Michael arrived at the stadium designated for Group A — the group he was assigned to. The arena was simple but sturdy, surrounded by wooden walls, with rows of elevated wooden seating forming the stands. It smelled of old timber and tension.
He didn't even have time to settle in before someone stepped into his path with a smirk.
"Well, well… look who it is. The great Level 4," the guy said mockingly. "Heard you couldn't even land a single hit on Ralph."
Ralph, who was nearby, turned at the mention of his name.
"That means you're just a weakling," the guy sneered.
Michael narrowed his eyes. "And what makes you so sure I'm weak?"
"Because you lost to a weakling," the guy said, jerking his thumb toward Ralph.
That struck a nerve.
Ralph stepped forward and gripped the guy's shoulder hard.
"Shut your damn mouth, Zigrane. I've had enough of you."
Zigrane chuckled. "Oh? The same Ralph I toyed with in the last tournament? You've come to bark again?"
"I've gotten stronger since then," Ralph snapped.
"And I haven't?" Zigrane snorted. "Want me to remind you how I wiped the floor with you last time?"
Ralph grits his teeth and then smirks. "Should I remind you how you were humiliated entirely on the main stage by someone else?"
That wiped the smirk off Zigrane's face for a second.
"That was the last tournament," he hissed. "Things are different now."
"Maybe," Ralph said calmly. "But rumor has it… he's the favorite this time, too."
Michael watched, puzzled. "What happened between those two?"
Then Spinner appeared, grinning ear to ear. "Hey there, Michael! Or should I say… weakling."
"Oh, Spinner. You made it," Michael said dryly. "Where's Renald?"
"Different group. Different arena," Spinner replied casually.
Just then, the elder — the same old man from the ceremony — stepped into the announcer's spot.
"Welcome, everyone! The time has come for the second qualifying stage of the tournament! May our participants show their true strength!"
Cheers erupted.
"Now… I call the first match! Participant number 2 — Michael Blazehart — versus number 136… Zigrane Vaynran!"
Michael entered the arena, face calm.
Zigrane stepped in, smirking. "Oh look, it's the same weakling who lost to Ralph."
"Celebrating early, aren't you?" Michael replied.
"Start your attack. I'll even let you go first."
Michael didn't need more provocation. He charged in — fast and focused.
But the second he swung, Zigrane vanished.
"What? Where did he—"
"Behind you," Zigrane's voice yawned.
Michael turned, struck again — missed. Another dodge. Another disappearance.
"Let's play a game," Zigrane teased, zipping around him. "Just like with Ralph. Try to hit me… within one minute!"
Strike. Miss. Dash. Taunt.
But then — a sudden shift. Michael didn't swing blindly this time. Instead, he spun and drove his elbow straight into Zigrane's gut.
"GHH—!" Zigrane gasped, doubling over.
Ralph and Spinner burst into laughter from the stands. Even Michael smiled.
"What was that about hitting you within a minute?" he asked smugly.
But Zigrane's smile twisted into a snarl. He reeled back… and slammed his fist into the back of Michael's head, sending him tumbling.
"You humiliated me in front of everyone. You'll regret that," he hissed.
He pounced. Hit after hit, blurring like wind, raining down blows.
"Why does he keep vanishing when I try to land a hit?" Michael thought, bracing.
Then it clicked.
"You're… a speed mage," Michael muttered.
Everything went quiet for a second.
Then Zigrane burst out laughing. "Took you long enough! But that won't help you now. A few more hits, and you're done."
Michael tried to fight back, but the barrage overwhelmed him.
Moments later, he collapsed.
He couldn't even lift his arms.
"Looks like I lost… I can't even stand it anymore."
"Three… two… one!" the elder called. "The winner: Zigrane Vaynran!"
Zigrane walked off without a glance back.
"I'm not surprised," Ralph muttered from the stands.
"Why haven't I mastered magic yet…?" Michael thought, staring up at the sky, breath ragged.