Triopals
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Chapter 6:
🕑 Added 2024-10-15 01:59:02 +0000 UTCIn just a few minutes, a significant number of participants had already been defeated and taken out, or had surrendered.
“This isn’t good,” Nathan panicked.
The scattered disciples were his hidden allies. These individuals would reduce the pressure on him and introduce more variables against the teams. But those variables were diminishing.
Quickly, Nathan thought of a plan. After the disciple was eliminated, no one was paying attention to him. They probably didn’t think someone as insignificant as him could achieve anything. His trump card had already been revealed, so they only needed to be cautious when facing him directly.
Taking advantage of this, Nathan moved through the battlefield like a serpent crossed with a monkey. Sometimes, he dodged sword thrusts, spear jabs, or overhead strikes. Other times, he ran on all fours like a madman. He targeted his first prey after circling around and gathering information from the battle cries. Using the blind spots of his opponents, Nathan managed to infiltrate a team of eight members.
“Hey, Desmond,” he called out as if they were old friends.
The disciple named Desmond startled, his brown hair shaking as he looked around.
Nathan didn’t give him time to react. Moving behind Desmond, he stayed out of his opponent's line of sight.
“Shouldn’t we attack the largest group?” Nathan quickly suggested before the situation escalated. “If we wait too long, it’ll be a disadvantage for our team. We could form a temporary alliance with another group and eliminate them first. Otherwise, we’re just fighting for second place, second place after twenty people!”
Desmond listened but didn’t respond until he spun around, faster than Nathan expected, locking eyes with him.
“This little rat,” Desmond growled. He had already received a PsiLink message from a teammate, warning him of Nathan’s scheming.
Nathan immediately fled. His month-long focus on leg training was precisely for this moment. Desmond couldn’t chase him but had to stay behind to reorganize his team’s formation. He had to direct them to target individuals attacking the group. But Nathan’s words lingered in his mind.
Was there some truth to what he said? Desmond silently pondered.
Regardless of whether it worked or not, Nathan had accomplished his self-assigned task. He continued darting across the battlefield, picking the safest routes and executing the same trick on other groups. One leader even chased Nathan halfway across the field before retreating after encountering another team. The teams had yet to clash, but they would seize any opportunity to eliminate key figures if given the chance.
Panting heavily, Nathan slowed down, dividing his focus between restoring his body’s mana and eyeing his next target: the largest group.
Instead of approaching the leaders like before, Nathan chose a different strategy. He aimed for others to overhear him.
“The center! The center is key!”
“The center! Only by controlling the center can we win!”
“If we don’t capture the center first, we’ll lose our chance! Defend the center and victory is assured!”
Nathan shouted in every direction, especially near the largest group. A few suspicious glances searched for the source of the voice but found nothing. He even altered his voice to mislead others into thinking it wasn’t just one person stirring things up.
Once done, he slipped away again, maintaining a pace that wouldn’t tire him out too quickly.
The seed had been planted; now it just needed a catalyst. He predicted it would come any moment now.
A loud horn echoed through the arena, and a message appeared overhead.
“The arena will shrink in 15 seconds.”
It’s here! Nathan silently cheered.
It couldn’t be a battle royale without mechanisms forcing combat. If the space remained wide open, the battle would drag on indefinitely. With so much room, people could rest, hide, or dig in defensively. But shrinking the space would speed things up. As the fighting grew more intense, maintaining composure would be as fragile as paper.
The disciples looked toward the edge of the arena, where the stones marking the boundary began to disappear, fading into nothingness. Instantly, the mood grew more serious. The arena had significantly shrunk, forcing everyone to move inward. Some disciples were thrown out in the process.
Nathan wasn’t sure how many were left, but the number couldn’t be more than 120. And yet, no group had been eliminated. But the seed he planted had begun to sprout.
The largest group had started shifting its formation, maintaining a loose circle. Anyone they encountered would be attacked, and if someone struck, the members beside them would immediately provide backup. Their path was clearly aimed toward the center.
Securing the middle was a double-edged sword, Nathan knew. Holding the prime position also meant becoming an easy target for everyone else. Standing at a corner might expose you to one or two groups, but in the center, you were vulnerable to all. This was a lesson learned from countless hours playing games with friends in his previous world. Being in the center of the circle wasn’t always best, especially on flat terrain—it would only make you a juicy target for others.
But under the pressure of the tournament and hostile glares, the group of twenty didn’t think things through. Moreover, they were confident that their numbers would allow them to fend off any attackers.
A brawl was coming.
Desmond, the disciple Nathan had targeted, began to think. He knew the risks of holding the center position, but the advantages were also clear. If the group of twenty managed to hold out until the end, no one would be able to stop them from advancing to the next round. More importantly, the group of twenty was simply too large—they needed to be eliminated first. Exactly as that runt had suggested.
That same thought appeared in the minds of other groups. Initially, their plan had been to eliminate the lone disciples, then proceed to a direct confrontation between teams. But now they realized they were competing for a chance to fight the group of twenty—and they were bound to lose. So why fight each other? Wasn't their common enemy the group of twenty?
Desmond used PsiLink to signal another leader, proposing a temporary alliance. The group of twenty needed to be taken down immediately.
The response was an agreement.
This cooperation unfolded simultaneously among other teams. Unbeknownst to Nathan, his plan to divide and conquer had succeeded. Meanwhile, the leader of the group of twenty remained oblivious to the danger they were walking into, naively thinking their sheer numbers would make them invincible. The principle of standing at the forefront of conflict never failed: being too prominent was as good as stabbing yourself in the back.
Desmond and the other groups, despite reaching an agreement, didn’t immediately act. They waited for the group of twenty to move closer to the center, bringing them within striking range of all the other teams. For now, they pretended as if nothing had changed, continuing to pick off lone disciples. The number of individuals dropped to around thirty.
But there was one place everyone avoided. Busy as he was, Nathan finally noticed one of the individuals who had caught attention during the preliminary exams—Xander Caldoran.
Xander stood tall in the arena, holding a spear planted into the ground, his amber eyes gazing coldly at the space before him. Anyone who crossed his path or stood in his way had been effortlessly crushed. Towering over the other disciples, his lean but powerful frame, paired with his buzz-cut hair and tattoos on his shoulders, made him look like a force of nature. The black ink depicted a spear piercing through the heavens, a fitting image for someone of his overwhelming presence. He stood like an unshakable pillar, a god among mortals.
Nathan, too, was momentarily awestruck by Xander’s prowess. The weapons of his defeated foes littered the ground around him—some broken, others dented. Blood, too, was spattered like a blossoming flower. Defeated disciples who had been knocked unconscious were teleported out by the arena’s mechanism, so any severed limbs were also removed. Yet nothing could diminish Xander Caldoran’s intense image.
A similar situation was happening in other arenas, their battles broadcast on the large screen.
In Arena One, Keira Valaine’s group reigned supreme. Despite only having four members, no one dared challenge them. The four women weren’t just beautiful; the swords and knives in their hands carried death with every strike. Anyone who approached, no matter their intentions, was swiftly eliminated by their seamless teamwork. Keira proved to be a true leader, effortlessly coordinating her team’s defense. Gradually, their group became untouchable, leaving the other disciples fighting for the four remaining slots.
Arena Two was a bloodier affair, with no single team dominating the battlefield. The most notable group was a duo: a girl named Yao Qingfeng, an archer with a ponytail and a playful smile, and Roran Alastair, a muscular disciple whose gleaming muscles reflected light as he acted as a shield for Qingfeng. With Roran protecting her, Qingfeng was free to fire arrows, pushing back or eliminating opponents.
Zarah Kinyara, in Arena Four, was a fierce lone wolf like Xander, standing out amidst the chaos. Like Nathan, she had chosen a pair of gauntlets as her weapon, her fingers forming into a cluster of deadly strikes. She danced among her enemies, fighting with a relentless energy that seemed to know no bounds. Unlike Xander, Keira, or the duo Qingfeng, Zarah chased after her foes rather than waiting for them to come to her. When cornered, she used her agility to escape, only to strike again. If Nathan had been in her group, the two would have made an interesting duo.
On the viewing platform, bets were quickly being adjusted as the next participants in the tournament became clear. Elders, meanwhile, paid little attention, waiting for the top thirty-two to be decided before focusing on the remaining disciples.
After ten minutes, the arenas shrank once more. Almost all of the lone disciples had been eliminated. The medical booths were now crowded with hundreds of injured disciples, some with broken bones, others missing limbs. One unlucky disciple, with only half his body intact, lay on a stretcher, his severed limbs frozen and placed beside him. Fortunately, the Verdant Spire Sect covered the treatment costs, and if the disciple couldn’t pay upfront, they could settle the debt later. The medics quickly bandaged his wounds and sent him to the emergency room to assess the severity of his injuries. Worst case scenario, he would require expensive limb regeneration treatments and accelerated recovery machines.
Watching Xander dispatch another disciple, Nathan shivered as blood sprayed, the unfortunate participant vanishing along with his severed arm. The warrior god wiped his spear clean, the sound echoing as he planted it back into the ground, a warning to all.
Xander stood alone in his arena, having claimed the space as his own. Arena Three had already dwindled to around eighty participants, half of them already eliminated—both lone disciples and group members alike. A few individuals like Nathan still fought alone.
As the shrinking battlefield forced the groups closer together, skirmishes began. The remaining lone disciples became less of a concern as the teams clashed. The moment Nathan had been waiting for had finally arrived.
Desmond’s group, along with two others, rushed toward the team of twenty. They broke the larger group into three smaller sections, attacking them in the center of the arena. Other groups, realizing they could no longer stay isolated, chose their targets and engaged in combat.
In an instant, the sound of clashing swords, breaking bones, and screams filled the arena. The remaining lone disciples had no time to rest as they were dragged into the battle. The delicate balance that had existed moments ago had completely shattered.
Nathan, of course, wouldn’t let things end there. Despite the chaos, the eliminations were still happening too slowly for his liking. The teams might lose members, but if two groups survived, they might call a truce and negotiate. Even with three groups, it was possible. Xander had already secured his spot, and now it was just a fight for the remaining seven.
Nathan made his move. His target was an outer member of one of the groups fighting the team of twenty. He charged at the disciple, who was busy attacking someone else. His punch landed squarely on the disciple’s back, sending him stumbling forward, where the other fighter struck him unconscious with a club.
The disciple holding the club eyed Nathan warily, about to speak when Nathan lunged. Aiming for the legs, Nathan swept at his opponent’s knee. The disciple pulled back his leg, and Nathan shifted his weight forward, dodging the club swing aimed at him from below. Without losing momentum, Nathan grabbed the disciple by the waist and uniform, throwing him in a wide arc. His vague memories of martial arts—judo, aikido, and jiu-jitsu—were enough for [Martial Art Mastery] to help him adapt and blend styles on the fly.
Just when it seemed he would succeed, the disciple planted his staff into the ground, using the leverage to escape Nathan’s grip. Before Nathan could react, the disciple stepped back, adopting a fluid, defensive stance like a master of tai chi.
Nathan’s maneuver successfully caught the disciple’s attention. He utilized his wealth of techniques to both parry and counter as necessary. His opponent, unknowingly, fell into the rhythm Nathan had set. When the disciple swung his staff in a horizontal sweep aimed at Nathan’s waist, it connected with another contestant who had been hidden by Nathan’s frame. The blow enraged the unlucky disciple, who was in the middle of fighting someone else, but now redirected their anger toward the staff-wielding fighter. The female contestant who had been fighting alongside them quickly chased after him, turning the fight into a chaotic three-way brawl.
The troublemaker, Nathan, quietly slipped away, setting his sights on another target. After successfully sowing discord three times, his fourth attempt encountered a snag. Two contestants who had been locked in combat suddenly stopped, both glaring directly at Nathan.
“Attacking from the shadows like a coward,” one of them said.
“Agreed! I’ll wait while you handle this scumbag,” the other replied.
In the blink of an eye, a gleaming sword came slashing toward Nathan. He raised the metal surface of his gauntlet to block, the force of the blow pushing him back and sending shocks of pain up his arm. His hand throbbed as he struggled to regain his balance. Seeing no escape, Nathan made a snap decision—to charge forward instead of retreating.
Closing the distance quickly, Nathan applied a Krav Maga technique, locking the sword-wielding disciple’s arm and attempting to disarm him. But his opponent, fully aware of Nathan’s intentions, let go of the sword and countered with an elbow strike aimed at Nathan’s right shoulder. Nathan anticipated the move but couldn’t fully dodge; the blow struck, sending him tumbling backward. He hit the ground hard but immediately sprang up, leaping away like a wildcat. The sword-wielding disciple retrieved his weapon and returned to his original opponent, leaving Nathan with his sore shoulder and racing heart.
As he ran, Nathan massaged his aching shoulder, feeling his stamina being gradually worn down. Though the strike hadn’t been deadly, the force had been enough to test his [Impact Mitigation] skill, which had lessened the damage but couldn’t eliminate the pain entirely. He had been conserving his mana, but as the fight dragged on, the demands on his body became harder to manage.
“Shrinking in 10 seconds!”
Another horn blared.
Instead of panicking, the sound felt like a melody from heaven to Nathan.
With the arena shrinking further, contestants would be forced into even closer quarters, inevitably leading to more chaotic clashes. The discord Nathan had carefully spread earlier was about to bear fruit. As teams saw their comrades being surrounded, they split up, charging into the fray to assist. In an instant, one-on-one duels became rare; now, everyone had to fight while constantly watching their back for an opportunistic attack.
The result was exactly what Nathan had hoped for—but he wasn’t exempt from the chaos. The shrinking arena left him with too little space to continue his evasive maneuvers. Though he wasn’t focused on attacking, he dedicated all his efforts to avoiding strikes, his mind predicting and reacting to every movement around him. He slithered between contestants like a snake, flowing like water through the narrow gaps between backs, ducking under crossing swords, and using the sturdy bodies of other disciples to bounce himself off and change direction.
Occasionally, Nathan used [Butthurt] to reduce the impact of bumps and shoves. He avoided using it when weapons were involved, as it didn’t completely eliminate the damage—only minimized the aftermath. He had learned that the hard way when he had to deal with slashes, even though the ability had lessened the injuries.
At last, Nathan found himself blocked by a massive figure—Xander Caldoran. Nathan grinned slyly, realizing he had reached his intended destination.
Hiding his excitement, Nathan turned his back on the towering warrior, pretending to fend off the attacks coming from the front. He purposely allowed himself to be knocked backward, knowing that Xander wouldn’t attack him. Just like the other disciples with swords, Xander wouldn’t strike someone unprovoked, especially from behind. More importantly, Nathan had observed Xander’s behavior earlier—so long as no one directly attacked or was thrown toward him, Xander would remain as still as a stone monument.
Thanks to this, Nathan found some time to rest. Each time he was pushed back, he exaggerated his fall, pretending to be beaten down and exhausted. He massaged his body, playing the part of someone who had been thoroughly thrashed. Xander, standing tall, glanced at Nathan with mild disdain, too lazy to bother with someone who was only a Phase 2.5. To Xander, the fact that Nathan was still in the arena at this point was an achievement in itself, but ultimately, it was pointless.
Outside the arena, the camera feeds continuously switched between the different battlefields. The situation in the other arenas was nearing its conclusion. In Arena One, Keira’s team had secured their positions, with three remaining members alongside a lone disciple. Arena Two had six survivors, including the duo of Qingfeng and Roran. Arena Four was unique in that most of the remaining disciples were unaffiliated, largely due to Zarah’s relentless assault. Without a group to rely on, each individual fought fiercely for their survival. Zarah’s endurance was a hot topic among the audience, who were surprised by her stamina.
As the results for the first three arenas became clear, all attention shifted to Arena Three.
“Holy hell! That Phase 2.6 kid is still in the arena!”
“Is Group Three a joke? How is this even possible?”
“Watch your mouth. If Xander hears you, there’s gonna be trouble.”
“If you’re not following that Phase 2.6 kid, shut up. I bet you couldn’t even beat him.”
The debates and arguments in the crowd highlighted the growing fascination with Nathan’s group. A small screen was now dedicated to his movements, attracting even more viewers, especially as they witnessed his sneaky tactics.
As the final phase of the battle approached, Nathan was forced to confront the reality that he was running out of time.
To maximize the number of eliminated contestants, he had been sneaking around, picking off unsuspecting individuals and pushing them out of the arena. The remaining contestants were infuriated by this, but they couldn’t catch him. His training with a Tier 2 disciple like Zeryn had paid off—Nathan had learned how to slip away from difficult situations. As a result, he became a thorn in everyone’s side. If anyone chased him near the edge of the arena, they risked being thrown out themselves by Nathan’s unpredictable techniques. But whenever someone tried to throw Nathan, he would slither up their arms, using their momentum to stay in the arena.
So, when Arena Three’s contestant count shrank to nine, Nathan was still standing.
“STOP!” Desmond roared, snapping everyone out of their battle frenzy.
Without needing an explanation, the remaining contestants took stock of the situation.
Desmond’s team had held together, with four members still intact, which even he hadn’t expected given the growing chaos. The once-dominant group of twenty had been whittled down to just three. That left eight contestants accounted for—Xander was the eighth, and Nathan, the ninth.
Desmond’s gaze fell on Nathan, the lowest-ranked among them, but his expression softened slightly. Though Nathan had used underhanded methods, he had still managed to survive until now. His abilities couldn’t be dismissed.
Nathan stiffened as he looked around, realizing the inevitable. He was the odd one out—neither strong enough to stand alone like Xander nor part of any group.
Just as Nathan began to calculate his next move, Desmond spoke.
“Cecco, fight him for the last spot.”
The disciple named Cecco blinked in confusion, staring at his leader. As the weakest member of Desmond’s group, having only just broken through to Phase 7, Cecco wondered why they wouldn’t just team up to eliminate Nathan. Everyone had already seen how dangerous the kid could be.
“If you can’t beat him, you don’t deserve a place in the top thirty-two,” Desmond said flatly.
Nathan was surprised by Desmond’s fairness. From the way Desmond spoke, Nathan understood that the leader could easily defeat him but was willing to give him a chance to prove himself against the weakest member.
No one could truly understand why Desmond created this conflict within his own group. However, the two disciples standing closest to Desmond understood perfectly. Cecco had broken their group’s long-established trust by shirking his responsibilities during critical moments, forcing Desmond to cover for him. This wasn’t just a duel—it was punishment.
Meanwhile, Xander remained indifferent, silently awaiting the outcome.
Despite his frustration, Cecco stepped forward, drawing his sword and performing a few practice swings. Facing Nathan, his confidence returned.
“It’s not a hard fight. Why don’t you just give up and save yourself the healing costs?” Cecco taunted.
Nathan thought to himself, I came this far, but what came out of his mouth was entirely different. Smirking, he said, “Are you dense?”
[Triggered: Bad Mouth]. One credit awarded.
Cecco was taken aback, his composure faltering. Before he could react, Nathan continued, “I’d rather waste my points on a rigged gacha game than patch up from whatever pathetic excuse for damage your weak ass can dish out.”
Everyone, including Nathan, was stunned.
This damn skill! Nathan cursed internally.
The audience outside the arena had their eyes glued to Arena Three, their jaws dropping at the sight of a lower Phase contestant trash-talking so brazenly.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone began chanting Nathan’s name.
“Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!”
Others quickly joined in, their voices swelling in unison. Everyone was eager to see what this underdog would do next.
Within the arena, the contestants briefly paused, their focus momentarily shifting to the roaring audience. Cecco, now fully aware of the crowd’s mockery, flushed with anger. His jaw clenched as the cheers for Nathan grew louder, filling the air with a frenzied energy.
Nathan heard his name being chanted, feeling a fleeting surge of pride. But he quickly pushed it down. Emotions were a distraction, especially in a fight like this. He needed to stay sharp and not let the moment cloud his judgment.
Cecco, not wanting to engage in further banter, brought his sword back, his legs gliding smoothly across the ground as he rushed forward. His blade carved a sharp diagonal arc from below, aimed directly at Nathan. Prepared, Nathan dropped low, using Cecco’s wide swing to his advantage. He sidestepped, swiftly closing the gap Cecco had left open, launching a punch toward his opponent’s chest.
Cecco had anticipated the move, quickly altering his strike. His sword came down in a vertical chop aimed at Nathan’s back. However, instead of landing a blow, his sword clanged harmlessly against the stone floor as Nathan, with a fake-out, had leapt up at the last moment. Twisting mid-air, Nathan slashed his palm down like a blade, striking Cecco’s wrist and causing him to drop his sword with a loud clatter.
Before Cecco could retrieve his weapon, Nathan was on him, delivering a flurry of rapid punches at close range. Each strike was precise, landing at the exact moments when Cecco tried to gather his strength to counter. His attempts to lift his leg for a kick were blocked by Nathan’s knees, and his movement was restricted by Nathan’s constant barrage. It looked almost like a choreographed dance, but with each step, Nathan dictated the tempo, forcing Cecco into a defensive stance.
Though Nathan’s strikes were quick, they lacked the power to fully incapacitate Cecco. Realizing this, Cecco used his superior strength to push Nathan back with a hard shove to the chest, forcing Nathan to stumble several feet away.
Breathing heavily, Nathan’s arms ached from the repeated punches, but he couldn’t give Cecco the opportunity to grab his sword. Acting fast, he darted toward Cecco before he could bend down to pick it up.
Cecco, abandoning his weapon, clenched his fist and swung a powerful punch toward Nathan’s face. In response, Nathan let his feet slide on the stone, using the momentum to spin his body sideways. His arms extended outward, and with a fluid twist, he deflected Cecco’s punch upward, turning his opponent’s momentum against him. The move ended with Nathan launching a kick aimed at Cecco’s jaw.
But Cecco wasn’t so easily outmatched. He’d held back just enough power in his previous punch, minimizing the momentum Nathan had planned to exploit. When he saw Nathan’s foot coming for his jaw, he adjusted, bringing his arm down in a sharp arc to intercept the kick.
The two strikes collided with a bone-rattling impact.
Nathan cried out in pain, his leg snapping back from the force. He retreated several steps, his left leg now bent awkwardly, pain shooting up from his ankle to his hip. The shock of the injury nearly made him pass out, but he bit down on his lip, drawing blood to remain conscious.
The audience erupted in cheers, enthralled by the intense exchange. This was what they had been waiting for—an all-out battle between two fighters where every move counted. The raw, physical confrontation brought back the essence of past tournaments, where tactics gave way to pure fighting prowess.
“I can’t believe this!” The announcer, Emily, exclaimed, her voice thick with excitement. “Nathan Reed is showing us that even a lower Phase contestant can go toe-to-toe with someone stronger. He might be losing, but what we’re witnessing is real! He’s doing it! Even if he falls, we’ll all remember this day!”
Remembering me won’t help, Nathan thought bitterly.
Grimacing in pain, Nathan struggled to rise to his feet, leaning heavily on his right leg. His exhaustion and agony were plain on his face, but beneath it all, a fierce determination still burned in his eyes.
Triggered: [Self Emotional Support]. One credit awarded.
Without needing the system’s prompt, Nathan already knew. He wasn’t going to let the pain stop him. Only one obstacle stood in his way now.
Bending his right leg slightly, Nathan did his best to keep the weight off his broken left leg, reducing the feedback of pain that threatened to cloud his mind.
“You still won’t give up?” Cecco sneered, wiping the blood from his mouth.
Nathan remained silent, his eyes locked on Cecco’s every movement. Cecco, frustrated by the lack of response, charged forward again, this time more determined to end the fight.
Nathan focused, adrenaline coursing through him like a river. Cecco’s plan was obvious—he intended to target Nathan’s injured leg. But this time, Nathan was ready. Shifting his balance, he adopted a crane-like stance, balancing on one leg. Each of Cecco’s strikes was met with a precise block, parry, or dodge. Nathan weaved and bobbed like a conductor leading an orchestra, moving to a rhythm only he could hear. His defense was like a flowing river, avoiding any direct confrontation and minimizing the risk of his injured leg giving out.
Cecco grew more and more impatient with every missed blow. As he pressed his advantage, his strikes became wilder and more reckless, aiming solely to land a crippling blow. Nathan, however, remained calm, never once losing his focus. He didn’t fall for any of Cecco’s feints, reading the disciple’s every telegraph.
By the time Nathan had been backed up to the edge of the arena, Cecco had prepared a finishing move. He pulled his fists back, preparing for a simultaneous double punch—one aimed for Nathan’s head, the other at his torso.
Nathan saw it coming. With a practiced move, he twisted his body into the air, forming a perfect horizontal line with the ground as he spun through the gap between Cecco’s two strikes. His left leg hung limp, but his right was strong and steady. As he fell back to the ground, Nathan used the momentum to launch forward, his hands shaped like blades as he aimed them at Cecco’s side.
One-inch punch! Nathan shouted internally as his palm grazed Cecco’s tunic.
In the blink of an eye, Nathan’s palm transformed into a half-fist, followed immediately by a full-fist, completing his deadly combo.
Triggered [Amplifying Strike] x 2. Two credits awarded.
Triggered [Flowing Strikes]. One credit awarded.
The double hit connected perfectly. Nathan’s legendary one-inch punch, enhanced by [Martial Art Mastery], was a skill he had painstakingly developed through constant practice. Its total damage output was a whopping 7 points—a critical hit.
For a split second, Cecco felt proud, thinking Nathan’s reckless move had put him in a perfect position for a counterattack. Then he realized something was wrong. The force behind Nathan’s strike was anything but ordinary.
He didn’t have time to react.
A sickening crack echoed through the arena, followed by the distinct sound of a body hurtling through the air.
Cecco disappeared.
Above the battlefield, a notification appeared.
“Winners Decided! Congratulations to the eight competitors!”
“The Arena will now close!”
Nathan collapsed onto the ground, both legs stretched out in front of him, panting as if he had never breathed before. Exhaustion and pain overwhelmed him, making it impossible to feel any joy at his victory. His one-inch punch had a fatal flaw—the recoil was too much for his body to handle. His system-enhanced skills weren’t the problem. If the doubled damage had come with equal recoil, it would have been a useless ability, but that wasn’t the case. The real issue was that using two skills in quick succession left his muscles and bones with no time to recover. His right arm was stiff and in pain, almost as bad as his broken leg. He could only hope the injury wasn’t permanent.
As his thoughts returned to him, Nathan became aware of his name being called. Glancing around, he saw that the arenas had been cleared, returning the field to its original state.
“Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!”
The crowd roared, chanting his name. Swallowing hard, Nathan blinked in disbelief. Some of the remaining thirty-one contestants were also clapping, acknowledging his unexpected victory. Xander, standing nearby, offered a small, approving smile. He, too, had noticed the incredible power behind Nathan’s final blow. Even he would have to be cautious if faced with that level of force.
On the arena floor, Cecco lay defeated, his ribs broken, blood dripping from his mouth, his consciousness fading. Medics rushed in to stabilize him. He shut his eyes, either consumed with vengeance or lamenting his failure. Nathan couldn’t tell.
Despite his injuries, Nathan forced a grin. He raised his uninjured arm high into the air, letting out a triumphant yell.
Nathan Reed was now an Inner Disciple.
Quest "Inner Disciple" Completed!
Rewards Granted: 1 Very Rare Skill Roll, 500 credit.
Proceed as you wish.
...
You got a new quest: "Make yourself known"
Objective: Advance the tournament.
Rewards: Rewards are based on your performance.
Case 1: First Place, 1 Very Rare Skill Roll, 1000 credits.
Case 2: Second Place, 1 Rare Skill Roll, 800 credits.
Case 3: Third or Fourth Place, 3 Skill Roll, 600 credits.
Case 4: Fifth to Eighth Place, 2 Skill Rolls, 500 credits.
Case 5: Ninth to Sixteenth Place, 500 credits.
Penalty when failed: None.
