Chapter 9: Wildclash Tournament (Part Two)
In a few hours the local match was over and the tournament was about to begin.
Three beings walked towards the judge table and sat majestically.
On the left side was a Celestial God.
On the right was a Seeker.
The middle was a statue-like being without a face, and yet still happened to announce the match.
"Who is that??" I asked a three-eyed contestant on my side. He looked at me in shock.
"How can you not know her?" he asked. "She is the sister to Veythr Kealthorn; she stays at the first city ring," he explained.
Wow, the sister to the strongest being of the Wild. Impressive. I looked towards her and found out her statue had been looking at me the whole time. Okay, things were starting to feel off, but I brushed off the feeling and focused on the upcoming match.
The arena trembled as the first match was announced.
Match One — Korr of the Ironhide Orcs vs. Sera Valin of the Moonveil Elves.
Korr stood like a mountain of muscle, skin gleaming with bronze scales that clanged like metal. Every breath he took sounded like a hammer striking an anvil. Across from him, Sera was the opposite—slender, calm, her silver hair flowing in the windless air. Moonlight shimmered around her like a veil of water.
The horn blared.
Korr charged, each step cracking the obsidian floor. Sera didn't move. She simply raised her hand, and the light bent—slicing the air into ribbons. The first strike missed her by inches; the second shattered her barrier. Then she moved—too fast for the eye—appearing behind him, her blade glowing with pure moon essence.
Korr roared, blood spraying, but his grin widened. "Good… now it's worth fighting!" His muscles hardened into iron plates, his eyes wild with the thrill of combat.
The clash was brutal—raw strength against divine grace. Sparks danced, the crowd roared, and every strike felt like thunder tearing through heaven.
When it ended, Korr was on one knee, body torn but smiling. Sera's sword trembled, her arm limp, but her blade rested against his heart.
The Seekers raised their hands. "Victory—Sera Valin of the Moonveil Elves."
The cheers were deafening.
"She is something. I wonder who her next opponent is going to be," I said to the fighter beside me.
He looked at me in slight shock. "You really aren't from around here, are you?" he asked rhetorically. I gave him a big smile and nodded yes.
He sighed and started explaining.
"Well, you see, Saerah Kealthron, the sister to Veythr Kealthron, is the most powerful being in all three Rings. And a few years ago there were rumors that she had used a Time Dao master to overthrow the original owner of the Rings." He paused for a bit and kept chatting; the current match wasn't that interesting, so he filled me in on all I needed to know.
Including the reason Saerah Kealthron had come to this year's Wildclash Tournament.
Anytime there was a prodigy competing, she always watched.
That being said, my first guess was that she had figured out my identity, but I quickly brushed off that thought since I had only one law which I hadn't fully mastered. Clearly, she was here for Prime Aris.
Soon after, the current match was over and the next was about to begin.
Before the announcement, Saerah Kealthron did something out of the blue.
The two fighters from the previous match were eliminated, ignoring the winner. The reason was they were both too weak to enter, and they had no path to follow, thereby disqualifying them.
This judgment dug a hole in the hearts of many contestants, and for sure, many gave up and joined the viewers.
The fighter beside me also stood up looking downcast.
"Hey, what's up? Where are you heading?" I asked him, feeling sorry for him. He looked at me with heavy eyes.
"I feared this might happen," he stated. "Usually when Saerah comes to watch the tournament, they usually skip the whole chain battle thing and make it a one-stage match." He took a breath and continued, "But on some occasions, she ends up ending the match before it even begins."
With that, he walked away. I wanted to ask more but couldn't find any words, so I shut myself up and watched as other players left the fighters' post.
The remaining players were already a handful, and as the match continued, more and more contestants got eliminated mid-battle.
So far, only one person had won, and that was by killing his opponent with just one punch.
Soon it got to my turn. I turned to look at Veyl and Morik, who were looking at me with hopeful eyes.
I stood and walked to the stage but was immediately called back to my seat by the combat orator.
What the f**k? I asked myself. I turned to look at the matchboard and saw that my match had been brought to the last place.
I looked at the judges, who were focused on the match, and turned to look at Veyl and Morik.
After returning to my seat, I took a deep breath and let out a sigh and watched how the rest would unfold.
The Next Trial: Dravik the Ashborn vs. Talo of the Deepscale Tribe.
The arena darkened, shadows crawling across the floor. Dravik emerged—a man made of soot and embers, eyes burning like dying coals. Rumor said his race was born from volcanoes that never cooled.
His opponent slithered from a pool of black water. Scales gleamed blue, eyes golden and cold. Talo's voice hissed like steam. "Your flame dies in my tide."
Dravik smirked. "Then drown with me."
The battle ignited—fire against water, smoke against mist. The temperature swung wildly; one side of the arena steamed while the other froze. The crowd screamed as lightning sparked where heat and cold met.
Dravik pushed through with sheer will, his body crumbling into ash only to reform again. Talo coiled around him, crushing, suffocating. For a heartbeat, it looked over. Then Dravik's core flared white, and he exploded.
Silence.
When the smoke cleared, only charred scales remained. Dravik stumbled out of the crater, missing half his body—but alive.
"That's not victory. That's survival!" a being from the crowd exclaimed.
"The line between them is thin in the Wild," another said.
The match was intense and lasted for hours. Sure thing, Dravik was definitely entering the Third Ring. Good for him.
The tournament fell quiet, waiting for the approval of Dravik.
"REJECTED!!!" the combat orator said, with shock on his own face.