The Tournament Clerk didn’t even look up when Dillion approached.
“Name?” the man asked, flipping through pages on a crystal tablet.
“Dillion Rogers.”
That got his attention. The clerk blinked and looked up. “Wait. The Dillion Rogers? The one from the Gnarlfang bounty?”
A few nearby heads turned.
Dillion scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… I guess.”
The clerk grinned. “Well, that explains it. You’ve already been invited to the event. High-tier Named Beast kill, confirmed by a Soul Warden they said to ensure there was a spot for you in tomorrow's tournament.”
A few forms later, it was official.
Dillion Rogers
First Round Match: Bracket C-19
Time: Tomorrow Morning
He walked back over to May, who was pacing near the betting board.
“You’re actually doing it?” she asked, eyes wide.
Dillion nodded. “I don’t think I can ignore it anymore.”
May folded her arms. “You know this isn’t like fighting tree mice, right?”
“Believe me,” he said with a faint smile, “I know.”
She sighed but didn’t push further. “So… what now? Train? Meditate in a waterfall?”
Dillion chuckled. “I think I’ll just watch a few matches. Get a feel for the place as Dillion and may start heading towards the arena.”
They found a bench overlooking the arena courtyard — a large coliseum-style structure where matches played out for crowds of onlookers, Eden cameras floating overhead like vultures.
One match caught Dillion’s eye — a blue-marked swordsman facing a red-cloaked summoner. The fight was brutal, fast-paced, and terrifying in its intensity.
But Dillion didn’t flinch.
Not anymore.
He watched the flow of the battle — the timing, the positioning, the mistakes. Stark’s teachings echoed in his head like a voice behind his eyes.
“Don’t swing harder. Think faster.”
“Don’t block because you’re scared. Block because you know it’s coming.”
“Win before they even know they’ve lost.”
May eventually leaned against him, tired from the heat and noise. But Dillion stayed upright, eyes locked on the arena.
Tomorrow, he wouldn’t be a spectator.
He would be in the ring.
The match ended in a flash of red light and smoke — the summoner dropping to one knee as the swordsman’s blade stopped an inch from their throat. The crowd roared. Dillion didn’t move.
“They’re on a different level,” May muttered.
“No,” Dillion replied, eyes still locked on the battlefield. “They’re just further along the path.”
She glanced at him. That wasn’t something the old Dillion would say.
He stood and stretched. “I want to check the equipment vendors. Maybe pick up some gear before tomorrow.”
“Need company?”
Dillion smiled. “I’d like that.”
They wandered into the bustling vendor square, a maze of stalls overflowing with enchanted wares — boots that nullified traps, cloaks that muffled sound, belts that regenerated stamina. Dillion’s eyes were drawn to a booth tucked between two larger ones, run by an older woman with a Soul Mark the color of night.
“Looking for balance or brutality?” she asked, sizing him up with one eye squinting.
“Precision,” Dillion replied. “And defense.”
She nodded, reaching beneath her stall and pulling out a bracer etched with runes. “This one’s been infused with a passive ward — softens kinetic strikes, like punches and kicks. You won’t find a better off-hand for someone using a small shield.”
Dillion rotated the piece in his hands, then looked to May. “What do you think?”
“You’re asking the girl who impulse-bought a spell that makes her smell like strawberries,” she said.
He grinned and handed over a small soul gem from his pouch.
As they walked away, Dillion felt the bracer adjust to his forearm. Warm. Protective. Like it belonged.
They walked in silence for a moment, until May stopped near a fountain.
“You’re different, you know,” she said softly. “Since Stark. Since the Gnarlfang. Even how you walk… it’s like you finally know what you want.”
“I don’t know if I do,” Dillion said. “But I know what I don’t want. That used to be enough.”
May nodded. “So… what if you win tomorrow?”
Dillion looked up at the sky. “Then I’ll keep going. One step at a time.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “I’ll be there in the stands. Screaming your name.”
He chuckled. “Please don’t.”
“No promises.”
As the sun began to set over the capital, the bells of the Arena rang out — calling fighters to check-in, to prepare, to ready their souls.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Dillion looked down at his hands, then summoned his Soul Gem. It floated gently above his palm, glowing soft blue with a faint hum.
Tomorrow, it would be tested.
Tomorrow, the world would watch.
And this time… he wouldn’t run.
The moon hung high above the capital, casting silver light across the quiet training yard behind the Adventurer’s Outpost. Most of the city had gone to sleep, but Dillion couldn’t. Not yet.
Each swing of his shield carved a faint arc through the air. He moved slower now — not from fatigue, but from focus. Footwork, precision, timing. Stark’s words echoed in his mind like scripture.
“Battle’s not about rage. It’s about rhythm.”
He exhaled, rolling his shoulder and adjusting his stance.
Then he froze.
A shadow stood at the edge of the yard, half-lit by moonlight. Not threatening. Not moving. Watching.
“You’re improving,” the masked girl said, stepping forward.
Dillion lowered his shield slightly. “You always show up when I least expect it.”
“You were never supposed to be here in the first place,” she replied, her voice soft but unreadable behind the mask. “People like you… you’re not meant to survive Named Beasts.”
“And yet, here I am,” he said. “Still figuring out why.”
The girl looked past him to the sky. Her white Soul Gem pulsed faintly above her chest, like a heartbeat made of light. “Do you know what tomorrow is, Dillion?”
“The tournament.”
She shook her head slowly. “No. It’s your test. A moment the world sees you and decides what you are. What you could be.”
He squinted at her. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” she said. “But someone did. Someone who watched you fight a monster you had no business surviving.”
“You mean you?”
“No,” she said. “I mean you. You chose not to die.”
They stood in silence, the wind rustling the canopy above them.
She turned to leave, then paused. “Your shield… it’s not just for defense. You know that, right?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“The strongest shields aren’t meant to hide behind. They’re meant to protect others — even when it breaks you.”
With that, she stepped into the shadows and vanished.
Dillion stood alone again, the moonlight still bright, his heart suddenly heavier.
He took one last breath, lifted his shield, and resumed his training.
Because tomorrow wasn’t just another fight.
It was his beginning.
The sun was barely up, but the Capital’s Arena was already buzzing.
It wasn’t like anything Dillion had ever seen before. A massive stone coliseum carved into the side of a valley, banners from guilds and sponsors fluttering high above the spires. Floating platforms carried camera drones for live streams, and the crowd — both Sorian and Earth-born — packed the stands, roaring with anticipation.
He stood in the staging hall beneath the arena floor, armored up and shield on his back, waiting for his name.
The walls rumbled with the sound of the announcer’s voice — amplified, theatrical, and distorted by a clown-like mask that grinned from every screen.
?? “Ladies and Gentlemen of Sora and BEYOND — our next contender is a NEW face with a BLUE Soul Mark! He survived a Named Beast, and is here on recommendation of a Soul Warden, His equipment nothing but a knife, a shield! Giiiiiive it up for the rookie — DILLION ROGERS!”
Dillion stepped forward into the light, the roar of the crowd washing over him like a tidal wave. His boots hit the arena floor with quiet weight, the shield firm on his arm, his knife tucked close.
Across from him, the gates slammed open.
A hulking warrior stepped through — thick green armor cracked with moss, a giant battle axe resting on one shoulder. His Soul Gem glowed emerald, pulsing with earthbound power. The crowd cheered louder for him — clearly the favorite.
?? “And standing in his way, the fan favorite from the Granite Cliffs — the man who shattered the Stone Trials in under five minutes — KARDON THE CRUSHER!”
Dillion blinked. “…Crusher?”
Kardon grinned, rolling his neck. “Hope you’ve got more than parlor tricks, kid.”
A low rumble echoed through the arena as the circle of combat lit up. Banners dropped. Shields rose.
The announcer’s voice rang one last time.
?? “BEGIN!”
Kardon didn't wait. The earth beneath his feet trembled, and with a stomp, he hurled a chunk of stone the size of a wagon toward Dillion.
Dillion’s feet moved before his mind caught up — Swift Boots activated.
He dashed right, the boulder smashing into the dirt behind him with an explosion of dust and shards. Kardon was already on the move, charging forward, axe raised.
Dillion raised his shield and Shield Bash collided mid-sprint — but the difference in size was clear. Kardon slid back a step, but Dillion was knocked nearly off balance.
The crowd screamed with excitement.
Kardon snarled. “Fast. But soft.”
Dillion narrowed his eyes.
Not soft. Smart.
He kept moving, dodging each boulder and countering with short, swift jabs. He circled his opponent, tapping his Dexterity and letting instinct and training guide him. Kardon swung with full force — predictable, massive arcs.
Dillion’s knife flashed, a blur. He used Fog, masking his immediate space in mist, vanishing just as another boulder flew.
The crowd gasped.
Kardon growled in frustration. “Where are you—?!”
A sudden strike — Dillion’s knife sliced across Kardon’s thigh.
A red dot glowed faintly there — Weak Point revealed.
Kardon stumbled slightly, furious now, his magic charging again.
Dust clouded the air as Dillion vanished once again into the haze of his Fog enchantment. Kardon swung his axe wildly, smashing chunks of the arena floor into craters. The earth shook with each blow, but none of them landed.
The crowd, once chanting for Kardon, had begun to shift.
“Yo—did he just dodge that?!”
“Who is this guy?!”
“BLUE MARK?! No way!”
In the stands, May stood frozen, her eyes wide. Her arms were crossed, but her mouth was slightly open.
“That idiot,” she whispered. “He’s actually… good?”
Below, Kardon was losing patience — and Energy as his Soul Gem started to lose its luster. Small slices along his legs and arms glowed faint blue where Dillion had struck. The red Weak Points blinked like beacons.
“You think hiding makes you strong?!” Kardon roared, slamming his axe down and erupting another boulder — but Dillion was already airborne, leaping from the rubble like a shadow.
Dillion landed light on his feet, fingers raised.
He exhaled slowly.
Water Manipulation – Rank 5.
Tiny orbs formed at his fingertips — compact, focused, spinning.
He shaped his hand like a pistol. A flick of his wrist.
Pew.
A bead of pressurized water shot from his index finger — like a bullet — slamming into Kardon’s armor. The warrior stumbled back.
The crowd went silent for a beat — then erupted.
Dillion narrowed his eyes, slid sideways, and fired another.
Pew. Pew. Pew.
Three water bullets struck Kardon — shoulder, side, leg — all on Weak Points.
The impact wasn’t massive — but it was precise and relentless.
The crowd chanted now:
“Blue Mark! Blue Mark! Blue Mark!”
Kardon roared, charging blindly. “ENOUGH!”
He lifted his axe high — but Dillion rolled underneath and planted a palm against the ground. Moisture surged around him — a final trickle of control — and the floor beneath Kardon slicked with a sudden sheen.
The Crusher slipped.
Dillion was already moving.
Shield Bash.
The hit caught Kardon square in the gut, but this time — it wasn’t just a stagger.
It launched him.
The force from Dillion’s Overwhelming Strength surged through his shield. Kardon’s massive frame flew into the air, arms flailing, eyes wide with shock.
Dillion didn’t stop.
He crouched low, his feet grinding against stone, knees coiling like springs — and then he leapt, cutting through the air like a blue streak of energy.
In midair, he twisted his body, spinning, eyes locked on the glowing red Weak Point in the center of Kardon’s exposed gut.
His knife gleamed with faint mist and silver light — and Dillion drove it in.
The crowd gasped as Kardon’s body jerked, froze — and began to de-materialize into a swirl of pale blue fragments.
Only one thing remained as Dillion landed hard on the arena floor, panting:
A glowing green Soul Gem.
It drifted slowly down from the air and came to rest beside his foot.
Silence.
Then the arena exploded with cheers.
?? “KARDON THE CRUSHER… IS ELIMINATED!”
?? “VICTORY GOES TO — DILLION ROGERS!”
The crowd’s roar shook the coliseum.
From the stands, May stood frozen — stunned, breath caught in her throat. Her heart raced as she saw Dillion raise his knife slightly, eyes still locked forward, chest rising and falling.
She whispered, half-laughing to herself:
"You finally woke up didn't you Dillion ..."