"Nice setup," Rowan Mercer said, glancing at the massive screen towering over the open ground. "Saves me the trouble of multitasking."
Early the next morning, after breakfast, Rowan arrived at the central plaza with Marcus Hale and Alex Ward. Overnight, the organizers had erected a large outdoor display that streamed all four arenas simultaneously. Anyone who wanted to follow every match could stay here. Anyone who preferred to focus on a single fight could walk directly to that arena.
The efficiency said a lot.
The mountain's reputation wasn't built on mystique alone. It had reach, logistics, and people embedded everywhere that mattered. Senior figures rarely appeared in public, but their influence was obvious. Entire arenas had gone up overnight. High-end broadcasting equipment had appeared without fuss. Nothing about it felt improvised.
Alex Ward yawned and stretched. "You two watch from here. I'm up first."
"Who's your opponent?" Marcus asked.
"Some guy called Iron Monkey," Alex replied casually, already walking away. "Shouldn't take long."
Marcus watched him go and shook his head. "He really doesn't feel like the others."
Rowan nodded. "He's not tired. He's just… detached."
Marcus frowned. "Detached?"
"Like he's already seen the ending," Rowan said. "And decided not to worry about it."
They turned their attention to the screen.
The second day's matches were noticeably more intense. Anyone who made it past the initial round wasn't weak. Techniques appeared that hadn't been shown the day before. Fights slowed down, stretched out, tested endurance and judgment.
One match didn't happen at all.
Evan Clarke advanced by default. His opponent never showed.
Marcus exhaled quietly. "That explains a lot."
By noon, several fights were still unresolved. One match dragged past an hour with neither side gaining ground. The organizers broke for lunch and resumed in the afternoon.
"That's my cue," Marcus said eventually, standing. "I'm up next."
"Good luck," Rowan replied, watching him head toward the arena.
Rowan stayed by the screen, arms folded, observing without interference. Marcus wasn't here to win the whole thing. This was experience, not ambition. Stepping in would only cheapen it.
Marcus's fight ran long. Neither side gave ground.
Rowan checked the schedule.
His match was next.
He left the viewing area and headed toward his assigned arena.
His opponent was already there.
Ben Ward.
Ben stood tall, relaxed, his expression dripping with casual contempt. He didn't move when Rowan entered. He didn't even square up.
The moment the referee signaled the start, Ben lifted a finger and pointed straight at Rowan.
"You," he said loudly. "You don't belong here. Forfeit and get off the stage."
The crowd stirred.
"This isn't a duel between equals," Ben continued, voice cold and confident. "I'll break you if I have to. The rules say I can't kill you. They don't say I can't cripple you."
Rowan smiled faintly.
"Oh?" he said. "Then show me."
Originally, Rowan had planned to end this quickly. Win cleanly. Move on. Go check Marcus's result.
Ben changed that plan.
Ben deserved time.
Ben deserved a lesson.
"Idiot," Ben snapped.
He surged forward, power flooding his body, movement sharp and violent. His punch was direct, brutal, aimed straight at Rowan's face. No testing. No restraint.
The stands murmured.
"That's Ben Ward for you."
"The independent's finished."
"If he's lucky, he'll still walk."
Alex Ward leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "He shouldn't die… but this will hurt."
Rowan didn't move.
At the last second, instead of dodging, he sat down.
Cross-legged.
The crowd gasped.
"Is he surrendering?"
"Too late for that!"
Rowan lifted his wand lazily and flicked it once.
A dull flash.
A sharp concussion.
Ben Ward was hit mid-stride.
The explosion didn't bloom outward. It collapsed inward, focused, brutal. Ben's body snapped backward like he'd hit an invisible wall. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he crashed across the arena floor.
Silence.
Then chaos.
Ben coughed violently and forced himself upright, shaking, stunned, eyes wide with disbelief.
Rowan yawned.
"…That's it?" he said, sounding bored. "I expected more."
He tilted his head, studying Ben with open disappointment.
"What a waste of time," Rowan continued. "All that arrogance. All that backing. And this is what you bring?"
The words cut deeper than the spell.
"You're not strong," Rowan said calmly. "You're just loud."
Ben screamed.
"I'll kill you!"
Veins bulged at his temples as rage overtook reason.
"You think you understand anything?" Ben roared. "You don't know who you've provoked. You haven't even seen my real strength!"
Power surged around him, wild and unstable.
"If that's the case," Rowan said softly, eyes sharpening, "then stop embarrassing yourself."
Ben raised his hands, fury boiling over.
"I'll show you," he snarled. "I'll show you everything."
The name of his forbidden technique left his mouth like a curse.