From the moment I was chosen by the holy relic

Eric had barely steadied himself when a voice as cold as ice came from the other side.

"So you're the swordsman who got away with two matches by sheer luck?"

The speaker was a pale-faced young man whose eyes held no fighting spirit, only a condescending indifference. He held an ancient staff in his hand, its shaft made of dark yellow dragon bone, with a deep blue magic stone embedded at the top, as deep as the ocean. Just looking at it sent chills down one's spine.

"My name is Karl Ilius," he said calmly, as if announcing something perfectly natural.

The referee's voice rang out: "Match Three—Begin!"

Without the slightest hesitation, Eric ducked and lunged forward.

He doesn't use fancy footwork, only the most practical rushing attacks.

Karl curled his lips in disdain, without even opening his mouth, and simply raised one hand slightly.

Instantly, a piercing sound of something cutting through the air rang out!

Whoosh whoosh—

A barrage of icicles rained down from the sky, blocking all of Eric's paths. Eric rolled on the spot and scrambled out through a gap, but as soon as he looked up, another wave of icicles was already in front of him.

"Damn it, he doesn't need to chant a spell?" Eric's heart tightened.

This casting speed is not like casting a spell at all, but as natural as breathing.

He could only stumble and dodge, his posture extremely awkward, and several times he was almost pierced by ice spikes, which immediately caused a burst of laughter from the audience.

"Hahaha! He's doing a slapstick comedy!"

"A swordsman really can't beat a true mage!"

"Look at him, he looks like a stray dog ​​being chased and beaten!"

Eric sprang to his feet, his face as cold as iron, showing no anger at being humiliated, only calmness.

"Keep laughing," he whispered.

With a flick of his right hand, he drew the rarely used short dagger from his waist, and with a flick of his wrist, threw it directly out!

Karl's eyes were filled with disdain. He tilted his head slightly, and the short dagger flew past his ear with a "whoosh" and pierced into the stone pillar behind him with a "clang".

He thought it was just a desperate struggle at the end of the road.

But in that instant when his eyes flickered slightly—

It's now!

Eric dashed out almost the instant the dagger left his hand, his feet skimming the ground as he sprinted like an arrow released from a bow, each step shattering the remaining frost on the ground and leaping over the scattered fragments.

The longsword in his hand flashed with a cold light, its target singular: Karl's throat!

Karl's expression changed drastically. He retreated abruptly, raised his staff high, and began chanting incantations frantically.

The incantation was as rapid as a howling wind, and the surrounding chill instantly surged, as if the air itself had frozen solid. Just a second more, and the spell would be complete!

But Eric had already rushed right in front of him!

"Almost there—faster!"

As Karl finished the last syllable, he pointed his staff sharply forward!

At the same instant, Eric's longsword also slammed into the tip of the staff!

"Clang—!"

A loud bang shook the entire arena.

The magic stone clashed head-on with the longsword, magic power collided with steel, and instantly exploded into a blinding blue light. The shockwave swept across the entire arena, and the audience instinctively turned their heads away.

The sound of the stone shattering was crisp and resolute.

A burst of blue light erupted, like a crack appearing in the sky. Eric's longsword snapped in two, shards flying everywhere.

Both of them were blasted away at the same time!

Eric slammed into the edge of the ring, a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder, almost causing him to lose consciousness. Karl, on the other hand, was thrown to his knees by the backlash of magic, his staff breaking in two, blood streaming from his palm.

The entire venue fell into a deathly silence for a moment.

The next second, it exploded with a bang.

"The spell was interrupted! It was forcibly cut off the moment he cast it!"

"This is risking their lives for a chance!"

Karl knelt on the ground, staring at the broken staff, his face gradually shifting from shock to frenzied rage.

That staff was no ordinary weapon; it was a magical artifact that had been with him since childhood, gradually refined, and spiritually connected to him. Once the magic stone at the top shattered, it would be equivalent to severing half of his magical foundation and the most direct connection between him and magic.

"I refuse to accept this!"

Karl roared and charged forward like a madman, grabbing the broken blade from the ground. His movements were chaotic and disorganized, completely lacking any strategy. He had never received any close combat training and was simply charging around recklessly, driven only by a shattered sense of pride.

But he was facing swordsmen who had honed their skills in real combat.

Eric simply sidestepped, dodging the wildly swinging broken blade, and with a flick of his right hand, struck the man's forearm.

With a clang, the broken blade fell to the ground.

Immediately afterwards, Eric grabbed his shoulder with his left hand and slammed his right knee into his abdomen.

Karl let out a painful groan and collapsed to his knees, supporting himself with his hands, almost vomiting blood.

"I refuse to accept this! I refuse to accept this—!" he roared, his eyes still fierce.

Eric looked down at him, his tone calm and utterly unwavering: "You're not unconvinced, you've just never fought a real battle."

He didn't make another move, and turned to look at the remaining two teammates opposite him.

The two men were deathly pale. They had already gripped their weapons, but now they no longer had the courage to charge forward.

"We...we surrender." One of them raised his hand, his voice trembling. "We're not fighting anymore, we surrender."

After a brief silence, the entire venue erupted in thunderous cheers.

"He won! He won three games!"

Even Karl was defeated!

"He didn't rely on luck, he relied on his sword!"

Eric stood in the center of the arena, his clothes torn, with only half a broken sword in his hand, yet he stood like an unyielding mountain.

He slowly raised his head and looked at a corner of the audience.

Eileen stood there, still expressionless, only gently tucking a strand of hair that had fallen to her cheek behind her ear, a very faint curve appearing at the corner of her lips.

That's a smile.

Eric chuckled softly, a brief, faint laugh.

At that moment, he was more composed than when he was holding any famous sword.

It wasn't because we won the game.

Instead, he finally made everyone see it—

A sword is no less powerful than magic.

He slowly walked off the stage, his steps steady, and the cheers behind him receded like a tide.

He was injured; the blood from the cut on his shoulder from the ice pick had dried, and his right palm was numb and painful from the earlier impact. Yet his expression remained calm, like a traveler who had walked a long road, weary but never lost.

"Only three games." He glanced back at the still-being-cleaned field and said to Eileen, "We should have been faster than the other side."

Eileen nodded gently: "Let's go see if it's over over there."

The two walked forward with the crowd, through the lingering heat and noise.

By the time they squeezed to the edge of the fence, the arena was charred and shattered, and a strange, deathly atmosphere lingered in the air, like the wind blowing from the abyss.

The five people were carried away without moving.

In the center of the arena, only one person stood.

He was short, dressed in a dark red robe, and held a strangely shaped weapon in his hand, neither quite a knife nor quite a staff.

He stood ramrod straight, arms crossed, his eyes as cold as still water, as if the victory meant nothing to him.

"It's over already?" Eileen asked the person next to her, somewhat surprised.

"It's over already," someone replied.

"So fast?"

"Just one match." The man shrugged. "That guy came up and ordered all five of them to come at him at once, saying it would save trouble. Then he set off a smoke screen, and when the smoke cleared, all five of them were down."

Eileen's expression changed slightly: "One person, defeating five people?"

Nobody knows his name; people just call him Senia.

Eric stood there, speechless for a long time.

He stared at Senia's retreating figure, his gaze gradually darkening.

He has seen arrogant people, fierce people, and calm opponents.

But I've never seen anyone hide their murderous intent so deeply, and have such composure ingrained in their very bones.

He spoke slowly, his voice as deep as the night:

"He is far more dangerous than anyone we have ever met."