Progressing Through the Rounds

…

After the customary speech, the first of eight matches began, with Adrian D’Aubigne—the same fighter who had eliminated Tokko in the first round—claiming another victory. Watching him, Joseph paid closer attention; it wouldn’t be long before Adrian might stand in his way.

The young man was eighteen, with a noble and refined look on his cold, indifferent face. Long ocean-blue hair framed his sharp features, and a sword rested at his hip. His build was like a healthy athlete—lean but with a decent layer of muscle.

His fighting style focused on quick, precise sword attacks, every movement intentional, with an excellent sense of parrying and footwork. He was essentially a sword version of Tokko, but more talented and better trained.

He also likely had a special stat, similar to magic, spirit, willpower, or energy, but had yet to use it. So far, he had won through technique alone. Given his talent and affiliation with the Sovereign Order, it was no surprise his skills were top tier.

His current opponent was weighed down in heavy armor, leaving no openings for vital strikes or meaningful damage. So, Adrian shifted tactics, patiently chipping away until the match fell in his favor.

It was clear he had learned from his bout against White Thorn, where a similarly armored foe drained his stamina, slowly chipping away at him until it resulted in his eventual loss.

In the second match one of the two remaining middle-ranked guild members appeared—the axe wielding twin, Berserker, who Joseph had obliterated in the guild tournament.

His class was even more obvious in a solo fight. He went wild on the stage, relentless pressure forcing his opponent into mistakes. It only took a single slip, and the match was his as the axes just narrowly missed vital organs and limbs.

The third match featured the last middle-ranked member. A stubby, well-built dwarf stomped into the arena. His comically oversized hammer and dense armor turned him into a walking fortress.

His approach was simple: march forward and smash. Physical attacks glanced off his armor, and most magic spells dispersed against his enchanted plates, combined with the extremely heavy hammer, meant all he had to do was land a single hit and it was done.

The only reason he’d lost during the guild tournament was going up against a fire mage who roasted him from within. Against his current opponent, though, there was no such counter. With no fire spells to exploit his weakness, the dwarf bulldozed his way to victory, even defeating a Sovereign Order fighter.

Joseph respected the style, straightforward and brutal but also saw the obvious flaws.

‘If he could fix the fire/heat weakness somehow, maybe a thermal lining of some sort, a hide or scale perhaps? Plus finding a way to manipulate the hammers weight so it can move fast during the swing, but heavy on the hit, that would be a pretty strong style.’ Joseph thought. Still, he wasn’t worried about fighting him later, he had his own counter that was very hard to defend against.

In the fourth match, Joseph entered the arena. This time his opponent came at him in earnest, but he had no intention of ending it quickly. Instead, he toyed with her, raising small water barriers to snuff out her spells as soon as they formed, waiting, almost hoping, that she might reveal something unique.

After a few volleys he grew disinterested, conjured an arrow on his bow, and loosed it. The opponent panicked and immediately forfeited, seeing the flash of light arrive in a heartbeat. Cedrid rushed in to intercept the arrow, kicking it away as Joseph had aimed for her legs, it shattered upon impact into dust.

Joseph returned to the stands as Han stepped up for the fifth match. It went as expected, a straightforward, dominant, and clean match. Han still held back, not using a single skill or spell making some even more cautious of what he still held back.

The sixth was another solid battle, though nothing extraordinary.

The seventh match was Che’s turn. She took a steady breath before stepping onto the stage. No thoughts, no distractions—just her, her staff, and her flames.

At the signal she released a swarm of floating will-o’-wisp flames, small but intense flames that circled around, aimed towards her opponent. Her opponent, clad in reddish armor, weaved and dodged through the barrage, unwilling to risk direct contact.

The wisps moved unpredictably under her control, slowly shaping the rhythm of the fight. Whenever he pressed too close, she baited him with a larger flame burst to push him back.

Over time she mixed in stronger, off-beat wisps, innocently hidden as dying flames. Small blasts of heat scorched at his legs, making him sweat and stumble. He began to recognize the pattern, growing more cautious, but Che mirrored him—patient, controlled, waiting.

After a night of reflection, she stopped blaming bad matchups and admitted it was her own lack of creativity. Now, shifting her approach, she held a fireball at the ready, forcing her opponent to hesitate.

He tried to bait her into overcommitting, but she refused, stubbornly controlling the tempo until his patience snapped and he finally charged.

At close range Che released her stored fireball, then followed immediately with another. The twin bursts detonated around them, heat searing exposed skin. Her opponent staggered back, blistered and reeling.

The cycle continued. Che conserved her mana, playing to the extended thirty-minute timer. The rules stated that in cases without a knockout, victory went to whoever landed the most effective hits or maintained advantage longest. By that metric, the fight was already hers.

At the twenty-five-minute mark both fighters were drenched in sweat, but her steady play gave her the edge. She caught herself almost pushing for a finish—her ego urging her to strike harder, but then slapped herself, a reminder: don’t get reckless.

She swallowed her pride, tightened her grip, and let the clock run out.

“Time! Match over!” Cedrid announced. Her opponent collapsed, dehydrated and beaten, while Che was declared the winner.

Back at the bench she downed a potion and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Not even registering the praise from the others as her thoughts consumed with how to do better.

The final eighth match was Logan’s. Unlike Che’s drawn-out war of attrition, his was straightforward—take all the hits until he found the right moment to strike, knocking his opponent down with a firm fist and ending it cleanly.

His perfect synergy of stats, skills, and mentality gave him a clear advantage, further sharpened by frequent sparring with Han, which had trained him how to counter many advanced techniques.

With the third round over, a short break followed before the quarterfinals, 8 people remained with 4 matches to come.

The first fight was Adrian versus the berserker brother. Precision overwhelmed frenzy, and Adrian claimed victory.

The second match brought the dwarf back, who cheerfully marched up to Joseph, his opponent. “Oi! Cast that water barrier spell of yours! I wanna see if I can bust out!”

“…Sure.” Joseph raised a dome.

The dwarf smashed it with his hammer again and again. After a few minutes he stepped back, panting. “Damn, that’s tough. Gramps was right. I need more strength!”

Joseph shook his head and spoke to the dwarf. “…do you not understand the concept of a spear? If your hammer had 2 sides, one for smashing one for piercing, all of your force would be focused down to a singular point… honestly that would have probably broken it.”

“Nahhh! Sounds like effort. Strength’s all I need! Strength! Strength! Strength! Hahaha!” The dwarf, like a brick wall just walked off the stage with a loud, booming chant about strength.

Joseph sighed, disappointed. ‘I quite liked him… shame he’s a meathead. Maybe later on I can find a dwarven ally and mold them into a more perfected version of his setup.’

Back at the benches, Han handled the third match with flawless swordsmanship, while Che forfeited the fourth rather than waste energy. Logan quietly thanked her; he didn’t want to fight her either.

With fighters supplied stronger, more potent potions to hasten recovery, the play-ins for the semifinals began without delay.

Joseph drew Adrian as his opponent; a match he had hoped would test him. Yet Adrian never managed to break free of Joseph’s barriers. His style, built on control, speed, and vital strikes, lacked the raw piercing power needed.

Against Joseph’s replenished mana reserves, he was eventually forced to yield, but not before casting Joseph a deadly, lingering stare.

Joseph felt disappointed, he was hoping for something more but 1v1s where all about matchup compatibility.

The second quarterfinal had Logan facing Han. Logan gave it his all, testing his shield against Han’s skill. They clashed fiercely, defense versus technique, but eventually Han’s experience broke through and pierced past his guard. Logan fell, defeated but smiling. They genuinely loved having a scrap together, especially on such a large stage.

With that, the semifinals were drawn. Joseph would fight the Prince, while Han would face the Princess. Joseph groaned inwardly at his luck. ‘Of course I get the Prince…’

From above, the king gave his son a few words before sending him down.

In the arena Cedrid stepped aside, replaced by Elara—the silver-haired half-elf knight and the king’s personal guard. She would ensure the safety of both royal heirs, while still allowing the battles to be fought fiercely and honorably.

Joseph analyzed the prince as they stood across from each other. A swordsman, without question. Calm, focused, with a blade polished to perfection.

Weakness Sense revealed something unusual though—his vitals weren’t the obvious head, neck, or heart. Instead, the weak points glowed faintly around his wrists and lower stomach.

Joseph smiled faintly. ‘Well… let’s see if you can break my barrier first.’