The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1224 - 189 - The Semi-Finals Contenders (2)

Chapter 1224: Chapter 189 - The Semi-Finals Contenders (2)

Leon’s POV

I stood on the platform with my hands resting loosely at my sides, staring across at the man who would decide whether I moved forward—or walked off as just another name scratched out of the bracket.

This was my last match for the preliminaries.

The one that determined who would step into the semifinals.

You’d think I’d feel nervous. Maybe a little tense. Maybe dramatic music would start playing somewhere in the background.

But what I really felt was... different.

The air itself felt heavier than usual. It was not suffocating, just charged. Like the second before a thunderstorm cracks the sky open. The kind of pressure that makes even the loudest people lower their voices without realizing it.

And there were a lot of people.

More than usual.

The stands were packed. Faces leaned forward. Whispers overlapped. The occasional laugh cut through the noise, sharp and brief. This wasn’t just another fight for them—it was the fight before the real fights. The gateway to the semifinals. The line between "pretty good" and "worth watching."

Naturally, the betting had already started.

I could hear fragments of it.

"Three to one on the projectile guy—"

"No way, that guy hasn’t shown everything yet—"

"Double if it ends in two rounds—"

Tournaments were always like this. Skill alone wasn’t enough. You needed tension. You needed risk. You needed people arguing over odds like their lives depended on it. Otherwise, it was just two people hitting each other on a stage. And honestly? That’d be boring.

Across from me stood the guy I’d observed yesterday—the projectile specialist.

He was already staring at me, eyes locked, posture firm. There was no wasted movement. No fidgeting. His focus was sharp enough to cut.

He looked like someone who had spent the entire night analyzing footage of me frame by frame.

Meanwhile, I rolled my shoulders once and exhaled slowly.

Relaxed. Casual. Almost bored.

I wasn’t trying to provoke him. That was just how I was.

The umpire stepped between us, his boots scraping lightly against the platform. He glanced at both of us before speaking in a voice trained to carry across crowds.

"Since both of you have been here since day one, I assume you already know the rules," he said evenly. "There’s no need to repeat them. However, unlike your previous matches, this round will be best-of-three. First to two wins advances to the semifinals. Clear?" 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

He looked from him... to me.

Neither of us answered.

We didn’t need to.

We just stared at each other.

There’s something about silence before a fight. It’s louder than shouting. Louder than cheers. Louder than steel clashing. It stretches and tightens until it snaps.

From the way he looked at me, I could tell he was serious. Not fake-serious. Not the kind people put on for dramatic effect.

He was calculating.

Focused.

Determined not to lose.

And honestly? He probably saw something similar in my eyes.

Not that I had any intention of letting him win.

Maybe I should give him a little preview. Just a tease. Something small enough to unsettle him but not enough to reveal everything.

"Begin!"

The umpire’s hand sliced through the air, sharp and decisive, before he stepped off the platform.

The instant the signal dropped, my opponent moved.

No hesitation.

Two blades appeared in his hands almost simultaneously, released in a single fluid motion. They cut through the air toward me, spinning fast enough to whistle.

They were quick.

Ridiculously quick.

For a normal person, that kind of speed would’ve been a nightmare. You’d either panic or freeze. Maybe both.

But I didn’t move.

Not a single step.

The blades closed in—

—and stopped.

A metallic clang rang out across the platform.

Both blades fell to the ground beside me as if they’d slammed into an invisible wall.

"Huh?"

The sound came from him.

I hadn’t shifted an inch.

He blinked, confusion flashing across his face before he masked it. But I saw it. That split second of disbelief.

He had studied me. That much was obvious. He’d probably rewatched my earlier fights thinking he had a solid read on my techniques.

And yet here I was, doing something he hadn’t seen before.

That kind of shock?

It’s dangerous.

A brief opening.

A window.

I could’ve taken it. Closed the distance. Ended the round right there.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I just looked at him.

Let him think.

Let him stew.

He straightened slightly, reassessing. I could almost see the calculations running through his head. Reviewing what he knew. Comparing it with what just happened.

And then it hit him.

I hadn’t shown everything before.

I’d been holding back.

His jaw tightened.

Good.

The next moment, he disappeared.

Not metaphorically.

Actually vanished.

A blink—and he was gone.

The crowd gasped.

I didn’t react.

A faint shift in the air behind me.

He reappeared midair at my back, three short swords already released in a tight formation aimed precisely at my blind spot.

It was clean.

Well-timed.

Technically impressive.

Again—

I didn’t move.

Three sharp clanging sounds echoed in quick succession.

The swords dropped harmlessly at my feet.

They hadn’t even brushed my clothes.

This time, the confusion didn’t last long.

"I see..." he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "A barrier, huh?"

I almost smiled.

That was right. I was using Guardian.

The first time I’d used it in this tournament.

There was no way he could’ve prepared for something he didn’t know existed.

"So you’ve been holding back this whole time?" he said, voice steadier now. "That’s pretty cheeky. I knew you were hiding something. You always look bored when you fight. Tell me... do you at least find me challenging?"

Direct.

I respect that.

I tilted my head slightly, considering for half a second before answering honestly.

"I don’t," I said. "You haven’t shown me anything that stands out."

The crowd reacted louder than he did.

He let out a short laugh.

"Ha."

Not angry. Not offended.

Just fired up.

He reached into his pocket casually.

At first glance, it looked normal. Almost anticlimactic.

Then he pulled out—

—a massive sword.

Not a short blade.

Not something compact.

A huge, heavy weapon that had absolutely no business fitting inside a pocket.

Even I raised an eyebrow.

"Ever wonder how I keep pulling out short swords?" he said, resting the massive blade against his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "It’s because I’ve got a pocket dimension—literally in my pocket. I can store whatever I want in there. However I want. Whenever I want."

That explained the endless supply of blades.

Efficient.

Versatile.

A walking armory.

That explained everything.

Pocket Dimension skills did exist in this world.

Too bad it belonged to a guy like him.