"Legion wins. Two more wins remaining." The announcer’s voice came out strained, his tone betraying his shock.

The crowd had grown mechanical.

They no longer erupted in cheers and shouts as before. Instead they maintained an eerie stillness, every gaze fixed on the stage below.

Avery’s eyes were wide. In less than an hour, Legion had reached the same kill streak as her?

How? Shock carved through her chest.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she was witnessing it all with her very own eyes, she would have thought they were acting, just trying to make money from it all.

But the deaths were real.

Eight people had really died in a row.

Her fingers clenched slightly, eagerness and excitement burning in her eyes.

...

Cecilia’s mouth hung open, lips parted, mirroring the surprise she felt deep within her heart.

Her hand had long since paused over her phone, her movements mechanical.

Whenever a new fight began, she instinctively thrust all her Wealth into Legion, only to receive a bonus moments later.

It was like an easy, cheat-like method of getting rich, something she had been doing instinctively for the past few seconds.

"He’s so strong..." Cecilia muttered, eyes practically glowing as she watched the announcer introduce the next challenger.

...

At this point the crowd knew there would be no further delay.

There were only two people left who were challenging Legion.

One of them was rumored to be a student at the Origin Academy who had only come here to train.

Meanwhile, the other already had nine kills in a row.

The announcer had already communicated with his superiors to call for the two.

One of them was on his way. The other had already arrived.

After confirming this, the announcer cleared his throat and continued.

"The next challenger is someone you’re familiar with... Septer."

The crowd didn’t need any explanation. Just the fact that he had nine kills in a row was enough for everyone to understand how strong he was.

A young man with a sword strapped to his back stepped calmly into the arena.

The spotlights swung toward the entrance, pulling every eye in the room with them.

Recognizing the familiar young man, the crowd felt their breaths grow heated.

"That’s him... Septer! I heard he’s only been at the arena for nine weeks. Every week he comes and claims a life, his streak never ending!"

Logan’s gaze sharpened slightly as he glanced at the man.

Sensing his aura, similarly at the origin initiate realm, Logan was taken aback by how dense it was. Far thicker than his own.

’It seems he has explored an Origin Gate already...’

Origin Gates were similar to dungeons in a way, only far more unique and terrifying.

Glancing at the young man who similarly wore a mask, Logan knew he had finally met a worthy challenger.

’It seems his nine kills isn’t for show.’

He lingered slightly as the man walked to the center of the stage.

Stopping in front of him, the man clasped his hands and bowed. A sign of respect.

Logan gave a curt nod of acknowledgment.

They both turned to the announcer.

The announcer could feel the eagerness of the crowd, so without further delay, he signaled the start of the fight.

The daggers began spinning around Logan in a violent rotating wave, a loud spinning sound echoing around him.

Septer calmly drew the sword from his back.

He waited for Logan to attack.

Logan didn’t make him wait long.

He executed the same attack he had been using.

The daggers danced through the air like a work of magic, darting at lightning speed toward his opponent.

Septer’s pupils narrowed. Something felt wrong about the space.

His origin ability, Sword Enhancement, A-rank, allowed him to spot weaknesses in an opponent’s attack, albeit to a minor degree. He could also sharpen the precision of his perception. That enhancement had kept him alive and victorious until now.

"There..." he muttered, and his blade streaked through the air.

Ding!

The clear, crisp sound of steel meeting steel rang out like a bell.

That wasn’t the end.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Septer’s blade struck precisely onto each dagger, one after another, clattering them to the ground.

Logan’s expression shifted slightly. His interest grew.

"He actually blocked it!" someone in the crowd shouted.

A few others were similarly stunned. In all of Logan’s previous battles, none of his opponents had survived the first attack. It had always ended there.

Now they were witnessing a clash between two actual warriors.

"You seem to only know a single method of attack." Septer’s voice, calm and unhurried, drifted over. "Resign. It would be a shame to ki—"

Before he could finish, the daggers on the ground trembled. Then they rose, streaking toward his exposed weaknesses.

’They can move on their own?’ Septer was slightly taken aback, but he defended.

The daggers aimed mostly for his legs.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

His sword flashed through the air, slamming into the daggers and sending them flying.

But contrary to his expectation, they didn’t fall.

They twisted mid-air.

Logan’s ability was akin to telekinesis. By controlling the space around each dagger, he could direct whatever he desired, as long as he had sufficient origin energy.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Septer kept swinging.

A bead of sweat slid down his forehead.

The daggers were relentless.

Logan searched for weaknesses with every strike, his daggers moving with lightning-fast precision, merciless and unhurried.

’My arm.’ Septer couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore.

He acted on instinct, his sword moving before his mind could process.

’My leg...’ His blade swung toward his right leg.

A crisp ding echoed.

’My neck.’ He raised his sword in a vertical arc toward his head.

Ding!

The dagger clashed against the blade.

On instinct, before thought could catch up, he spun. His blade swept around in a steady rhythm.

Another dagger had been aimed for the back of his head.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, having gone still long before now.

A chill moved through them as they watched.

Never in their wildest imagination had they thought this was the true strength of Legion.

Initially, some had harbored doubt, thinking that if someone could just block Legion’s first attack, victory would follow easily.

But watching Legion stand calmly, his daggers dancing around Septer like a work of art, they understood now.

The only way to defeat someone like that was to close the distance, to strip away the reach. But with Legion never giving his opponent that opening, it was simply impossible.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Septer kept fighting for his life, his sword never catching a breath.

Then he saw it. Ten more daggers rising into orbit around Logan, and a chill shot straight through his chest.

He was already struggling to hold off ten. If another ten joined them...

He didn’t dare finish the thought. That path led only to death.

"Demonic Saber Origin Technique." He bit down hard on his tongue. His sword slashed through the surrounding air.

He broke distance from Logan at the same moment, and his voice, heavy with resignation, filled the arena.

"I... admit defeat!!!"

Logan’s daggers froze mid-air, trembling like hungry little creatures starved for blood.