Chapter 59 ‒ Clash of Resolve
Chapter 59 ‒ Clash of Resolve
Tyler charged at Ralgar with blinding speed, the sand beneath his feet kicking up in violent swirls. The aura of [Berserk] cloaked his body, red veins of energy flickering across his limbs. Ralgar’s eyes widened. He spun his lance, attempting to form a defensive barrier, but the moment Tyler’s blade struck, the impact sent a shockwave across the arena. The lance flew from Ralgar’s hands and clattered across the ground, spinning toward the edge of the ring.
Ralgar staggered back, stunned by the raw force. Tyler stood in front of him, unmoving.
But he didn’t press forward.
Ralgar, panting, dashed away and retrieved his lance. “Why did you stop?” he growled. “Is this some sort of mockery? Are you not taking this seriously?”
Tyler said nothing.
Ralgar lunged again, his lance aimed at Tyler’s chest. This time, Tyler sidestepped effortlessly. The tip of the lance missed by inches, and Ralgar’s momentum carried him forward awkwardly. He caught himself and backed up again. Gritting his teeth, he let out a yell and hurled his lance toward Tyler.
With fluid precision, Tyler raised his sword and deflected the projectile with a single swipe. The lance veered away, embedding itself into the ground a few feet away.
Ralgar dropped to one knee, gasping. “I can’t lose this… Not this fight.”
Tyler’s brows knit together.
“You’re strong,” Ralgar continued. “People like you join these tournaments for thrill, for entertainment. But me? This is my way out. My freedom. I was promised—if I win, I earn my independence. No more blood, no more cages. Just… peace.”
Tyler paused. Was what he was doing right? Ralgar’s desperation wasn’t just a facade. He had no desire to harm others; he was fighting because it was the only option available to him. Tyler lowered his blade slightly.
What if I fail again? What if trying to help one person means crushing another’s dream?
He breathed in sharply. Then, he dashed forward, covering the distance between them in a blink. Ralgar tensed, but Tyler didn’t attack. He simply stood in front of the kneeling man.
The crowd screamed. “Kill him! Kill him!”
But Tyler didn’t move.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said calmly. “I’m here to stop this madness. To save the people forced into this sick game.”
Ralgar looked up, sweat trailing down his face. “Do you think I can believe that? That someone like you—who holds the power—would be here for anything but glory? The manager lies. Maybe you’re lying too.”
“I’m not,” Tyler replied. “But I understand. You can’t take my word for it… so sleep.”
Stolen story; please report.
With a swift, practiced motion, he slammed the flat of his blade into Ralgar’s neck. Ralgar collapsed, unconscious.
The crowd booed. Jeered. Chanted for blood. But Tyler didn’t care. He looked down at Ralgar and whispered to himself, “You’re another one I need to save.”
The announcer declared, “Victory to [Player]!” and guards rushed in to drag Ralgar away.
The next round came quickly. Match 11. Tyler stood again on the arena floor, facing a moose-bear hybrid named Grugmar. Level 54. Hulking frame. Slow reflexes.
Grugmar roared and swung his massive axe, but Tyler’s movements were effortless. He ducked, sidestepped, and pivoted behind his opponent. No need for [Dash] here. It was almost too easy.
He leapt and activated [Berserk] in mid-air, delivering a crushing kick to Grugmar’s head. The hybrid collapsed instantly. Two guards scrambled in, struggling to drag the unconscious behemoth from the ring.
The crowd grumbled. Another match without blood.
Third round. Match 12’s victor faced Tyler now: a grizzled tiger-chinchilla hybrid named Morik. His rusted claymore looked like it had seen a hundred battles. So did his armour, bent and cracked at the seams.
But Morik was fast.
He dashed toward Tyler, his claymore a blur. He swung in tight arcs, forcing Tyler to stay light on his feet. Tyler used [Dash] to dodge each strike, sliding under one, sidestepping another. The weight of the blows cracked the stone floor.
Then Tyler drew his sword, activated [Berserk], and met the next blow head-on. Their blades clashed—and the rusted claymore shattered.
Morik dropped to his knees, staring at the ruined weapon in disbelief. The crowd cheered again. “Kill him! KILL HIM!”
Tyler turned and walked away.
“I am not here to take lives,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m here to save them.”
Morik, stunned, watched him leave. A single tear escaped his eye. “I surrender,” he whispered.
“Victory to [Player]!” the announcer bellowed.
From the upper office, Drellic Wane watched through a tinted crystal pane. He sipped dark wine from a golden goblet.
A knock came.
“Enter,” he said lazily.
The rat hybrid stepped in, clutching pouches of gold and a leather-bound ledger.
“Manager Wane, I have the updated account records.”
Drellic grinned. “Ah, Collector. Excellent. Business has never been better.”
He took the ledger and flicked through the pages. Profits were climbing fast.
He looked back down at the arena. “That [Player]… He’s exactly what this place needed. A little mystery. A breath of fresh air.”
“Shall I return to the stands?”
“Please. And keep a close eye on him.”
The Collector bowed and vanished into the shadows.
Fourth round.
Tyler checked the board: match number three. His next opponent? A former ‘mercenary’, Trevor, now a tournament hopeful. Tyler looked further down. Match sixteen—Kragg the Fallen versus some random unlucky fighter.
As expected, Kragg had bulldozed his way through the bracket. His win streak now sat at 97. If things continued as predicted, they wouldn’t clash until the finals. Tyler wondered if that was a mere coincidence or something which Drellic orchestrated.
Tyler’s match began. He entered the ring.
Trevor dropped to one knee. “Greetings to the Bloodthirsty Executor! I—I surrender. I’ve changed! I’ve left those days behind!”
Before Tyler could speak, Trevor ran out, waving his arms. “I forfeit!”
The announcer blinked. “Uhh… Victory to [Player]!”
More boos. Tyler sighed.
Bloodthirsty Executor. That’s what they call me now? Did I earn that name through justice… or vengeance?
He clenched his fists.
No more needless blood. No more blind violence.
A new roar erupted as Kragg stepped into the ring.
His opponent didn’t last ten seconds.
With a brutal swipe, Kragg tore the fighter’s arm clean off. The crowd went wild as the poor hybrid writhed in agony.
“Victory to Kragg, our undefeated champion! Now at 98 victories!”
Tyler watched, stone-faced. Still the same monster. Bullying the weak. Feeding on pain.
When the time comes… I’ll destroy you. I’ll make you feel what you made others feel.
With Kragg’s latest win, the number of participants dropped from 128 to just 8.
The quarterfinals had begun.