Blood Online: Evolving Endlessly-Chapter 165: Done Gathering Data

Jeren approached Seth and Ryan’s platform with the graceful stride of someone who owned the world and knew it. His crimson and gold robes flowed with each step, and despite having just dismantled a human being with casual indifference, his expression held nothing but pleasant curiosity.

"Magnificent performances!" he announced, his voice carrying genuine enthusiasm as he stopped before them. "Both of you, truly exceptional. The gods are absolutely thrilled with what they’ve witnessed."

Seth and Ryan stared back at him, their expressions carefully neutral. Seth’s blue-glowing eyes tracked every minute movement, his fore perception working overtime to read any potential threat. Ryan’s posture remained relaxed, arms crossed, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Neither of them spoke.

They’d just watched Jeren reduce Harry to geometric meat sections with a single fan gesture. Had seen how effortlessly, how completely, the Titan had ended a life. Whatever power Jeren possessed, whatever abilities made him worthy of his title—they still didn’t understand it. Couldn’t predict it. Couldn’t counter it.

And without that knowledge, speaking seemed dangerous. Silence felt safer.

Jeren seemed unbothered by their lack of response. If anything, their wariness appeared to amuse him.

"I must apologize," he continued, his tone taking on mock contrition. "The opponents I provided for your first two matches were... inadequate. Weak, really, compared to your capabilities." He gestured with his closed fan. "You must understand, I wasn’t entirely certain what level of challenge would suit you. I needed data. Information. A baseline to work from."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Around the arena, fighters who’d been listening—both the exhausted survivors and the terrified newcomers—felt something cold settle into their stomachs.

’Testing,’ one of them thought, the word echoing in multiple minds simultaneously. ’The first two rounds were just tests. Data gathering. Not even the real challenge.’

The realization spread like poison through water. Those brutal matches that had killed eighty fighters, that had pushed survivors to their absolute limits, that had required divine gifts and desperate measures—

Those had been the easy rounds.

Faces went pale. Hands tightened on weapons. Some fighters actually took involuntary steps backward, bodies reacting to horror before minds could process it.

On their platform, Seth’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. Ryan’s eyes narrowed by a fraction. Both minute reactions, both quickly controlled, but Jeren noticed them anyway.

"But now!" His voice brightened, as if announcing good news. "Now I have enough data. I’ve seen your strengths, analyzed your fighting styles, observed your limits and how you push past them." His bright eyes gleamed with something that might have been excitement or hunger. "I can choose opponents that will truly test you. Accurately calibrated challenges worthy of your skills."

Throughout the arena, the silence was absolute. Even the servant maids had stopped moving, frozen in their tasks, feeling the weight of what was being said.

Jeren seemed to bask in that silence, in the fear and dread his words had created. Then he laughed—a pleasant, cheerful sound completely at odds with the horror he was describing.

"Well, the good news though," he said, his fan snapping open with a sharp crack, "is that after this match, you’ll be allowed to rest. A proper rest, I mean. Not just thirty minutes, but actual recovery time." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something darker. "If you survive."

The last two words carried weight that went beyond their simple meaning. His eyes, visible above his mask, darkened with something cold and predatory. The killing intent was subtle but unmistakable—a brief glimpse of the ancient, terrible thing that lurked beneath the cheerful showman exterior.

Seth felt his muscles tense involuntarily. Ryan’s casual posture shifted almost imperceptibly into something more defensive. Both of them recognized that look, that presence.

They’d faced killers before. Had fought monsters and beasts and opponents who wanted them dead. But this was different. This wasn’t the hot rage of combat or the cold calculation of assassination.

This was something that killed for entertainment. That measured lives in terms of spectacle value. That could end them without a second thought if their deaths would please the audience.

Both fighters’ expressions grew grim, but neither spoke. What could they say? What words would matter to something like this?

Jeren’s dark expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual bright enthusiasm. "On the good side," he continued cheerfully, "the next match allows cooperation! You won’t have to face your challenges alone."

He gestured between Seth and Ryan.

"Let’s see how well you two work together, shall we? I do so love watching teamwork in action. The coordination, the trust, the way fighters complement each other’s strengths and cover each other’s weaknesses..." He sighed contentedly. "It adds such depth to the performance."

Before either could respond, a small beep sounded—audible only to Jeren, but both fighters saw his head tilt slightly as if listening to something.

"Ah!" He turned away from them, already moving back toward his elevated platform. "Time’s up! You should all prepare yourselves. The third round will begin shortly."

He walked away with the same graceful stride, completely unbothered, humming a tune under his breath.

As he reached his platform, his voice rang out across the arena—amplified by whatever magic system carried his words to every corner.

"Turn on the cameras! Let the show continue!"

The arena’s lighting intensified. Magical cameras positioned throughout the space activated, their lenses focusing on different platforms, different fighters, ready to capture every moment of what was coming.

And throughout the settlement, on every screen, in every plaza and building and street, the broadcast resumed. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

---

Akhil had never looked away.

Even during the break, even when some of his group had turned aside or closed their eyes, unable to watch the aftermath of the second round’s carnage—Akhil had kept his gaze fixed on the screens.

He’d watched Jeren kill Harry. Had seen the conversation with Seth and Ryan. Had caught every word, every gesture, every subtle threat.

Now, seeing Jeren’s bright face fill the screens again, Akhil felt something twist in his gut. Not quite anger, not quite fear, but something that combined both with a healthy dose of cold calculation.

’He’s playing with them,’ Akhil thought, his hand unconsciously tightening on the Blood Fang’s handle. ’The first two rounds weren’t about eliminating fighters or testing strength. They were about gathering data. Learning what each fighter could do. Calibrating the difficulty.’

It was systematic. Efficient. Cruel in its precision.

And it meant the real tournament was only just beginning.

Around him, others in his group had similar realizations. Nyla’s frost abilities were unconsciously activating, the temperature around her dropping several degrees. Aria’s hand rested on her new longsword’s hilt, knuckles white. Even the normally calm James had a tightness around his eyes that suggested barely controlled tension.

On screen, Jeren’s smile was visible even behind his mask—just in the brightness of his eyes, the way they crinkled slightly at the corners.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gods and mortals, welcome back!" His voice carried that same cheerful energy, as if he were announcing a festival rather than orchestrating mass slaughter. "I hope you all enjoyed your brief intermission. Our fighters are well-fed, well-rested, and absolutely ready for what comes next!"

He gestured grandly at the arena below him.

"Round three will be different from what you’ve seen so far. More challenging, yes, but also more... collaborative. We’ll see how well our survivors work together, how the newcomers adapt to their first taste of combat, and most importantly..."

His eyes seemed to stare directly through the cameras, through the screens, at every person watching throughout the settlement.

"We’ll see who truly has what it takes to entertain the gods."

The words sent chills through thousands of watchers. Because they all knew—every single person staring at those screens—that their number could be called next. That they could be ripped from wherever they stood and deposited in one of those platforms, forced to fight for divine amusement.

No preparation would be enough. No strategy could account for unknown opponents calibrated specifically to push them to their limits. No amount of strength or skill guaranteed survival against challenges designed to extract maximum entertainment from their struggles.

Jeren raised his hand, and throughout the arena, platforms began to glow. Not all of them—just specific ones, carefully selected.

"The third round," he announced, his voice dropping to something more serious, "begins now."

Shadows gathered on marked platforms. But these shadows were different—darker, denser, carrying a presence that made even the battle-hardened survivors tense.

Whatever was coming, whatever Jeren had prepared based on his "data gathering"—

It was going to be worse than anything they’d faced before.

And there was nowhere to run.

On screen, Akhil watched the shadows coalesce, watched fighters brace themselves, watched the arena prepare for the next wave of carnage.

’Survive,’ he thought, the word directed at Seth and Ryan and all the others he recognized among the fighters. ’Whatever comes, just survive. Learn. Adapt. Make it through to the other side.’

Because that’s all they could do.

All any of them could do.

Survive one more round. Then another. Then another.

Until either the tournament ended or they did.

The shadows finished forming.

And the screaming began.