The crowd finally calmed, and I sank back into my seat. A massive screen lit up behind Yuna.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce today's event."
On the screen, an empty tournament sheet appeared. Yuna's voice rang across the arena.
"Like every year, the second event is a fighting tournament."
The crowd began to roar, but before the noise could rise too high, Yuna cut them off with a grin.
"BUT—this year, the event will be different. Instead of one-on-one fights… today, we will have team battles!"
That single word sent the audience into madness. People love fights, no matter what world they're from.
I sighed, glancing at the ones beside me. "Ion idea?" I asked, and they nodded. Of course he would—he'd been drilling teamwork into the others all year.
Yuna's voice pulled us back. "We have sixteen teams chosen to compete, each team consisting of four to eight fighters. Matches will take place in randomly assigned battlegrounds."
The screen shifted again, the word TEAMS blazing across it, followed by names scrolling one after another. At the same time, fighters stepped out from both sides of the stage, lined up behind Yuna.
She smiled, raising her hand. "But first—the rules."
I leaned forward. These had been my idea at the start: a thin barrier around the body, registering hits and lighting red the moment a blow would be lethal. It let the fighter feel the full strike, but stopped death. Since then, the system had been advanced further. Now the sensation was nearly identical to reality—flesh tearing, bones snapping, blood flying. The only difference was the glowing scarlet wounds and the less-than-lethal pain.
"Simple rules," Yuna said. "Defeat your enemy by killing them or forcing surrender."
Of course, there were additional layers—point systems, optional rules, and fight variants. Capture the flag. Gunfights. Siege battles. All depending on the battleground chosen.
She clapped her hands, voice rising. "Now, let's welcome our fighters!"
The first team stepped forward.
"The Fire Bears—a clan team that showed their might last year and has returned, hungrier than ever."
The bears bowed toward us, then puffed their chests out as the audience roared approval.
"The second team: the Storm Birds! The only winged people of our lands, representing the freedom of the skies!"
They kneeled, wings folded around their arms, then opened them wide in unison, their feathers catching the light. The crowd exploded with cheers.
I studied them with narrowed eyes. The harpies were a strange breed—intelligent, able to command the winds themselves. When they first arrived three years ago, they'd come fully armed, except for three individuals who seemed to be the real focus. It had been fishy then, and it was fishy now. I'd let them settle, but had Loyed keep his ghosts trailing them. So far, nothing suspicious, but the gut feeling never left.
The introductions rolled on. Two Gray Pack teams, one led by Emmy and her sister. Tiger clans. Squirrels.
A mix of races and styles, each of them with sharp eyes and warriors' postures. Veterans, no doubt.
When the last team bowed out, Yuna turned to the screen again. "With introductions done, let's get to the action!"
The tournament bracket appeared, glowing, as a lottery system began to spin. The first two teams blinked into place.
"For the opening match, we have—Forest Cats versus Fire Bears!"
The audience answered with a thunderous OHHHH!
The two teams remained on the stage while the others withdrew. Yuna spread her arms wide, feeding mana into the platform beneath her. Lines of light raced outward through the stadium floor, and in a burst of power, the entire arena shifted. Sand and sun replaced stone—suddenly, we were in a desert battlefield. The audience floated on shimmering platforms above, while the teams stood opposite each other below, weapons at the ready.
"Man, we really don't hold back," I muttered, and laughter rippled through the crowd. It was true. We were beasts, and beasts loved to fight. This arena gave us freedom—blood and glory, without consequence.
The first battle began with Yuna's signal. Sand whipped into the air as the Forest Cats pounced forward, claws flashing. The Fire Bears roared, forming a wall of muscle and fur. Blows echoed like thunder, claws against fists, roars against snarls. Dust rose, blood shimmered red, and the crowd howled with joy.
And that was only the beginning.
The matches rolled on, one after another, each battleground reshaping itself—forests thick with fog, icy mountains, ruined cities where bullets tore through the night. Every team brought their style, every team brought their pride. The Storm Birds tore through their opponents with sky-dives and gales of wind. The Gray Pack worked like shadows, striking as one body. Tigers overwhelmed with raw savagery. Squirrels—don't laugh—outmaneuvered enemies with speed and precision, hitting like arrows from every angle.
Round after round, the tournament narrowed. Cheers shook the sky with every victory, and the glow of barriers lighting red became a rhythm to the fight. The crowd didn't just watch—they lived it, blood pumping with every clash.