Chapter 298: Battle Royal
As Brakthar drifted away from the arena, the skill’s effect unraveled behind him; the 5 Obsidren regained control of their bodies and collapsed like sacks of stone, drawing deep breaths. The first breaths were ragged, then steadier, the kind of breathing people do when they realize they are still alive.
They watched the retreating giant with expressions of gratitude, thankful that their opponent had spared their lives.
"Though it looks almost impossible, you actually have two direct ways to break that skill," Liora said to Adyr, her voice without any worry.
"The first is to strike fast enough before he uses his mind-freeze skill."
Timing is a blade of its own.
Adyr already understood this, but he knew it was difficult unless he had insane speed like Thalira Luna. He pictured the margin for error and found it razor-thin.
"The other way is to have a Physique stat high enough to move your body and tear through the control with sheer force. I believe yours might be high enough to do it." Force does not argue; it proceeds.
The second option surprised him; he had not considered that a mind skill could be countered so directly. The logic was simple: overwhelm it with raw stats. There was a certain elegance to the bluntness, a clean solution hidden in plain sight.
Adyr checked his stat panel again to see his current stats.
Numbers steadied him; they always had.
[Physique]: 188
[Will]: 200
[Resilience]: 405
[Sense]: 225
Even though his [Physique] looked low, the sum of his other stats should place him impossibly high compared to everyone else.
It was not one number that mattered, but the vector they formed together.
Even if he could not break the skill with raw strength, his high [Resilience] alone could easily let him resist its effect, or even his [Sense] stat could give him the edge to resist the skill all on its own, and in the crowd’s eyes, it would look as if he had done it through physical power.
Feeling the advantage of having all 4 stats once again, Adyr weighed his wide range of options for a counterattack as the next match was about to start.
After the 3rd match, Caprion kept calling teams, deliberately pairing sides with obvious gaps in strength to end the bouts as quickly as possible. Announcements snapped one after another, the arena moving with brisk, practiced efficiency.
For a while, everyone waited for him to finally call Umbraens’ Team 1, which Kharom was supposed to be part of, but he did not. Anticipation gathered in the seats, attention sliding again and again to the officials’ dais.
Instead, he kept thinning the bracket, cutting down other races and teams until the 19th match ended within minutes. When he announced the 20th match, the name everyone had been waiting for finally came.
"Now, for the next match, to raise the hype that has been slowly dipping, let me call the 5-man Team 1 from the respected Umbraen race." A low ripple ran through the crowd as people leaned forward in unison.
From the Black Dragon’s back, a group descended to the arena, Kharom at the front.
His sickly white skin, hair darker than night, and pupil-less eyes made him look like a descendant of some Demon race, a figure that drew every glance and held it.
The moment his boots touched marble, conversation thinned to a focused hush.
Their opponents also looked formidable. All 5 had distinct, colorful, furred bodies, with dog-like features across their faces, kobold-adjacent in aspect, and they too were followers of the Nether Path.
They settled into a tight formation, weight spread evenly, eyes tracking the Umbraens without blinking.
With two teams known for defense, common sense might have suggested a long fight, but no one believed that. The mood in the stands tilted toward certainty rather than suspense.
Known as a top genius, Kharom Umbra stepped in with his team, expecting the fight to be over the moment it started, much like the ones before. His posture made the same promise.
That is exactly what happened, and it happened even sooner than expected. Surprise barely had time to form.
Before the fight could start, it was already over.
The Houndkin race’s Rank 4 leader, in a voice like a dog’s bark, announced, "We Houndkin withdraw from this match." The statement was clean, final, and left no angle for dispute.
Even though such a decision would normally stain a race with shame, no one questioned the wisdom of it this time. The silence that followed read as agreement.
They all understood that if the match took place, the Umbraens would not leave their opponents alive. By stepping away, the Houndkin leader prevented needless deaths, and the arena answered with a quiet, respectful acceptance of his choice. Survival weighed more than pride.
Not being able to witness Kharom’s fight remained a regret for all, yet no one felt like saying it out loud. The crowd returned to stillness and waited.
With that decision, the matches rolled on. Caprion kept calling teams with deliberate care, arranging bouts to end quickly and ensuring every race stepped onto the arena at least once—some even appearing twice or three times. The bracket narrowed at a steady pace, clean and methodical.
By the time the sun had blazed past its peak and hinted at afternoon, more than 150 matches had flown by. Caprion stepped out onto the marble again and raised his voice. Heat shimmered above the white stone, and the tiers quieted on cue.
"Finally, we’ve managed to dwindle the team count to 100. That makes the total remaining..." He paused, did a quick tally of heads, and let out a short chuckle. "Well, with 98 teams of 5 and only 2 one-man teams, we now have 492 remaining candidates." The math rippled outward as whispers turned to quick calculations.
Only Adyr and Brakthar stood as single-member teams, and while that skewed the numbers, Caprion didn’t seem to care. If anything, he looked pleased. The exception made the field sharper.
"Let’s change the rules for the final selection, then. 5-man team fights have gotten rather dull at this pace, haven’t they?" He lifted his furred hands; his white goatee trembled as the central marble platform rose a notch and began to widen. Stone seams answered with a low grind and clean, widening lines.
In a matter of seconds, the arena swelled outward, growing until it looked at least ten times the previous size. Sightlines shifted; space became a factor as real as strength.
Satisfied with the transformation, Caprion called out, "To make the final selection faster, I’ve decided it will be a battle royale where the last 200 standing will be the winners." The rule landed simply, and every fighter adjusted their plans by instinct.
Up to now, every race had taken the field. Some managed to push more than one team into the last 100, while others couldn’t win a single match and already lost their spots in the Legacy Domain.
The biggest winners so far were the top 3 races: with many of their members still among the remaining 500, it was clear the coming Battle Royale would favor them.