Tournament Medical Ward – 7 Hours After Match
The healing runes carved into the white stone walls of the medical ward pulsed in a gentle, rhythmic blue. Sitting in his wheelchair, Krad closed his eyes and forced his lungs to expand.
Inhale for seven. Hold for four. Exhale for eight. Hold for four.
Queen Hania's Breath of the Ancient World technique was working, but working was a relative term. Krad's body was a catastrophic landscape of trauma. His cracked ribs ground together with every breath, and the torn muscle in his left thigh throbbed with a dull, burning agony. Winning against Brick under twenty times normal gravity had pushed his Level 321 frame past its absolute breaking point.
"Your mana circulation is stabilizing," Hania said softly, her hands glowing with a faint, soothing emerald light as she hovered them over his bandaged chest. "But you cannot fight in the Round of 16 like this."
Across the room, Mist was pacing furiously. The usually composed, third-ranked Slayer on the continent was chewing on his thumbnail, his gray eyes darting across a floating magical projection of the tournament bracket.
"Captain Mist is right to be worried," Krad thought. Zarek had forfeited. Morana had advanced without taking a scratch. Titan Forgeborn was looming. And waiting at the very end was Liyab, the Level 588 Champion who was probably watching Krad's every move.
"We need a new strategy," Mist muttered, stopping his pacing. "Fundamental Strike and basic footwork won't close the gap against domain-users. We need to compress a year of tactical conditioning into---"
Mist never finished his sentence.
The gentle blue healing runes on the walls violently flared crimson, then shattered into a shower of sparks with a deafening CRACK!
A suffocating, absolute killing intent flooded the room. It felt as though a massive, invisible blade had just been pressed directly against Krad's throat. His breath caught. The Moon Eater inside him, usually so arrogant, suddenly recoiled, coiling tightly into the depths of Krad's soul in self-preservation.
Enemy attack?! Krad panicked, trying to force his broken body out of the wheelchair.
Mist reacted with terrifying speed. In a fraction of a second, his Celestial-tier sword was drawn, gray mist violently erupting from his body to shield Krad and Hania.
The heavy oak door of the medical ward didn't open. It simply dissolved into fine sawdust. Through the haze of destroyed wood stepped a man. He was tall, dressed in a sleek, high-collared black combat mantle trimmed with gold. A jagged scar ran down the left side of his stern, angular face, disappearing into the collar. His eyes were a piercing, stormy gray, identical in color to Mist's, but carrying the weight of a thousand battlefields.
The man didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even take a combat stance. He just looked at Mist. Mist's ferocious gray aura instantly vanished. His sword dropped a few inches. The third-ranked Slayer on the continent, the man who had casually flicked away Han's clones, suddenly stood at rigid attention, his eyes wide with utter shock.
"Captain?!" Mist gasped.
Krad blinked. He looked at Mist. Then he looked at the scary guy in the doorway. Then back to Mist.
"Wait," Krad croaked, pointing a trembling, bandaged finger at Mist. "You just called him Captain."
"Yes!" Mist hurriedly sheathed his sword, hastily running a hand through his hair to look presentable. "He's the Captain!"
Krad's jaw dropped. The pain in his ribs was completely forgotten, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming sense of betrayal.
"But you're Captain!" Krad yelled, his voice cracking indignantly. "
Mist winced, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Well, technically, I am a Captain. I command a vanguard unit. But he is the Captain... t-the Commander of the Tiger Squad."
Krad slumped back into his wheelchair, staring at the ceiling in profound disappointment. "My whole life is a lie. I've been getting my ass kicked by the Assistant Manager."
"I am the Third-Ranked Slayer on the Continent!" Mist hissed defensively, his face flushing red.
"Assistant. Manager," Krad repeated, crossing his arms and wincing as his ribs flared.
Hania covered her mouth, desperately trying to stifle a laugh that was wildly inappropriate given the terrifying aura still suffocating the room.
"Enough."
The single word from the man in the doorway hit like a physical shockwave. The comedic tension instantly evaporated, replaced once again by the heavy, oppressive reality of his presence.
This was Commander Kashima. The man Mist had talked about in the Kingdom of Darkness, the legendary Slayer who had gone on a six-month crusade of vengeance to hunt down corrupt mages. The man who had signed Krad's Novice Exception clause.
Kashima stepped fully into the room. His stormy eyes bypassed Mist entirely, locking onto Krad's battered form in the wheelchair.
"You are Krad. The Vessel of the Moon Eater," Kashima said. His voice was deep, strict, and devoid of any warmth. It was the voice of a man who measured people entirely by their utility in a war.
"I am," Krad said, forcing himself to sit up straight, refusing to cower.
"You defied a Level 401 opponent's twenty-times gravity field using nothing but fundamental body mechanics and human willpower," Kashima continued, stepping closer. "In doing so, you tore the vastus lateralis muscle in your left thigh, micro-fractured four ribs, and nearly ruptured your own heart."
"I won," Krad said stubbornly.
"You survived." Kashima corrected coldly. "Brick Stonefist was a brute with a hammer. In the Quarter-Finals, you will face assassins who wield scalpels. Willpower alone will not stop Morana Blackthorn from severing your brain stem before you even register the temperature dropping."
Krad gritted his teeth. "Then why are you here? To tell me to forfeit?"
"If I wanted you to forfeit, I would not have authorized your entry." Kashima said. He finally turned to Mist.
Mist bowed his head respectfully. "Things are escalating faster than we anticipated, Captain. Liyab is taking a personal interest in him."
"Liyab is the least of our concerns," Kashima said, and the sheer gravity in his tone made Krad's blood run cold.
Kashima turned back to Krad, his intense eyes narrowing. "Do you think this tournament is a game, kid? Do you think the Continental Association allowed a Level 321 anomaly into the Rage Tournament just for entertainment?"
"I... I don't know," Krad admitted.
"Xerxes is moving," Kashima said, dropping the bombshell.
Hania gasped. Mist's head snapped up.
"Our scouts tracked a massive surge of dark mana heading toward Sorsogon City," Kashima continued, his tone clinical but grim. "The Red God's Earth Shift is accelerating. Xerxes knows that the Moon Eater has awakened to ten percent inside you. He knows you are here. He is coming to claim his prized vessel and forcefully extract the Mythical Beast from your soul."
Krad felt a chill that had nothing to do with Morana's ice. He remembered the pure, sadistic delight in Xerxes's crimson eyes back in the ruined Kingdom. Imagine an army of Mythical Beast carriers, all under my control!
"We cannot hide you," Kashima said, pacing the room. "If we pull you from the tournament, you become a rogue target. The Continental Association cannot officially protect you without breaking international treaties. But..."
Kashima stopped, looking down at Krad. "If you win this tournament. If you become the Champion... you fall under the absolute protection of the Sorsogon Vanguard. Xerxes would have to declare war on the entire continent to touch you."
The weight of destiny crashed down on Krad's shoulders. It wasn't just about promises anymore. It wasn't just about proving himself to Dani, or honoring Kora's sacrifice, or avenging Hanan's kingdom.
It was about preventing the end of the world. If Xerxes captured him and extracted the Moon Eater, millions would die.
"I can't beat Liyab," Krad said honestly, looking at his bandaged, trembling hands. "I only have an eight percent chance on my best day. And right now... my body is broken."
"Your body is a vessel," Kashima said strictly. "And like any vessel, its limits are defined by the pressure it can contain."
Kashima raised his right hand.
The air in the medical ward began to warp and distort. Geometric lines of glowing gold and black ink began to crawl across the white stone floor, scaling the walls, mapping the entire room in a complex, three-dimensional grid.
[ Warning: Massive Spatial Distortion Detected ]
[ System Alpha: Analyzing... Entity Kashima is manifesting a Tactical Domain. ]
"A domain?" Krad gasped. "Like Han's Mirage Palace?!"
"Do not insult me by comparing my technique to that corrupted wretch's parlor trick," Kashima snapped. "This is the Mind's Eye Diagram. Within this space, time flows differently. A single second outside is equivalent to an hour inside. It is a space designed purely for tactical combat simulation."
Kashima looked at Mist. "Wheel him in."
Mist grabbed the handles of Krad's wheelchair.
"Wait, right now?!" Krad panicked, looking at the swirling vortex of gold and black energy forming in the center of the room. "My thigh is torn! I can't even stand!"
"In the Diagram, your physical body remains dormant while your consciousness fights," Kashima said, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for argument. "You will die a thousand times in the next three hours. You will face simulations of Morana, Titan, Zarek, and Liyab."
Kashima stepped backward into the glowing vortex, his stormy gray eyes fixed on Krad.
"You wanted the actual manager," Kashima said, a terrifying, strict shadow falling over his face. "Welcome to the top floor. Do not disappoint me."
With a swift shove from Mist, Krad and his wheelchair were pushed directly into the swirling tactical domain. The vortex snapped shut behind them, leaving the medical ward in sudden, absolute silence, with only Queen Hania standing there.