At last, the day of the tournament had arrived.The place where it would be held had nothing to envy from the football stadiums Elizabeth had seen so many times on television in her previous life. But without a doubt, there were remarkable differences. There were no goals or grass: the center of the stadium was a gigantic circular platform, perfectly flat, enclosed within a barely visible magical dome. In turn, that dome was contained within an even larger one, like a reinforced protective bubble.
The stands floated in the air like suspended islands. Each one was sealed within a transparent capsule that isolated it from the surroundings. Inside, as if they were ultra high-definition giant screens, the battles were projected in real time with astonishing precision. Several mages from the Tower of Magical Imagery were in charge of editing angles, zooming in on the combatants' expressions, clearly narrating their voices, and highlighting their best techniques—all in real time. The show was designed not only to be watched but to be experienced.
Since the competition was announced, nobles from the five kingdoms had rushed to attend, eager to support their respective princes. That day, hundreds of floating bleachers surrounded the stadium. The smallest of them all—but without a doubt the most luxurious—was the royal box, where Elizabeth sat accompanied by her master Vincent, her loyal knight Sir Veldora, and her two trusted handmaidens. There, they awaited the start of the event.
"I wonder what the combat system will be like if there are five participants," Elizabeth commented aloud, as she settled among velvet cushions. She wasn't just excited to watch the tournament; she was in a floating viewing box with perfect visibility of the ring, surrounded by exquisite delicacies, enchanted fruits, and sweet incantations. If that wasn't luxury… then what was?
"According to the official rules," Vincent replied in a didactic tone, "when there are five participants, a free-for-all match is held. Everyone fights on the platform at the same time until one remains standing or someone accumulates ten points. If there had been four, it would've been in pairs."
"I see… then it will be a great opportunity to observe what type of magic and combat style each prince has," she said, both curious and astute.
"Not necessarily, Princess," Veldora interjected in his neutral yet firm tone. "Since this is an exhibition match, none of them will fight seriously. They'll only show the basics to put on a good show. Their nobles aren't here to cheer them on, but to make sure they don't reveal too much of their real capabilities."
Elizabeth was surprised by her knight's comment. It made sense. She had been naïve to think that they would all expose their best cards. She needed to refine how she viewed the world. In this game, letting one's guard down could cost you your life.
She sighed softly, glancing sideways at Veldora. The knight, without needing words, returned her gaze with his usual courtesy.
"Your comment is very valuable to me, Sir Veldora. Thank you for opening my eyes."
"It is an honor to serve you, Your Highness."
"Although the young knight is right," added Vincent, "it will still be an enriching experience. Watching mages from different kingdoms fight will greatly expand your understanding of magic's versatility."
Elizabeth nodded. The sooner she could observe, analyze, and understand this world's rules, the sooner she could take control of her destiny.
Suddenly, the central screen drew all her attention. The five princes were already on the platform, each dressed—or not—according to their peculiar style.
Mayron of Lunethra wore a refined light armor, adorned with red gems embedded in the chestplate, gloves, boots, and belt. Everything shone with the distinction of a small fortune invested. Next to him, Dren Blackstell stood out for the opposite: bare torso, military boots, dark leather pants, and a smile of wild arrogance.
Narel, true to his essence, wore a loose shirt and comfortable pants that looked like sleepwear. His expression was that of someone who had just woken up five minutes ago and still didn't understand why he was there. Zarek and Azrael, for their part, dressed like someone heading out on a Wednesday to buy bread: effortless, but with presence.
A mage spokesman stepped onto the central floating platform and spoke with a voice amplified by magic:
"Your Highness, ladies and gentlemen of the six kingdoms, today the princes shall face off in duel…"
But he was interrupted.
Azrael raised a hand and, without further ado, took the voice-amplifying crystal.
"I apologize for the interruption," he said with cold elegance. "I wish to inform you that I am withdrawing from the tournament. Solaris shall be the last kingdom to receive Her Majesty's visit. I wish you all a… revealing event."
And without waiting for a response, he left the stage, leaving behind a trail of absolute silence.
Even the other princes froze for a moment. The Council had to suspend the tournament's start, rescheduling the opening ceremony with a fifteen-minute delay.
When the presenter reappeared, he did so with a professional expression, though visibly tense. He used a magical transmission stone that replicated his voice in each floating bubble with flawless clarity.
"Ladies and gentlemen, due to the unexpected withdrawal of Prince Azrael, the tournament format shall be modified. Paired matches will be held, selected randomly through ballots. The winners of the first match will compete for first and second place; the losers, for third. We will proceed with the draw now."
While the magical draw was being conducted, Elizabeth leaned toward her master and murmured:
"Master Vincent… the people of Azrael, the kingdom of Solaris… why would they choose to go last?"
The old man slightly furrowed his brow.
"Solaris is a complex kingdom. Their motives are rarely simple. For now, all signs point to them not being particularly interested in this selection. But don't be deceived. Just because they're not playing… doesn't mean they're not planning."
The presenter spoke again in a solemn voice:
"The first match shall be between Prince Mayron of Lunethra… and Prince Dren Blackstell."
Elizabeth settled into her seat, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The platform was now empty, save for the two chosen princes.
Mayron advanced with firm steps, wielding a short, ornate black wand embedded with multiple crimson gems. His armor was light but meticulously crafted. Each piece carried a Bloodsteel gem: the chestplate, gloves, boots, and belt. He assumed a defensive stance, pointing his wand at his opponent.
Dren, on the other hand, looked as though he had just walked out of a tavern. His bare torso revealed a body shaped by real combat, not academy drills. His military boots echoed on the platform as he walked, and his dark leather pants looked more suited for a street brawl than a royal tournament. He stretched nonchalantly, as if warming up for a casual stroll.
Elizabeth observed Mayron's armor with interest.
"Those are Bloodsteel stones, right?"
"They are, Your Highness," confirmed Vincent, pleased by her observation. "Each can be programmed with a different spell. When certain conditions are met, they activate automatically. They allow one to use magic without any direct cost. However, each stone can only store one spell. That armor Mayron is wearing… represents a colossal investment. It gives him a significant advantage against… well, his opponent's tactical nudity."
The battle began.
Dren launched himself like a living storm.No announcement, no warning, not even the slightest chivalrous gesture. His body propelled forward with brutal force—like a human projectile charged with rage and muscle. He didn't look like a prince. He looked like a wild creature let loose from its cage.
Mayron raised his wand with mechanical discipline. A crimson gleam shone from the central gem on his chestplate. The runes activated the stored spell.
But...
Nothing happened.Not a spark. Not a single magical pulse.Dren's fist flew toward his face. Out of sheer reflex more than calculation, Mayron twisted his neck and shifted to the side. The punch sliced through the air just inches from his cheek.
Then, both jumped back, putting distance between them.
Mayron wasn't injured—but his face showed something worse than pain: disbelief.
"I don't blame you," said Dren, relaxing his shoulders, wearing that insolent smile only those who know something others don't can afford. "Everyone makes that same face the first time they realize their magic doesn't work on me."
From her royal box, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She didn't look away for even a second.
Magic that nullifies other magic? Immunity?
Impossible. If something like that existed, the world's balance would have shattered generations ago. There had to be another explanation. Something more grounded. More logical.
Dren stretched his arms, joints cracking, as if he were just getting started.
"I didn't expect that speed from you…" he added, gesturing mockingly toward Mayron's armor. "A rune that slows time? Or one that boosts your reflexes? Doesn't matter. None of it will protect you forever."
And then—he vanished.
He didn't run. He didn't teleport. He simply wasn't there anymore.
The only way to follow his movement was through the magical recording orbs hovering around the arena, broadcasting every second of the battle with enchanted precision. On the observation screens, he was seen reappearing next to Mayron with a movement so fast, the human eye couldn't have registered it.
Then came the whirlwind.
Punches. Kicks. Elbows.A flurry of blows at an unnatural speed, each aimed at a vital point, each delivered with enough force to knock down an ogre.And yet—Mayron dodged them. One by one. His armor, gleaming like a living jewel, flickered with each evasion, activating energy shields, invisible barriers, automated displacements.
It was a dance of death.
Dren attacked with relentless aggression, and Mayron endured only thanks to the magical technology wrapped around his body. The platform trembled beneath their feet. Every one of Dren's blows left a shallow crater; every one of Mayron's evasions sparked a flash of reactive counter-magic.
Then—tactical shift.
Mayron pointed his wand at the floor. Two massive stone pillars erupted, trying to crush Dren from both sides like a colossal trap.
Dren leapt backward, spinning through the air with an impossible acrobatic move. The rocks collided and crumbled to dust.
But he was already back.
Already in front of him.
And then it happened.
A crack.
The gem on Mayron's chestplate split with a sharp, crystalline sound.
A moment later, Dren's fist connected.
Mayron flew like a ragdoll. His body traveled over twenty meters before crashing against the edge of the magical platform. A muffled groan escaped his mouth. Blood.
Elizabeth stood from her seat, holding her breath.
Mayron moved. Barely. He planted one knee on the ground, then the other. Coughed. Spat blood. Got back on his feet.
But Dren was already watching. Calm. Like a predator deciding when to finish its prey.
And he raised his hand.
A simple gesture. No incantation. No ritual. Just that: raising his hand.
And Mayron's body collapsed, as if an invisible mountain had dropped onto his shoulders. The ground cracked beneath him. His legs gave in. The gem on his belt lit up, triggering a life-support spell.
Mayron stood once more. This time, swaying. His face was twisted. His wand, trembling.
"No… this can't be…" he muttered. "How…?"
Dren raised his arm again.
CRACK.
The invisible impact shattered his right arm. The wand flew out of his hand. Mayron hit the ground, screaming in pain. His last healing stone activated, mending internal injuries, repairing bones… but it couldn't mend fear.
And that—Dren had already conquered.
The prince of Lunethra, the prodigy of tactical magic, now lay curled on the ground. No wand. No shield. Looking at his opponent like one looks at a demon.
"It was smart of you to surrender," Dren said, his tone firm but tranquil. "There was no way you could've beaten me."
And Mayron… surrendered.
The platform's magic activated instantly, wrapping him in a protective bubble and removing him from the arena.
Silence.
No one applauded. No one cheered. The other princes didn't speak. The Council didn't move. Elizabeth could only stare, her mouth slightly ajar.
In that instant, everyone understood.
A winner had not merely been revealed.
A predator had emerged.
One that no one would ever underestimate again.