Reborn with a Necromancer System-Chapter 182: Redford vs Karl

The roar of the crowd had quieted to a low murmur, the high from Grim and Cyrus’s fight still hanging thick in the air like smoke after a fire. Repair crews scuttled away after finishing up the tiles once again, leaving behind a pristine battlefield. As they departed, Kai stood near the edge of the stands, arms folded, eyes narrowed in thought.

Rael stood beside him, arms behind his back. He gave Kai a sharp jab in the shoulder with two fingers.

"You think you’d stand a chance against Grim?" Rael asked, a slight smirk tugging at the edge of his weathered face.

Kai tilted his head. "Maybe. I’ve never seen mana used like that before. Not like a force, but a presence. Like drowning in mist."

Rael gave a slow nod, his gaze drifting out toward the arena. "Neither have I. And I’ve seen thousands of fights. I’ve fought in hundreds more." He exhaled deeply, and for a moment, he looked much older than he had a minute ago.

The last of the repair crews exited through the stone archways, and the announcer’s magically amplified voice rang out again, trying to pull the audience’s spirits back into the spectacle.

"Let’s hope Cyrus makes a swift and steady recovery, folks! Now, with everything set, we’ve got another fight for you all!"

But the crowd remained subdued, murmuring among themselves. The silence after the announcement was palpable.

Rael leaned down toward Vepice, who was sitting nearby, watching with concern.

"This fight might make or break the spirit of the tournament," he said.

Vepice frowned, blinking. "What do you mean?"

"Well, little girl..." Rael began, not unkindly, "The better the fights, the more the crowd invests. The more the city invests. But if the excitement starts to drop—if the people get bored—it won’t matter how strong the fighters are. This whole thing could fall apart. I’ve seen it before. About thirty years back, the Arena of Kings was cancelled. No turnout. No money. No glory."

"Wow..." Vepice’s eyes widened. "So the audience really matters that much?"

Rael nodded. "They matter more than the fighters sometimes. It’s not just about blood and bruises—it’s about spectacle."

Vepice turned to Kai, who simply clenched his jaw. He hadn’t been fighting for a crowd. He’d been fighting to survive. But maybe the two things couldn’t be separated anymore.

Rael slapped Kai lightly on the back. "I’ll miss this next match. Got to talk to Cyrus. House Vale won’t be happy if their golden boy doesn’t wake up soon."

"Tell him he fought well," Kai said. "And... watch my next match."

Rael gave a small chuckle and a mock salute. "If you survive to it."

The announcer cleared their throat again, voice rising with more energy this time.

"Alright! Next up, we’ve got a battle between two tested champions of the League of Adventurers! First, we have the man who keeps all you climbers honest! The man who tests every adventurer brave enough to climb the ranks—REDFORD!"

The crowd began to stir again. Redford’s reputation lit a few fires in the audience—cheers rippled across the stands. Redford stepped out from the gate, his twin short swords sheathed at his hips, his cloak fluttering with each confident step. His expression was all calm intensity.

"And facing him, someone who’s no stranger to danger himself! A dungeon diver who’s been in more traps than most of us have breakfasts! Let’s give it up for the one and only—KARL!"

From the opposite gate, a broad man entered, his armor patchworked but functional. He carried multiple weapons strapped across his back and sides—spears, flails, even a battle axe—and three different types of shields. The man looked like a walking armory.

The moment the announcer shouted, "FIGHT!" Redford was in motion.

His twin swords blurred into existence, flashing toward Karl with dizzying speed. But Karl was already moving, sliding a long spear from his back and jabbing with quick, controlled thrusts, forcing Redford to dance backward.

Clang. Clang. Metal struck metal as the spear parried and redirected Redford’s slashes.

"You still using that old spear?" Redford called, grinning between attacks.

"Better than your dinner knives!" Karl shot back, just as Redford’s next strike severed the spearhead clean off.

Karl didn’t hesitate—he flung the ruined weapon aside, drew a flail with his offhand and raised one of his massive shields. The flail whirled, its heavy iron ball arcing overhead before slamming down toward Redford.

Redford ducked, rolled, and struck for the knees, but Karl’s shield dropped just in time. The clang was deafening.

The audience began to rise again, murmuring with rising excitement. This wasn’t flashy, but it was brutal. Gritty. Real.

The two circled each other, trading blows, parries, and banter. Kai watched closely, noting how Redford constantly adapted his footwork to match whatever weapon Karl was using. When Karl switched to dual hatchets, Redford lengthened his stance, trying to give himself more reaction time. When Karl pulled a pike and swung it with one hand, Redford closed in tight.

Still—Redford was sweating. Even he was struggling to keep up.

Kai leaned toward Vepice. "He’s being forced to adapt mid-fight. He’s not getting a chance to control the tempo."

Karl laughed as he slammed his shoulder into Redford’s chest. "You always said I couldn’t beat you unless I caught you off guard."

"You haven’t yet," Redford grunted back, sweeping a kick that made Karl stumble.

Then, Redford’s breath slowed. His eyes narrowed.

A pulse of mana flowed outward from him like a ripple in water.

Kai felt it.

"He’s ramping up," Kai muttered.

Redford moved again—but this time, faster. He disappeared into a spinning blur, his swords cutting the air with deadly precision. Dozens of slashes whipped across Karl’s shields. The air cracked with each impact.

’He’s like a spinning top.’

Kai watched as Vepice, starry-eyed, looked at the fight with awe.

Karl raised his flail in defense, but it was too late.

One sword cleaved clean through the flail’s chain. The other tore open the armor beneath Karl’s ribs.

Karl stumbled.

Redford twirled one final time and landed behind him, blades poised. Karl froze—his shields were dented, his weapons scattered, his armor slashed.

He breathed heavily.

And then collapsed to one knee.

He lifted one arm in the air.

The announcer’s voice cried out above the roar of the crowd.

"Victory goes to Redford! What a spectacular showing! Did you see that spin?! Did you see that speed?!"

The cheers were loud now. The silence that lasted from Grim and Cyrus’s battle was finally broken.

"What a fight. Mentor versus mentee. Reminds me of when I fought Orlin."

"Your old master? The one we’re helping, right?"

"Helping... Yeah, we’ll call it that."