The arena roared like a living thing.
Sixty-four hand-picked monsters of men and women stood in the four blocks.
Three days, single elimination, then a final four-man round-robin.
The prize pool was obscene.
The betting pool was even more obscene.
And I, registered as the no-name "Reiji," had 30-to-1 odds in the first round.
Perfect.
From the stands came a chorus I never asked for.
"Teacher! Win and buy me cake!"
"Jirei-kun, do your best~!
Eight academy brats plus Char, all waving like lunatics.
I gave a lazy wave back, then sighed inside the flower-hell that was the Hanamegane.
Princess Elena was apparently in the royal booth today.
Some poor organizer had cried actual tears begging me to wear it.
So here I was, looking like a walking bouquet.
The announcer's voice boomed.
"First match of Block A!
Entering from the west gate—personally recommended by Principal Ardi himself!
D-class adventurer—Reiji!"
Scattered cheers. Mostly confusion.
"Entering from the east gate—84th champion!
Clan master of Brave Heroes!
The man who solo-slaughtered an S-class Cyclops—
'Warrior Demon' Gran Roubaust!"
The stadium detonated.
A giant in ornate adamantite full plate strode in.
Three meters tall, shoulders like castle walls, dragging a greatsword longer than I was tall.
Odds on the floating magic board: 1.05.
Translation: nobody on the continent thought he could lose.
Gran planted his sword tip-first into the ground and stared down at me.
"Forfeit."
His voice rumbled like an earthquake.
"I'm telling you this for your own good. The fear will stay with you forever."
He wasn't arrogant.
He was being kind in the way only people who've broken others can be.
I scratched my cheek.
"Sorry. I really can't lose today."
Gran's eyes sharpened—just a flicker—then he nodded once.
"Then I'll crush you with everything I have. No hard feelings."
The whistle shrieked.
Gran Roubaust kicked the ground so hard the arena floor spider-webbed for twenty meters.
In the same heartbeat he was already airborne, greatsword raised overhead like the wrath of a god.
I tilted my head six centimeters to the left.
The blade fell.
BOOM.
A shockwave ripped outward, flattening the front-row barriers.
Where I had been standing was now a crater shaped exactly like a descending meteor.
I was already ten meters away, hands still in my pockets.
Gran didn't pause.
He spun the sword one-handed, using the momentum to bring it around in a horizontal sweep that turned the air into a screaming sawblade.
I counted in my head while I danced.
60,000 lien at 30 to 1 = 1.8 million.
1.8 million re-bet next round at 2.3 to 1 = 4.14 million.
4.14 million at 1.5 to 1 = 6.21 million.
6.21 million at 1.1 to 1 = 6.831 million from individual matches alone.
The horizontal slash passed half an inch above my hair.
Gran planted his foot and thrust straight forward, blade accelerating faster than sound.
The tip became a silver comet.
I stepped inside the thrust, shoulder brushing the flat of the blade, and kept walking.
He pivoted instantly, elbow leading into a shield-bash that could have punched through castle gates.
I ducked, felt the wind shear the Hanamegane's fake nose clean off (it grew back in two seconds because of course it did).
Gran roared and unleashed a storm of slashes—high, low, diagonal, reverse-grip, spinning, leaping.
Each one carved new geometry into the arena floor.
Each one would have ended any S-rank adventurer on the continent.
I weaved through them like I was taking a stroll.
Block-winner odds currently frozen at 1483.578 to 1.
60,000 lien → 88.98 million.
Split three ways (me, Luna, Yuri) = 29.66 million each.
That's enough to buy a small country.
Or at least a very peaceful cottage in the middle of nowhere with no heroes, no demon lords, no assassins, no princesses.
A descending vertical slash came fast enough to split time itself.
I finally moved my hand—just one finger—lightly tapping the flat of the blade.
The sword stopped dead, vibrating in Gran's grip like it had hit an invisible wall the size of a mountain.
Gran's eyes widened.
I smiled behind the flower nightmare.
"Done warming up?"
Thousands of magic circles ignited around me—no incantation, no casting motion.
Just pure, silent annihilation blooming in rings that stacked to the heavens.
Gran saw it coming.
Instead of fear, he laughed—deep, rumbling, delighted.
"That's more like it!"
He slammed his broken greatsword into the ground, planted both palms on the hilt, and roared.
Every rune on his armor blazed crimson.
A titanic aura exploded outward—"Warrior Demon True Release".
The pressure alone cracked the arena wards.
Then he charged straight into the storm.
My circles fired.
Ten thousand spears of light turned the world white.
Gran swung his shattered sword like a conductor's baton.
Each swing detonated dozens of spears mid-flight.
He bulldozed forward, armor shedding plates, blood spraying, but never slowing.
Twenty meters.
Fifteen.
Ten.
I watched him come and finished the final calculation.
88.98 million total.
Minus 8% arena tax.
Minus 5% Luna's sweets fund (non-negotiable).
Still leaves roughly 81 million lien.
Enough to disappear forever.
Gran reached the five-meter mark, sword raised for one final overhead strike that would have split a dragon in half.
I flicked one finger.
The remaining eight thousand circles converged into a single lance of light thicker than his torso.
It punched straight through his guard, through the aura, through the armor, through everything.
The explosion was silent—just a perfect sphere of white that erased sound itself.
When the light faded, Gran was on his knees in the bottom of a glassy crater twenty meters deep, one hand still gripping the melted hilt of his sword.
He looked up, grinning through a mask of blood.
"…Eighty-eight million, huh?"
He coughed once. "Hell of a retirement plan."
Then he toppled face-first.
The referee's voice came out a squeak.
"W-winner… Reiji!"
The betting board overhead flickered wildly.
My odds for the next round crashed from 30.0 → 2.3 in under five seconds.
I waved lazily at the stunned crowd, then glanced at the noble booth where Princess Elena was apparently clapping with tears in her eyes at how "beautiful" her glasses looked in action.
Luna and Yuri were screaming something in the stands—probably celebrating their incoming fortune.
I exhaled.
Three more matches.
Then I'm gone.
Forever.