UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 111: Eyes Of The Strongest

The tension from Azrael's display hadn't even cooled before the next name boomed across the arena.

"Raves Rodeny against Korr Velian!" Ramires called out, voice sharp and energetic.

The crowd immediately stirred again, whispers and gasps spreading like wildfire.

"Another Rodeny?!"

"That's Azrael's younger brother, right?"

"Didn't his potential test hit fifty five percent?!"

The energy in the air snapped alive once more as Raves Rodeny stepped onto the platform.

His short crimson red hair spiked slightly from the wind, his face split into a cocky smirk.

Unlike his older brother's calm and composed demeanor, Raves had an edge to him, a twitch of chaos in his smile, a sharpness in his steps.

His red and black battle attire clung tight to his form, reinforced with dark armor plates on his shoulders and legs, as if built for speed and vicious impact.

Korr Velian, his opponent, trembled slightly. He summoned his Neba, trying to steady himself, green light pulsing weakly from his hands.

But Raves didn't even activate his ability.

In a flash, his boot slammed into Korr's knee, shattering it backwards with a sickening crack.

The audience gasped as Korr howled and stumbled, but Raves grabbed him by the throat mid fall.

He hoisted him up with one hand, the smirk still stitched across his face, and whispered something inaudible to his victim.

Then came the sound of another crack, his other leg twisted unnaturally from a brutal stomp.

Raves held him for just a moment longer... then casually hurled Korr's limp form over the edge of the platform, letting him crash to the ground below like discarded trash.

A second Rodeny had obliterated his opponent without using his ability, without even looking serious.

From the stands, people muttered with wide eyes.

"The Rodeny family... they're monsters."

"First Azrael, now this?"

"Are they even human?"

Raves turned to the crowd and gave a mock bow, grinning like a devil who just tasted blood.

His eyes met Azrael's for a split second in the audience above, who completely ignored him. Then, without fanfare, Raves walked off the platform.

More battles unfolded in waves, some elegant, others brutal, and a few ending in sheer chaos.

Two combatants were even eliminated at the same time during one wild match, both knocked off the platform by a clash of opposing techniques that backfired.

The excitement never dulled, but the pressure increased with each passing duel.

The three sets of battles finally came to a close. Over five hundred had begun.

Only 128 remained.

Dune, Atlas, and Ned each stood unbeaten. They had passed all three rounds, earning +1500 points each.

Their skills were still untested at full strength, yet they had come this far with ease.

"We're in the final stretch now," Atlas muttered, eyes following the last few fighters being pulled off the arena by medics. "Next round's gonna be different. No more easy wins."

"Yeah," Ned replied, lying back on a Neba-forged bench as soft green light pulsed beneath him. "We've been throwing punches, but now we're probably gonna take some too..."

They were inside the Healing Room, a chamber of pale mist and pulsing energy, entirely constructed from raw Neba. The Neba soaked into their bones, patching injuries, refueling their drained essence.

All around them were other remaining fighters, some injured, some meditating, others trembling as the pressure of the next fights began to sink in.

"The top ten barely changed," Dune finally spoke, glancing up at the glowing Neba projection in the room's center.

Atlas sat up. "Some new names,"

The current Top 10 now stood as...

1. Azrael Rodeny – 11,500

2. Atlas – 8,500

3. Cedric Valefort – 7,500

4. Seraph Neville – 7,000 ——

5. Dune – 5,500

6. Edward Ederyus – 5,400

7. Syras Vermillion – 5,400

8. Lucas Neville – 4,500

9. Raphael Caelum – 4,300

10. Raves Rodeny – 4,000

There should've been 131 contestants left.

But three were automatically passed due to non-combatant statuses, each recognized as strategic or knowledge-based specialists.

Hazel Amellia, Seraph Neville, and Elena Evernight.

All three already held Class S placements and ranked among the Top 25, which meant the remaining 22 spots would now be fought for by those still in the arena

Far above the roaring arena, inside a massive viewing balcony made of polished obsidian and silver, the true rulers of Sanatria sat.

King Aramir sat at the center, wearing a long crimson cloak lined with black fur. His cold golden eyes watched the matches below with a silent authority that weighed down the room itself.

At his right, his two sons, Damion and James.

Around them sat the continent's greatest figures, Richard Neville, Magma Rodelyan

Cassius, as well as Soul's Mirror, a woman in silver attire.

and lastly, Cel, sprawled lazily in his chair, his black hair falling over half-closed eyes.

James leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

"So," he said, smirking slightly, "who do you all think will win this year's entrance test?"

There was a small pause.

It was Richard Neville who answered first, voice calm and assured.

"Winning is only the beginning. After they're accepted into the Academy, they'll have a month before facing their first true challenge... the First Neba Trial."

"Surviving that is the true victory."

His gaze swept across the others.

"We'll give them everything they need , guidance, resources, training. Mind, memory, Neba, everything must be sharpened. Because in that Trial, many of these children will die."

He folded his hands together.

"But those who survive will be reborn. They will gain a new Neba... from green to yellow. They will strengthen themselves, and Sanatria, in the process."

A heavy silence followed his words.

Soul's Mirror spoke next, her voice soft but piercing.

"Even so... sending Atlas and Azrael into the Trial this soon... it's a bit risky isn't it?"

She turned her gaze toward King Aramir.

"Is it truly wise to risk two perfect candidates of the Sanatria Pillars? They represent the future of the continent itself."

For a moment, King Aramir said nothing.

He simply watched the fight below, the reflection of the flashing arena lights dancing in his eyes.

Then he sighed, a deep, quiet sound.

"It's a risk we have to take," he said.

"If we don't let them participate now, they'll only fall behind and be surpassed by others who will face a real battle. Atlas, Azrael... They must earn their place and power, not be handed it."

He leaned back, the weight of his crown almost seeming heavier.

"They will survive. Or they will die. That is the law of strength."

The group fell into a heavy silence.

James cracked a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, since we're gambling with the future of the continent... let's place our bets."

"I place mine on Azrael," Richard said, without hesitation.

"He's ruthless. Unshakable."

"Azrael" Magma rumbled, his voice like grinding stone.

"He fights with no hesitation."

King Aramir simply nodded.

"Azrael."

James grinned.

"I choose Atlas, he is a monster."

But across from them, others raised different banners.

"I'll side with Atlas," said Soul's Mirror, her tone firm.

"Atlas as well," said Cassius. "He's growing faster than anyone notices."

Damion Murderthrone sighed, "Azrael."

At the back of the room, Ramires, still standing and watching over the proceedings like a hawk, chimed in with a smirk.

"Atlas."

That made four against four.

Then all eyes turned to the last man slouched in the corner, Cel.

He was stretched lazily in his chair, boots crossed over the edge of the polished floor. His pale eyes were half-lidded, as if he hadn't been paying attention at all.

Cel yawned, scratched his head, and casually said "Dune, if he actually reaches the final, then he'll win."

Everyone stared at him.

Even Richard arched an eyebrow.

"Dune?" James repeated, bewildered.

"Seriously?"

Cel only smiled, wide and slow, a mysterious glint flashing in his eyes.

"If only you all could see the world the way I do..."

He leaned his head back against the chair, letting the buzzing roar of the arena drown them out for a moment.

"Then you'd understand."

King Aramir studied him for a moment, then simply closed his eyes again, offering no comment.

The arena below roared once more as the next match prepared to begin.

Above it all, the true game was only just starting.