Stepping into the arena, Zane took a moment to scan the terrain and the students around him. His eyes narrowed in calculation.
"494 participants, including myself," he muttered. "The terrain is just a flat white platform with cubical walls—no cover, no elevation. This is going to be chaotic. Best to hold my ground and let them come to me. No need to rush. There's still thirty minutes."
With that thought, Zane positioned himself in a corner, calmly observing the scene as chaos erupted all around. Students clashed instantly—fists flew, skills were unleashed, and some didn't hesitate to knock their opponents out cold. Apparently, brutality wasn't against the rules.
Above the arena, representatives and selectors from the six major factions watched the mayhem unfold on a massive wall of partitioned screens. Some displays zoomed in on particularly intense or promising fights, highlighting the frontrunners.
Twelve students stood out quickly, their names climbing the rankings as they racked up cards with explosive efficiency.
Meanwhile, Zane remained motionless in his corner—serene as a stone Buddha amidst the storm.
Eventually, someone noticed him. A student grinned as he approached, eyes gleaming with hostility. Zane recognized him immediately—Mayor, from Whistler Town.
"I've been looking all over for you—and here you are, hiding like a scaredy cat," Mayor sneered, unsheathing his longsword. "There's a bounty on your head, you know? Pretty generous, too. You might not remember me, but I know you. The whole town hates you. I'm just one of many."
His voice grew venomous.
"Take this, you evil spawn!"
Mayor charged, sword gleaming as it sliced through the air with surprising speed.
Zane, already having analyzed the stats, muttered, "Average."
He sidestepped effortlessly, dodging the blade by mere inches. Mayor snarled and kept swinging, his attacks sharp and well-aimed—but there was a gap he couldn't close: speed.
"Mayor, right?" Zane said coolly. "Your sword skill isn't bad. But you're too slow."
Mayor's face twisted with anger. He knew it was true, and that truth cut deeper than any insult.
"I didn't want to use this on you, but since you're so slippery—I've got no choice!" he barked.
Still gripping his sword with one hand, Mayor began weaving hand signs with the other, chanting under his breath. Mana flared visibly as he activated his spell.
Zane waited, curious to see what his opponent could do. He could've ended the fight with a flick, but he was willing to entertain the moment.
A few seconds later, Mayor roared, "Wind Style: Cleaver!"
His sword surged with blue mana, wind coiling around the blade. Instantly, a glowing rune lit up on the arena floor, enclosing both of them in a transparent barrier—meant to contain stray attacks and protect other participants.
Mayor lunged again, each strike unleashing a crescent-shaped energy wave at Zane.
Zane dodged them with ease. He didn't even need to activate a movement skill.
With a flicker of motion, Zane reappeared behind Mayor and struck a precise palm to the back of his neck. Mayor crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
"I take back what I said," Zane murmured. "Your sword skill is all flash. No lethality."
He searched Mayor's body and retrieved six green cards.
"Thanks for the donation."
Returning to his corner, Zane sat cross-legged once more, calm and still. He didn't need to hunt cards—they would come to him.
Above, the faction representatives observed with growing interest. One of them turned to a man near the back.
"Shelby," the man said, "he's good. Did you train him?"
Shelby felt every eye in the room fall on him.
"Shut up," he snapped. "He's just some junior from my hometown. Nothing more."
Following that swift victory, Zane's ranking jumped to #234.
Back inside the arena, students who were knocked out vanished moments later as a glowing glyph burned across their bodies, teleporting them safely back to the main hall. No injuries—just disqualification.
More and more challengers came for Zane. None lasted longer than a few seconds.
Thirteen minutes passed. Only 209 students remained—the best of the best.
Some had begun forming temporary alliances, ganging up on others to collect cards and share the loot. It was a strategy born of desperation.
One such group, 23 members strong, finally turned their attention to Zane.
Their leader, Niagara Everfall, stepped forward and made the announcement:
"Surrender your cards, and we'll let you walk away."
Zane looked up at them, amused. "How about this—you surrender yours, and I promise not to lay a finger on you. Just one." He held up his right forefinger with a grin. "This should be enough."
One of the group members snarled, eyes burning with malice.
"Enough, Niagara! Let's beat this fool senseless and take everything he has!"
One of the group members sneered, his voice full of malice.
Zane's gaze swept across the group. A brief flicker of light danced in his eyes as he activated his stat-scan ability. Among the twenty-three, only three—Eron, Finn, and Bryce—had slightly superior base stats compared to his. And their leader Niagara was above all.
A bit of challenge, finally, he thought, a small smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.
Outside the arena, anticipation buzzed through the observation hall. Every screen locked onto Zane's section as the tension mounted. Until now, no one had lasted more than ten seconds against him. But this time, he was outnumbered, and three among the challengers were already ranked favorites in the arena.
Orin Talemir, one of the ten faction representatives, chuckled with a glint in his eyes. "Zane's impressive, no doubt. But so are Eron, Finn, and Bryce. This could get interesting. Plus Niagara…hahaha, that kid is done for."
Raya, reclining on a cushion with casual grace, added with a sultry tone, "Zane refuses to form alliances. He's too proud, too stubborn. That's not very 'hero material,' if you ask me."
Kai scoffed. "Don't go badmouthing someone just because they prefer going solo. Who said lone wolves can't be heroes? Look at our Thor—Shelby. He's been a lone wolf since day one. Yet, who here would dare say they're more 'hero material' than him?"
He turned and winked at Shelby.
All eyes shifted toward Shelby. Everyone in the hall waited for his take.
Shelby folded his arms and leaned back, his expression unreadable. "This is just a preliminary for faction selection. There's nothing truly valuable in this. But don't you dare underestimate Zane." His voice dropped a pitch. "You want my opinion? Fine. He's a brilliant late bloomer. And believe me… those are the most dangerous kind."
The hall went quiet.
The ten Representatives were seniors—4th year and above—respected even by the 2nd and 3rd-year Selectors on the stage. None of them dared interject when the Representatives were speaking.
Back inside the arena, the twenty-three fighters slowly began surrounding Zane like predators circling their prey. Yet Zane remained seated, cross-legged in the corner of the white-tiled platform, utterly unbothered.
Niagara Everfall stepped forward. "Last warning, Zane. Hand over your cards. You don't stand a chance against us all."
Zane finally opened his eyes. He stood, dusting off his robe with calm precision, then cracked his neck.
"You know," he said, eyes gleaming coldly, "if you had come one at a time, you might've lasted longer. But this… this is suicide."
He pointed at them with his right forefinger.
"And I will end this… with just one finger."