Chapter 250 - Training Arc Results (3)

The Duke harrumphed, still grappling with the concept. He settled into his royal seat, which was placed beside [The Merchant]'s VIP seat. A silent contemplation consumed him as he pondered what [The Merchant] had insinuated.

In the lower realms, where power struggles and political machinations were rife, the Duke had always relied on his might and cunning to secure his influence. That was how he was where he was. 

The strong ruled the weak. That was and always will be the natural order of the world, no matter which realm you were in. 

The Duke’s red eyes gleamed with a memory he had repressed a long time ago. Absolutely, the strong always ruled the weak. 

The Duke's eyes bore into [The Merchant] with hidden skepticism. Did the merchant actually think that there would be someone, a weak and unknown contestant, who could challenge and win against the established strong? Nay! The Duke refused to accept such a thought, for it went against his deeply ingrained philosophy where the strong were the strong, and the weak were the weak. That was the natural law and order of the world, no matter which world they inhabited. Besides, he needed it to be true because otherwise his actual plans for the Tournament would go awry.

"We shall see, Merchant." the Duke retorted, his voice laced with conviction. "In the end, it is the strong who dominate the weak, and power prevails."

[The Merchant] leaned back in his seat, and simply shook his head. “My words only come from experience, my little Duke.”

The Duke's expression softened slightly, intrigued by [The Merchant]'s perspective, even if he couldn't fully embrace it. "You have seen such feats before?" he asked.

"A few," [The Merchant] replied, "in my long travels across worlds and realms, I have encountered individuals who surpassed their limits, shattering the boundaries set by others. Such moments are rare, but when they occur, they leave an indelible mark on history."

The Duke's mind whirled with conflicting thoughts before it ended in under a second. Oh, stubborn was the Duke.

While the Duke grappled with his thoughts, [The Merchant] simply observed, knowing that seeds of doubt had been sown. In the realm of gods and demons, where ambition and cunning entwined, the balance of power could shift in an instant, and those who underestimated the underdogs might find themselves facing an unforeseen outcome.

And, he had seen this exact situation too, many times.

The Duke harrumphed. “Be that as it may, I’ve seen with my own two eyes too, of how many times I’ve been proven right.” He gripped his hands into a fist, his claw-like nails digging into the palm of his pale, pale hand. Then, he stopped. “. . .My apologies. I didn’t mean to show such childish behavior before you, Merchant.”

“Please, don’t be,” The Merchant shook his head slightly. “You are but a mortal.”

The Duke calmed himself immediately in under a second - the bloodlust that would have alerted the Merchant otherwise. Be calm, he reminded himself. In due time, he wouldn’t be such a mortal anymore. 

The Duke nodded.

As the Duke and [The Merchant] continued their silent contemplation, they were suddenly interrupted by a commotion nearby. A man, as short as a dwarf, dressed in expensive clothing, stood atop a flying rock, holding a microphone-like object.

With charisma and flair, he introduced himself as [MC], the Master of Ceremonies for the Tournament.

"Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats and brace yourselves!" 

The [MC] bellowed, his voice resonating through the colosseum. "For today, we witness the convergence of the strong, the bold, and the powerful—all gathered in one place, in this monumental [Tournament]!"

The crowd roared with excitement as [MC] expertly hyped them up. 

"Are you ready to witness battles of epic proportions?" [MC] cried out. "To see warriors clash and magic ignite?”

“Look no further for the one and ONLY [Tournament] is about to begin!"

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as [MC] explained the rewards that awaited the winners. “20 Gold Coins! A phoenix’s tear! Power, and so much more!”

“And, a private audience with none other than the Duke!”

To the outside world, the Duke may have been exiled, but among the powerful elite, he still held tremendous sway. A private audience with him was a coveted chance to gain favor, influence, and perhaps uncover the secrets that shrouded him, and many more.

"Be prepared, dear audience, to rise from your seats in exhilaration!" [MC]'s voice soared to new heights. 

As his resonant proclamation filled the arena, [MC] cast a deferential glance toward Duke Aryan and [The Merchant], a silent acknowledgment of their eminent presence.

The ground beneath the spectators' feet trembled, the colosseum itself seeming to pulse with anticipation. In a spellbinding display, the once-uniform circular floor, bearing the weight of a hundred participants, began to shift and change.

The very earth quivered with an otherworldly intensity, a symphony of rumbling and crackling sounds reverberating through the arena. Beneath their feet, the colosseum floor, a circular expanse that once held the gathered competitors, seemed to stir with a life of its own.

Hexagonal fragments emerged, rising like colossal shards from the ground, their surfaces gleaming with an almost ethereal light. Each fragment was a masterpiece of intricate design, etched with ancient symbols and imbued with a radiant energy.

A gasp of awe swept through the crowd, mingling with gasps of surprise as a few contestants, caught off guard by the sudden transformation, lost their footing and plummeted. Their startled cries echoed in the air as they vanished from view, their dreams of glory shattered in an instant.

"Two contenders have met their untimely end already!" [MC]'s voice cut through the collective gasp, his tone both dramatic and mournful. "Alas, they faltered at the very threshold of glory! But the [Tournament] marches on!"

The colosseum resonated with a newfound intensity as the hexagonal platforms continued to ascend, reaching towering heights. Each fragment seemed to lock into place, forming an intricate mosaic of potential battlegrounds. The audience, captivated by this visual spectacle, held their breath as the first stage of the [Tournament], the [Elimination], was set into motion.

The colossal shards of the colosseum floor now stood as towering platforms, their heights ranging from the intimate to the dizzying. As they settled into place, they revealed an astonishing three-dimensional landscape—a microcosm of battlefield possibilities.

The audience, captivated by this visual spectacle, held their breath as the first stage of the [Tournament], the [Elimination], was set into motion.

The stage was set, the players were poised, and destiny itself seemed to quiver with anticipation. The [Tournament] had begun, and the realm of gods and demons held its collective breath, ready to witness the unfolding of a saga that would resound through the ages.

As the last echoes of the fallen contestants' cries faded, [MC]'s charismatic voice pierced the charged air, commanding the crowd's attention once again.

"Behold, esteemed audience, the rules that shall govern the [Elimination] stage!" [MC]'s voice carried the weight of authority and excitement in equal measure. He stood atop his flying rock, and yelled.

"Listen well!" [MC] exclaimed, his voice a whip-crack of energy. "In this [Elimination] challenge, only twenty warriors shall remain standing! Until then,” Just as he spoke, two more challengers fell from the ever-changing tournament ground. “Survive.” 

[MC]'s dynamic presence was matched by his movements. He dashed from one end of the floating rock to the other, his body language a dance of fervor. He leaned forward, the microphone-like object nearly an extension of his exuberant gestures.

"You've got two paths to forge ahead," [MC] declared, his voice carrying a resonant enthusiasm that galvanized the crowd. "First, keep those feet steady! Stand unwavering on this shifting ground, and prove your resilience!"

Basically, be a sitting duck, was what the MC was basically telling the challengers to do.

His eyes scanned the sea of competitors, as if seeking those who dared accept the challenge. Then, with a sudden pivot, he pointed his finger dramatically.

"Or, eliminate your rivals, cast them down, and assert your dominance before the eyes of the people!” 

A roar of approval erupted from the spectators, the very air pulsating with their zeal. [MC]'s body language mirrored the crowd's fervor, his fists pumping, his arms outstretched in exaltation.

With a flourish, [MC] raised his arms, the microphone-like object gleaming in the sunlight. His voice carried the weight of his message, a clarion call that resonated with the hearts of all who listened.

"Prepare yourselves, dear audience, to witness strength and resolve like never before! Brace for the spectacle that shall unfold before your very eyes—the [Elimination] is underway!"

With a triumphant sweep of his arm, [MC] turned his gaze toward Duke Aryan and [The Merchant], acknowledging their presence as orchestrators of this grand event. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the colosseum floor erupted even more, throwing the crowd in a frenzy of cheers, a symphony of anticipation that reverberated through the very core of the realm.

“The Elimination has started,” The MC shouted at the world. Two more challengers met their demise from attempting to pick a fight with the Crimson Death. “Survive!”

The Tournament had officially begun.