Gideon, City of Duels; Central Arena; Waiting Room
The four preliminary matches were over, and the audience had gathered to watch the fifth onward.
In the waiting room was Bishmal—the seventh in the duel rankings—meditating in preparation for his next battle.
He wasn’t making a sound. The prize for the final day’s Tournament was a Mythical MVP reward, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that the fights ahead would be intense.
Figaro, the duel champion, was among today’s participants too—in fact, that was the reason Bishmal had chosen to participate in this day’s events. It was a chance for him to fight Figaro without getting past the third in the rankings, which he couldn’t do because his matchup with Tom was extremely disadvantageous.
This particular Tournament allowed him to duel the champion in more than just a sparring match—and in a way, that itself was enough reward for him.
“Riser won his Tournament,” Bishmal mused. In the Tournament two days ago, his friend Riser had put up a splendid performance and come out on top.
Some would say that it was only because, with the exception of Tom, all the duelists who were above him in the rankings had participated on the other days. But Riser’s day had featured participants who were high up in the kill rankings, as well as the leader of the AETL Union, so it certainly wasn’t easy. And yet, Riser overcame them all and emerged victorious.
Bishmal pondered his friend. They had both been stuck for a while now, but Riser seemed to be moving beyond that. He felt that Riser had advanced somehow during the assault on Altea that had happened while Bishmal was still away due to the death penalty.
Bishmal felt that he had to keep up, and so he chose today’s Tournament to do that.
That was why he had to keep winning. He thought that if he was ever to advance, he had to purge all distractions and charge single-mindedly forward.
He hadn’t even looked at the Tournament bracket today—all that mattered to him was fighting Figaro, and for that, he just needed to keep winning.
That sole thought had already carried him this far.
“Mr. Bishmal. It’s time...”
“All right.” Bishmal was soon called by the staff, so he stood up and headed toward the stage entrance.
He was so focused that he didn’t even notice the worker’s strange expression—a face seemingly full of pity.
“Hm...? What?” When he appeared on the stage, Bishmal instantly realized that something was off about the audience’s mood. Some spectators did cheer when he appeared—but most of them just seemed bewildered.
He briefly thought that he’d made some sort of blunder while coming on the stage, but quickly realized that wasn’t it. Most people weren’t looking at him at all, but instead had their eyes fixed on the other entrance to the arena.
His opponent wasn’t on the stage yet, but Bishmal could tell that there was something strange about them.
Am I fighting Figaro already? he thought. If that was the case, he would consider it a stroke of luck and find joy in the fact that he’d gotten the chance to go all out this early in the day.
...No.
But his instincts told him that that wasn’t right.
This was not how the audience would react to a match involving Figaro. If that were the case, the arena would be drowned in joyous cheers for the champion and his opponent.
Bishmal had been matched to someone who attracted more attention than a high-ranking duelist like him, and yet sparked more confusion than excitement.
He didn’t have a clue who it could be.
Bishmal was resolved to fight no matter whom he was up against, but this question had shaken his resolve a bit.
It didn’t take long for him to get an answer, though—a man appeared at the other end of the stage.
Silence ensued.
It was a man with an impressive physique. He was wearing a leather jacket and trousers, but they did nothing to hide the defined muscles beneath.
A pair of sunglasses concealed his eyes but didn’t obscure his strong facial features.
Bishmal had a muscly avatar himself, so this matchup almost felt like a wrestling event. But neither the audience nor Bishmal were in a state of mind to think anything that flippant about the situation.
“What’s going on?” Bishmal now shared the audience’s confusion.
He’d never met the man before him, but he knew his clothes and appearance well.
He’d never seen him in the flesh, but he’d seen numerous videos of him on the internet.
He remembered his name—as well as two of the rules of this Tournament.
The participant must be an Altarian Master. The participant will be unable to switch countries for three years after The Tournaments.
Those rules made it so that this man shouldn’t...couldn’t have been here.
And yet, he was.
“Th-The first match of the fifth battle, on day ten of The Tournaments...”
With the combatants both on the stage, the announcer swallowed his confusion and tried to do his job.
“In the west, we have the seventh in the duel rankings, the Power Wrestler, Bishmal the Raging Blaze.”
First, he named Bishmal.
“In the east...”
And then...
“We have the ex-second in Caldina’s duel rankings...”
...he gave Bishmal’s opponent’s previous title. “King of Termination, Albert Schwartzkaiser.”
It was the name of the Superior who could not possibly have belonged to the kingdom of Altar.