The air crackled with anticipation as Tusk moved, a terrifying stillness in his wide, unblinking eyes fixed on the three men. The crowd held its breath, a wave of stunned confusion rippling through them. Rebel, battered but defiant, hauled himself up, a grunt escaping his gritted teeth. "Look, big brother, I'm fine, okay? Please stop this. There's no need," he pleaded, his voice strained.
For a fleeting moment, it seemed Tusk might yield. But Belton, enraged by the crimson tracing his cheek, roared, "You piece of shit! I'll feast on you and your brother at once!"
The raw threat shattered Tusk's fragile control. Rebel, his eyes widening in dread, grabbed his brother's shoulders, desperate to reason with him. "Big brother, listen—"
A swift, almost gentle movement brushed Rebel aside. Tusk, now a force unleashed, swung his sword staff with brutal power. The impact shuddered through the arena, a tremor that reached even the distant pavilion. A section of the fighting ring exploded, sending debris flying. Warriors scrambled for cover as boulders rained down.
Zack, shielding himself from the shockwave, watched Tusk with a newfound, intense interest. "Damn," Valen breathed, a grin spreading across his face. "Who knew that kid had that kind of power?" Kael chuckled, "He really did fool us all."
"No, you idiots," Zack snapped, drawing confused stares from the remaining contenders. "He's got no control! He's fighting purely on instinct, not thinking. If he was still in control, he wouldn't have made that attack, risking eliminating himself."
Valen feigned surprise. "Oh look, he's actually capable of communication. Fascinating." He dissolved into laughter, clearly enjoying Zack's rare outburst. The old man, however, simply smiled.
As the dust settled, Tusk stood over a mangled Belton. His two companions were gone, blasted out of the ring. Bianca, trapped beneath a pile of rubble in the corner, remained unnoticed in the chaos. Belton gasped for air, his eyes fixed on the towering figure above him.
"I'll make sure you stay away from my family. From my brother," Tusk growled, a torrent of childhood memories flooding his mind – a small, weeping boy held tight in his brother's embrace. He raised his sword staff, poised for a final, brutal strike.
But a hand clamped onto his wrist. "That's enough, big brother," Rebel said firmly.
The words seemed to snap Tusk back to reality. His eyes darted around the ruined arena, a familiar fear creeping into him. He trembled. "Oh God... did I do it again? This is why I hate fighting."
Rebel gave him a gentle wack on the back. "I told you not to come to this tournament, didn't I?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Tusk clutched his back in pain. "I'm sorry. I couldn't leave you alone. These people... they're scary." He glanced at the remaining contenders, his faces etched with nervous apprehension.
"Good thing that rampage is over," the old man announced, a sigh of relief in his voice.
Zack exhaled heavily, sitting back on the ring's floor. Just then, a voice cut through the air. "Hey, shark teeth or whatever! Nice bonding moment with your brother, but could you lend a hand?" Bianca called out from beneath the rubble.
Her unexpected words startled Tusk. He and Rebel quickly heaved the boulders aside, freeing her. Bianca, however, recoiled. "Don't even try touching me," she declared.
Rebel raised an eyebrow. "That's what we get for saving you twice?. Don't worry and it's rebel not shark teeth," he said, extending a hand. Bianca hesitantly took it, and Rebel pulled her to her feet. She leaned on him, a slight blush rising on his cheeks as the crowd erupted in cheers.
Rider, however, looked disgruntled but ultimately smiled at the unexpected camaraderie. Meanwhile, Belton, regaining consciousness, tried to make a stealthy escape, only to find the seven remaining contenders staring directly at him.
"What do you think we should do with him?" the old man inquired, a glint in his eye.
Kael cracked his knuckles. "Just give me two minutes."
The thought alone sent a jolt of pure terror through Belton. In a desperate, panicked leap, he flung himself out of the ring, inadvertently handing victory to everyone else.
The seven remaining contenders stood in stunned silence, their faces etched with confusion as Belton abruptly eliminated himself—screaming like a child all the way out.
Meanwhile, Azrael grinned cheerfully and raised his voice over the roaring crowd.
"And just like that, the Last Seven Standing match has come to an end!" he announced.
"The following warriors have earned their place in the grand tournament: Kael, Valen, Enshou (the old man), Zack, Bianca, Rebel, and Tusk. These are the chosen seven! On behalf of King Neon, congratulations, great warriors of Xiphosia!"
The arena erupted in thunderous celebration. Among the joy, one voice cut through the cheers.
"What took you so long?! Why not just eliminate all this trash, you good-for-nothing—"
Bell's rant was abruptly silenced as Leo clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him out of the pavilion, bowing apologetically to the officials. Azrael blinked, watching the scene unfold in confused silence.
King Neon's voice brought him back to focus.
"I didn't realize we had such outstanding fighters this year. They were all impressive—but that Tusk fellow… If he masters his power, he might just become the next Sword Master, don't you think?"
Azrael offered a quiet, knowing smile, his gaze landing on Bianca among the seven victors. A single tear escaped, and he quickly brushed it away, nodding in agreement.
King Neon gave him a subtle nod.
Azrael bowed deeply, then signaled the drummers.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The crowd quieted as Azrael raised his voice once more.
"Once your wounds are treated, every contender will be moved to their assigned room inside the contenders' area. Yes, they'll be spending the night there. Tomorrow, you'll return here. At that time, seven folded papers will be placed on a tray in the center of the ring. One by one, each of you will choose a slip. Every paper holds a number—those numbers will determine the brackets for the tournament's first round. One will face two. Three against four. Five versus six. And number seven will face… the eighth warrior."
He paused, letting the tension settle in the air.
"That eighth spot has been claimed… by none other than the elite soldier—Tanker!"
The crowd erupted again—this time in hushed murmurs and stunned disbelief. Some looked around, unsure who Tanker was. Others whispered in awe, unable to believe the rumors.
Rider furrowed his brow and turned to Aingo.
"Weren't you and Dad also elite soldiers? Who's this Tanker guy?"
Aingo frowned, arms crossed.
"With what I've seen today... I doubt anyone here can match him."
Rider's eyes widened. The weight of that statement stunned him.
Meanwhile, Zack stood in silence, his gaze locked on the red katana. He didn't know who Tanker was—and didn't care. Determination burned in his eyes.
Enshou approached and casually threw an arm around Zack's shoulder.
"What's with the long face?" he asked with a grin.
Zack brushed his arm off, clearly irritated.
"You've got to stop doing that."
He turned and stormed off, leaving Enshou standing alone.
A subtle shift crossed Enshou's face. He looked up toward the darkening sky, unease clouding his expression.
"It's almost time... Dextin is coming. I can feel it," Enshou muttered, clenching his fist tight.