Jack activated the [Nightmare Curse] with a silent thought. Channeling his will into the spellcard. A nearly invisible ripple of dark energy shot out from Jack's position in the stands. Arcing directly towards the about-to-disappear Baron Burst.
It struck the retreating figure just as the teleportation portal engulfed him entirely. A faint, almost imperceptible dark shimmer was stuck to Baron Burst's dissolving form.
The curse was cast. Seven days of vivid, terrifying nightmares and waking hallucinations would haunt the man. It wouldn't kill him directly. But it would terrorize his every waking and sleeping moment. A silent, unseen punishment for his brazen act and terrible disregard for life.
Jack allowed himself a grim smirk. Feeling the partial satisfaction for delivering his brand of justice. Although it was still not enough in his sense of judgement.
The seventh arena was now empty and broken. No winner. And, other than Moby, everyone else was either dead or heavily injured.
Meanwhile, on the other stages, the battle was still raging.
On Leon's stage, the battle continued with unabated fury. It was definitely less catastrophic than Moby's. But it was still incredibly dangerous.
Leon moved with a heavy, purposeful stride. Black, draconic scales had covered his whole body. Hardening and coalescing into a full-plate black armor. It was sleek and menacing. Utterly devoid of pointless ornamentation. A battle-hardened shell.
His movements became heavier. Slower, but also more impactful. With his draconic armor active, Leon was less a man and more a living tank.
Opponents' strikes glanced off the dark scales. Leaving barely a scratch. True to his mage-knight battle style, he opened his grimoire in battle. Its leather-bound pages were glowing with arcane symbols.
Leon started to actively clear the stage. Casting lightning-based mystic spells. Becoming a storm on the stage. Bolts of brilliant blue electricity crackled from his armored gauntlets. Arcing through the air to strike foes.
He moved with a brutal efficiency. Using controlled lightning bursts to stun and disorient, rather than destroy. Then, he followed up with powerful telekinetic shoves that sent opponents flying out of the stage.
One sorcerer attempted to bind him with ensnaring vines. But a burst of lightning appeared and incinerated them.
Another tried to overwhelm him with a barrage of fire arrows. Only for Leon to ignore the attack. Allowing the fire arrows to hit his armor, which automatically deflected the flames. Leon retaliated with a focused lightning blast that sent the fire sorcerer reeling.
Leon never rushed. Never overextended. He was methodical and relentless. He broke down his opponents one by one. He was practically a formidable, armored storm.
One by one, his opponents fell and were thrown out from the stage. He kept doing so until he alone remained. His black armor was still crackling with residual lightning. He was the last man standing on his stage. And he did so without severely injuring or killing anyone.
On Bell's stage, a different kind of dance unfolded...
Bell Basher was tough and strong, yet he was also agile and quick. And he wield his [Buckler of Retribution] as well as his grimoire. A not-so-typical mystic scholar.
He was not a tank like Moby. Nor a fully armored mage like Leon. Bell had his own combat style. He was a master of deflection and precise strikes.
He weaved through the initial melee in a dance-like movement. His buckler, emblazoned with intricate runes, hummed with suppressed power. He guided it to deflect a volley of arcane arrows with sharp, metallic clangs.
Bell's grimoire was open and glowing. But he rarely looked at it directly to read the spells. His spells seemed to be casted by heart, almost instinctual.
He conjured bursts of searing flame that forced opponents to retreat. Creating enough space. Then, he would follow up with sudden, short-range lightning strikes. Shocking foes, paralyzing them, and disrupting their balance.
His [Buckler of Retribution] was used not just for defense, but also for offense. He would charge and slam the shield into a paralyzed opponent. Sending them out of the stage.
Of course the shield artifact was also used for both defense and counter-attack. It was the [Buckler of Retribution] after all. It could reflect projectiles and single-target magic attack.
He had no problem facing long ranged attack. It was the melee that gave him slight trouble. Nothing he couldn't handle though.
One particularly skilled arcane swordsman lunged at him. His blade was wreathed in wind magic.
Bell parried with his buckler. Deflecting the attack. And then, with a simple gesture and short chant, he sent a surge of [Lightning Grasp] through the swordsman's arm. Paralyzing his hand and sending the weapon clattering to the ground.
Before the swordsman could recover, Bell conjured a small, persistent fire. Burning and clinging to the man's leg. Forcing him to hop wildly until he stumbled off the stage.
Another opponent, a shadowy rogue, tried to appear behind him. Bell, had anticipated the move, though. He spun. His buckler was already raised.
The rogue's blade scratched his arm. But, he caught the rogue off guard with a burst of fire from his mouth. Searing the rogue's face and forcing a yelp of pain. A quick shove with the buckler followed. And the rogue was sent sprawling off the platform.
Bell moved like a whirlwind of fire and lightning. His buckler was a constant, active presence. And so did his grimoire.
He dictated the flow of combat. Pushing and pulling. Burning and shocking. He also kept moving continuously all over the stage. Never allowing himself to be cornered or overwhelmed.
His movements were fluid. His spells were economical yet devastatingly efficient. Like Leon, he systematically eliminated his opponents. Leaving them defeated but not dead.
Finally, with a flourish, he dispatched the last remaining competitor. Creating several concussive blasts of electrified air. Sending the opponent spinning out of bounds.
Bell stood alone on his stage. A triumphant grin was on his face. He passed the round.
Back in the stands, the Silent Mermaid crew cheered wildly for Leon and Bell. Moby had rejoined them. A little bit irritated and upset about what happened to his stage. But otherwise, he was fine.
"Moby's alright!" Serene reported after checking his health.
"Great!" Chloe exclaimed. Relief washed over her face.
She had seen him get caught in the explosion and land hard. Normal people, and even most transcendent beings, would be injured by that. But Moby's enhanced constitution actually saved him.
Sparkle rushed and rubbed its head against Moby's leg. Emitting tiny blue sparks around its single horn. As if confirming Moby's durability.
Moby snorted. "I'm fine. It's that damned guy who won't be fine if I get my hands on him. That Crazy Bastard!"
Reina leaned back. Her vigilant eyes were observing the remaining stages. "A rough start for you, Mob. But at least you're intact. Leon and Bell performed well." She commented.
Jack gave a subtle nod. "Indeed. They were pretty lucky. None of the contestants in their stages are particularly powerful." He commented. "The next round won't be as easy for them."
"Yeah." Reina replied. "The martial monk in the first stage is very likely the strongest among the passing contestants. It would be hard for either Leon or Bell to win in direct clash."
Baroness Artheim added. "And the shapeshifting sorceress in stage four. What kind of creature does she even transform into? So fast and violent."
"It's quite surprising that no one in her stage died." Barnaby agreed.
"It's a kamaitachi." Jack explained. "She shapeshifted into a half-kamaitachi. I've got a friend in my circle who could transform into a full kamaitachi. He was even faster than her. You might have heard of him... Racer Jack."
"Racer Jack? The vigilante in Lonestone City?" Barnaby asked. "I've heard of him. So, that woman has a similar shapeshifting power. Interesting. I wonder how Leon or Bell will handle such speed."
Ned chimed in. "Twelve dead and five disqualified in the first round. Not to mention the injured ones. The rule against killing was not really that effective."
"All of the disqualified ones came from problematic factions." Jack replied. "One from Night Salvation. Another one from the the Circles of Wealth. Two were Purity Cultists. And the final one was from Undeath Sect."
"What about the seven passing contestants?" Reina asked. Out of the eight stages, only Moby's stage had no last-man-standing.
"The martial monk is from Thunder Island Monastery, never heard about that." Jack replied. "The shapeshifter sorceress is unaffiliated. The earth controller is a local, affiliated to Grandmoon Kingdom. The divine acolyte is from the Church of Justice. The last one, the blood controlling warlock is affiliated with the Glorious Pirates."
"So, the last one is the main problem, huh?" Barnaby muttered.
The dust had settled on the first round. The arena officials were busy. The bodies of the twelve deceased, the remaining pieces for some of them, were reverently carried away.
Medical teams rushed to the aid of the injured. Both those with physical wounds and those who had succumbed to severe, magical curses.
Four more combatants, in addition to Baron Burst, had been disqualified for causing death. All of them, Jack observed, had shown no regret at all for being disqualified.
Jack watched it all. His heart itched. He wanted to turn into his specter form and deliver deadly, nightmarish judgement toward those murderers. But the tournament hadn't ended.
He forced his mind to turn to the next stages of the tournament. The Battle King Duel was dangerous, even for transcendent beings. It tested not only power, but also wit, resilience, and luck.
Leon and Bell had proven their abilities. Moby had simply been unlucky.
The tournament would continue. The Silent Mermaid had made its mark in the Marksmanship Mastery. Now, on the second day, two of their own had advanced in the Battle King Duel.
Despite Moby's early exit, the team was performing well. Jack felt a surge of quiet confidence. They would do well in this tournament. Either this event or the next one, the Great Game of Glory.
But, he needed to keep vigilant. The unstable elements were still here. Those people with problematic affiliations... It would be hard to believe that they would all be here just for watching the show.
It would be easier to believe that they had hidden information he didn't have about the tournament. And that they might have planned an insidious scheme related to it.
He needed to stay vigilant...
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