energy. "Ready."
The swordsman rolled his shoulders, settling his weight. "Ready."
The referee raised one hand, and somehow the crowd's noise managed to intensify even further. People were on their feet, screaming encouragement or final bet placements, the anticipation building toward a breaking point.
"FIGHT!"
The girl didn't hesitate. Flames erupted from both hands in roaring streams that crossed the distance between them like hungry serpents. The heat was incredible—even through the barriers, spectators in the nearest sections could feel warmth on their faces. The crystalline surface beneath the fire turned blue, then white, glowing from temperatures that would have melted steel.
The swordsman threw himself left, blades coming up in defensive patterns that seemed almost too fast to follow. Where fire met enhanced metal, sparks exploded in brilliant cascades. He was using the deflection to hide his approach, closing the distance rapidly while the fire user focused on maintaining her assault.
It was a smart move, trying to get inside her effective range where those swords would have every advantage. Fire manipulation was devastating at distance but became awkward in close combat. If he could just reach her before she adapted—
But she wasn't some inexperienced fighter who'd panic under pressure. The moment she realized his strategy, she shifted her approach entirely. Instead of direct streams trying to hit a dodging target, she created a solid wall of flames between them. The heat intensified beyond anything the swordsman could simply speed through, his charge faltering as air itself became scorching.
He adapted on the fly. One blade left his hand in a spinning throw that arced high over the fire wall, the enhanced metal screaming through superheated air. It forced her into an impossible choice—maintain the wall and risk the projectile, or defend herself and lose her barrier.
She chose survival. The fire wall collapsed as she redirected everything toward intercepting the spinning blade. Flames wrapped around metal, heating it to glowing red before the blade's momentum finally died and it clattered harmlessly to the crystalline surface.
But those precious seconds had cost her. The swordsman had circled wide during her distraction, exploiting the collapsed wall to approach from an angle she'd left completely exposed. His remaining blade was raised, distance closing faster than she could react.
She saw him too late. She desperately redirected her flames, but only managed a burst that caught his shoulder. His cloth ignited and his skin blistered, and his initial momentum carried him forward.
But it wasn't enough.
The blade came down in a controlled strike aimed for her shoulder. And she threw up an arm in a last-ditch defense, even though she knew it wouldn't be enough—
"Match!"
The referee's command cut through everything like a physical force. Both fighters froze instantly, years of training overriding combat instincts. The swordsman's blade stopped mere centimeters from the girl's arm, close enough that she could feel wind from its passage. She held her defensive posture with flames still crackling around her hands, ready to burn him if he continued.
"Winner: Participant 23,441!"
The tension broke immediately. The swordsman lowered his blade and actually grinned despite his burned shoulder, extending a hand to help his opponent up. She took it with a tired laugh, flames finally dying as she released her technique.
"That throw was brilliant," she admitted, letting him pull her to her feet. "I thought I had you with the wall."
"You did have me," he countered, wincing as medical personnel rushed onto the stage toward his shoulder. "For about three seconds. Then I panicked."
The crowd erupted in appreciation—not just for the combat, but for the sportsmanship. Both fighters walked off to thunderous applause, the first match concluded with clean technique and mutual respect.
Two minutes thirty-seven seconds from start to finish.
"NOW THAT'S what I'm talking about!" Adira Veston's voice practically vibrated with excitement across the broadcast feeds. "Marcus, that was textbook tactical adaptation from both fighters!"
"Absolutely beautiful, Adira. The fire manipulator showed excellent power control and strategic thinking with that wall. But that thrown blade from the swordsman? That's the kind of split-second decision-making that separates good fighters from great ones. He recognized his opening and committed completely."
"And both of them showed exactly what we want to see in round three—skill, strategy, and respect for their opponent. That handshake at the end? That's what the tournament is supposed to be about!"
The displays updated, showing the bracket with one match concluded and a new matchup appearing.
Jade had watched the entire exchange with a divided attention, cataloging useful information. The barriers contained fire perfectly—not even residual heat escaped to threaten spectators. The crystalline surface showed no damage despite temperatures that had made it glow. The referee's response time was quick enough to prevent serious injury while allowing the match to reach natural conclusion.
"SECOND MATCH!" . "Participant 8,923 VERSUS Participant 45,667!"
Two more fighters rose from their sections and began the walk toward the platform.
....
Three matches went by in the blink of an eye with Jade paying partial attention to all of it. These days he had come to realize something.
He had trained bitterly for years because he didn't want to ever be helpless or weak in the face of anything.
In the second round of the tournament, the opponents he had faced had been weak. Pitifully weak. He had assumed the contestants assigned to his stage were the ones who were weak so he didn't think much of it then .
But now , looking at the previous matches, Jade couldn't help but wonder silently. Were they supposed to be this weak ?.
The system had given him the quest to win the Tenday Tournament more than ten years ago and he had thought it was something to vigorously prepare for if the system gave him a decade to prepare for it.
But right now , he wasn't sure anymore. Were they the ones who were weak or was he the one who was too strong ?.
.....
In the commentator's booth, Adira and Marcus continued their analysis with the same fevor as the beginning of the tournament.
"And there's the other side of random draws," Marcus Thane's voice carried analytical disappointment across the feeds. "Rank 892 versus rank 4,672. That's a skill gap too large for strategy to overcome. The enhancement specialist fought well, but he was simply outclassed."
"But that's tournament reality," Adira countered. "Sometimes matchups favor you. Sometimes they don't. Contestant 18,657 did exactly what he should have, he ended it quickly and efficiently without causing more damage than necessary."
"True. And he showed excellent control despite the power disparity. Could have seriously injured his opponent if he'd wanted to showboat. Instead he just... won and moved on."
Three matches. Three completely different outcomes. Competitive tactical exchange. Patient trap execution. Overwhelming mismatch. The pattern was establishing itself—round three would showcase every kind of combat scenario depending on the draws.
Jade continued watching as the matches progressed.
The fourth match featured a sound related ability user against a contestant whose talent was unknown. The sound manipulator created disorienting acoustic fields, but the opponent somehow kept dodging attacks that should have been unavoidable. It ended when the sound manipulator finally landed a concentrated sonic blast that bypassed all the dodging through sheer overwhelming force.
Fifth match brought illusion techniques versus enhanced sensory perception. The illusionist created dozens of false copies, but the sensory specialist tracked the real one through minute differences the crowd couldn't perceive. Clean victory through talent compatibility advantage.
.....
The morning session processed two dozen matches with similar variety. Some went long, some ended in seconds. The crowd remained energized throughout, noise levels barely dropping between fights. Betting odds shifted constantly as professional gamblers adjusted their assessments based on demonstrated capabilities. Commentary teams analyzed every exchange with barely contained enthusiasm.
Then Majordomo Prime announced the two-hour midday break.
-------------------------------------------
The afternoon session opened with renewed energy. The break had allowed spectators to refresh, betting houses to adjust odds based on morning performances, and fighters to mentally prepare for their potential calls.
Jade watched three more matches with the same bored attention. A psychic against swordsman, an interesting interaction between direct force and material control. A time dilation specialist who moved so fast her opponent couldn't react. The match ended in twelve seconds. A molecular destabilization talent that had the entire arena holding its breath when the opponent's defensive barrier started dissolving into component atoms.
Jade almost dozed off in his seat when his watch vibrated differently than the general session notifications.
MATCH ALERT
PARTICIPANT 847,392
OPPONENT: PARTICIPANT 71,834
Jade yawned and stood slowly.
Around him, other fighters in the section noticed immediately. A few looked away quickly, having seen his battle round performances on available feeds. Others studied him with open curiosity, trying to see past the hood that concealed his features. One fighter two seats over actually whispered to his companion, both of them tracking Jade's movement with obvious interest.
He ignored them all and moved toward the stage entrance, letting the crowd's noise wash over him without acknowledgment.
The walk down from the seating area felt longer than it should have. Cameras tracked his approach from multiple angles. Holographic displays throughout the arena showed his participant number alongside limited statistics—rank, elimination performance, battle round record. The commentators immediately seized on his appearance with barely contained excitement.
"HERE WE GO!" Kira Veston's voice practically vibrated across the feeds. "Participant 847,392, rank 107! Perfect battle record—one hundred wins, zero losses! This is one of the fighters everyone's been waiting to see since battle rounds concluded!"
"Nexarion origin," Marcus added, pulling up background information. "That's a backwater planet in the Heliaster Galaxy that's literally never produced a notable tournament performer. Their best historical showing was a D-rank gravity talent who got eliminated on day two of the elimination round. And somehow they're sending us someone with a flawless record ranked in the top two hundred."
"The mystery continues too—still maintaining complete anonymity under that hood. No visual identification, minimal public information, just that absolutely devastating battle record. But Marcus, we're about to see what they can actually do under full empire scrutiny. Morning matches have shown us everything from sound manipulation to probability alteration. What do you think we'll see from 847,392?"
"Based on match durations from battle rounds? My money's on overwhelming physical dominance. Average fight time was under ten seconds across one hundred matches. That suggests someone who doesn't need complicated techniques—just raw, devastating power applied with extreme efficiency."
Jade reached the stage entrance. His opponent was already visible on the opposite side—a man in his mid-twenties with the kind of nervous energy that came from knowing you were facing someone ranked four thousand places higher. Steel gauntlets already forming around his hands and forearms. He was trying to project confidence, rolling his shoulders and settling into what was probably a practiced combat stance.
But his eyes kept darting to the holographic displays showing that ranking gap. 107 versus 4,127.
He knew what it meant. And the odds. But he was here anyway, which suggested either courage or stubborn refusal to forfeit without trying.
Jade stepped onto the crystalline platform.
The crowd's noise somehow found another level to climb toward, millions of voices creating acoustic force that made the air itself vibrate. This was the moment some of the had been waiting for.
The referee appeared between them, her silver-streaked hair catching arena lights as she materialized. She looked at both fighters, seemed to assess the situation in an instant, and nodded to herself.
"You ready?"
Jade's opponent swallowed hard but nodded. "Ready."
Her gaze shifted to Jade. "And you?"
Jade nodded once.
"Alright then." The referee raised one hand, and the crowd's anticipation reached fever pitch. Across fifteen galaxies, trillions of viewers leaned closer to their displays. Betting odds locked in as final wagers were placed. Every camera focused on the crystalline platform.
"FIGHT!"
...
To be continued