The morning sun blazed over Sorsogon City as Krad practically bounced down the cobblestone streets, his amber eyes wide with excitement. The massive coliseum loomed ahead like some ancient beast of stone and marble, its towering walls carved with battle scenes that seemed to move in the shifting light.
"Holy crap!" Krad shouted, pointing at the structure. "That thing's huge! Are we really fighting in there?"
Mist walked beside him with his usual composed stride. "Language, idiot. And yes, that's where the Rage Tournament happens. Try not to embarrass yourself before we even get inside."
"I won't embarrass myself!" Krad protested, then immediately walked straight into a fruit vendor's cart. Apples scattered everywhere as he flailed his arms. "Sorry! Sorry! I'll pay for those!"
The vendor, an elderly man with kind eyes, just laughed. "No harm done, young fighter. Good luck in the tournament!"
Mist rubbed his temples. "This is going to be a disaster."
Queen Hania, who had been walking quietly behind them, smiled at Krad's antics. Despite everything she'd been through, there was something healing about watching someone so full of life and determination. "He has a good heart," she said softly to Mist.
"Yeah, well, let's hope his heart can punch harder than his brain can think," Mist muttered.
As they approached the coliseum entrance, the crowd grew thicker. Players from all over the realm had gathered, some in full armor, others in robes crackling with magical energy, and a few who looked like they could bench press a dragon. The air hummed with tension and excitement.
"Okay, listen up," Mist grabbed Krad's shoulder, forcing him to focus. "The tournament rules are simple but brutal. This isn't just about winning, it's about survival. When you lose a match, you don't just get eliminated. You lose one permanent item. Forever."
Krad's expression grew serious for once. "Wait, what? Like, actually lose it?"
"Gone forever," Mist confirmed. "Your sword, your armor, your skills, whatever the system decides to take. That's why this tournament is called The Rage. It drives people to fight like their lives depend on it."
"That's..." Krad swallowed hard. "That's actually terrifying... but I just have a fist, don't tell me---"
"Good. You're finally taking this seriously."
They reached the registration booth, where a bored-looking official sat behind a desk covered in scrolls and magical crystals. A massive board behind him displayed the tournament bracket in glowing letters that kept shifting and updating.
"Name?" the official asked without looking up.
"Moon Fist," Krad replied, trying to sound cool and mysterious.
The official's quill scratched across the parchment. "Fighting style?"
"Uh..." Krad looked at Mist, who just shrugged. "Punching things really hard?"
The official finally looked up, his eyebrows raised. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Krad nodded enthusiastically. "I punch stuff, and it usually works out."
"...Right." The official made another note. "Squad affiliation?"
"Tiger Squad," Mist stepped forward. "He's with us."
The official's demeanor immediately changed. "Tiger Squad? Well, why didn't you say so earlier? Welcome to the Rage Tournament. Your first match is against..." He consulted his list. "Blade Emperor Ragnar. Good luck, you'll need it."
As they walked away from the booth, Krad couldn't help but notice the way other players looked at them. Some with respect, others with fear, and a few with outright hostility.
"Why is everyone staring at us?" Krad whispered.
"Because Tiger Squad has a reputation," Mist explained. "We're one of the elite organizations in this realm. People either want to join us or beat us down."
They found seats in the competitor's section, where Krad got his first good look at the other participants. His jaw dropped.
"Is that guy made of actual rock?"
"Stone Titan Klaus," Mist identified. "Level 89. His skin is harder than diamond."
"And that woman with the floating swords?"
"Sword Saint Lyra. She can control fifty blades at once."
Krad's excitement was building again. "This is gonna be so cool! I can't wait to fight all of them!"
"You realize most of these people could probably kill you in one hit, right?" Mist pointed out.
"Yeah, but that just makes it more fun!"
Mist stared at him. "You're insane."
"Probably!"
Queen Hania watched their interaction with growing amusement. Despite the danger ahead, there was something infectious about Krad's enthusiasm. "He reminds me of the old stories," she said. "The heroes who faced impossible odds with nothing but courage and determination."
"Heroes usually die in those stories," Mist replied dryly.
"Not the good ones."
The coliseum's massive doors began to open, and the crowd's roar grew deafening. A girl announcer's voice boomed across the arena, magically amplified to reach every corner.
"WELCOME TO THE RAGE TOURNAMENT!"
The crowd exploded into cheers. Krad jumped to his feet, pumping his fist in the air.
"Thirty-two of the realm's strongest fighters have gathered here today! Only one will claim the title of Rage Champion! But first, let us meet our contestants!"
One by one, fighters were called to the arena floor. Each received a thunderous reception from the crowd. Stone Titan Klaus raised his massive fists, causing the ground to shake. Sword Saint Lyra's blades danced around her in a mesmerizing display. A mage called Inferno Jack conjured flames that reached the ceiling.
"And now," the announcer's voice grew even louder, "representing the legendary Tiger Squad... MOON FIST!"
The crowd's reaction was mixed, some cheered, others booed, and many just seemed confused by the name.
"That's you, idiot," Mist pushed Krad forward.
Krad stumbled onto the arena floor, waving awkwardly at the crowd. "Uh, hi everyone! I'm gonna do my best!"
The crowd's confusion deepened. This was Tiger Squad's secret weapon? This goofy elf kid who looked like he might trip over his own shadow?
"And his opponent," the announcer continued, "the master of a thousand cuts, the Blade Emperor... RAGNAR!"
The crowd erupted as a tall, imposing figure strode onto the arena floor. Ragnar was everything Krad wasn't, composed, intimidating, and radiating deadly confidence. His black armor was inscribed with glowing runes, and the massive sword on his back seemed to hum with malevolent energy.
"Well, well," Ragnar's voice carried across the arena. "Tiger Squad sent me a child. How disappointing."
Krad's easygoing demeanor flickered for just a moment. "I'm not a child. I'm sixteen."
"Sixteen?" Ragnar laughed, a sound like grinding metal. "I've been killing for longer than you've been alive, boy. This will be over quickly."
"Maybe," Krad said, his voice growing steady. "But I didn't come here to lose."
The referee, a stern woman in official robes, stepped between them. "Fighters, the rules are simple. Victory by surrender, unconsciousness, or death. The loser forfeits one permanent item. Are you both ready?"
Ragnar drew his sword, the blade gleaming with deadly intent. "More than ready."
Krad raised his fists, the familiar tingle of power running through his arms. "Let's do this."
"BEGIN!"
The crowd held its breath as the two fighters faced each other across the arena floor. The Blade Emperor versus the unknown kid from Tiger Squad. Experience versus raw potential.
Ragnar moved first, his sword cutting through the air with frightening speed. But Krad was already moving, his body flowing like water as he dodged to the side. The blade missed him by inches.
"Fast," Ragnar acknowledged. "But speed won't save you."
He pressed his attack, his sword work a blur of precise cuts and thrusts. Each strike could have split a boulder, but somehow Krad managed to stay just out of reach. The crowd watched in amazement as the young fighter danced around the Blade Emperor's attacks.
"Is he actually keeping up with Ragnar?" someone in the crowd whispered.
"Impossible. Ragnar's never missed that many strikes in a row."
Up in the competitor's section, Mist watched with growing tension. "Come on, Krad. You can't just dodge forever."
As if hearing his captain's thoughts, Krad suddenly shifted tactics. Instead of dodging the next strike, he stepped forward, catching Ragnar's sword arm with both hands.
"What?!" Ragnar's eyes widened in shock.
Krad's grip tightened, and for a moment, the Blade Emperor's sword arm was completely immobilized. "My turn," Krad said with a grin.
His right fist shot forward, aimed straight at Ragnar's chest. The Blade Emperor tried to twist away, but Krad's grip held firm. The punch connected with a thunderous impact that shook the entire coliseum.
Ragnar stumbled backward, his armor cracked where Krad's fist had landed. "Impossible... That felt like being hit by a siege engine."
"I'm just getting started," Krad said, flexing his fingers. "Sorry, but I really need to win this."
The crowd was on its feet now, cheering wildly. This wasn't the one-sided beatdown they'd expected. This was a real fight.
But as Ragnar steadied himself, his expression grew dark. "You want to see real power, boy? Fine. Let me show you why they call me the Blade Emperor."
He raised his sword high, and suddenly the weapon began to glow with an ominous red light. The air around him shimmered with heat.
"Crimson Blade Technique: Thousand Cutting Winds!"
Ragnar's sword moved so fast it seemed to split into dozens of copies. Each one was aimed at a different part of Krad's body, creating a web of death that seemed impossible to escape.
Krad's eyes widened as he saw the attack coming. This wasn't something he could dodge or block. This was a technique designed to end fights instantly.