A MERCENARY'S ENTRANCE

Medics rushed into the arena from both entrances, carefully lifting Ragnar and Throg onto separate stretchers before wheeling the unconscious warriors away. As they disappeared through the gates, the announcer leapt down onto the shattered arena floor, his polished shoes crunching against broken stone.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he called, raising his microphone. "Give our repair crew a few moments to patch up the arena for our next set of contestants!"

The arena lights dimmed once again. A massive holographic tournament bracket slowly materialized behind him, glowing brightly against the darkness.

"In the meantime," the announcer continued with an eager grin, "allow me to explain the rules of the Tournament of Khali!"

He gestured toward the bracket, where Ragnar's and Throg's names had already been crossed out.

"As you've all just witnessed, our opening match ended in a draw. Since neither fighter claimed victory, they have both been eliminated from the tournament!"

The bracket shifted, highlighting the remaining contestants.

"The rest of the rules are simple. Win your match, and you move on. Lose... and your tournament ends there."

He paused, letting the suspense settle before raising a finger.

"But here's what makes the Tournament of Khali different."

"The winner of this tournament doesn't become champion immediately."

Curious murmurs spread throughout the crowd.

"They earn the right to challenge the reigning champion—the victor of the previous Tournament of Khali!"

The audience erupted into cheers.

"If our new challenger defeats the reigning champion, they'll be crowned the new Champion of Khali and receive a special Kantar weapon personally crafted by His Majesty himself!"

He spread his arms dramatically.

"But if the reigning champion wins..."

"The title stays exactly where it belongs!"

A low whistle escaped Hanz.

"I hate to sound like you," he admitted, glancing at Shu, "but this just keeps getting better and better."

A grin crept across Shu's face.

Hanz chuckled.

"It's actually refreshing to fight strong opponents without the stakes being that we're all going to die... or that the world's about to end."

"Yeah," Shu replied with a small laugh. "This tournament's probably the most fun I've had in a while."

His smile lingered for a moment.

Then it slowly faded.

"It almost makes me forget..."

The words died in his throat.

Saying them aloud would only make everything weighing on his shoulders feel real again.

Hanz noticed immediately.

"You just remembered what's waiting for us, didn't you?"

Shu remained silent.

Hanz rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"You probably won't believe me... but I know exactly how that feels."

He looked back toward the arena as workers continued repairing the battlefield.

"Feeling like the weight of the world is resting on your shoulders... and now your best friend's life is hanging in the balance."

He let out a quiet sigh.

"It makes you wonder if you even deserve moments like this."

His expression softened.

"But I think you're looking at it the wrong way."

"You should enjoy every breather life gives you."

"You're still just a kid, Shu. None of this was ever supposed to fall on your shoulders."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"But life doesn't really care what's fair."

He gave Shu's shoulder a light squeeze.

"So enjoy this tournament while you can."

"When it's over..."

"We'll get the Eraser."

"We'll bring Tobi back."

"And when the time finally comes to face Shun..."

His confident smile returned.

"You won't be standing there alone."

"You'll have your mum."

"You'll have me."

"And every one of us will be right there beside you."

A small smile returned to Shu's face.

"Thanks, Hanz."

"I think I needed to hear that."

Hanz simply smirked before both of them turned their attention back to the arena.

Below them, dozens of werewolves worked together, channeling kantar into the shattered battlefield. Broken stone rose from the ground piece by piece, while massive cracks sealed themselves as though time itself were reversing.

Meanwhile, the announcer rolled a large wooden ballot box into the center of the stage.

"Good news, everyone!"

"While the arena's being repaired, you'll all have the chance to place your bets!"

A spotlight shifted onto both him and the ballot box.

"If you correctly predict the winner of an individual match, you'll receive ninety gold coins!"

He paused, allowing the audience's excitement to build.

"But if you correctly predict the overall winner of the Tournament of Khali..."

His grin widened.

"You'll walk away with a grand prize of TEN THOUSAND GOLD COINS!"

Inside the royal viewing room, Hannah instantly spat out her drink.

She whipped around to face Jax, her eyes practically sparkling.

"I'm allowed to bet too... right?"

"There is absolutely no way I'm missing the chance to get rich!"

Jax and Elena burst into laughter.

"Of course you can," Jax replied.

Before he had even finished speaking, Hannah had already bolted out of the room.

The announcer continued.

"Simply head over to the ballot stand on your left, purchase a ticket, write down your name and prediction, then place it inside the ballot box."

The audience exploded into excitement.

People rushed toward the betting stand from every direction.

Hannah was among the first.

Within seconds, the crowd descended into complete chaos as everyone tried to push their way to the front.

The announcer sighed with an amused smile.

He gently tapped the tip of his cane against the arena floor.

A ripple of kantar spread outward.

A transparent sphere expanded over the crowd before carefully separating everyone into a perfectly organized queue.

"Now, now..." he said calmly.

"Let's keep things civilized, folks."

Several minutes later, every ticket had been submitted.

The arena had also been completely restored.

The audience gradually returned to their seats as the announcer stepped back into the center of the battlefield.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!"

"The arena is back in operation!"

A grin spread across his face.

"And now..."

"We have two very special contestants for our next match!"

He extended an arm toward the entrance on his left.

"To my left..."

"A rookie who's already made quite the name for himself in the underground fighting clubs of our city!"

"A sensational combat prodigy..."

"RAKAAAAA!"

The spotlight immediately shifted toward the entrance.

A young-looking werewolf stepped into the arena.

His pale blue eyes were cold and unwavering. He wore a worn black vest over a lean, athletic frame, while a pair of oversized black trousers hung loosely around his legs. Despite his youthful appearance, the razor-sharp claws extending from his fingers and the exposed fangs behind his grin made it painfully obvious he was anything but harmless.

The audience welcomed him with loud applause.

The announcer smiled.

"And believe it or not..."

"This is Raka's very first Tournament of Khali!"

"So come on, everyone..."

"Show the rookie some love" 

The crowd answered with an even louder roar, the sound echoing throughout the underground arena.

The announcer waited for the cheers to die down before slowly turning toward the opposite entrance.

"And now..."

He raised a hand toward the gate on his right.

"To my right, we have a very special guest."

"He may not be from these parts..."

"But I'm sure every single one of you knows this young mercenary."

A wave of excited murmurs swept through the audience.

"This isn't his first Tournament of Khali."

"He's one of the most well-known mercenaries in the black market..."

"A close friend of our queen..."

"And a man feared across countless battlefields as..."

"The Demon of Tyranny—"

Before the announcer could finish, the entire arena exploded.

"LEON!"

"LEON!"

"LEON!"

"LEON!"

The deafening chants shook the stadium.

A second later, the roar of a motorcycle echoed through the tunnel.

Heads turned toward the entrance.

The sound grew louder with every passing second until a sleek black motorcycle shot into the arena at incredible speed.

Leon rode with one hand resting lazily on the handlebars while using the other to wave at the audience. Every now and then he blew an exaggerated kiss toward the crowd, earning another wave of cheers.

He grinned.

"So this is the welcome I get?"

The crowd only cheered louder.

Reaching the center of the arena, the motorcycle climbed onto a raised slab of stone like it was a ramp.

The bike launched into the air.

At the peak of the jump, Leon pushed himself off, performing a clean backflip before landing lightly on both feet.

Behind him, the motorcycle slammed into the arena floor.

A controlled explosion of flames erupted from the wreckage, sending sparks dancing through the air.

Leon didn't even spare it a glance.

He casually adjusted his coat before giving the audience a theatrical bow.

The applause became almost deafening.

The announcer laughed into his microphone.

"There he is, ladies and gentlemen!"

"I told you he knows how to make an entrance!"

High above the arena, Shu watched with an amused smile.

"He seems like a fun guy."

"Maybe," Hanz replied, his eyes never leaving Leon.

"But don't let the theatrics fool you."

He narrowed his eyes as kantar gathered within them.

"His kantar is on another level."

"It's even higher than Throg's... and Ragnar's."

Shu's playful smile turned to intrigue.

"So he's stronger than both of them..."

Hanz gave a slight nod.

"By quite a bit."

Inside the royal viewing room, Hannah found herself staring at Leon.

There was something strangely familiar about him.

She couldn't explain it.

"Elena..."

"Hm?"

"Where do you know that kid from?"

Elena glanced toward Leon before looking back at Hannah.

"That's a pretty long story."

She smiled.

"Why do you ask?"

Hannah shrugged.

"I honestly don't know."

Her gaze drifted back toward the arena.

"It's just..."

"I've got this strange feeling."

"It almost feels like I've met him before."

She frowned.

"But I know that's impossible."

Elena looked back toward Leon herself, though she couldn't understand what Hannah meant.

Down below, Leon casually rolled his shoulders before stretching his neck.

Across the arena, Raka stood perfectly still.

His pale blue eyes remained locked on Leon from the moment he'd entered.

The playful smile on Leon's face slowly widened.

"So..."

He cracked his knuckles.

"You're my opponent, huh?"

Raka didn't answer.

He simply lowered his stance, his sharp claws glinting beneath the arena lights.

The atmosphere immediately grew heavier.

Even the audience gradually fell silent.

The excitement was still there...

But now it was mixed with anticipation.

The announcer slowly raised his microphone.

His grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Now then..."

"LET THE SECOND MATCH OF THE TOURNAMENT OF KHALI..."

"BEGIN!"

The crowd erupted once more.

Leon looked directly at Raka before casually raising one hand and curling a single finger toward himself.

A confident smirk spread across his face.

"Come on, pup."

"Let's rock this joint."