The sun rose slowly, gilding the horizon of Seylmar, regional capital of the Kingdom of Calwyn. Towering white stone walls, orderly streets, soldiers patrolling in pairs… it was a city ready to host the grandest event of the season: the Tournament of Champions.
A dusty carriage came to a stop before one of the city's great gates. Ishi, cloaked in a long, dark hooded cape, stepped down calmly. At his side, Lysa played the role of a simple servant. Together, they approached the guard post.
— "Name? Purpose of visit?"
— "Just travelers seeking rest," Ishi replied in a neutral, composed tone. "Perhaps to participate in the tournament, should conditions allow."
The guards looked at him, unsure. But his calm demeanor, noble accent, and the absence of any suspicious behavior gave them no reason to press further. The forged documents Lysa had prepared were flawless.
— "Very well. You may pass. But be warned—security has been tightened. We're hunting a criminal."
— "What kind of criminal?" Ishi asked, feigning innocent curiosity.
— "A massacre. Two villages. No survivors. They say it's an old case come back to life..."
— "How dreadful," he said simply.
And he entered.
Seylmar was alive with energy. Banners waved in the wind. Street performers played music. Merchants shouted their wares. People had come from across the kingdom—and beyond—to compete or spectate. But Ishi remained focused. He walked straight to a quiet inn tucked into a narrow side street. The innkeeper, a one-eyed old woman, welcomed them without question.
The room was modest. A bed, a table, two chairs. But it was perfect.
The night was brief. Ishi stayed awake, meditating, his thoughts locked onto the arena. He could already smell the blood that would be spilled.
The next morning, he dressed in a more inconspicuous outfit—plain clothes covered by a brown cloak with a deep hood. Lysa was already waiting at the door.
Their destination: the tournament registration office.
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The line was long. Men and women of all races, origins, and builds were packed together—warriors, mages, assassins, gladiators…
When his turn finally came, the clerk looked up from his desk.
— "Name of the combatant?"
— "Kael."
— "Category: weapons, magic, or mixed?"
— "Mixed."
— "Age?"
— "Twenty-seven."
— "Magical seal is mandatory."
Ishi extended his arm. A magical seal was applied—an intricate golden circle glowing on his forearm. It served both as proof of participation and as a safeguard, allowing the organizers to prevent foul play.
— "You're in Pool Three. Your first match will take place after the official opening tomorrow. Be prepared."
He simply nodded.
The tournament rules were straightforward:
• Preliminary Round: Pools of four fighters. Only the top fighter from each pool advances to the main bracket.
• Elimination Phase: Single-elimination matches until the final.
• Allowed: Use of magic, summons, and weapons.
• Forbidden: Killing—unless due to uncontrollable overflow.
But Ishi wasn't here for glory or prizes. He came to watch. To catalog. To identify enemies… and strike when the time was right.
The long-awaited day arrived. The Seylmar Stadium, a colossal arena of stone and enchanted steel, was filled to capacity. The stands roared with excitement. Flags fluttered. The sheer heat of the crowd made the air tremble.
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A man in golden armor stepped into the center of the arena, flanked by mages clad in black robes.
— "People of Seylmar!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the coliseum. "Welcome to the Tournament of Champions! Once again, courage, strength, cunning, and honor shall clash within this sacred battleground!"
The crowd erupted in cheers. Then he raised his arms high.
— "To welcome you all... His Excellency, Lord Rados Calwyn!"
A tall, regal man stepped forward, draped in a royal blue cape lined with gold. He smiled, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. He raised his hand in greeting to the crowd…
And his gaze locked onto a lone figure in the stands.
Ishi.
Their eyes met.
Calwyn paled—just slightly—before quickly averting his gaze.
— He recognized me, Ishi thought.
The tournament had officially begun.
Ishi's First Match:
He stepped into the arena, hood still drawn low over his face. Before him stood a towering brute wielding a massive battle axe—and a mage robed in violet. The third fighter in their group had not shown up.
— "Simple rules," the referee mage announced. "Last one standing wins."
GONG!
The brute charged straight at the mage. Ishi watched, motionless.
The mage conjured lightning—too slow.
The axe came down in a brutal arc—cleaving through his chest. The mage crumpled in a spray of crimson. Dead.
— "Killing is forbidden!" a judge shouted.
Too late.
The brute turned to Ishi with a savage grin.
— "You're next, runt!"
Ishi didn't reply. He simply raised his hand.
His aura flared—raw and violent.
Technique: Entropic Wind.
A compressed blade of air shrieked across the arena—shattering the axe in two.
The brute staggered back in shock. In the blink of an eye, Ishi was airborne—knee smashing into his throat.
The giant choked.
Technique: Revenant Fang — a flurry of five invisible strikes in under a second.
The crowd didn't even see the hits. They only saw the brute's body fly backward—slammed unconscious into the sand.
The audience roared.
— "Winner: Kael!"
Ishi returned to the backstage corridor. A healer patched a wound on his arm from the brute's wild counterstrike. Lysa was waiting.
— "He saw you," she said.
— "I know."
— "And the other heroes?"
— "Soon. I'll force them to come to me. To crawl out from their hiding places."
— "This tournament won't be enough..."
— "It's only the beginning. I want them all here. Together. Let them believe they can stop me. Let them cling to hope..."
He clenched his fists.
The tournament had begun. But the real battle… had only just turned its first page.
And beneath his hood—
Ishi smiled.