Dominating the Tournament
The tournament continued its relentless pace afterward.
"Gahk."
"Winner! Evan!"
Preliminaries were basically just a sieve to separate the wheat from the chaff anyway, so there weren't as many brutal fights as I'd expected.
Those who fought tooth and nail? Just bad luck with the brackets.
Preserving strength was key, and if you went all-out early, you'd start your next match at a disadvantage.
Conditioning, luck—they all directly decided victory or defeat.
Luckily, my bracket luck was pretty damn good.
All my opponents were just Runner-level mercenaries.
I wrapped up the prelims with easy wins.
"The final bracket list has been posted—please check it!"
We didn't jump straight into the finals after prelims.
They were set for the next day.
"There it is."
I spotted my name on the list and headed out of the arena.
Completely oblivious to the pair of blue eyes tracking my back.
"He's gone."
—Ssslrk.
Once Evan had fully exited the arena,
the golden shadow quietly melted into the darkness.
The next day.
I returned to the arena.
A ton of people got weeded out in prelims, so only eight made finals.
Three Experts I'd seen before, four regular User-level elite soldiers.
Just as I'd figured.
Let's see, my opponent is... oh?
Is today my lucky day or what?
Things have been going sideways lately and I've been in a shit mood, but my bracket luck was straight-up hilarious.
A plain old User.
If it'd been an Expert, the finals might've thrown a wrench in things,
but this? I could coast to victory safely.
I kicked off the finals bracket.
Well, obviously.
"Winner, Evan!"
The fight ended in my favor before long.
A User definitely kept their cool better than a Runner, trying to probe first,
but they were too cautious—fatal mistake.
"Guhk."
Overthinking slows your reactions, obviously.
And with the skill gap? This fight was mine from the jump.
What can a human do against a natural disaster?
They couldn't keep up with my speed and crumpled pathetically.
Thud. Thud.
Before the ref even confirmed the knockout and called it, I was already off the stage.
Glancing back, their face was a mess of shock and dismay.
Basic psychological dominance.
After that... a string of boring matches.
The Expert vs. Expert bouts were the only highlight.
Experts could actually use forms.
These low-tier Experts didn't pull off anything eye-popping,
but it gave me a solid feel for what forms really were.
Something had been nagging at me, but I couldn't pin it down.
Now? I had a grip on it.
Normally, you'd be itching to test it out ASAP.
But not on that guy.
Save it for a worthy opponent.
This dude? Nah.
Expert, sure, but you could tell from his vibe: 'Family money bought that rank.'
Picture a pig that talks, decked in shiny gold armor gleaming like oil.
Obvious rich noble spawn.
Wasting a form on that shithead? My pride wouldn't allow it.
"Begin!"
No hesitation—I charged the gold-plated pig the second the ref called start.
Didn't wanna linger with that fucker a second longer than needed,
and types like him? Weak to speed blitzes, plain as day.
As expected.
Closing in was a breeze.
—Crunch.
At the right range, I planted my left foot, braked, and set my stance.
But,
—Tap. Tap.
No attack followed as planned.
—Whoosh. Boom boom boom KABOOM!!!!
He'd read my feint and swung early where I stopped.
So that's his game.
One clash told me his whole pattern up to now.
This guy's fucking insane.
His sword style? Heavy Sword.
Basically brute-forcing with raw power—
which meant aura quantity, obviously.
More aura, stronger sword. That's Heavy Sword.
No way that pig had that much naturally.
Family must've shoveled mountains of elixirs down his throat. Aura shortage? Unlikely.
For him, aura overflowed like his family's gold piles.
But here's the issue.
I'd said he was speed-weak, right? How'd he react to mine?
Aura again.
The mad bastard kept aura scattered around him like a radar.
That's what made him nuts.
Normal Experts don't pull that shit.
Why? Aura shortage.
Spraying aura for radar? Cool, sure.
But that costs aura your ancestors didn't earn for you.
For average Experts, it's like tossing gold to the sky.
Only a overflowing aura hog like him could afford it.
Plus, Heavy Sword's pull yanked my body toward his blade, and his swings were quicker than expected...
Didn't look it, but tricky bastard.
Whoever drew these brackets is a dick.
I started scheming.
I could smash through with that form I'd just grasped,
but there had to be a simpler way.
Of course, I kept moving while thinking.
No idiot attacks a stationary dummy.
As the deliberation dragged,
Wait, why didn't I think of this?
A simple idea hit me.
I executed it on the spot.
—Tatatatap.
First, I circled behind him, outside radar range.
Then dipped into it briefly?
"Eeeeek!"
Yup.
He reacted, spinning to impale me with Heavy Sword.
—Tatatatap!!
I looped behind again in sync.
"Wha-wha-what?"
Too late when the pig realized.
Already committed, he couldn't overcome his own momentum—wasted Heavy Sword on air.
"Urghhh!!!"
Swing so hard it buried deep in the ground, stuck.
I slit the gold-plated pig's throat.
"Winner, Evan!"
Victory mine.
I'd overrated the pig—overthought it.
Didn't expect him not to bite such a basic feint.
Expert or not, I'd have reacted.
I stepped offstage, caught my breath, and waited for the finals opponent.
"Winner, Grover Shillon!"
Worried I'd wait forever, but his side wrapped up around the same time. Good.
The ref approached Grover and me.
"You can start now or rest first—your call."
"How long a rest?"
"Finish by end of day."
I met Grover's eyes—just asking his take.
His face twisted quick.
"No need to rest for some two-bit mercenary trash."
The fuck?
Starting shit already?
"Whatever."
"A commoner daring to..."
Looked like another family-high noble prick, as I'd guessed.
Time for some re-education.
"Both sides agreed—begin now."
Ref backed off; we took distance.
"Begin!"
Signal dropped.
Grover's back sprouted faint aura.
Ooh... better than I thought.
His presence and stance said he wasn't some total greenhouse flower.
Then I'll show proper aura etiquette.
—Gooooh...
My breath mixed with dark-red flames.
Aura wrapped my sword in scorching heat.
"......"
"........."
Aura-clad swords, we glared.
—Tap!
I struck first.
End it quick!
Stanced and blitzed—speed no one else had handled.
—Clang!
But he parried pure skill, no tricks.
I pressed relentlessly.
—Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Spear vs. shield.
Rally dragged longer than expected.
"Hoo..."
Won't end like this.
Need something fresh...
I pulled back, reset, about to try that form.
But,
"Cheongha Ilryu Sword, First Form: Strike Water Pierces Stone."
He'd decided on a form too.
Like a raging river carving rock over eons, his blade lunged for my throat.
"Fuck this shit!!!!"
I scrambled into defense, deflecting the form.
Feels familiar... same spot as before.
Eh, not important.
I twisted my sword max to redirect.
"Haa... haa......"
Blocked the form, but no breather—his sword whipped again.
—Clang! Clang! Clang!
He was worse at swordplay overall.
But winning like this? Tricky.
Thought it'd be a cakewalk,
losing here? Ultimate bullshit.
"Strike Water Pierces Stone!!"
Fuck. Seriously?!
No mentor? Life's unfair.
But second time, easier to deflect.
However,
—Shatter!
My mercenary sword finally couldn't take the aura and crumbled on the spot.
What the fuck?