As Morix registered himself for the tournament, he slipped quietly into the crowd of waiting contestants. Dozens of races elves, dwarves, ogres, beastfolk, and others crowded around the preparation yard, some sharpening weapons, some praying, some boasting loudly. Morix simply stood straight, arms folded, letting his presence fade among them.
Fight 1 : Ogre vs. Dwarf
The bell rang.
The first match featured the same towering ogre who had insulted Morix earlier, now swaggering his way into the ring. On the opposite side was a stout dwarf broad shoulders, braided beard, and the classic dwarven war-hammer slung across his back. The dwarf slammed his hammer on the ground, the vibration alone making the arena tremble.
The ogre laughed.
Massive club in hand, he charged first each step like a falling boulder. The dwarf ducked low, sliding between the ogre's legs with impossible agility. He swung his hammer upward, aiming at the ogre's spine a signature dwarven technique to shatter a giant's balance.
Clang!
The hammer met raw muscle thick, hardened, nearly stone-like. The ogre turned with frightening speed, his club sweeping horizontally in a full arc. The dwarf raised his hammer to block, but the blow sent him skidding across the arena, boots carving twin trails in the sand.
Recovering, the dwarf rushed again, leaping high and spinning, bringing the hammer down with a seismic smash
but the ogre caught it with one hand.
Gasps filled the stands.
With brutal force, the ogre yanked the hammer away, lifted the dwarf by his collar, and slammed him onto the ground, knocking him out cold.
Match over.
Effortless.
Morix nodded. "Raw physical power… impressive. Yet his footwork, reaction timing, and reading of opponent's intent remain rudimentary."
Security Beside the Ring
As the arena staff dragged the dwarf away, Morix noticed unusually tight security on one side armored guards, halberds crossed, eyes scanning every corner. Something unusual.
Morix approached one of them.
"Is there a reason for such heightened security?"
The guard straightened.
"The Princess of Seraphyne—Princess Falicia Selastra—is attending today's matches. She will grace the stands shortly."
Morix simply nodded, though inside he wondered: Why here? Why today?
Fight 2 : Elf Archer vs. Spiritborne Mage
The second bell rang.
On one end of the ring stood a male elf tall, lean, silver hair tied back, a classic longbow shimmering with arcane runes. His eyes were calm, emotionless, the way only elves could manage.
His opponent: a member of the Aetheris, a race with half-ethereal, spirit-like bodies. Wisps of energy floated from his skin. He carried no weapon; instead, runic sigils floated around his hands, swirling like tiny galaxies.
The match began with a blinding flash.
The mage launched three condensed mana bolts, each spiraling unpredictably. The elf responded by stepping backward not panicked, but calculating. He drew his bow, fired a single arrow, and the shot split mid-air into five spectral arrows that intercepted the incoming magic.
The impact lit the arena in blue flames.
The mage raised both hands, calling forth a dome of translucent energy. With a twist of his fingers, he shattered it into dozens of shards each shard transforming into homing projectiles.
The elf, unfazed, sprinted sideways, sliding across the sand with perfect grace. He leaped, spun, and fired a volley so fast it looked like a stream of silver light.
Every arrow found its mark.
Each projectile shattered the mage's spells one by one until the elf's final arrow pinned the mage's robe to the ground barely missing flesh but completely immobilizing him.
Match over.
Morix assessed calmly:
"The archer shows excellent precision and movement discipline. The mage relies too heavily on ranged suppression without layered defenses. Victory was inevitable."
Fight 3 : Morix vs. the Ogre
When the announcer called Morix's name, the ogre's lip curled into amusement almost pity.
"Still alive, little twig? Quit now. I hate crushin' helpless humans."
Morix bowed his head slightly.
"I appreciate your concern. However… I refuse."
The ogre snorted.
"Don't say I didn't give ya a chance. You chose death."
The bell rang.
The ogre lunged forward first, swinging his club with mountain-breaking strength. Morix didn't dodge. He simply shifted his stance one subtle step and the club whooshed past him harmlessly.
The crowd gasped.
The ogre's eyes widened. He swung again, faster, angrier. Morix deflected the strike with two fingers, redirecting it as if nudging a falling leaf.
This time, the arena fell silent.
Morix's expression remained unchanged calm, formal, almost analytical.
The ogre roared, veins bulging, muscles doubling in size as rage consumed him. His aura darkened pure berserker wrath.
He stomped, cracking the ground.
He charged.
This time, Morix moved.
A blur of black cloak.
He slid under the ogre's legs, struck the back of the ogre's knee with the edge of his hand, vaulted onto the ogre's shoulder, and kicked off sending the giant stumbling.
In mid-air, Morix twisted, delivering a spinning palm strike directly to the ogre's chest
a strike controlled, measured, perfectly placed.
The shockwave echoed across the arena.
The ogre collapsed backward like a fallen tower.
Morix landed silently.
The crowd erupted shouts, disbelief, awe. A human displaying strength beyond reason.
The ogre coughed, staring up at him in shock.
"W-What… are you…?"
Morix simply bowed.
Match over.
Gabriel, watching from above, smirked.
As expected. The outcome was never in doubt.
A sudden trumpet echoed across the arena.
"Everyone rise! Her Highness, Princess Facilia Selastra, has arrived!"
The crowd shifted. Guards moved. Fans screamed.
Morix turned