Klaus walked back to the waiting arena as the next two fighters were called outward with their identification bands glowing bright blue on their wrists, signaling their turn to fight.

The waiting room and the spectator stands were completely different areas.

The waiting room was a large enclosed space beneath the main stadium with stone benches lining the walls and a massive magical screen mounted on one end that showed the ongoing matches in real-time.

Magical torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows across the assembled fighters.

As Klaus walked to his designated chair in the wide room and sat down, there were mutters from the other contestants around him... whispered speculation about how he looked beneath that cat mask and what the hell kind of name was "Heavenly Commoner" anyway which he usually got back in Artemis Online chat before he became famous.

Some of the fighters were sizing him up, trying to determine if he’d be a threat if they faced him in later rounds while others were dismissing him entirely, convinced his first victory had been pure luck against an overconfident noble but Klaus ignored them all and recounted the battle in his mind.

’The Valakris heir sure was weak...’ Klaus thought dismissively. He hadn’t even taken any enhancement pills before that fight, and he’d eliminated that fool easily despite all the excessive praise the announcer had heaped on the noble in one strike within three seconds.

The heir had been all flash and no substance... years of expensive training wasted on someone who’d never actually been in a real fight, his footwork had been textbook perfect with a pristine form and elegant swordwork but he’d had no killer instinct and no understanding that real combat wasn’t about looking pretty.

’Did all of this sword talk come with this new experience?’ Klaus thought, he hadn’t gotten into a life-or-death battle that required him to use pure swordsmanship to win either.

However, Klaus knew that from here on out, things would get serious.

Since there were one hundred people facing off in this tournament, the matches had to be split into several rounds... The first round had been merely for weeding out the weaklings which were the people who had no business being here in the first place but had somehow gotten invitations anyway.

The second round, though, would feature more powerful fighters. People with actual skill, actual experience, actual threat potential. Veterans, mercenaries, adventurers who’d fought real monsters and survived real battles.

Klaus knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

He immediately pulled out a Physical Enhancement Pill from his storage ring moving quickly and casually so that no one around him would notice and popped it into his mouth.

The pill dissolved instantly on his tongue, releasing a sweet, almost honey-like flavor and the changes happened within seconds.

His muscles felt denser and stronger like steel cables coiling beneath his skin. His reflexes sharpened until he could track the flicker of the torch flames. His endurance deepened and his stamina reserves expanded which was a twenty percent boost across all physical stats for the next twenty minutes.

Though now that he thought about it, wouldn’t it have been better if he used it before the battle instead of wasting it now?

’I’m such a dumbass.’ He thought but at least the power-up felt nice.

Klaus briefly thought about holding back to avoid attracting too much attention to himself, but then he shrugged the idea off immediately.

’Winning five hundred gold and a resource dungeon is already attracting enough attention,’ Klaus reasoned. ’There’s no point in trying to be subtle now.’

Besides, he wasn’t a masochist who wanted a "fair" or "clean" fight. He wanted to win... His gaze drifted upward toward the VIP section where the Masked Man sat.

Klaus couldn’t help but wonder how many different identities Zephyr was juggling at this point. Anyone with a good eye could see that the Masked Man was essentially the "Adam" disguise... just with different hair and a fox mask instead of whatever he’d worn before.

’He’s even more of a dumbass than me though I won’t complain as long as I win.’ He thought.

Klaus shook his head and looked at the magical screen mounted on the waiting room wall. The current match had just ended with someone winning via knockout with a clean sword strike to the temple that had dropped the opponent instantly.

’How are the girls doing?’ Klaus wondered.

...

Up in the spectator stands, three figures wearing cat masks and black cloaks identical to Heavenly Commoner’s stood next to the railing, drawing curious stares from the crowd around them.

Everyone was murmuring and speculating... were they with Heavenly Commoner? Were they part of some group or clan? Why were they dressed identically?

Some speculated they were disciples or followers while others thought it might be some kind of psychological tactic to make the lone fighter seem like part of a larger and more intimidating organization.

Mirela shifted uncomfortably beneath her disguise.

The cat mask they had purchased from a vendor outside the stadium could cover her entire head, including her goat horns, which was essential for maintaining the disguise while the black cloak covered the back of her head and draped down over her shoulders completing the ensemble and hiding her beastkin features.

She watched the gruesome displays of swordsmanship happening on the arena floor below.

This was currently the second round of matches, and floodlights powered by mana crystals had been activated across the arena... They were bright beams cutting through the evening darkness so that everyone in the stands could see the battles clearly.

People were cheering wildly around her.

On the arena floor, one swordsman had just gotten a clean hit on his opponent which was a brutal slash that severed the man’s hand at the wrist.

The hand hit the dirt with a wet thud, still clutching its sword while the injured fighter raised his remaining hand in surrender as his face turned pale with shock and blood loss.

Mirela watched as a spectator near her actually stood up on the railing itself, took off his shirt, and started twirling it around over his head while screaming.

"I WON THIS SHIT!"

Presumably because he’d bet money on the victor.

’I really wonder why people are so interested in such flat-out murderous actions...’ Mirela thought, disturbed by the crowd’s bloodlust then she turned to look at Taula.

The blond haired woman was cheering enthusiastically from behind her cat mask, pumping her fist in the air.

"Off with his head too!" Taula shouted, clearly enjoying the spectacle and Mirela sighed.

The winner left the arena while the loser was carried out by medics. Blood soaked the packed dirt of the fighting ground, and notably, the staff refused to clean it between matches letting it accumulate as a testament to the violence.

Mirela’s gaze drifted upward to the highest VIP box.

The Masked Man sat there like some sort of god presiding over gladiatorial games, completely still an observing everything with silent authority.

’Why is he doing this?’ Mirela wondered. ’Why is he watching people shed their blood? What kind of expression would be on his face behind that mask?’

And then, as if sensing her attention, the Masked Man turned his head. He looked directly at her.

Mirela’s eyes widened in surprise behind her cat mask as her breath caught and her heart started pounding harder.

She quickly looked away, breaking eye contact. After a moment, she felt the weight of his gaze move away from her, shifting to observe other parts of the crowd but the damage was done. Her chest hurt from how hard her heart was beating.

’What if he wanted to kill me?’ Mirela thought irrationally, fear creeping in. ’What if he knows who I am? What if—’

"Are you okay?" Serra’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts and Mirela turned to look at the healer.

"I’m fine." Mirela said quickly.

Serra studied her for a moment, then nodded.

"It’s fine then," Serra said. "But we need to focus... Boss will be fighting next and we need to cheer him on."

Mirela took a breath and looked back down to the arena floor. The announcer was already beginning his introduction with his magically amplified voice booming across the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer declared while gesturing dramatically. "We have reached the final match of Round 2! And competing in this bout, we have a fighter who has already captured your attention!"

A set of bright spotlights swiveled and focused on the entrance tunnel and Klaus stepped out onto the arena floor.

The crowd immediately erupted into cheers.

"HEAVENLY COMMONER!" the announcer proclaimed. "This mysterious masked fighter finished off the elegant Valakris clan heir in a single strike! But was that performance merely a fluke? Or is he truly as strong as that victory suggests? Let us find out!"

Klaus walked to his starting position, his cat mask hiding his expression completely then the announcer then turned to gesture toward the opposite entrance.

"And his opponent!" the announcer continued with equal enthusiasm. "A veteran of countless battles and a legend in his own right! Please welcome IRON-BLOODED Garfield, the Wandering Blade!"

A man emerged from the opposite tunnel. He was in his late thirties, maybe early forties with weathered skin, multiple scars visible on his exposed arms and gray streaks in his dark hair.

He wore simple but well-maintained armor and carried a longsword at his hip with the ease of someone who’d been wielding one for decades.

"Garfield the Wandering Blade specializes in adaptive swordsmanship!" the announcer explained. "And notably, he once survived a three-minute sparring session against the Masked Man himself when our host was still younger and actively participating in tournaments!"

The crowd’s cheers intensified at that revelation. The two fighters stopped in the center of the arena, facing each other across ten feet of blood-stained dirt. Garfield looked at Klaus with the eyes of an experienced warrior.

"I’ll be the one to test if you’re the real deal, boy..." Garfield said roughly. "Let’s see what you’ve got under that mask."

Klaus said nothing and simply adjusting his grip on his sword. The referee descended on his floating platform, positioning himself to observe both fighters clearly.

"The rules remain the same!" the referee announced. "Victory by knockout, surrender, or inability to continue! Lethal strikes are permitted! Healers are standing by!"

He raised his hand.

"Fighters ready?"

Both Klaus and Garfield settled into their stances and the referee’s hand came down.

"BEGIN!"

Immediately, Garfield exploded into motion.

He pulled his longsword from its sheath in one smooth draw and brought it down in a powerful overhead chop aimed at Klaus’s shoulder which was a strike designed to test the younger fighter’s reflexes and defensive capability and Klaus’s sword came up.

CLANG!

The blades met, but instead of simply blocking, Klaus flicked his wrist in a precise circular motion... using the Riven Form’s parrying technique.

The force of the parry redirected Garfield’s blade completely, sending it off to the side. Garfield’s arms reeled all the way back from the unexpected leverage as his eyes widened in surprise.

’Strong!’ Garfield thought but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Klaus was already following up, transitioning smoothly from the parry into a thrust aimed directly at Garfield’s center mass with the Jora Form’s precision strike and Garfield reacted on pure instinct.

He poured aura into his hands, making them heavier and more responsive then flipped his entire body backward in an acrobatic dodge.

He landed on his feet several yards away, immediately putting distance between himself and this dangerous opponent.

’If Heavenly Commoner had been just a bit faster...’ Garfield thought, ’that thrust would have—’

His thought didn’t finish because Heavenly Commoner was already closing the distance between them.

Klaus moved like a shadow, his enhanced physical stats making him faster than Garfield had anticipated as the second Physical Enhancement Pill was doing its work beautifully.

Garfield cursed and brought his sword up defensively while Klaus struck from the right in a diagonal slash.

CLANG!

Garfield blocked, but the impact rattled his arms. This wasn’t the strength of some tournament amateur... This was the strength of someone serious.

Klaus immediately followed with a strike from the left.

CLANG!

Another block and another jarring impact then Klaus attacked from above.

CLANG!

Garfield was being pushed back, forced onto the defensive. His feet skidded in the dirt as he gave ground, trying to create space to reset but Klaus didn’t let him.

The attacks kept coming in a relentless barrage that demonstrated complete mastery of the Talos Form’s overwhelming pressure technique.

Strike after strike after strike, each one flowing seamlessly into the next giving the opponent no time to breathe, no time to think, and no time to counter.

Left, right, overhead, low sweep, thrust, diagonal, horizontal...

Garfield blocked them all with his sword work impeccable as his experience showing in every parry and deflection but he was being driven backward across the arena, unable to mount any offense of his own.

The crowd was on their feet while roaring and up in the stands, Taula was screaming encouragement.

"Come on! Break through!" Taula shouted. Mirela watched with wide eyes, impressed despite her earlier discomfort.

On the arena floor, Garfield saw an opening which was a brief moment where Klaus’s guard was slightly lower than it should have been.

’There!’

Garfield lunged forward with a thrust of his own, aiming for Klaus’s exposed side but it was a trap.

Klaus sidestepped with minimal movement... just enough to let the blade pass harmlessly by his ribs then brought his own sword down on Garfield’s extended blade.

The impact was devastating.

CRACK!

Garfield’s sword went flying from his hands, spinning through the air end over end before embedding itself in the dirt at the far end of the arena at least thirty feet away.

Garfield stumbled forward from the momentum of his failed attack with his hands empty and his guard completely broken.

His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, landing hard on the blood-stained dirt. Before he could even process what had happened, Klaus’s blade was at his throat with the tip pressing lightly against his skin, it was just enough pressure to be felt but not enough to draw blood yet.

"It’s over..." Klaus said. "Surrender."

Garfield knelt there, breathing hard with sweat dripping down his face... He’d lost but something in him refused to accept it.

’I can’t lose like this,’ Garfield thought desperately. ’Not to some masked nobody... Not after everything I’ve survived!’

He still had one technique left and aura gathered in Garfield’s hand... visible as a bright blue glow that coalesced and solidified into the shape of a blade. It wasn’t as sharp or durable as real steel, but it could cut. It could kill if the strike landed correctly.

Garfield’s eyes hardened with determination.

"Never!" Garfield snarled.

He twisted his body and swung the aura blade upward, aiming for Klaus’s exposed neck in a desperate, all-or-nothing strike that could turn the fight around if it connected.

Klaus’s eyes narrowed behind his mask and in the next instant, Klaus’s sword moved. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

SLASH!

The blade cut through Garfield’s wrist cleanly, severing his hand completely. The detached hand... still gripping the aura blade that was already dissipating went spinning through the air in a lazy arc, trailing droplets of blood.

It rotated once, twice, three times before landing on the ground with a wet thud several feet away.

"AAAAHHHHH!"

He fell backward, his remaining hand clutching the bleeding stump where his right hand used to be as blood pumped from the severed arteries in spurts soaking into the dirt beneath him.

Klaus stepped back calmly, lowering his sword.

"Like I said..." Klaus repeated. "It’s over."

The arena fell silent for a heartbeat then the crowd exploded. Healers rushed onto the field immediately, their staffs glowing with restorative magic as they worked to stop Garfield’s bleeding and stabilize him before he bled out while the referee floated down quickly.

"The winner of this match..." the referee declared. "is HEAVENLY COMMONER!"