The crowd's reaction was layered—like a tightly packed mosaic of emotion. Some players were thrilled by the gore, their cheers loud and frenzied at the sheer brutality on display. Others leaned forward with analytical interest, breaking down the clash of powers and tactics with calculating eyes.
But a notable number—primarily women—had something different flicker in their gaze.. For those who once looked at Ali as a handsome, untouchable prince of Paradise, the sight of him brutally killing the mage changed his image in their minds.
Back in the arena, Ali flicked his hand with casual indifference, spraying a few wet strands of blood from his knuckles. The thick smear on his palm shimmered under the arena lights before it too evaporated, along with the gore at his feet and the faint remnants of the blue staff. Like all player remnants, the arena cleaned it with blue system light in a quiet flash.
He turned and looked toward the opposite wall, his black eyes fixed on the closed door from which his next opponent would emerge. But this time, nothing happened. The massive door remained tightly sealed. Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two. Grumbling began to ripple through the crowd—low at first, then louder as the audience's anticipation turned sour.
They were here for ten duels. Ten bloody battles, ten crushing victories, ten chances to say they'd watched something legendary. They'd paid for ten, and they weren't getting shorted.
"Uhm… Unfortunately, it seems we have cowards in the arena today," Toto's voice echoed from all sides, projected effortlessly across the massive coliseum.
A unified wave of boos followed. No need to tell the crowd what was happening—they understood all too well. Someone had chickened out.
"The next two rankers—eight thousand and seventy-five hundred—have officially forfeited," Toto continued, dragging out his words with theatrical dismay. "Ali now climbs the rankings to seventy-five hundred."
The crowd exploded in another round of angry jeers, not at Ali, but at the loss of potential bloodshed. Every forfeit felt like theft. Like the show was being slowly stolen from under them.
Ali stood at the centre of the arena, expressionless as always. But inside...
'I can get through this faster then…'
The moment that thought crossed his mind, the door finally creaked open.
From behind it walked a woman—likely in her forties—with defined features that hinted at her western roots. 'Italian? Maybe Spanish', Ali mused briefly. Her movements were steady, deliberate, the gait of someone who had seen war, had trained soldiers, and likely led many into battle. Her back was straight, posture perfect. Her face wore no fear. There was a silent authority to her presence.
She wore tightly fitted black leather armour reinforced with beast-scale plating across the shoulders and hips.
High above in the audience, within the section reserved for the Beast Guild, sat dozens of beast masters—each one leaning forward in hushed awe or tension. At the top row of the guild's private seating were its elite: high-ranking members, veteran tamers, and the guild's revered elder. Beside him, seated with her back unnervingly straight and arms folded in a loose, uninterested pose, was Crow—the guild's apostle.
The young black-haired girl looked at the screen showing the arena with distant, almost lifeless eyes. Her beauty was striking, but her expression was entirely void of excitement. She hadn't blinked since the duel announcement.
"Why is she fighting him?" Crow said aloud in her cold, soft voice. "She's going to lose."
The members seated near her tensed immediately. They dared not speak ill of the instructor—the woman now walking into the arena—especially not with so many around. She wasn't just anyone. She was the head instructor of their guild. The harsh disciplinarian who trained every last one of them. Her methods were brutal, often terrifying. But there wasn't a single summoner in the guild who didn't owe their survival to her lessons.
Beside Crow, the old man—the guild master—chuckled softly and looked down at the arena with nostalgic eyes. "So what?" he answered gently.
Crow glanced at him briefly, then back to the screen. "It's a waste of time."
"That's how you see it. But to her? To many of us? Fighting someone like him—even if you know you'll lose—it sharpens you. You learn things in a battle you can't in a lecture. Especially when the stakes are survival… but death isn't permanent. And who said she would definitely lose?"
Crow absorbed his words but gave no reply. Her gaze never changed.
The old man's smile widened slightly. He turned his attention back to her. 'She's young, but she's special…' he thought. 'She's more gifted with beasts than anyone I've ever seen in my thirty years on the second level. She is the future of our guild without a doubt.'
Suddenly, Crow spoke again.
"He's a summoner."
Her words weren't loud, but they cut like a blade through the group. Dozens of heads turned. The beast tamers blinked in confusion. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
"How do you know that?" he asked, voice low, grave—already weighing the implications. 'If this is true, then there's a chance…' A very slim, but potent possibility was forming in his mind—one that could change the guild's future.
Crow didn't turn her gaze from the screen. Her dull black eyes focused completely on Ali's silhouette in the arena. "I can sense a beast's presence from him. Multiple… and not like anything I've ever encountered before," she said.
As she spoke, her left eye shimmered for just a breath, morphing in texture and shape into the eye of a crow—deep, black, and intelligent—before shifting back to human form. It happened so quickly that only the most trained eyes noticed.
The guild leader's widened slightly. He had noticed. No incantation… no mana buildup… She'd shifted her eye without even a whisper of effort. A transformation like that, seamless and reflexive, would take even the most experienced beast-masters years of focused training. And she's done it… after only three months.
His gaze lingered on her. 'She doesn't just bond with beasts—she becomes them…'
Meanwhile, down in the arena, the instructor stood tall. Her steely eyes watched Ali like a hawk. Calm. Disciplined. And firm.
"Watch carefully," she called out across the arena to him, her voice carried by the quiet now resting over the crowd. "Maybe you'll learn something today."
Ali didn't even glance at her. Instead, he bent down and dug his fingers into the coarse sand, rubbing his hand clean with deliberate patience. A subtle gesture, but one that said volumes.
The instructor's expression sharpened. Her jaw tightened.
"One thing I do not tolerate," she said sternly, her voice rising like a crack of a whip, "is disrespect toward one's opponent."
She clapped her hands once and closed her eyes. The air around her shimmered.
"HEED MY CALL," she shouted. Her voice echoed with raw strength. "CHILD OF THE MOON—HALF-MOON WOLF!"
BOOOOOOM
The arena trembled.
Behind her, the sand parted as a swirling portal of pale white tore through reality. Its glow was soft but unnatural—like moonlight filtered through mist, like something from a dream stitched together with starlight and power. It lit the instructor's figure in silver and cast long shadows behind her.
Then—
GROOOOOOWL
A sound erupted from within that stopped even the loudest cheers mid-breath. Not a simple animal howl. No, this was ancient. A cry carried through bloodlines and predatory instincts—a voice that spoke of frozen tundras and moonlit hunts.
STEP.
BOOOOOM.
A paw the size of a car slammed onto the arena floor, cracking the sand beneath with its weight.
And then it stepped fully into Paradise.
A beast, fifteen meters from snout to tail, with a regal bearing and raw, wild power etched into its every movement. Its fur shimmered like liquid silver, thick and wind-swept, with streaks of glowing white energy weaving through it like veins of starlight. On its forehead, carved like a celestial brand, was a half-moon scar—glowing. From it, ethereal strands of magic whispered outward, swirling around the creature in elegant currents of white energy.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
And it was powerful.
The arena went silent. For the first time in the entire string of duels, the crowd was speechless.
"How is she only ranked 7,000?" Jasmine blurted, eyes wide in disbelief. "Just look at that beast!"
"I've never seen her before," Rose admitted, equally taken aback. "Maybe she hasn't fought in the arena in a while…"
Chase, sitting stiff beside them, leaned forward. "Do you know her?" he asked Evelyn. But when he looked her way, the answer was in her expression. For the first time since they'd sat down, Evelyn wasn't smiling. The cool confidence she usually wore had slipped just slightly—her eyes now focused, her posture tense.
"Yes," Evelyn said, voice calm but heavy. "She's a veteran. At least ten years in Paradise, maybe more. She doesn't compete in public much… but she's the head instructor for the Beast Guild's summoners. Most of their members owe their lives to her training. She teaches them how to fight. And how to survive."
But there was more to it. Something Evelyn didn't share.
'And that same beast… tore my predecessor apart.'
Evelyn kept that thought locked away. But her eyes, focused now on the glowing scar of the Half-Moon Wolf, weren't watching it with awe. They were watching with memory.
Down in the arena, Ali stood motionless, watching the crowd react to the beast's majesty. He could feel their silence. Their awe.
'I wonder what would happen if I summoned my dog', he thought.
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Five chapters ahead of webnovel on patreon.com/Rondo312