Julian Vance stood completely paralyzed as Liam’s voice echoed in his ear.
The massive clearing was still choking on the thick smoke from Julian’s desperate fire blast, but the ambient temperature felt like it had dropped straight into the heart of a blizzard. The dark, freezing mist swirling around Liam’s knuckles promised a very painful reality check.
Julian let out a pathetic, high-pitched sound that the arena microphones graciously picked up and broadcast to millions of viewers.
He scrambled backward, his boots slipping on the scorched mud, and desperately tried to draw his ceremonial broadsword from its scabbard.
"Stay away from me!" Julian shrieked. He managed to pull the heavy blade free, swinging it in a wild, uncoordinated arc aimed directly at Liam’s neck.
Liam did not even bother to dodge.
He simply raised his left hand and caught the flat side of the heavy steel blade perfectly in his palm. A sharp pulse of shadow magic coated his skin, entirely absorbing the kinetic impact. The blade stopped dead in its tracks.
Julian pulled with all his might, his face turning an ugly shade of purple, but the sword would not budge an inch. It was like trying to wrestle a weapon away from a solid concrete wall.
"Your grip is too focused on the pommel," Liam observed casually.
He kept his voice conversational, completely ignoring the fact that he was in the middle of a heavily televised combat tournament. "It gives you absolutely no leverage for a heavy swing. And your footwork is a mess. Are you sure your uncle did not just buy your ranking?"
Up in the VIP boxes, the entire audience of elite Guild Masters and Association officials broke into a chorus of brutal laughter.
Director Vance gripped his console so hard the plastic began to crack, his face entirely drained of blood.
Down in the swamp, Julian finally let go of the sword handle with a frustrated scream.
He raised both hands, his palms glowing with a violently unstable orange light as he prepared to detonate his entire remaining mana core at point-blank range. It was a suicide move designed to take them both out of the simulation.
A golden window abruptly popped into Liam’s field of vision, hovering right over Julian’s glowing hands.
[System Alert: Sore Loser Detected.]
[The Vanguard heir is about to break tournament rules and attempt a lethal overload.]
[Task: Shut him down.]
[Reward: High-tier Charisma boost. And the absolute satisfaction of breaking an arrogant jerk.]
Liam sighed softly. He dropped the captured broadsword into the mud and stepped completely inside Julian’s guard before the fire magic could fully ignite.
With a fluid, almost lazy motion, Liam brought his right hand up. He did not form a fist. He simply kept his hand open and delivered a sharp, perfectly angled slap directly to the side of Julian’s heavily armored helmet.
The sound of the impact echoed like a gunshot across the quiet swamp.
Liam channeled just enough of his newly expanded mana pool to completely bypass the physical metal, sending a concussive wave of dense starlight and shadow directly into the sensory runes lining the inside of the helmet.
The resulting feedback loop overloaded Julian’s equilibrium instantly.
The fire in Julian’s hands snuffed out. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his knees buckled. He collapsed face-first into the muddy water with a heavy, pathetic splash, completely unconscious.
Liam stood over the fallen Guild heir, shaking his hand slightly to clear the residual sting from his palm.
He reached down to Julian’s belt, unclipping the customized silver pouch that held the Vanguard squad’s primary token supply. He tossed it lightly in the air, catching it with a soft jingle of metal.
He had collected exactly twenty golden tokens. He had stripped the entire Vanguard team bare without suffering a single scratch.
The mechanical voice of the Gauntlet announcer boomed from the artificial sky, breaking the stunned silence of the simulation.
"Attention competitors. A single participant has acquired the maximum required threshold of tokens to trigger an early victory condition. The Novice Gauntlet is officially concluded. Initiating extraction protocols."
A pillar of brilliant blue light descended from the canopy, enveloping Liam’s dark suit.
Before the teleportation magic whisked him away, he looked directly up at one of the camera drones hovering nervously in the tree branches. He gave the lens a single, completely deadpan nod.
In the VIP box, Vespera Nocturne finally allowed herself to smile. It was a terrifyingly beautiful expression of absolute victory. She turned her head slowly to look across the aisle at Director Vance.
"Well," Vespera said, her voice dripping with aristocratic ice. "It appears your nephew did manage to set a new record today. I do not think anyone has ever lost an entire squad in under two hours. You must be incredibly proud."
Director Vance did not say a word.
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the viewing box, his security detail scrambling to keep up with his furious exit.
Liora jumped out of her chair, completely ignoring decorum as she cheered happily.
She threw her arms around Vespera in a sudden, tight hug.
The Ice Queen completely froze, her eyes going wide at the unexpected physical contact. She awkwardly patted the silver-haired girl on the back, entirely unsure of how to handle someone expressing genuine, unfiltered joy in her general direction.
"He did it," Liora beamed, pulling back and looking at the empty screens. "He actually did it."
"Of course he did," Vespera replied softly, smoothing out her pristine suit jacket. She looked back at the screen showing the muddy clearing where Liam had just been standing. "He is exactly what I thought he was."