The Paragon Battle Royale was a special kind of tournament.
Not one built for cheers or cheap excitement. Not a show where people gathered just to be entertained—though, yes, there were moments that could thrill anyone watching.
At its core, this tournament was about power.
It was where clans stepped forward to show what they were worth.
For smaller clans, it was a ladder. A rare chance to climb higher and force the world to notice them.
For the larger clans, it was proof. Proof that they still deserved their rank, their influence, and their fearsome reputation.
Because of that, the tournament was not open to the public.
No crowds. No wandering spectators.
Only clan heads and selected participants were allowed to witness the event. Everyone else stayed outside, far away from where strength was measured.
Because of this rule, the Wyndhams Clan sent only four people in their name—apart from the fighters who would actually compete.
The day of the tournament arrived faster than expected.
And the Wyndhams were ready.
They stood on a vast stretch of open land, wide and flat, shaped like a runway. The ground was smooth and reinforced, long enough to make it clear that something massive landed here often.
Alex, Zephyr, Lennox, and Isla stood at the front.
All four wore their dogo outfits, though the designs had changed slightly. Extra markings ran along the fabric. Clean lines. Sharper edges. Practical upgrades meant for battle, not decoration.
Beside them stood Clifford, Henry, Jimmy, and Gavalich.
The four wore white dogo clothes trimmed with gold. On their backs was a large half-sun symbol, stretched wide and placed horizontally. It marked them clearly as official representatives.
The air felt heavy. Quiet.
A few moments passed.
Then a translucent plane slid across the runway, its body humming softly as it moved. Without slowing, it lifted off the ground and rose into the sky, disappearing forward in a smooth arc.
"The principles of this Paragon Realm really need to be studied," Clifford said, his eyes following the translucent plane as it lifted off and vanished into the sky.
The eight of them weren't just standing on an airport runway.
They were standing inside the Paragon Realm itself.
A realm that mirrored the real world down to fine detail. Every stretch of land. Every structure. Every corner. At a glance, it looked real enough to touch. But anything inside this realm wasn't truly real unless it was brought into existence by a Paragon warrior.
That was the rule.
While the realm copied the real world, there was a clear difference. Moving objects outside the Paragon Realm appeared translucent here, like faint ghosts passing through. Static objects, however, stayed solid and clear, almost indistinguishable from reality.
The eight of them had been standing there for a while now.
Waiting.
Waiting for what, they didn't really know. They only knew they were supposed to be on their way to the tournament already.
"The Paragon Realm was designed by divine beings," Gavalich said calmly. "It exists to protect the real world from Paragon warriors and the damage they can cause."
Zephyr smirked at that.
"Which means if you ever want to truly study it," he said, glancing at Clifford, "you'd have to become a divine warrior first."
Clifford didn't react. He just kept his composure and continued waiting.
Alex stayed quiet.
Still, he could feel it.
The pressure.
It wasn't hostile, but it was constant. The presence of the people standing near him pressed against his senses again and again, like waves that never fully stopped. He ignored it, steadying his breath and keeping his posture relaxed.
Then it happened.
A tiny dot appeared in the distant sky.
At first, it was barely noticeable. Just a speck against the vast space above them. As they watched, the dot grew larger. Closer. Clearer.
Soon enough, they could tell exactly what it was.
"Is that a plane?" Isla asked, squinting at the shape coming closer.
"Yeah," Zephyr replied, eyes narrowing. "And it looks fully solid."
Gavalich folded his arms, already thinking ahead.
"Which means one of two things," he said. "Either the plane is static—which it clearly isn't, because it's flying—or it's being piloted by a Paragon warrior and heading straight for us."
As if to confirm his words, the plane began its descent.
The nose dipped slightly. The angle adjusted. Then the landing gear dropped with a dull mechanical sound. Moments later, the tires hit the runway.
Scriiitch.
A harsh scraping noise filled the air as the plane applied its brakes. The wheels dragged across the ground, leaving faint marks as it skidded forward. It shook once, then twice, before finally rolling to a stop.
Everyone stared.
This wasn't the kind of plane any of them were expecting.
It was a private plane. Old. Small. Patchwork, even. Several parts looked mismatched, like they'd been replaced over time with whatever worked. There was one engine at the front, and two more mounted under the wings, all of them humming unevenly.
Thin smoke drifted out from the engines after it stopped, curling into the air.
"No way this is our ride," Lennox said, pointing at it in disbelief.
Right on cue, the plane's door creaked open.
A man stepped out.
He looked old. Very old. Wrinkles covered his face and hands, deep lines carved by time. But his posture was straight. His frame was solid. Too solid for someone his age. He stood there without shaking, without hesitation.
Strength sat on him like a second skin.
"My client said he would be here," the old man said calmly.
His voice was deep. Steady. Not a trace of weakness in it.
All of this made Alex certain of one thing.
This man wasn't ordinary.
The way he stood. The way the plane existed fully solid inside the Paragon realm. The pressure in the air that didn't need to be announced.
This was a Paragon warrior.
"I am here."
Lucius' voice sounded from behind them, calm and firm.
Everyone turned at once.
They hadn't sensed him arrive. Not a step. Not a ripple of energy. He was just… there.
Alex felt a chill crawl down his spine.
'When did he get here?' he thought, his fingers tightening slightly at his side.
Lucius wasn't alone.
Standing with him were the Triple J's, lined up casually as if this was nothing special.
"Wait… is this our ride?" Jim blurted out, staring at the old plane.
"I thought as much," Isla muttered under his breath.
All eyes shifted to Lucius. He was the one handling everything related to the tournament. If anyone had answers, it was him.
Lucius didn't rush. He looked at the plane once, then back at them.
"There is no doubt that the Wyndhams have money," he said. "A lot of it."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"But it is safer not to show that wealth at this tournament, especially if you want help."
Some of them frowned.
"The people watching this event are powerful," Lucius continued. "They are rich. Influential. Dangerous."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"If they see you as equals in wealth or strength, they won't think of helping you. They'll think of competing with you."
"And if they feel threatened," he added bluntly, "they will look for a way to destroy you."
That was just how things worked.
Even after his explanation, the Wyndhams still looked hesitant. The plane really did look unreliable. Old. Questionable. Embarrassing, even.
But none of them spoke up.
They knew Lucius wasn't wrong.
In the end, logic won.
Lucius stepped forward and stood in front of the selected participants, his gaze moving over them one by one, sharp and assessing.
"This moment will decide whether this clan ever rises," Lucius said, his voice steady and heavy at the same time.
"And you shouldn't waste it. I can't guarantee you'll get another chance like this. Not even with all the money you have."
The words landed hard.
"Set aside your differences," Lucius continued. "Fight alongside each other."
As soon as he said that, eyes shifted.
Most of them, almost without thinking, looked toward Alex. Even Lucius' gaze rested on him for a brief second longer than the others.
Alex felt it immediately. The weight. The quiet judgment. The expectations pressing in from every direction.
'Of course,' he thought dryly. 'I'm the problem when I'm noticed, and the problem when I'm ignored.'
Lucius didn't pause for long.
"We are not fighting to win," he said plainly. "We are fighting to be noticed."
He turned slightly, letting his eyes pass over every one of them.
"If we perform well enough, that alone is enough to take this clan places. Doors will open. Opportunities will follow."
He then looked at those wearing the white dogo cloth.
"Our formation is already set. You all know your roles. Do exactly that. No more. No less."
That was all.
With that, everyone moved toward the plane. One after the other, they boarded without further argument. Moments later, the engines roared, and the plane rolled forward before lifting cleanly into the air.
Once the plane stabilized, John walked over to Lucius.
"So," John said quietly, folding his arms. "Have you confirmed the location yet?"
Lucius was seated cross-legged on a fine cushion, calm and composed. It was almost laughable how different the inside looked compared to the battered exterior. Luxury everywhere. Clean lines. Soft lighting.
"My source finally confirmed it," Lucius replied.
John leaned in slightly.
"The tournament will be held in Rome," Lucius said.
He paused, then added, his tone sharpening just a bit.
"Not just anywhere in Rome. The largest colosseum in the city."