CHAPTER 114: THE TOURNAMENT OF POWER BEGINS

Chapter 113

"You two should save your grudges for tomorrow."

The voice was calm—almost casual—but it echoed through the entire training ground like a command from the heavens.

Everyone froze.

Between Jay and Argon now stood a man with tousled brown hair, dressed in a long black trench coat that fluttered slightly in the breeze. His arms were stretched out at his sides—one open palm firmly catching Jay’s punch, the other catching Argon’s strike with equal ease.

As the dust from the shockwave finally cleared, gasps filled the air.

It was him.

The No. 2 Hero.

The Beast.

A Class S warrior, rank 2. A living legend.

Anyone watching could swear that if it had been them in his place, their arms would’ve snapped clean from the sheer impact of the blows.

The Beast’s usual relaxed smile faded slightly into a frown. His eyes narrowed. He could feel it—neither Jay nor Argon was backing down. Instead, both were trying to push through his grip with brute force.

"I said... stay down."

With a slight flick of his wrists—just a hint of real strength—he launched both of them like ragdolls. Jay and Argon flew backward and crashed hard into opposite walls of the training ground, leaving deep cracks in the reinforced stone.

A tense silence followed.

Jay slowly picked himself up, brushing dust from his sleeves. Argon grunted and stood, glaring, but said nothing. Both now knew better than to challenge The Beast—one of the founding figures behind the upcoming Tournament of Power. Offending him was equivalent to throwing one’s life away.

Argon gave Jay a cold snort, then turned and stalked off without another word.

Jay, still composed, gave a short bow toward the Beast. "Apologies for my rudeness."

The Beast nodded approvingly, watching him closely. He preferred Jay’s composure over Argon’s arrogance. As things settled, he flexed both hands experimentally.

The hand that caught Argon’s punch throbbed faintly. Not bad.

But the hand that had intercepted Jay’s strike...

It had gone numb for a moment. Then came the pain.

He’s strong, the Beast thought, staring after Jay.

Then a wide, almost feral grin spread across his face.

Now I’m even more excited for tomorrow’s match.

With that, he turned and walked away.

---

Later that evening, Han and the rest of the group continued training, though the intensity had faded. After a few light sessions, they hung out together and eventually returned to rest.

The Tournament of Power... would begin at dawn.

---

The Next Morning

Han was up before the sun.

He stepped outside, the cool air brushing against his skin, and began a light stretch routine before transitioning into a series of flowing martial movements. Flames sparked at his fingertips as he practiced some of his more refined fire skills.

Today, he wouldn’t use his clone ability—not here, not in front of an audience this massive. Unlike the chaotic red portal zone, this arena would be filled with thousands of spectators. Using a second ability would draw too much attention... and suspicion.

While a handful of rare individuals could wield two skills, it was so rare that not even most Class S heroes were known to possess such a feat.

So today, he would fight as the world knew him:

The Fire God.

Flames and fists only.

As the sun began to rise and golden light spilled across the horizon, the rest of the group began waking up. After finishing their routines and prepping for the day, they gathered and stepped outside.

There was excitement in the air—nervous energy, a silent hum in their bones.

Everyone wore bright, eager faces.

Well, everyone except Ronan.

As usual, his face was a blank slate—unreadable, emotionless.

But deep within his mind, there was only one thought:

Kill Buster.

No matter what.

Before he returned to Serenya... Buster would die.

It wasn’t just Han’s group making their way to the tournament.

From every corner of the world, people had gathered—warriors, nobles, scholars, and even common folk—all eager to witness the birth of a new legend. The tournament wasn’t just a spectacle; it was a rite of passage for the next generation of elite warriors. And for the first time in history, a new rank was being considered for the victor—AS-Class, the title meant for the strongest among the rest, second only to the revered Class S.

Han and his group had already taken their seats in the massive viewing coliseum. The rules were clear: contestants would only be called to the arena when it was their turn, so they opted to stay together near the central sector for a better view.

"Hello there, young friend," a warm voice said from behind.

The group turned. Standing there was a man with short brown hair and a friendly smile. His gaze was fixed on Rin.

"Jon!" Rin beamed, standing up to greet the man before introducing him to the group.

Jon was someone Rin and Chip had met just two days ago, but their bond seemed far older. He was cheerful, disarming, and had a way of making everyone around him feel instantly at ease. His laughter came easily, his insights felt wise, and Rin—who rarely took to strangers—seemed genuinely fond of him.

Jon took a seat beside the group and, in his usual animated way, began chatting about the upcoming matches. He rattled off names, made predictions, and even gave amusing impressions of some of the more eccentric participants.

Han listened quietly. Despite Jon’s lighthearted demeanor, his insights were sharp. His match predictions weren’t just guesses—they were calculated, well-thought-out. There was a calm intellect behind those bright eyes.

Han narrowed his gaze slightly.

He’s not ordinary...

He considered using his Analyzer Eye—just a quick peek at Jon’s stats. But then he hesitated. Han didn’t mind analyzing strangers or enemies, but using it on someone like Jon—someone who hadn’t done anything suspicious—felt like an invasion of privacy. For now, he’d hold back.

---

The stadium soon quieted as a procession of powerful figures entered the arena. The Class S warriors took their seats with calm grandeur, their presence alone enough to command silence. Alongside them were key figures like Reynolds Mason and other influential names known across continents.

Lord Tech, one of the major tournament sponsors, stepped forward and addressed the audience. His voice boomed, dignified and measured. With a subtle flick of his hand, the massive holographic screen above the arena lit up, displaying the day’s matchups.

After a few short words, he stepped aside.

Taking his place was another man—short, burly, with a large stomach and a beard so white and shining it looked more enchanted than natural. Some even suspected he dyed it for flair. Despite his rotund and roguish appearance, his voice carried surprising gravitas.

His speech was fiery, eloquent—every word stirring the hearts of those present.

By the time he finished, the crowd was roaring, their blood pounding in anticipation.

"Now then... let us welcome our first matchup of the day!"

---

Two figures stepped into the colossal arena.

The first walked with composed grace, a calm smile playing at the corners of his lips. His long black hair was tied neatly at the back, his face striking and refined. He didn’t do much—but it was enough. A wave here, a glance there, and half the crowd—especially the women—were already cheering.

He climbed the stage and gave a polite wave, his smile deepening.

Then came his opponent.

The temperature dropped almost instantly.

Flames coiled around the second figure’s body as he entered. His red hair flickered like fire itself, wild and untamed. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd. He didn’t need to. His mere presence made the air feel heavier. Dangerous.

The announcer’s voice thundered across the coliseum, amplified by resonance tech placed throughout the arena.

"On the right! We have a prodigy whose fists speak louder than words—a young martial master unmatched in skill and discipline! He goes by the name... Jayden Shawn!"

The crowd erupted in cheers as Jayden stepped forward, his expression unreadable, his steps calm and precise. The sun glinted off his figure, but it was the quiet, focused aura he exuded that sent a chill down even seasoned warriors’ spines.

"His martial prowess knows no equal!" the announcer continued, voice rising with excitement. "They say he is invincible—unshaken whether he faces an awakened warrior or not! A storm in human form, a blade forged in battle! Will his might be enough today? We’re about to find out!"

A pause, just long enough to let the anticipation rise.

"And on the left..."

The crowd leaned forward in unison.

"We have a blazing force of nature! A wielder of fire so fierce, so relentless, legends claim the world itself could ignite should he ever unleash his full fury. He needs no introduction, but I’ll give him one anyway..."

"The one, the only— Blazer!"**

A burst of flame ignited as the second figure entered. Blazer strode into the ring like a walking inferno, his crimson hair crackling with heat, his every step leaving scorched marks on the stone floor. The air wavered around him. Even the sky seemed to flicker.

"Uncontainable when enraged! Unstoppable when challenged! A tempest of flame ready to consume all who stand in his path! Will his wrath be enough to scorch through steel and spirit? Only the battlefield will tell!"

The crowd went wild, a roaring sea of voices shaking the very foundation of the arena.

The announcer stretched out his arms, taking in the energy of thousands.

"Two titans. Two legends in the making. One stage. One winner."

He clapped his hands together—BOOM!

A deafening shockwave echoed like a war drum struck by the gods themselves.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" he bellowed.

"Let it be known that the first official match of the Tournament of Power...

...BEGINS NOW!"

The arena trembled as the barriers flared to life, locking the battlefield in a dome of golden energy.

To be continued...