thief of fate-Chapter 71: The first stage is over

The arena was boiling.

The audience’s shouts soared above the fighters’ heads like invisible arrows.

There wasn’t much time left. Less than two minutes, and everyone had to get their hands on cards to ensure their survival in the competition.

The cards... small, simple, but at this moment, they were worth more than gold.

Humans are weak against their own greed. When opportunity arises, they throw their principles to the ground and bare their fangs.

The fighting was at its peak.

Screams, groans, explosions here and there.

In the western corner, a thin boy was panting as he retreated backward, his brown eyes moving nervously between his opponents. In his hand, a faded card.

I didn’t fight all the way here just to lose everything...!

An older young man growled as he attacked him with a short sword, forcing him to retreat further, before stumbling and falling to his knees.

"Hand over the card, kid!" the man shouted as he lunged.

But the boy, in a moment of utter despair, pulled a small dagger from his belt and jumped forward unexpectedly, stabbing the man in his arm.

"Aghh!!" the man screamed, and his card fell.

Ren snatched it without hesitation and ran at full speed, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

I’m sorry... but no one here is your friend...

A little farther away, there was a girl with short blonde hair, watching the chaos with narrowed eyes.

Her combat outfit, torn in places, didn’t hide her many wounds.

Feeding on each other over a scrap of paper... she thought bitterly.

Then she raised her head and saw her target:

A stout young man carrying three cards tied to his belt.

"Alright, let’s make this quick..." she muttered.

She dashed toward him, her movement light as a dancer, and struck him with a kick toward his head.

The man, surprised, couldn’t block and fell to the ground.

Before he could get up, she had already snatched two cards and fled, indifferent to his curses behind her.

When the strong face the weak, the best solution is to run away.

In the heart of the arena, Alistair stood.

Around him, a few exhausted bodies lay. He hadn’t killed anyone, but he hadn’t been merciful either.

He held a card in his hand and looked at it.

Not enough cards... I’ll need more.

He suddenly raised his head, sensing watchful gazes upon him.

Three fighters, all looking exhausted but with determination shining in their eyes, approached him from three directions.

"Aleister...," said one of them, a young man with silver hair and a scar on his cheek, "we’re going to finish you here and split your cards."

"Three against one, huh?" Alistair said calmly, showing no sign of worry, "What great courage.

Another laughed, a tall man with a double sword: "I don’t think you’ll survive against three."

The crowd burst out in collective laughter, cheering and anticipating a fiery battle.

"Crush him!!"

"Show him his place!!"

"Alistair, good luck, you’ll need it!!"

The sound of clapping and cheering poured down on them like heavy rain.

The crowd cheers for whose blood is spilled. Tragedy turns into entertainment when you’re not the victim.

The three moved at once.

Alistair simply stepped aside, narrowly dodging the double sword’s strike, while twisting his body to kick the second attacker hard in the stomach, sending him flying a meter backward.

I can’t waste time.

The third attacker tried to stab him with a short dagger, but Alistair grabbed his wrist and pushed him to the ground, completely breaking his balance.

The crowd cheered warmly.

"Wow!! Did you see that?!"

"He’s strong!"

The double sword attacker quickly turned and struck again, this time with clear killing intent in his eyes.

Alistair smiled internally with sarcasm.

They’re more afraid than they are angry.

He raised his left arm at a precise angle to block the strike, using his wrist to redirect the force back into the attacker himself, then delivered a direct punch to his nose.

The sound of breaking bone was audible even to the audience.

The attacker fell down, groaning, and lost consciousness.

The second fighter, who had barely gotten up, shouted defiantly: 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"You’ll regret this!!"

He rushed toward Alistair, yelling, but Alistair simply turned aside and struck his neck with an open palm, knocking him unconscious immediately.

The third attacker, now standing again, hesitated.

His eyes, which had been full of determination a minute ago, were now filled with fear.

"I... I..."

Alistair took a slow step toward him.

"Take my card!!" the attacker screamed, throwing it in front of him and running away with all his might.

Some of the audience laughed loudly, while others shouted:

"Coward!"

"That guy is unbeatable!"

Alistair stood alone in the middle of the arena.

Three new cards in his hand.

He looked around, his heart beating with a strange calm.

See? When the strong fall, no one remembers them no matter who they were.

He raised his head toward the sky, the sun slowly setting, and the distinctive bell sound announcing the end of the round began to echo.

The fighting was over.

Medical teams moved quickly to aid the injured, while the judges began gathering the cards and checking the results of the round.

The crowd was still cheering, some for Alistair, others for different contestants.

One of the judges approached him, a short man wearing a blue cloak.

"Impressive performance as usual..." he said with a bitter smile.

Alistair didn’t reply, he just nodded.

This was only the beginning.

In his mind, there was something greater than winning a round. Something deeper than cards or cheering crowds.

I just have to keep going until I reach the end.

In the arena sky, a screen broadcast clear numbers above everyone’s heads.

The crowd’s cries rose when the results appeared.

"Number of survivors: 143 competitors."

The ground shook beneath their feet with the roar of the crowd.

It wasn’t a large number compared to the beginning.

Dust, blood, betrayal, and missed opportunities... all of that was the price for less than two hundred to remain.

Alistair, standing amidst the crowd, showed no reaction.

The fewer they were, the stronger the opponents became.

In the grand hall, three kings gathered, observing the packed arena.

King Yaram sat upright, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp as if analyzing each contender individually.

Taril said as he watched the screen:

"The level... is higher than I expected."

Illyria shrugged lightly:

"Maybe because the hunger is greater this time.

The prizes tempted those who once thought themselves mere farmers to turn into warriors."

Yaram nodded slowly, not sharing in their jest.

He was watching specific names.

Alistair. Zenith. Shizo. And many others who shone suddenly amidst the dust.

Taril pointed towards the screen displaying a short scene of the last battle:

"Alistair... that young man is dangerous. His strength isn’t merely physical.

His way of thinking... it’s not ordinary."

Yaram murmured without batting an eye:

"We’ll need many like him."

Illyria commented with a small laugh, her gaze following Alistair on the screen:

"Intentions don’t matter when bones are broken.

What matters is that the result is the same."

A short silence.

Then the images shifted to display another moment... a confrontation between Valerian and that girl.

The girl was preparing to use a complex skill, power filling the air around her like a blazing whirlwind...

but at the critical moment, everything stopped.

He stood before her, raised his hand calmly, and shattered the skill before it could be born.

"That boy... Valerian, isn’t it?"

Yaram answered:

"Yes. From the Lucard family."

The queen closed her eyes for a moment, savoring her analysis:

"The way he stopped the skill... it wasn’t with ordinary power.

It was as if the world itself responded to him...

as if nature itself turned a blind eye to its own laws for his sake."

Yaram slowly shook his head.

The silence that followed her words was more thrilling than any discussion.

Inside him, Illyria’s observation stirred something dormant.

Valerian... that calmness...

A slight doubt crossed the king’s chest, but it died before it was born.

There was no place for doubt when his daughter Evelyn, with her usual confidence, had told her father with complete honesty about this boy:

"You can rely on him."

He hadn’t argued.

He hadn’t asked for more.

Because, in the end, the trust between them was deeper than words.

Taril finally smiled, a sharp smile like a blade dipped in honey:

"This year, the tournament will reveal many gems...

but some might shine more than they should."

Illyria looked towards him and said lightly:

"And are you afraid of the shine, Taril?"

He replied with faint sarcasm:

"I’m only afraid it will turn into fire."

Yaram smiled without saying anything.

In his mind, he was counting the names. Counting the possibilities.

The brighter a star shone, the louder its fall.

While the survivors spread across the arena, catching their heavy breaths, Valerian walked calmly through the crowd.

His steps were steady.

In the corner near one of the collapsed walls, he spotted Zenith standing.

Valerian approached with confident steps. He looked exhausted, but he carried it in silence.

Inside him, something like a faint satisfaction was glowing he had passed this round, despite everything.

When he arrived, he gave a barely noticeable side smile and said quietly:

"I think I gave a good show."

Zenith raised a sarcastic eyebrow without moving his head, glancing at him sideways, then said dryly:

"Not too bad."

The two stood there, between the dust and the noise of the survivors.

There was no need for more words.

For the strong, those who truly knew what it meant to survive, didn’t waste their breath on chatter.

A moment of silence passed between them, until they heard another announcement over the loudspeakers:

"The second round will begin in a few days... Prepare well for it."

Valerian looked at Zenith, his features unchanged, but something was born in his eyes at that moment.

A hidden feeling... a mix of excitement and caution.

Zenith chuckled softly, then said as he turned his back to the arena:

"Come on... let’s see who falls first."