Chapter 365: The First Card

Chapter 365: Chapter 365: The First Card

The bronze gong’s resonance faded into the morning air.

Grand Marshal Vane stood at the center of the arena, his blood-platinum aura coiling around him like a living shroud.

"The semifinals between the Azure Dragon Sect and the Crimson Eclipse Sect will now commence," Vane announced, his voice carrying across the colosseum without amplification.

"Each team will field seven fighters. The last team standing advances to the finals."

The crowd erupted.

Fifty thousand voices crashed against the stone walls, a tidal wave of noise that shook the very foundations of the Great Solaris Arena.

Banners waved. Feet stomped. The anticipation was palpable.

In the Azure Dragon dugout, Ariel, Mio, Mia, Seraphina, Flare, Alena, and Lumina stood ready.

Ariel held The Trident, her knuckles white.

Mio nocked an arrow, her eyes fixed on the Crimson Eclipse dugout.

Mia’s hands rested on her daggers.

Seraphina’s azure aura pulsed beneath her skin.

Flare’s flames licked at her fingertips.

Alena’s staff hummed with stored energy.

Lumina’s golden eyes watched the royal box.

Selene stood at the back of the dugout, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on Damon.

"Damon," Selene said quietly. "What are you planning?"

Damon’s lips curled into a calm, knowing smile that carried the weight of absolute certainty.

He stepped forward, his black robes billowing softly in the morning breeze, each footfall deliberate and unhurried against the ancient stone of the arena floor.

The moment his boot touched the sand, the roaring crowd fell into a stunned, breathless silence.

Then, a heartbeat later, they erupted once more—but this time, the air thrummed with confusion and disbelief, not excitement.

The announcer’s voice cracked over the amplification array.

"F-Fighter One for the Azure Dragon Sect is... Captain Damon Arcknight?"

The question hung in the air.

Disbelief rippled through the stands like a wave.

Elders leaned forward in their seats, their brows furrowed.

Disciples whispered among themselves, pointing at the arena floor where Damon stood alone.

"He’s fighting first?"

"That’s insane. You never send your captain out first."

"He’s only Heavenly Spirit Realm. He’ll get slaughtered."

The commentators in the broadcast booth scrambled to make sense of the decision.

"I don’t understand this strategy," the lead commentator said, his voice strained.

"Is Captain Damon is the Azure Dragon Sect’s strongest asset? Why would they deploy him in the first match?"

"Perhaps they’re trying to demoralize the Crimson Eclipse Sect," the second commentator offered.

"A quick victory from their captain could set the tone for the rest of the match."

"But at what cost? If he loses, the Azure Dragon Sect loses their leader before the real fight even begins."

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, a chaotic symphony of speculation and unease washing over the arena as thousands of eyes fixed on the lone figure below.

In the elevated VIP box, Alistair’s cold eyes narrowed into slits, his jaw tightening as he studied Damon’s solitary figure.

"What is that boy doing?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the din.

Beside him, a Crimson Eclipse elder shook his head slowly, his robes rustling with the movement.

"Arrogance. He thinks he can intimidate us by showing his face first." Alistair said nothing.

He simply watched, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the polished armrest of his chair, his mind already calculating several moves ahead.

The announcer’s voice echoed again, but Alistair’s attention remained fixed on Damon, a cold suspicion coiling in his gut.

In the royal box, King Aurelius Solaris leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the armrest.

King Aurelius Solaris leaned forward in his throne, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the polished armrest.

"Interesting," he murmured, his pale blue eyes narrowing as they fixed on Damon’s solitary figure.

"Very interesting."

Prince Alex Solaris stood beside his father, his posture rigid, his gaze locked onto the lone figure below.

"He’s either incredibly confident or incredibly foolish," Alex said, his voice carrying a note of cautious respect.

"Perhaps both," the King replied, a thin, knowing smile curling at the corner of his lips as he continued to study Damon’s every move.

In the Crimson Eclipse dugout, Kai sat on a stone bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together.

He watched Damon with cold, calculating eyes.

"So," Kai said, his voice low and smooth. "The little rat shows his face first."

The Crimson Eclipse disciples around him shifted uneasily.

"Should we send out one of our stronger fighters, Young Master?" one of them asked.

"No." Kai’s smile was thin and predatory, a cold, razor-sharp line that never reached his calculating eyes. "Send out Gorath."

The disciple’s brow furrowed deeply. "Gorath? But he’s our weakest fighter, Young Master. Surely we should conserve our strength—"

"Exactly." Kai’s gaze remained locked on Damon across the arena, unwavering and cold as winter steel.

"Damon wants to prove something. He wants to show the world that he’s strong. Let him. Let him exhaust himself on our weakest fighters. By the time he faces me, he’ll be too tired to even lift that wooden sword of his."

The disciple nodded and turned toward the arena.

Gorath stepped onto the diamond-steel plating.

He was massive, nearly seven feet tall, his body covered in thick muscle that strained against his dark robes.

His skin was grey, marked with black tattoos that pulsed with demonic qi.

In his hands, he carried a massive iron club, its surface covered in spikes.

He cracked his neck and grinned at Damon.

"So," Gorath rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. "The captain comes to play."

Damon said nothing in response to Gorath’s taunt.

His golden eyes remained calm and unreadable as he slowly drew his wooden sword from his waist.

A collective gasp erupted from the crowd packed into the arena stands.

"A wooden sword?" someone shouted in disbelief.

"Is he mocking them?" The two commentators in the booth exchanged bewildered glances, clearly uncertain how to react to such an absurd display.

"He’s using a wooden sword against a demonic cultivator armed with an Earth Grade weapon," the lead commentator said.

"This is either the greatest display of confidence we’ve ever seen, or the greatest display of stupidity."

Grand Marshal Vane raised his hand.

"Fighters, prepare."

Gorath hefted his club, dark energy coiling around the weapon like living shadows.

Damon held his wooden sword at his side, his stance relaxed, his breathing even.

"Begin."