I dropped to a knee, slamming a Web Trap into the ground, and shot twice to bait him. He blocked one, deflected the other with his sword then came straight through.

  The web erupted under his boots and for an instant, his entire frame locked in place, threads of white silk coiling around his greaves.

  I drew to full power. "Nature's Howl!"

  The world went green. Wind and sound blasted outward, my arrows flared with the echo of the forest itself. I let a Piercing Shot loose, point blank.

  The arrow slammed into him, toxin exploding against the emerald armor. His health bar fell, chunk after chunk.

  He broke free with a roar that seemed to shake the sand itself. He was like a juggernaut, unstoppable, and relentless. I didn't let him stop to use any regenerative abilities, so he retaliated with a Golden Dawn.

  Light and heat burst from his vicinity, forcing me back, HP ticking down just from the proximity. He came through it with his shield raised high.

  As I tried to Quick Step, he adjusted his attack mid-swing, and the edge of Smite clipped my shoulder again, pushing me into red. He's reading my movement quite well.

  Rafael raised the sword over his head for the finishing blow.

  "Silk Shot!"

  The filament screamed from my bowstring and latched onto his pauldron. As expected, the system registered him as heavier than me. The tension yanked me forward faster than any sprint could, straight into him. His sword froze mid-air, the sudden pull throwing off his aim.

  I slid the last meter, boots pushing the sand into mounds, and aimed upwards at him. Our eyes met through his visor, and both of us already knew what was going to happen.

  "Fan of Arrows!"

  Point-blank range, max damage finisher.

  He dropped to one knee, the Emerald Bane sinking into the sand beside him. The shiled slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud.

  For a moment, all I could hear was the surf rolling in.

  Then the referee's flag cut through the silence.

  "Winner: Orion!"

  The roar that followed swallowed the beach.

  I stepped back, lowering the bow, lungs burning, vision still flickering from my low HP. Rafael lifted his head, helm cracked along one side (*author's note: items have no durability but show previous fights for a while), and smiled faintly beneath.

  "Well fought," he said, voice hoarse but warm. "You've earned that title, hermano."

  I offered a hand. "If I did, it's about time you got one as well, Juggernaut."

  It was fitting. Unbreakable defense, unstoppable advances. He smiled, then clasped my hand firmly, using the Emerald Bane as leverage to stand. The sword's glow pulsed once more, softer this time, like acknowledgment.

  We walked to the rope together, the crowd parting as we stepped out.

  Top four.

  I looked down at my trembling hands, still feeling the hum of Silk Shot through my bones. Across the beach, other arenas were ending too; cheers, gorans, victory flags rising.

  Four left. I smiled despite the exhaustion. The day wasn't over yet.

  The adrenaline hadn't left my veins yet. I had barely stepped clear of the ropes when the roar of the beach returned. It seemed like not all matches had come to a conclusion just yet.

  I sheathed my bow and turned toward the other arenas.

  Arena Three was already winding down. The crowd there looked subdued, the cheers scattered and uneven. I pushed through a knot of spectators until I saw the final moments play out: Sylph, bow loosely in his hand, on one knee with his HP almost gone. Seraphina, the Swashbuckler from Shadowreach stood tall a few meters away, rapier gleaming silver and crimson.

  Her stance was pure efficiency; feet angled, blade low, breathing steady. Sylph tried one last Piercing Shot, but she slipped past it, blade swinging in a blur that ended with a flash of light. The ref's flag went up a heartbeat later.

  "Winner: Seraphina!"

  The crowd erupted, half impressed, half surprised. The Swashbuckler gave a small bow, then turned and walked away without a word.

  I caught Sylph's eye as Association workers rushed to help him up. He managed a grin through the exhaustion. "What was the word? Demonio."

  I had a feeling we will hear this from Verdugo for a long time.

  "She danced faster," the ranger said.

  "Surely just barely," I tried, but he cut me off.

  "She had the edge from the start. Her reflexes were insane, felt like fighting the sea. She just about liquified her body, dodging every shot." He shook his head. "What about you?"

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "I won, but it wasn't easy."

  "Go win for the rest of us," he smiled.

  "I plan to," I nodded.

  Further down, Arena Four still blazed with noise and light.

  That fight wasn’t over yet, and judging by the crowd’s energy, it was the one most people had come to see. Athos versus ProDG.

  I found a gap between two taller players and looked in. The air shimmered with heat distortion from Athos's relentless sword arcs. His style was pure aggression: long, looping swings that chained seamlessly between skills and basic slashes, the kind that made timing a parry suicidal. His blade left trails of silver light across the sand as if sketching his rhythm in real time.

  Opposite him, ProDG was the picture of control: lancer stance, low center of gravity, every step measured. The long spear spun around him like a living thing, deflecting sparks of steel and scattering sand in perfect circles. His grey hair shone like silver in the afternoon sun.

  They’d already carved trenches into the beach.

  Athos went for a cross-slash combo: Blade Rush into Vertical Strike. ProDG blocked both, countering with a full-reach Impale that tore a line through Fisher’s side. The HP bars danced dangerously close for both. For almost a full minute, they traded blow for blow, parry for parry.

  Then Athos’s pace changed, his movements tightened, smaller, sharper, focused around one deliberate rhythm. He feinted a mid-slash, baited the lance’s block, then spun low.

  The sand exploded.

  "Saltstone Edge!"

  ProDG staggered just half a step, but that was all it took. Athos's follow-up landed clean, an overhand cut that slammed the lancer to one knee, the sword glowing with reflected sunlight.

  Victory.

  The crowd went insane. The Oakenlight section was a sea of raised hands and shouted names: "Athos! Athos!"

  The swordsman just lifted his blade in acknowledgment, breathing hard, grin splitting his face. For a moment, I could almost feel the weight of the region’s pride sitting on his shoulders.

  I found the others near the scaffolds, right where we’d eaten lunch earlier.

  Cyrus, Stone, Verdugo, Rafael, Sylph, and Scale were gathered there, watching the Association staff reset the ropes around Arena One, where the fight between Cyrus and Blue had just ended.

  "You won?" I asked the mage when I got to them.

  "I did, but it wasn't easy," he admitted. "Blue is a really talented player, with remarkable skills. You should watch the VOD later on the forums."

  "First thing I'll do once I log out today," I smiled. It was true; I wanted to watch every available footage. It's known practice for pro players in every game or sport to analyze other players' matches, and I was planning to do it to the fullest extent.

  The sun had started its slow tilt west, spilling gold across Oakenlight’s beach. The air still shimmered with residual mana from Cyrus and Blue’s duel, the glassed patches of sand reflecting the light like mirrors. The crowd hadn’t thinned; if anything, it had grown.

  Everyone was waiting for what was coming next.

  Stone was hunched over a crate, watching the Association scribes reset the brackets on a new parchment sheet.

  Sylph leaned beside him, a tiny bit battered after his fight with Seraphina but smiling anyway.

  El Verdugo had managed to acquire a drink from somewhere and was using it as a pointer on the chart.

  El Rafael, armor still cracked from our duel, stood nearby with a tired grin on his face.

  The sound of the crowd changed, a low collective hush, the kind that always comes before an announcement. The scribes pinned the parchment in place. The new bracket unfurled.

  Shieldbreaker’s voice rolled from the main scaffold, loud and clear:

  "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for! Your Top Four of the Oakenlight Tournament!”

  The beach erupted in cheers.

  "From Carpa, the unstoppable Black Ranger, Orion! From Carpa again, the Flame Wizard Cyrus! From Oakenlight, our hometown hero, Blade of the Sea, Athos! And from Shadowreach, the Blade Dancer, Seraphina!

  The crowd answered with a wall of noise: clapping, chanting, laughter, a hundred voices shouting at once.

  "Huh," Stone said. "All of you have titles already, by the looks of it."

  "They fought for them," Verdugo nodded.

  "I wonder if the Association could turn those into actual in-game titles?" Sylph asked. It wasn't a wild question, considering how incredible the game systems were in Godsrealm.

  "Maybe," I said. "They do have nice rings to them, that's for sure."

  Shieldbreaker continued:

  "The semifinals will not run simultaneously. To keep things fair, Athos and Seraphina will not be allowed to watch the first match. Arena Two will remain sealed until the first bout concludes."

  A ripple of excitement moved through the spectators as scribes hurried to cordon off sections of the beach. If those two were playing in Arena Two, that means...

  The rule was implemented so we couldn't see potential ace cards of our possible opponents. I liked it. I hadn't used Woe's Last Grasp so far, but I likely had to do it in the semifinals. If I did and won, at least I won't have to worry about my finals opponent seeing it.

  I was pretty sure that no matter who I fought, they will have enough fans for someone to notify them about my ultimate skill if I get to the finals, but that was still different than seeing it in real time.

  "That means, up first: The Black Ranger of Carpa versus the Flame Wizard himself!" Breaker continued.

  A pause long enough to let the words land.

  "Orion vs. Cyrus! Arena One, fifteen minutes to start. Commentary by yours truly: Shieldbreaker, Virtune, and Thorax!"

  The noise doubled. The tide itself seemed to answer.

  "Guess that’s us," I said quietly.

  Cyrus gave a soft laugh beside me, not the usual confident one; something smaller, more genuine. "I had a feeling it would be."

  "Would’ve been nice to meet in the finals," I said.

  We started walking toward the first arena, side by side down the packed sand. The crowd parted easily for us now. The kind of quiet respect that follows when players realize they’re watching something, or someone, special.

  We reached the rope line. The crowd pressed in, voices tumbling over one another, the energy building like a heartbeat.

  Cyrus adjusted his gloves, glanced my way. "Good luck, Orion."

  "You too."

  He extended his hand. I clasped it.

  The grip was firm. Not challenge, not tension.

  Respect.

  We released at the same time, stepping toward opposite sides of the arena as the announcer’s voice rose again.

  "Carpa's finest is on the proving grounds! The Black Ranger of Carpa, Vanquisher of the Woe, Saviour of Riverhear; all these names absolutely deserved for the man in the left corner, Orion!" Shieldbreaker shouted.

  The crowd thundered approval, banners waving, chants rising in every direction.

  "In the right corner, however," Virtune continued. "Calamity itself. Ladies and gentlemen, we have not, I repeat, we have not seen this man break a sweat today. He fought Oakenlight's strongest mage and even though the match was close, he had never, not for a second, lost composure. Oakenlight, let's welcome the Flame Wizard himself, Cyrus!"

  I thought the cheers my introduction had recieved were unbelievable, but it was safe to say that Cyrus must have done something in the earlier matches that clearly made him crowd favourite here. The upper layer of the sand on the whole beach was literally moving from the decibels the audience had produced.

  "Combatants ready?"

  Every spectator leaned forward, half of them thinking they knew what to expect, while the other half was too afraid to blink in case they missed something. This was the first match of the semifinals; most of them have seen both Cyrus and me face against powerful foes and triumphing, and now two seemingly unstoppable players faced off against each other.

  Some players made bets, some shouted reassuring words or taunts, but all of them were solely focused on the fight between us.

  Across from me, Cyrus turned his staff once in a slow circle, runes lighting one by one, like the heads of his infamous Flame Hydra breathing in unison.

  I nodded.

  Cyrus inclined his head.

  "Begin!"