The Tournament of Yeostar, or as the locals called it, the Hero’s Proving Grounds. The most important event during the Festival of Yeostar, only held once the previous Champion of Yeostar had either stepped down or perished. As such, this was not only a rare and exciting festival for the people of the Principality of Yeos, but also a melancholic one, as it also acted as an impromptu funeral for the previous Champion.
Sir Royce. A Champion of Yeostar with a tenure of 13 years. Although a woman disguised as a man, Royce was a powerful knight heralded by her countrymen as the strongest Champion of the Pantheon of Light. Some would even claim she had been the strongest Blessed overall amongst all the Origin God pantheons, a result of patriotic pride.
Like all Champions of Yeostar, Royce was once a tournament contestant as well. Having braved the bloodfields of the Arena of Yeostar, defeating any adversary she would face, she was then placed into the tournament bracket as one of the top 32 fighters. Those 32 talented warriors fought each other, but Royce was the one to rise above them all, becoming a title owner and a blessed of a god.
However, two years ago, she perished during the war between the humans and demonkins, fighting alongside her country as an ally of the Empire of Folschreck. And with her death, the time for a new Champion of Yeostar to make their debut had come. And that warrior will be chosen in the span of these next two weeks.
On the very day of the tournament to decide it all, the first match was a battle royale to thin out the horde and weed out the weak. The battlefield of Schrade — one of Yeostar’s momentous battles during the demon wars — was the first stage. Overlooking the infamous Castle Fatalisa, this was where the contestants would fight each to decide the top eight of group A.
And, without further ado, numerous fighters have already fallen in the first ten minutes of this battle. Of the 232 contestants, only 178 were left. Whether it was with martial abilities or magic, everybody was cut and shot down equally.
The rules were simple: act “honorably” and fight in the name of Yeostar. Despite the setting of the tournament, Yeostar was still the God of Knighthood, Bravery, and Loyalty. While a certain amount of “unfair methods” could be excused for the pursuit of victory, absolutely unchivalrous behavior would still be demeaned in the eye of Yeostar. Although a realist, the Pantheon of Light’s God of War still had standards.
And as such, attaining victory was the most important for the contestants. Whether it was teaming up with others, utilizing the tools left in this simulated battlefield, or creating absolute chaos, it was all allowed! Creativity was also a virtue.
“Gang up! We got a B ranker here! Group up and let’s take the bastard down!”
“H-Hey, shit!”
The strong will reap the weak? On the battlefield, even the weak may feast on the strong. Being able to rally those around you to fight against adversaries was the mark of a true Champion.
“Haha, shoot! Fire!”
“Mana cannons! Gurwaaaaagh?!”
Reappropriate the tools of war and use them against your enemies. Set traps to capture your foes to take them all out with a decisive strike. A Champion of Yeostar cannot rely on their power and skill with the blade alone, as tactics and strategies could overturn the odds for the armies and men they led.
“S-Shit?! Our weapons aren’t doing anything against him! R-Run the fuck away!”
“Hmph!”
“““Gaaaaaaaaaaaah!”””
However, even then, what differentiated a Champion from a normal elite warrior or knight was their power. Strength to overturn anything they saw. A Champion of Yeostar was that perfect instrument of war, combining every facet of battle into a single person. They would be the one to dominate the field with their presence alone, cleaving a way forward for their allies to charge in.
“And that is another star! Look at them fly away, blood enjoyers! Give praise, for these warriors have fought and fallen for our entertainment!” The announcer celebrated the numerous streaks of white light in the arena’s sky, created each time somebody was defeated and safely transported out of the battlefield with the help of their armlets.
“Look at him swing that sword, woooo!”
“A real sword saint candidate! Sir Antonodius! Can’t believe we got a former Hands of Heaven to fight today!”
“Yeah, look how he cleaved through all those grunts! He’s gonna be the champ, you know?”
And to the onlookers of this match, this was a rare pleasure they fully immersed themselves in. To the contestants, the audience was just part of the sky — hard to see, but you could hear and see their cheers if the tournament organizers allowed it.
However, to the crowd, the center of the arena was a giant rotating orb, displaying a bird-eye view of the different fighters. If this could be compared to Earth, this was like placing a drone over each player’s head, allowing the viewers to watch the 22 different perspectives.
However, for a tournament like this, watching somebody acting like a rat, trying to survive until the end by avoiding everybody wasn’t enjoyable. In fact, cowards like this went against the domain of bravery, making them less ideal candidates. On the other hand, those who fought and preserved through adversity were beloved, garnering the respect and attraction of the audience and announcer.
As such, depending on the valor they showed, their perspective shown on the rotating orb would grow in size, towering over the others. The longer the match went, the more noticeable people would show themselves. They would become the stars of the show, so to speak, becoming the focal point of the audience but also to their potential rivals.
And currently, seven perspectives were dwarfing the others.
“My money’s on ex-Hand Guardian Larent Antonodius!”
“One large silvite on ‘Auegor’s Blade’for the most defeats!”
“No way anybody can defeat an imperial knight of the Empire. Former or otherwise!”
The most notable of the contestants was Larent Antonodius, an Ex-Hands of Heaven, a former member of the imperial knight order of the Empire of Folschreck and personal defender of the Holy Emperor of the Light. In addition, this person was one of the people O’Bloom hired to chase Hestia out of Gleisvale, and was also the one to report Astalos’s presence, causing him to be mistaken for a dragonslayer when Aurora was still in Cedaraille.
But now, this swordmaster was cleaving his way through the rumble stage, defeating everybody he happened to come across as he slowly traversed through the corpse field of the arena. Although not an elder, he still took his time to conserve Stamina. Even arrows and spells would be cleaved by his enchanted sword.
However, he wasn’t the only one to attract people’s attention.
“My Davi is on that mountain of a berserker! He’s like a whirlwind!”
“Ahahaha! That mage! Look at that mage blasting everything away?! By Yeostar, he’s destroying the battlefield!”
“Oi, lookie there, bois! The ‘Acid Killer’ brothers made it the castle, first! Money well spent on the info, eh?”
“Merfolk represent! Sink those landwalkers, ‘Deepsea Ebony!’”
“Deepsea Ebony” Chahayat, the merfolk headhunter.
“Acid Killers” Greisha and Kraeger, black mercenary brothers notorious for their monster killing toxic concoctions.
Master Mage Naemon Humbabwa, an Evidian sorcerer working for Aleistunum.
“Mountain Lion” Ghorush the Decapitator, a leonid beastman with a muscular body almost comparable with an ogre.
All five of these contestants were rampaging across the battlefield, destroying what little hope the weak had as they stood in the way of these living disasters. The number plummeted to 104 combatants after 20 minutes had passed. The number of fighters terrified and frightened by all brutality was increasing, scurrying away like cowards and becoming obscured by the rising warriors. However, this wouldn’t last for long.
The battlefield was huge, with plenty of space for people to run around and hide, but seeing rats scurry their way towards a place to the bracket matches without facing danger was never the intention of the battle royale. For that, depending on how long the match had lasted, certain areas of the field would break apart, sending anybody unlucky enough into the abyss where they would be disqualified and transported out of the arena.
At the 35-minute mark, when only 76 fighters were left, the outer ring of the field broke apart and layers were being peeled off every minute now. This forced everybody deeper into the center where Castle Fatalisa stood. The chances of encountering fellow fighters increased, and so did the cheers of the blood-hungry watchers. Whether nobles, yeomen, or peasants, it was a joy for everybody to watch.
“And that’s the 170th person out! Only 62 fighters left, people!” the announcer stated after 40 minutes had elapsed.
“Hey, look! ‘Arcane Rider’ Arlond is fighting against that sand mage! Uhhhh, ‘Sandweaver’ Joek!”
“Oh, shit! That fishman and lion just met! Fight of the bloody hulks! Let those beasts take each other out!”
And with fewer people around and the area shrinking, the strong began to find their rivals. The ‘Arcane Rider’ rode into battle with a manatech horse, striding through a sandstorm created by an Evidian sand mage. Whereas the “Deepsea Ebony” Chahayat clashed weapons against the “Mountain Lion” Ghorush, both roaring and causing the ground to quake.
It was an endless bloodbath of action and excitement.
However, something stood out amongst all of this. Something neither the viewers nor the announcer could explain really. They were in awe at the destructive force shown to them, but at the same time, they couldn’t help but feel their excitement getting drained as the seventh perspective began to grow larger and larger.
“S-She— Our dark horse took down her 42nd contestant!” the announcer informed the coliseum, narrowly correcting himself from shouting out in disbelief at what he was seeing.
What exactly was everybody watching?
The scene could only be described as a natural disaster. Thunder and storms, the fear of every sailor braving the harsh ocean. And this was currently devastating and terrorizing everybody coming closer to the only forest on the Shrade battlefield.
“N-Nooooo, I don’t wanna die!!! Heeeeeelp meeeeeeeeeeeee! Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
Tornados cleaved through the land, uprooting anything not safely tethered to the ground. Once you were inside the zone of these five cyclones, the only ways out was to either surrender or get your Health torn apart until the arena automatically kicks you out.
“Grrrrriagahashahsdbasd!!!”
After all, while the wind was ripping the challengers apart, lightning bolts coming from five floating thunder orbs rained down upon anybody in the vicinity, sundering both the earth and burning away any chance of approaching the eye of this storm — the forest.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
However, this formation stood still, sticking close to the forest without showing any attempts of expanding. As such, how could anybody be caught in this when it was so easy to avoid? Well, it would have been easy for the first 34 minutes, but once the ground started to break apart, it became harder and harder to maneuver around it.
From the seventh most kills in the ranking to number two after 50 mins had passed, this contestant was endangering the throne of Larent Antonodius. However, this bothered less the knight and more the gamblers betting on his position in the top. With only 37 contestants left, they were shouting and cursing for Sir Larent to start defeating more people. Otherwise, they might just lose all their money.
“… Jeez, this is a battlefield and this girl…” The announcer’s voice became weak as he kept watching her perspective grow, unsure how to comment on this. On the other hand…
“Ha ha ha ha! That’s my apprentice! Kriiiiiiiiiiiii! The path of a true mage!” Kushlek’zar shouted from the bottom of his voice, even standing up and roaring, acting unlike his usually priestly appearance.
“Gahahahahahaha! Look at the viewers! Totally shocked! Gahahahahahahaha!” Krim-Slak crackled as if he was possessed, unable to stop the more he watched everything unfold.
On the other hand, the young horned woman sitting next to him couldn’t help but massage her temples in exaggeration. “… Jeez, I don’t know what to feel about this. Second-hand cringe? Pride? That brat is turning this whole battle on its head.”
“Hiehiehie.” But, unlike her, the silver-haired woman on her right giggled in a refined way, before gazing back to the projections with fondness. “Well, that is just how your little sister acts. A very inventive whelpling.”
There was even more support.
“Lady Hestia! Good work! Keep it up!”
[“The princess is worthy of our respect! She can destroy hordes of enemies without even lifting a finger! Sister, we must train even harder to become worthy as her guards!”]
[“Yes, Brother!”]
“He…stia! W…in!”
“Mhmm, very impressive. I just don’t know how to describe this as a warrior, though…”
It was Hestia. And what was she doing to make everybody so conflicted?
“Hmmm, hmm, hmm, hmmm. Oh, how is the seat, Rajah? Still comfortable?”
The white virigress nodded, laying comfortably on his chair. After the young dragon girl confirmed her companion’s contentment, she showed him a wide grin before continuing where she left off from…
… nonchalantly building her next chair using the wood in the forest.
“Hmm, hmm, hmm~” She calmly hummed while cutting off wood chunks with her claws, all while her parallel minds controlled the [Levin Core] and [Cyclone Madness] spells outside the forest, disrupting anybody from coming closer.
“Oh right, it's about time. Ahem…”
“Our dark horse is about to do it again?! Will this be enough to overthrow Sir Larent Antonodius?!” The announcer hyped it all up.
With an [Aerokinesis] microphone, the girl only needed one word to ruin the hopes of all the money bettors.
“Taunt~”
A soundwave was launched out from her air stereo, blasting away leaves and pushing some trees down. Her echoing voice reverbed through the air, escaped through the lightning-storm field and into the area outside of it. Seven combatants escaping from the collapsing ground heard her voice, instantly affected by the [Taunter] Job’s [Taunt] ability.
They snapped their heads around with fear in their faces, noticing the girl jumping out of the forest, waving like a kid in a trampoline house before saying “Weeeeeeeee” as she fell back into it. With sight and hearing requirements fulfilled, [Taunt] was ready to do what it was designed for — pulling everybody’s hostility towards the taunter.
… Even if it meant going through the maelstrom.
“M-Mercy!” The seven men’s last words before they were ripped off the ground and electrocuted, before getting kicked out of the arena.
And then, there were 30 left.
“S-She-I— Contestant 349 just defeated her 57th enemy! She’s in the lead! Ark!” Red marks were showing on the announcer’s face, a result of him facepalming himself every time Hestia continued building her second chair.
“Fuck! Who the hell is that girl! How the hell is that lizard girl ahead of a Hand of Heaven?!”
“Noooo! No, fuck! My money! I bet a month’s pay on that! Noooooo! No, you piece of shit Folschreckian, go kill more! Kill more before I lose all my money!”
Some were furious, others were calm enough to open up the list of combatants on their viewer-only armlets, scrolling down until they found the contestant number the announcer shouted out.
“Heestia A-tschuko Karrgrysssmoor? Who dat? Why da long name? A manablood?”
“Nah, you idiot, read it correctly. Hestia Atsuko Kargryxmor. The letters are weirdly assembled but you get it if you read this and this a bit differently. But, you right, bruh. Long name, gotta be a manablood lizard.”
Kargryxmor wasn’t a typical name every Aurena follower would know. Despite how important Kargryxmor was for the history of Peolynca and the world of the dragonkins, it was a rather obscure name for the uneducated. Knowing every subordinate god was not needed for them.
As such, those who didn’t know about Kargryxmor only thought of Hestia as a noble since it was more common to meet people with a middle or last name amongst the nobility or rich merchants. Those who knew how last names worked for dragonkins would have instantly realized who this crimson-haired girl was.
Regardless, the general consensus inside the arena, outside of a certain party, was that a random dragonewt girl suddenly trumped over a veteran knight on the battlefield when it came to “kills.” The favorite in this round of the rumble match was momentarily in second place.
All against a girl who was spending the battle leisurely in a forest making chairs, all while her rival contestants fought tooth and nail to remain “alive.” Out of the twelve people Hestia thought were strong in her initial reconnaissance, only nine remained. Were they defeated by the horde or somebody Hestia didn’t recognize? No, they each fell against others of the twelve.
And it was about time for Hestia to face her “equals.”
After all, nobody could ignore the hurricanes and thunder. Too many “stars” shot into the sky around the area, and this was the perfect bait for people to come closer. Almost an hour had passed, and there were still exactly 30 people left. The crowd was starting to turn impatient…
… until he arrived.
“Hmm…” The swordmaster looked at the storm wall before letting out a small chuckle. “Haha… I shall accept your challenge!”
“Ooooh, he’s here! Go, stop her!”
“Yeah! This will decide who will remain at the top!”
The crowd cheered as the swordmaster took a stance, holding his sword stretched out behind his body. After he took a deep breath, he tensed his muscles and performed a cleave. The wind separated before him… until the mana slash exploded in front of the tornado and [Tornado Core], disrupting and fizzling them out!
An entrance into the eye was created by a single man.
“Aaaaaaand he did it!!!!!!!!!” The crowd erupted in cheers, and so did the announcer. “Auegor’s Blade! That is his name! The former Hand of Heaven, protector of the Holy Emperor and a member of the strongest knight order! Even if he doesn’t carry that title anymore, the sword saint candidate hasn’t lost his touch one bit! With a singular strike, he destroyed two advanced magic spells!”
And this noise did not escape Hestia. She looked into the sky, noticing not only the announcer’s voice but also the jeers some of them seemed to have. She knew instinctively they were directed at her; after all, she wasn’t dumb to not realize how “uncilvalrous” her attack plan was. Even Yeostar questioned her methods.
But this dragon knew exactly what she was doing. Cull the number of contestants, make it easier for her to reach the bracket, all while making sure people had their attention on her. As an idol, she needed to make people look at her. Now, everybody would.
“Welp, time to go, Rajah.” Her virigress entered her shadow before she dispelled every single spell surrounding the forest. She grabbed her glaive before sitting down on her first finished chair, looking in the direction of the approaching swordsman.
As an idol, her greatest joy was to bring entertainment to the crowd, and this was now the greatest stage she could give them.
“Look at this, blood enjoyers! The girl stopped the storm wall! She picked up her weapon! That smile! This girl is about to face one of the strongest swordsmen head-open!”
The excitement the announcer had for his “dark horse” intensified this whole hour, growing more and more as he watched Hestia rise in the ranks. But now, his patience would finally pay off. He saw what Hestia could do yesterday during the test, and his instincts after watching numerous incredible fighters made him aware she was hiding her strength. He wanted to know more. He wanted to see this dragonewt fight!
“‘Crimson-Scaled!’ That’s her epitaph for now, people! Will this smug dragonewt girl finally show us if she is worthy to stand amongst all the giants of this tournament? Or is she just a two-trick mage with an incredibly large mana pool?”
“Fraud! Get the mages out of here!”
“Hurry up already, you old fart! Win the damn match or I’ll curse you for every coin I lost because of you!”
“Scalekin versus human! Eyyy, come on seascales, we gotta support our neighbor here! Beat his pink arse, Princess!”
Just about every merfolk, naga, and levianewt naturally recognized the name Kargryxmor, but all of them simply thought of Hestia as a member of the dragonewt clan Kargryxmor instead of being a dragon herself. As a member of the kinkyuro, the five most influential dragonewt clans of Loatryx, Hestia was still pretty much seen as a princess to them. Similar to how most commoners viewed the children of marquesses and dukes.
And, in this tournament where the amount of scalekin was far below that of the humans, the Caedhulen races couldn’t help but support a dragonewt. To them, a scalekin was a far better choice to cheer for than a human. It was more patriotic.
“Ooooh! They see each other!”
And the swordmaster’s silhouette finally appeared in front of Hestia, revealing himself in the clearing Hestia made in preparation for this fight.
“… Oh wait, don’t I know you from somewhere?” Hestia, still sitting in her seat, questioned the knight as he gave her a deep bow.
He saluted her, acting more like a perfect knight greeting a young woman than an adversary. “Yes, my lady. Larent Antonodius, a humble mercenary. We met, under less ideal circumstances, during your… concert in Gleisvale.”
Noticing the attitude he had just now, Hestia smiled and accepted the small talk. She pulled her catalyst from underneath her jacket and placed it in her glaive, allowing it to float while she corrected her posture.
“Oh right, that really wasn’t the best, huh? Well, I felt a lot of gazes in the waiting room, but yours probably was one of the two more intense one. Since you know me, of course.”
“Ah, pray forgive me. I swear to the Goddess I did not do it with any malicious intent.”
“Don’t worry. Considering you came here with not a hint of murderous intent, I get I don’t have to repeat the same thing we had last time. Should be more fun when our lives aren’t on the line. Hmm, but, humble knight, huh?” Hestia tucked on her eyelid for a moment, before shaking her head. “Your level? Mine is 98.”
Larent raised an eyebrow, flabbergasted at how Hestia just revealed her level like that. “You are certainly blunt, my lady.”
Hestia shrugged, having expected this reaction. “Well, depending on the quality of your identity bracelet, I probably can only appraise your levels and stats. The rest of your profile will be blocked. However, my [Identity Blocker] is most likely too high for you to reciprocate. So, I wanted to even the field a bit.”
“Haha, you are fighting unfairly already, my lady. Honor compels me to answer you.” Larent said with a wry smile, amused by the girl sitting before him. Although he was a noble himself and had seen others speak like Hestia, he still found it entertaining how she persuaded him. “Level 147.”
“Jeez! Buh!” Hestia almost coughed. “Oh goodness, ‘humble?’ Yeah, right. That should be enough to be counted as an S rank. Ahhhhh…”
“Well, it is the minimum a Hand of Heaven should be worth, my lady. Otherwise, how are we supposed to protect our Emperor? … Then again, I no longer have the right to protect him.” He sheathed his sword. “Today, I am merely an A rank mercenary. Former temporary leader of the ‘Band of the Waywards,’ before their proper leader returned. As such, I am only the ‘Auegor’s Blade’ right now. A desperate man wanting to sharpen his blade even further to one day become a sword saint.”
“Eheheh…” Hestia laughed nervously as she twirled her glaive around. “Can I, you know, run away maybe? I have to be one of the top eight, you know.”
“Mhmm, I have accepted your challenge, my lady. Please, do not leave me standing like this. My heart has already been broken by enough women, ahahahaa!” Now, Larent was returning the unfair arguments back to Hestia, causing her to groan and scratch her head. “Will you honor me with your true powers?”
“If I can afford to, no. And I really wish to hide it even further until the brackets, if possible.” But Hestia grimaced. “Phewww… you want to force it out of me, right?”
Larent only nodded. Hestia shook her head before raising it to the sky with close eyes. After a moment of silence, she opened it up, her smile brimming with energy once more. She pointed at the sky with her unoccupied hand, now grinning.
“Peeeeeeooople of Elyonda! The home of Yeostar the Brave! Watch here, for I am ‘The Crimson Idol’ Hestia Atsuko Kargryxmor!” Hestia announced her identity, knowing full well of the function of the viewer-only armlet from her mother. “I hope you guys were somewhat entertained by the display I showed before! Numerous fighters fell from my spells, causing not only the announcer but also you to gasp and awe! Well, as unworthy as I am in front of this mighty swordmaster, I will still give you what you came here for! Entertainment, shivers, and excitement!!!”
She then formed the air around her into a microphone.
“Huuuuuuu— In my purgatory, I make the devil cry ♫
In Hellfire ♫
All you hear are his screams, begging to be released ♫
It’s Music ♫”
The air swelled, causing Larent to brace himself and dodge as the ground burst in fire, nearly catching him in it. It continued as he noticed a new status affliction had appeared — [Music Resonation (Moderate)].
His ears perked, noticing the sounds of an inferno forming around his area, until it was too late. He was now imprisoned inside an arena of fire. In the next moment, more flames appeared, becoming even more intense.
Larent was cautious, unable to assess what Hesita could do as he couldn’t appraise her with his [Identify]. As Hestia said, her [Identity Blocker] was far too high leveled for him. And since he wanted to analyze his opponent first before striking, he allowed Hestia to fully buff herself in everything she needed for this fight, including [Symphonie des Feuergottes].
Larent activated the [Auracoil] rune on his armor, creating a mana bubble around him to protect himself against the massive flood of descending flames. The moment he noticed his barrier cracking, he swung his sword forward, in the direction Hestia should be. The mana blast cleanly sundered anything in its way, but once every settled, Hestia wasn’t there anymore.
However, the music still kept playing. He could hear Hestia’s voice, so he knew she was still around.
And there she was, flying above him, fully covered in dark purple armor with two slime-like objects flanking her wings.
[“You ready to give everybody a good show, Sir Larent?”] Hestia’s eager voice escaped through her telepathy, making it easy for the swordmaster to imagine her cheery smile from before. Considering the large black helmet covering her whole head, Larent though it was hard to speak through it.
“It’s ‘Mr. Larent,’ young lady.” He smiled before putting on his helmet. “En garde!”