Rebel's frustration festered, a bitter taste in his mouth like ash. The outcome of the pairings felt like a deliberate cosmic prank, specifically designed to thwart his desires. He chewed on his lip, his mind racing, desperately trying to spin this unfavorable situation into something palatable, something advantageous. A flicker of manic energy ignited within him. "Wait…" he muttered, his voice rising in volume as the improbable thought took root. "Wait a minute! If I knock out that old fart – Enshou – then I get to face Tanker in the semi finals if he wins! Yes!" A surge of adrenaline coursed through him, painting a vivid picture of himself standing victorious over the seemingly invincible Tanker. His confidence, fragile moments before, inflated like a balloon.
But the universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor, often delivering reality checks with the precision of a master swordsman. Azreal's voice, booming across the hushed arena, landed like a physical blow, puncturing Rebel's burgeoning optimism. "When all the matches have been completed for the quarter-finals," the announcer declared, his tone neutral and authoritative, "the winning four will re-pick their spot with the paper method for the semi finals. This means there is no scheduled opponent, and you cannot train ahead for a specific adversary. A true sword master should be able to defeat their opponent regardless of who it is."
A strangled laugh escaped Tusk's lips, the sound laced with a nervous amusement. He glanced at Rebel, whose face had fallen once more. "I guess the universe is really against you fighting Tanker, huh?" he quipped, trying to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. But Rebel's anger merely simmered, a pot about to boil over with no release valve in sight. He clenched his fists, the injustice of it all a tangible weight in his chest.
Meanwhile, in the relative calm of the royal pavilion, Rider watched Valen with a thoughtful gaze. "So, Bianca is going up against the Beast Hunter," he mused aloud, his voice surprisingly devoid of concern. Aingo, who had been observing the contenders with a keen intensity, turned to Rider, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Why aren't you worried?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Rider offered a soft, almost knowing smile, then met Aingo's gaze. "Because Bianca and Valen's fight won't be until the first and second round of the quarter-finals at the earliest. First, we have Tanker versus Kael, and then Rebel against Enshou. That's more than enough time for Bianca to formulate a plan. And if Bianca has an idea," Rider's expression turned serious, his eyes holding a resolute glint, "not even you can stop her." Aingo stared back at Rider for a long moment, his usual analytical gaze now tinged with a flicker of intrigue. He then shifted his attention back to the tournament ring, his eyes fixed on Bianca as if trying to decipher the intricate workings of her mind.
Azreal's voice once again commanded the attention of the arena. "With that, would the contenders please clear the tournament ring, with the exception of Tanker and Kael, as we await their match." Kael, a hulking figure of brute strength, hefted his massive metal sledgehammer, the weapon looking more like a crudely shaped boulder attached to a handle. A confident smirk stretched across his face as he fixed his gaze on Tanker, who remained seemingly oblivious to his opponent's presence, his eyes scanning the crowd with an air of detached disinterest.
The remaining contenders reluctantly vacated the ring, stepping onto the dusty battlefield surrounding it, their eyes glued to the impending clash between the seasoned Elite Soldier and the powerful Kael. Azreal's voice resonated through the expectant silence before the fight commenced. "Unlike the seven-person last-man standing match, victory here is not achieved through elimination. You win only when your opponent is knocked unconscious or yields. Killing is strictly forbidden. But apart from that… anything goes. Now, let the first round of the quarter-finals begin!"
The resounding clang of the bell ripped through the tension, unleashing a torrent of cheers and roars from the captivated crowd. Rider leaned forward on the edge of his seat, his eyes wide with anticipation. "This will be a contest of pure strength," he murmured, his gaze flitting between the two imposing figures. "Both fighters are incredibly powerful. Who do you think will win, Aingo?"
Aingo, however, remained impassive, his expression betraying neither excitement nor surprise, as if the outcome was already predetermined in his mind. "It's obvious who will win," he stated, his gaze unwavering as he watched the unfolding scene. "Because when it comes to a contest of strength…"
Before Aingo could finish his sentence, Kael let out a primal roar, a sound that echoed the raw power he possessed. He charged at Tanker with surprising speed for his size, his feet pounding against the packed earth. With a guttural grunt, he swung his enormous sledgehammer horizontally, putting the full force of his considerable muscle mass behind the blow. The impact as the hammer connected with Tanker's side was cataclysmic. A shockwave rippled outwards, strong enough to buffet the onlookers, sending dust and loose debris swirling. The contenders on the battlefield instinctively raised their arms to shield their faces from the powerful gust. A collective gasp swept through the crowd. "Wow! Isn't he dead?" someone exclaimed. "No one could survive that!" another voice echoed in disbelief.
Rebel watched with a mixture of annoyance and morbid curiosity. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "I wanted to take him out myself. Oh well, at least Kael proved that being an Elite Soldier means nothing." Kael, still straining to push his massive hammer across Tanker's seemingly unyielding form, allowed a grim smile to flicker across his lips. He knew he had landed a devastating blow. But as the dust cloud began to dissipate, his confident smile twisted into a mask of utter shock.
Aingo calmly completed his earlier statement, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. "…nobody stands a chance against Tanker. Not even a hundred Kaels."
As the dust finally settled, the scene that unfolded defied all expectations. Tanker stood his ground, seemingly unfazed by the earth-shattering impact. One of his eyebrows was slightly raised, a look of mild disappointment etched on his face as he stared directly at Kael. The entire arena, with the sole exception of the ever-composed Aingo, erupted in a cacophony of disbelief. "No way! He survived that?!" Rebel shouted, his frustration reaching a new peak of bewildered incredulity.
Kael, his face a mask of disbelief, still struggled to maintain the pressure of his immense weapon against Tanker's side. His eyes were wide with shock as Tanker finally spoke, his voice a low, rumbling drawl. "Seriously? Don't tell me that was your full swing. And you call yourself a warrior?" With a casual flick of his wrist, Tanker reached out and grasped the thick metal head of Kael's sledgehammer. With a sickening crunch of twisted metal, he crushed it in his bare hand as if it were made of clay. Then, with a fluid motion that belied the size of the weapon, he drew his own sword – a massive blade easily the same length as Kael's six-foot hammer. In a single, swift arc, he swung the enormous sword across Kael's chest. A clean, precise cut appeared, and Kael slumped to the ground, his eyes rolled back, pure white and vacant. He lay motionless.
A guard rushed into the ring, his face grim as he checked for a pulse. After a tense moment, he nodded to Azreal. "He's alive, but unconscious." The bell rang, its sound almost anticlimactic in the stunned silence that had fallen over the arena. Azreal's voice, though calm, carried the weight of the unbelievable. "Tanker is the winner."
A profound silence descended upon the crowd. No one could quite comprehend the speed and brutal efficiency with which Tanker had dispatched the seemingly formidable Kael. A chilling realization began to dawn on the remaining contenders. The tournament they had entered was far more dangerous than they had initially imagined.