The battlefield had long since abandoned order.
What remained was chaos.
Raw.
Unrestrained.
Merciless.
No formations survived. No strategies held perfectly. No territory remained untouched. The arena, once divided into calculated zones, now resembled a fractured world collapsing into itself.
Dust clouds spiraled.
Magic detonated.
Steel clashed.
Warriors moved not as soldiers, but as beings driven by instinct, pride, and desperation.
Above them, the crystal scoreboard pulsed like a living entity, numbers flickering with cruel volatility.
Margins razor-thin.
Victory uncertain.
Every deduction mattered.
Every strike rewrote fate.
"POINTS ARE NEARLY EQUAL!"
"FINAL PHASE INSTABILITY!"
"ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN!"
The announcers' voices barely pierced the thunder of the crowd.
Because the spectators had lost themselves.
Shouting.
Cheering.
Arguing.
Gold changing hands in frantic waves.
Betting hysteria had reached madness.
No one could predict the victor.
And that uncertainty —
Was intoxicating.
Below —
The beastfolk warriors surged like a storm of fangs and claws.
Wolves darted between collapsing skirmishes, movements sharp and fluid. A towering bear plowed through resistance with devastating force despite visible exhaustion. A hawk spiraled overhead, wings slicing through smoke-choked air. A leopard moved like liquid shadow, precise and lethal.
They fought like creatures refusing extinction.
Like survival itself had taken physical form.
Across the fractured terrain —
Elven warriors retaliated with breathtaking precision.
Blades flashed.
Spells ignited.
Their movements were elegant, terrifyingly efficient.
Every strike calculated.
Every motion refined.
But even perfection had limits.
Sweat dripped.
Breathing faltered.
Fatigue crept in like poison.
And the scoreboard punished weakness without mercy.
The orcs were something else entirely.
They roared like a living earthquake.
Vorak Blackmaw's warriors charged with monstrous aggression, axes crashing, hammers breaking through defenses with brute dominance. A colossal tusked warrior sent enemies flying. Another tore through shields like paper.
They fought like war incarnate.
Yet exhaustion —
Had begun its conquest.
Even monsters slowed.
Even titans staggered.
Near the water-scarred edges —
Merefolk warriors fought with fluid elegance.
Silent.
Relentless.
Movements like flowing currents.
But the final phase had turned brutal beyond prediction. Terrain advantages shattered. Engagements unpredictable. Their rhythm disrupted by the sheer violence engulfing the arena.
And the dark elves —
Fought like fading shadows.
Silent assassins weaving through chaos, blades whispering death, magic striking from angles unseen.
Deadly.
Efficient.
Yet battered.
Points bleeding away.
The scoreboard flickered ruthlessly.
High above —
The tension became suffocating.
Every ruler stood.
No composure.
No detachment.
Only focus.
Only disbelief.
"…This is beyond expectation."
The saintess murmured softly.
Her golden eyes remained fixed on the battlefield.
Calm.
Sharp.
Unblinking.
Elena leaned slightly forward.
Silver eyes gleaming.
No.
This is honesty.
Then —
The battlefield shifted.
"THE HUMANS ARE PUSHING!"
The crowd gasped as one.
Because amidst the storm of chaos, the human warriors began advancing.
Not wildly.
Not reactively.
But with terrifying unity.
Movements sharpened by something deeper than strategy.
Something absolute.
At their center —
A warrior stepped forward.
The noise fractured.
Silence fell like execution.
He moved slowly.
Deliberately.
Each step crushing the tension beneath it.
Silver armor fractured.
Shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
Breathing ragged.
Yet his presence —
Bent the battlefield itself.
In his hand —
A sword emerged.
Light exploded.
Golden brilliance tore across the arena with blinding force, drowning magic, silencing clashes, swallowing shadows.
The air trembled.
Reality recoiled.
The blade shimmered with authority that did not belong to mortals.
Ancient.
Overwhelming.
Terrifying.
"…Impossible…"
The elven ruler whispered.
Azrael's golden gaze narrowed.
Recognition sharp.
"…Excalibur."
The crowd detonated.
"EXCALIBUR?!"
"DIVINE-CLASS WEAPON!"
"HOW DO THEY HAVE THAT?!"
Below —
For half a heartbeat —
Everything froze.
Then —
Judgment descended.
The warrior moved.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
But absolute.
The strike shattered the world.
Light tore across the battlefield like divine wrath unleashed. Shockwaves erupted outward, cracking terrain, ripping through defenses, swallowing warriors in blinding waves of annihilation.
No resistance.
No escape.
Only inevitability.
A wolf lunged.
Light erased him.
Deduction.
The bear roared, charging with primal fury.
Light consumed him whole.
Deduction.
Elven warriors surged in flawless coordination.
Light shattered perfection.
Deduction.
Orc berserkers charged like collapsing mountains.
Light devoured rage itself.
Deduction.
Dark elf assassins vanished into shadow.
Light hunted them anyway.
Deduction.
Magic storms collapsed mid-cast.
Weapons vaporized.
The battlefield became a cathedral of destruction.
"MULTIPLE DEDUCTIONS!"
"HUMAN POINT SURGE!"
"THIS IS A MASSACRE!"
The scoreboard flickered violently.
Numbers rewriting at impossible speed.
Chaos turned into domination.
Yet still —
They fought.
Because pride did not die easily.
The hawk spiraled downward, talons glowing.
Light tore through the sky.
Deduction.
A leopard darted forward in blinding speed.
Light caught inevitability.
Deduction.
Orc warriors roared in defiance.
Light silenced thunder.
Deduction.
The remaining warriors clashed desperately, battles fracturing into brutal skirmishes as exhaustion, desperation, and fear collided in savage intensity.
But the balance —
Had been broken.
Irreversibly.
And when the final deduction echoed —
The crystal scoreboard burned with merciless finality.
FINAL RANKINGS
🥇 Humans
🥈 Beastfolk
🥉 Elves
4️⃣ Orcs
5️⃣ Merefolk
6️⃣ Dark Elves
Silence.
Total.
Crushing.
Then —
The arena erupted like a collapsing star.
"UNBELIEVABLE!"
"EXCALIBUR DECIDED EVERYTHING!"
"HUMANS TAKE FIRST PLACE!"
Shock.
Celebration.
Disbelief.
Gold exchanged hands in violent waves.
Voices shattered the sky.
High above —
Even rulers struggled to mask their reactions.
Because brute force…
Had rewritten destiny.
Elena leaned back slowly.
Silver eyes glowing faintly.
A slow, unreadable smile curved her lips.
How fascinating.
How beautifully cruel.
Far below —
The human warrior lowered Excalibur.
Golden light dimming.
But the tension —
Remained.
Lingering.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
Because somewhere within the battlefield's fading glow…
Something had changed.
Something unseen.
Something that even victory could not silence.