Ten seconds.

  The three blades hung above me like a death sentence, their edges gleaming with condensed mana that distorted the air around them. The crowd’s silence was deafening, broken only by the crash of waves against the rocks and the crackle of energy from Athos’ ultimate skill.

  Nine seconds.

  My mind raced through every possible scenario, every skill combination, every angle of escape. Silk Shot was on cooldown. Quick Step was not enough. Athos stood across from me, sword lowered, watching with that same calm expression. He thought he’d won. And he was probably right.

  Eight seconds.

  But I hadn’t survived this long by accepting defeat.

  Seven seconds.

  I took a slow breath, centering myself. The first blade would lock onto me soon, then strike. I had exactly one chance to make this work, and the margin of error was nonexistent.

  Six seconds.

  I had to close the distance. Woe’s Last Grasp will only protect me from the second blade if my timing is perfect. I will then have a three second window to finish this, but I will have no mana to use skills. Basic shots will be dodged or parried without problem. If only Silk Shot was off cooldown.

  Five seconds.

  Even that would likely not help me in this scenario. Still, without it I had no way of reaching him before the third wave fell.

  Four seconds.

  The AoE push from Woe’s Last Grasp triggered roughly after a second the skill ended. Maybe two seconds. If that threw him off balance I could likely shoot him from a close range, I thought. Then it would be over even if he didn’t die from the shockwave itself.

  Three seconds.

  My fingers moved, shooting a basic shot at Athos, but he dodged it with minimal motion, and kept standing still. He only had mana for one more skill tops, and no doubt he was readying it just in case I cheated death once again, and somehow survived his theatrical execution. He was not cocky. The reason he was standing still was the same reason I hadn’t made a move either; we were both calculating.

  Two seconds.

  A plan formed in my mind. Not a great one. The distance was too big for it. But I had to try.

  One second.

  The first blade locked onto me. Then started dropping like a meteor.

  A microsecond before impact I activated Woe’s Last Grasp; my body became translucent, ethereal, existing somewhere between reality and void. The sensation was still weird, even after I had already used it before. I could see everything, feel everything, but nothing could touch me.

  It also wasn’t like against Cyrus, where Flame Hydra’s overwhelming power instantly ended the duration of my skill. This skill wasn’t any less dangerous, but it was less devastating.

  My mana hit near zero, but I had survived the first blade. The impact created a cloud of sand and dust, reducing visibility to zero. Now I had three seconds of immunity. Three seconds to make the impossible happen.

  Under the cover of the explosion, hidden by the swirling sand, my plan had set into motion.

  The swap took half a second, maybe a little more. There I was, in the middle of the smoke, getting ready to run.

  I had lost part of my set bonuses.

  But I had gained a skill.

  “Catapult Legs!”

  The propulsion was immediate and hit me with a force I had almost forgotten. My legs compressed like springs, then released with explosive force, launching me forward through the settling debris cloud. The world burned around me as I rocketed toward Athos at speeds that surprised both of us.

  His eyes widened, the first time I’d seen genuine surprise on his face. But it was not enough. I covered roughly two thirds of the distance, and my immunity had barely any time left.

  The second blade locked on. I could feel it tracking my new position, adjusting its trajectory mid-air. The targeting was perfect, unavoidable. In less than a second, it would strike exactly where I’d be.

  I was still airborne, still moving, but not fast enough. The math was simple and brutal: I wouldn’t clear the impact zone before the blade fell.

  Three things had happened in unison:

  My immunity wore off.

  The second sword started to drop a little bit before that. I knew that even though I had timed it almost perfectly, the damage would already register.

  The final thing was on the verge of impossibility.

  A notification flashed across my vision, so brief I almost missed it:

  Catapult Legs: Cooldown reset due to the ability of Chausses of Dusk.

  2%.

  That was the chance of the effect of my leg armor proccing.

  It never did before. In fact, I had completely forgotten about it. It has triggered now.

  “Catapult Legs!”

  I activated the skill a microsecond after landing, my trajectory violently altering as the propulsion fired a second time just as the second sword hit my position.

  I dodged it. It was neigh-impossible, but the stars aligned perfectly.

  The sudden change in vector threw off my balance completely. The impact of the blade clipped my boots, sending me into an uncontrollable spin, but it didn’t matter. I was moving, clearing the distance between me and my opponent.

  I used the momentum, twisting my body to maintain some semblance of direction.

  There he was, in close range.

  He was already moving, sword raised for his last skill, a Horizontal Slash, and I had no way of stopping before the skill hit me. His blade began its arc, the angle perfect to bisect my path.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  But he didn’t know all of the details of Woe’s Last Grasp. In the match against Cyrus, Flame Hydra instantly ended my skill.

  And so, he didn’t know about the secondary effect.

  Now I’d be lying if I told anyone that this was all according to plan. This was all a massive chain-reaction of borderline gambling.

  Maybe it was the 1 Luck from Sheila’s cake.

  Maybe it was my guardian angel working overtime.

  Maybe it was my stubbornness. Or the misfortune of my opponent.

  Probably it was all of that, at once.

  The skill detonated outward in a sphere of force, dealing 120% of my attack power in a three meter radius, knocking Athos back, pushing back the arc of Horizontal Slash just enough for me to feel its weight but not its bite. His boots skidded across the sand, his stance was broken, his HP bar dropped to nearly nothing, and for a brief moment, he had no idea what was happening.

  We were both holding on by a thread. No mana. No skills left. HP in the single digits.

  But I was on top.

  My bow was already drawn.

  Muscle memory. Pure instinct. The thousands of hours spent mastering the perfect shot, the perfect timing, the perfect release.

  I fired.

  The arrow left my string with a whisper, cutting through the dust and debris in a perfect line.

  Athos tried to raise his sword, tried to deflect, but the knockback had disrupted his timing by just a fraction of a second.

  The arrow struck home just as I faceplanted into the dust.

  His HP bar hit zero.

  For a heartbeat, the entire arena was frozen. Athos stood there, sword half-raised, the arrow embedded in his chest plate. Then his avatar flickered once and he dropped to one knee, the system’s defeat mechanic kicking in as the third blade was already falling towards me.

  I watched it descend, lying on my back. It was massive and deadly, tracking my position with absolute certainty.

  The system had already registered my victory. The match was over.

  The third blade passed through me harmlessly, disappearing into particles of light as the ultimate skill canceled itself.

  I got up and for a moment I just stood there, breathing hard, barely believing what had just happened.

  Then the referee’s flag cut through the air.

  “WINNER: ORION!”

  The beach exploded.

  The sound hit like a physical force, almost a thousand voices screaming, cheering, roaring in disbelief or in excitement. The scaffold trembled as players jumped and stomped, the very sand beneath my feet seeming to vibrate with the energy.

  “Unbeliavable!” Shieldbreaker’s voice was barely audible over the chaos. “Orion takes it! The Black Ranger of Carpa once again cheats death! He is your Oakenlight Champion!”

  “I-I can’t even–” Thorax stammered. “That was impossible! He dodged two unavoidable attacks!”

  “He did an item swap mid fight!” Virtune cut in, his voice tight with excitement. “Not exactly sure what had happened there, but it looked like he used the same skill twice in quick unison, together with his ultimate skill Woe’s Last Grasp! Whatever he did, it paid off!”

  Thorax laughed with a cynical weight behind it. “It definitely paid off for him! As for me, he lost me another five gold!”

  I lowered my bow, my hands shaking. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving behind pure exhaustion.

  Athos stood, his avatar fully materialized again, and walked toward me.

  For a moment, I couldn't read his expression. Then he smiled, genuine, warm, without a trace of bitterness.

  "That," he said, extending his hand, "was the best fight I've had in any game. Ever."

  I clasped his hand, feeling the firm grip through the virtual interface. "You almost had me. Whatever that skill was, it was the most insane thing I had seen this week.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, this was its debut,” he said. “You earned this, Orion. Fair and square.”

  He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Though I would be lying if I said I'm not already planning the rematch in my head.”

  “Anytime,” I said, and I meant it.

  The crowd was still roaring as we walked to the center of the arena together. The commentators had descended from their scaffold, Shieldbreaker leading the way with a massive grin on his face.

  "OAKENLIGHT!" he bellowed into the amplification crystal. "YOUR CHAMPION! THE BLACK RANGER! ORION!"

  Another wave of cheering threatened to drown out the ocean itself.

  Virtune stepped forward, holding a small chest embossed with the Adventurer's Association seal. "As the winner of the Oakenlight Tournament, you are awarded two hundred gold coins. Congratulations, ranger!”

  After accepting, the chest materialized in my inventory with a satisfying weight.

  Two hundred gold. That was more wealth than most players would see in their first month of gameplay.

  "Speech! Speech!" someone in the crowd started chanting, and others quickly picked it up.

  I raised a hand, and the noise gradually died down to a manageable level. I was never much of an orator, but I figured this day had earned at least this much.

  "I came to Oakenlight looking for competition," I said, my voice carrying across the beach. "I found it in every single match. My opponents have pushed me to my limit. This tournament showed me just how many incredible players there are in Godsrealm." I paused, looking around at the sea of faces.

  "I would like to thank the casters, the association workers and the participants, you have made the Oakenlight Tournament into an event we will never forget. Also shoutouts to all adventurers coming from Carpa; we have made it.” I grinned, looking at my friends.

  Verdugo’s cheers could probably be heard in the neighboring village.

  “Lastly, thank you all for an unforgettable day. I'll see you all on the battlefield."

  The response was deafening.

  As the official ceremonies concluded and the crowds began to disperse, I finally spotted the Carpa crew pushing through the throng toward me.

  Stone arrived first, grabbing me in a bear hug that would have broken ribs in real life. "You absolute madman! That armor swap!"

  "Technically brilliant," Sylph added, his right hand fiddling with his bow. "I didn't even know you could swap gear mid-combat like that. That skill was from that, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Although I could only use it twice in a row due to an item proc I had a 2% chance for.” I admitted.

  “You just can not die,” Stone said. “You have cheated death too many times today, dude.”

  I couldn't help but agree. It was terrifying how close some of my matches were.

  There were only about 2,000 players in Tidemark, and yet at least three of my seven matches could have gone either way, with three more being on the verge of “hard enough”.

  I need to get ahead of the curve.

  El Verdugo was grinning ear to ear. "Hermano! You made us all so proud! And so much richer!" He jingled a coin purse. "I bet on you at three-to-one odds!"

  El Rafael clasped my shoulder. "Worthy champion, amigo. Though I expect a rematch soon."

  "Get in line," I laughed.

  Cyrus appeared from the crowd, looking surprisingly relaxed for someone who'd just fought for third place. "Congratulations, champion. That was one hell of a final."

  "How'd your match go?" I asked.

  "Beat Seraphina. It was close, though," he said with a slight smile. "She's terrifyingly good.”

  “Told you, amigo!” Verdugo chimed in.

  Cyrus nodded. "I watched the end of your match. That cooldown reset was incredible."

  “Well, you know what they say,” I said. “Luck is just preparation meeting opportunity.”

  I had no idea if anyone had ever said that. Sounded cool, though.

  We spent the next hour celebrating on the beach, the spring sun starting its descent toward the horizon. Players came up to congratulate me, ask for advice, or just shake my hand. It felt surreal. Less than a week ago, I'd been a solo player grinding wolves by a lake.

  Eventually, Shieldbreaker found us again. "Hate to break up the party, but the transport to Tidemark leaves in forty-five minutes. Anyone heading that way should start moving toward the docks.”

  “Go ahead, guys,” Verdugo said. “Me and my colegas have a quest down at Mystwich. But we will soon join you in the provincial capital.”

  With that he and Rafael said their goodbyes.

  “We should go, catch that boat,” Cyrus said. “At level 16 all of us can enter Tidemark. Let's see what a real city holds for us in this game.”

  I couldn't agree more.

  The group began the walk toward Oakenlight's harbor, the celebration continuing in smaller bursts of conversation and laughter. The setting sun painted the coastal town in shades of amber and rose, and somewhere behind us, crews were already breaking down the tournament arenas.

  The docks came into view, a sleek vessel already loading passengers for the journey to Tidemark.

  "Ready for the next adventure, champion?" Stone asked with a grin.

  I looked at the ship, then back at my friends. “Always.”