Historic Ratings and Burning Rivalry
G Channel had shattered records, breaking the 20% viewership barrier for the first time in its history.
The ecstatic producer, eager to heighten the event's drama, had rushed to produce highlight reels for Lucia and Zien mid-tournament.
It wasn't in the original plan, but the producer's word was law. As the footage prepared to play, mechanical whirs echoed from the Central Dome's ceiling.
Clank! Whirr!
Like a solar eclipse unfolding, the ceiling sealed shut, plunging the arena into darkness. The audience's phone screens were the only lights, and murmurs of confusion began to swell—until the massive screen ignited.
Celia's Genius!
Hero's Lineage!
Heir to Elquines!
White text floated across the black screen, arrows all pointing to one figure.
Lucia Elquines.
Zien's strongest foe.
The pitch-black screen gradually gained color, illuminating Despair Bridge.
"We're heading to the school now."
Lucia, clad in her sleek uniform.
At her command, Kua and Demona spread out into formation.
In the footage, Lucia reduced every area she passed through to rubble.
Blocking parties were eliminated.
Ambush attempts failed.
With flawless judgment, she claimed perfect victories.
Having cleared the witch and conquered the school, Lucia murmured at the center of the grounds.
"The moon... How ironic."
Her face, somehow cold yet lonely.
The crescent-shaped gem on her palm rose upward. The sky reddened and clouded over as Lucia gazed silently.
The blood moon swelled to full, dyeing the heavens crimson.
The camera followed her gaze, zooming toward the moon until the faint red glow shifted to the battlefield.
"Trying to stop us with numbers?"
Eighteen foes.
A united force from six schools.
Lucia stared at the fallen students with an impassive expression.
Even as Demona confirmed their eliminations, Lucia said nothing.
The screen captured her night-sky-black hair and icy blue eyes.
Like a solitary iron-blooded heroine.
Yet amid the desolation, the screen's image of Lucia was breathtakingly beautiful.
"Woooaaah!!"
"Lucia! Lucia!"
"Celia Academy! Fighting!!"
The cheers filled half the stadium—mirroring the tie in winner polls between Lucia and Zien.
"What a short yet impactful masterpiece! The editor must've shed secret tears if it'd ended 2-0. Next up, Zien Russel's participant video!"
Vernon gestured toward the screen, and it shifted.
The opening scene: a mountain peak.
Drifting clouds, distant earth below. Zien, in black training robes, gazed leisurely downward.
A serene Oriental painting come to life.
Zien slowly closed his eyes as the screen darkened.
Then, two simple characters appeared.
Zien's moniker.
And everything he was.
The scene cut to a factory.
Zien's hand on his sword hilt, in drawing stance. Eight enemies froze mid-charge.
Moon Sword.
His casually uttered words sliced straight. All foes dissolved into particles.
The montage compiled Zien's highlights from Battle Survival.
From the intro's start, even late or absent viewers could grasp his feats at a glance.
"What's your name?"
The demon-sword knight asked.
"Zien Russel."
Swords clashed endlessly, sparks flying, red and blue lines filling the cavern.
The knight's demon blade erupted vicious mana, lunging at Zien.
In a do-or-die strike, it morphed into a bullet on screen.
Bang!
But Zien deflected it.
Then charged the bridge's end. Robes and hair whipped back. His speed plus the bullet's.
The bullet closed in again.
Time froze; camera close-up on the projectile.
Viewers held their breath, knowing the outcome. Among elite Sabers, Zien's prowess was overwhelming.
A man who, like his title Sword God, had reached the pinnacle of the blade.
His sword slowly bisected the bullet; time resumed, screen fading to black.
Arcana vs. Celia!
The tense footage shattered with subtitles. Now a rundown diner, soft radio music playing.
Dust-covered table.
Zien, Isabel, Chris seated there.
Camera on Zien's profile.
Eyes closed, he opened them slowly—arrogant, beautiful, like Belial's incarnation.
"Everyone confident?"
His low murmur.
A faint smile curved his lips as massive text slammed onto the screen.
The Last Clash of Two Prestigious Houses!
The brief three-minute reel drew explosive reactions.
Amy's motto was simple.
'A broadcast lives or dies by its finale!'
No matter how gripping the middle, a weak ending meant no subscribers.
Hyperactive moments ago, Amy now basked in the afterglow.
"Whoa... insane..."
G Channel's editing was flawless—a perfect 100/100. But Amy admired something else.
How do they capture that vibe?
As a broadcaster, she'd seen her share of handsome faces.
Many boiled down to "just hot."
But Zien's aura was irreplaceable.
Hmm...
The most honest, strongest Saber.
Just 17, yet profound thoughts, weighty words.
That alone might bore some.
But his smile held a dangerous edge, teetering on thrill.
What life forged that in a student?
Like a model student fused with a bad boy!
Amy's imagination ran wild.
Zien as a Zone 1 Hunter.
Zien as a wandering swordsman in Zone 3.
Zien as a bodyguard in Zone 4.
This is gold... total hit.
She nodded.
Clearing gates didn't need charisma or looks.
But gate broadcasts thrived on it. Saber appeal drove viewers.
"Folks, ahem, bit superficial, but..."
Amy replayed the intro's finale from G Channel.
Zien smiling dangerously at his team.
"Nothing wrong with a hot party leader, right?"
Her finger pointed at the subscribe button. Blatant self-promo, but viewers ate it up.
As Amy said, charm was a broadcast booster. Subscribers had tripled from 20k this morning to 60k.
"Whoa, 3x in a day? In a month..."
"But how'd the polls tie with Lucia?"
Amy puzzled.
Even if winner votes are popularity contests... Zien's solo feats were unreal.
Image mattered.
Broadcasts prioritized spectacle over raw strength.
This defied logic. But Amy missed a key variable.
"Huh? All-in?"
Amy's eyes widened.
The tournament's biggest imbalance? Artifacts.
Participants could enter with up to three.
Unlike Zien, prestige-bred Lucia started with top-tier picks.
"Probably three from the jump..."
And that wasn't all.
Celia had dominated Central. Minimum three artifacts secured.
"Guys? No way..."
Zien had used every combat-boosting artifact—knight's oath, cloak, all of it—sweeping regions.
Lucia played safe to the end.
How many lingered in her pockets now?
"Over... four?"
Amy swallowed hard.
Analyzing chat, Amy pondered calmly.
Started with three.
Gained and kept two more.
All-in on the leader?
Absurd. She sighed, furrowing her brow.
"How many times did they scam?"
🍚 ❄ 🍚 ❄ 🍚
Sunset over the school, rice paddies glowing softly.
Lucia gazed out the window, not at the arena.
Creak!
The uninhabited island crumbled.
Edges shattered, plunged, devoured greedily by the sea. Watching, Lucia thought.
It's lost its purpose.
Post-match, the island had no reason to exist. Same for people without goals—or after losing them. What fueled them then?
Lucia eyed her hand's back.
Sunset light kissed her nose bridge.
"...Tricky."
Her family's sun.
The house lord she'd seen was strongest, most beautiful, wisest.
Saber's duty?
Glorifying family honor?
Irrelevant. What moved Lucia was always aspiration.
The lord was her literal sun—pure, untouchable. Earning her master's recognition was Lucia's drive, lifelong goal.
Round 3 begins shortly.
Map selection is random and set upon entry.
The sudden hologram snapped Lucia from reverie.
Her focus now: victory in the finals. Undefeated so far, but beating rival Zien meant more.
The perfect opponent to end the tournament.
"Zien... Russel."
Deep in her chest, something boiled. Pure competitive fire, burning away distractions.