[15th June]
The matches resumed soon after the announcement, the changes to today's eliminations still echoing in everyone's minds, along with the warning of tomorrow's brutal schedule.
Rey remained seated, his intention simple.
Watch.
Measure.
Understand where everyone truly stood.
Until now, most contestants had hidden their true strength. Today, that restraint was gone.
But today was different.
With the fear of evaluation-based elimination hanging above them, no one dared to hold back anymore.
In Section A alone, Rey identified more than twenty contestants strong enough to force him to go all out if they ever crossed paths.
Now, they were impossible to ignore.
Even the mysterious masked fighter he had noticed earlier in the tournament eliminated his opponent too quickly to study.
Only now had the sword of elimination truly descended.
Once all batches of Section A concluded, a brief fifteen-minute break followed before Section B began.
As expected, it didn't disappoint.
Hidden geniuses surfaced one after another.
Elemental artists who had once appeared clumsy and unrefined now dominated the battlefield.
If before they looked like children playing with toys, now they resembled craftsmen shaping something lethal with intent.
Rey wasn't surprised.
Revealing everything too early was either confidence born from overwhelming strength… or sheer foolishness.
He continued observing quietly.
Then, a name appeared.
A presence stepped onto the field.
His achievements in the tournament weren't as widely circulated as Rey's, yet the moment his name appeared, the atmosphere shifted.
Raviel Ashcroft.
Young Master of the Ashcroft family.
Next heir of the Dragon Kingdom's Duke.
Even after four rounds, his true strength remained unknown.
Three of his opponents had withdrawn outright, surrendering before the match could even begin.
Only once, in the second round, had an unaware contestant dared to challenge him.
The result was burned into the memories of those who witnessed it.
A single punch.
A body collapsing in agony.
The match ended before most people realised it had begun.
Rumours claimed that many hadn't even seen Raviel move.
He vanished… and reappeared like a violent blur.
What lingered most wasn't the brutality.
It was his expression.
Or rather, the lack of one.
Only faint disgust as he glanced at his bloodied fist, saliva and crimson staining his knuckles.
Rey narrowed his eyes slightly.
'He's above Aric,' he concluded calmly.
At least a notch.
Even now, Raviel hadn't been forced to reveal anything close to his real power.
In today's match, his opponent, a noble, surrendered instantly.
Offending the Ashcroft family was a mistake no one wanted to make, especially not for a tournament.
Raviel spared him a brief glance before walking off the field, as if the man had never existed.
His mere presence silenced the surroundings.
Cold.
Detached.
Unreadable.
Yet Rey's attention wasn't on his demeanour.
It was on his weapons.
Four daggers rested in a sheath along his back.
Two short swords were strapped beside them.
An unusual combination.
Rey analysed quietly.
'Short swords for direct engagement… daggers for close, precise kills.'
A keen, aggressive fighting style, at least from what he could infer.
By the time Rey finished his assessment, Section B had already concluded.
Soon after, Section C was called.
As expected, Rey's batch was scheduled somewhere in the middle.
Thanks to the live schedule posted publicly, contestants could prepare without rushing, a system many appreciated.
Missed matches due to lateness had almost vanished since Round Two.
Rey watched as the mysterious spear wielder fought again, struggling slightly but still displaying strength well above average.
Then came a short break.
The first batch of Section C concluded swiftly.
Then the second.
Then the cycle continued.
When the fifth batch was announced, Rey stood up.
He was in the ninth batch today.
Entering the preparation hall, he ensured his coat and weapons were in place.
He quietly stored his phone back into his inventory, then sat down, waiting as the eighth batch fought outside.
Moments later, they returned.
Joy and despair crossed paths once more.
The ninth batch was called.
Rey exhaled slowly.
Stepping onto the field again, sunlight washed over him, the vast stadium now a familiar sight.
The cheers were muted this time.
His earlier craze had faded.
Just as he wanted.
He reached Battlefield Five and waited.
His opponent arrived shortly after.
A swordsman.
Again.
They exchanged ID badges, the referee confirmed them, then stepped back.
"Both contestants ready," the referee announced loudly.
"Let the match begin."
Rey's grip tightened slightly around his bow.
The battle had started.
As Rey expected, the moment the match began, his opponent charged forward.
A burst of force exploded beneath his feet, cracking the ground as he closed the distance instantly.
The sword rose high, aiming to cut him down before the bow could even breathe.
He knew the reputation of the mysterious bowman.
Giving him space was the same as asking to lose.
The swordsman pressed relentlessly, slashing again and again, denying Rey any clean angle to shoot.
Yet no blade touched him.
Rey moved through the assault like flowing water, his steps light, controlled, almost rhythmic.
Every dodge was precise.
Every movement intentional.
As the pressure mounted, Rey noticed the shift.
His opponent was gathering strength.
Rey retreated several steps at once.
The next strike smashed into the ground with brutal force, forming a crater where Rey had stood moments earlier.
Dust surged into the air.
Frustration flickered across the swordsman's face.
He swung blindly through the cloud, trying to force contact.
Instead, his blade collided with arrows.
The impact pushed him backwards several steps.
They weren't fired at full strength, yet the impact still rattled his grip.
The dust slowly settled.
What the crowd saw stunned them.
The swordsman was kneeling, sword trembling in his hand.
Rey stood calmly opposite him, bow drawn.
An arrow had struck straight into the swordsman's hand, forcing him to clutch it tightly to stop the shaking.
Shock filled his eyes.
"So this is why Aric's hands were shaking when he blocked your attacks," he muttered.
"You're monsters… both of you."
He steadied his grip, forcing confidence back into his posture.
"But this is still manageable."
Rey said nothing.
He simply waited.
The moment the swordsman shifted his weight forward, Rey released the arrow.
The shaft blurred midair.
Sparks burst as the sword barely intercepted it, the impact forcing a groan from the man's throat.
'Did I just almost die?'
Before the thought settled, another arrow flew.
He leapt aside desperately.
The arrow struck the ground behind him, forming a deep crater.
Cold sweat rolled down his back.
More arrows followed.
He gripped his sword with both hands, swinging wildly, blocking, deflecting, barely surviving.
His body was already at its limit.
Scratches covered his arms.
Blood dripped from his hands.
His vision blurred.
Rey calmly knocked another arrow.
But before he could release it, the swordsman collapsed.
His body gave out completely.
The sword slipped from his grasp and fell beside him as he hit the ground unconscious, face smeared with dust and blood.
Silence followed.
After a brief pause, the referee raised his hand.
"Winner, Battlefield Five… Contestant 19,082."
The match had ended in just over two and a half minutes.
Above average.
Decisive.
Rey moved immediately.
He retrieved his arrows with efficient motions, wasting nothing.
Nine were intact.
The rest were shattered or bent beyond use.
He lifted his opponent and helped him remain upright long enough for the medics to take over.
With his badge collected, Rey left the field.
He exited the stadium quickly, breathing steadily but focused.
By the time he reached home, it was not even four.
There was still time.
He descended into the underground training room without rest.
Footwork.
Again.
That alone had decided the match.
Without it, he knew the outcome could have been very different.
Above the city, the tournament continued into the evening.
Every winner remained tense.
The true results were still pending.
The final list of eight hundred contestants would be announced the next morning.
That night, the capital fell unusually quiet.
Suspense lingered in the air.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
The path to the Top 200.