Luceris's sudden attack stunned Galen Skylar.
Though the goblins weren't particularly strong, they were known for their tough hides and passable defenses. But the moment Luceris acted, the battlefield changed entirely.
Her magic-infused crystal arrows rained down in dazzling bursts, tearing through the goblins with deadly precision. Over twenty of them were eliminated in mere seconds. Several charged shots even exploded among the goblin pitchers, carving open a path through the chaos.
Was this the damage output of a level 30 adventurer?
Galen's eyes widened. It was simply too overwhelming.
Yet what shocked her even more wasn't the damage—it was the transformation.
Just moments ago, Luceris had looked like the gentle, schoolyard beauty. But now... now she stood as something else entirely.
Though still breathtaking, the aura she now carried was vastly different. If earlier she'd been the angel-next-door—pure, soft, human—now she radiated a surreal, otherworldly presence. An avatar of war and light, holy and flawless.
"Sister Luceris… you… you…" Celene Sirra could barely form words, overwhelmed by the divine presence beside her. Her heart threatened to leap from her chest at the sheer beauty and power surging in her companion.
And she wasn't alone in her reaction.
All across the observation plaza, murmurs surged into a full-blown commotion.
"Oh my god, did you see that spellcast?"
"She doesn't move like a typical archer. Is that even a known class?"
"Every arrow she fires—it's like watching a dance…"
"Who is this girl? Does anyone recognize her?"
No one had an answer.
Even in the upper stands, where the strongest and most discerning minds of the continent sat, silence fell.
They had stopped judging the fight as a mere battle. At their level, strategy and power meant less than what lay beneath—a warrior's essence, their potential, and the deeper mysteries their abilities hinted at.
"The weapon she's using…" murmured Juann' Vels, leaning forward with intrigued eyes.
Solenne Virel narrowed her gaze. "That bow… at minimum, it's a holy-grade artifact. Possibly even rarer than that."
"A holy object…" someone whispered.
Holy-grade weapons were the pinnacle of craftsmanship—costly, incredibly rare, requiring the highest quality materials and only forgeable by the most elite blacksmiths. Even among the ancient Eastern lands, the number of smiths capable of producing such weapons could be counted on one hand.
If Luceris wielded one… then she had to be connected to someone powerful—or was someone powerful herself.
Robert Judge rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Her movements are flawless. Clean. No wasted effort. Truly excellent."
The grumpy elder beside him snorted. "Did that need saying?"
Robert rolled his eyes at the man. They glared at each other briefly before turning back to the screen in silence.
But soon, a different disturbance caught their attention.
"Wait… over there," said a young warrior, pointing at another corner of the display. "Look at the adventurers fighting that Minotaur chieftain."
The camera shifted. A group of warriors clashed against a towering, eight-meter-tall tauren. Its level read 51—far beyond what any average dungeon raider should be facing. It was a mini-boss, and even in a group, this should have been a grueling battle.
And yet… it wasn't.
With every slash of sword, spear, or halberd, magic flared violently. Each strike tore through the beast's armor-like hide with shocking ease. Blood sprayed with every hit.
"…What are those weapons?" muttered someone.
An elderly man in the back leaned forward, his experienced eyes scanning every detail. Suddenly, he bolted upright. "Sacred weapons! Every one of them is wielding a sacred-grade weapon!"
Gasps followed. Sacred weapons? Multiple?
Juann' Vels was visibly shaken. "Are you certain, Master Duan?"
The old blacksmith, known across the land as a master craftsman, nodded solemnly. "Absolutely. I may not have made one myself, but I've studied enough to know—those are sacred. Not just sacred, but exquisite."
It was hard to argue with him.
The spiritual stones embedded in the weapons pulsed with an energy too vast for the wielders to fully control. A halo of magic shimmered around them like liquid starlight.
Even from a distance, the aura was undeniable.
And yet… the way these adventurers used them was careless, almost disrespectful. After felling the Minotaur, one casually used a sacred sword to butcher meat over a fire.
Master Duan nearly choked. "Blasphemy! Waste of heaven's gifts! If I could enter that dungeon, I'd strangle them myself!"
From the stands, even the typically reserved Sierre Nugh stirred.
Clad in a stunning crimson gown and noble lady's hat, the black veil over her face failed to mask her beauty—or her surprise. Her voice was cool and firm.
"Look around more carefully. This is no coincidence."
Eyes widened as dozens of observers scanned the feeds again.
And what they found was staggering.
Across the dungeon, not one or two, but at least sixty or seventy adventurers were wielding weapons at the level of sacred objects.
"This… This isn't possible," someone breathed.
The sheer density of magical energy from so many sacred weapons at once was unprecedented. If it weren't for the aura each one emitted, they would have thought it a trick.
But it wasn't.
Dozens—nearly a hundred sacred weapons.
It was beyond comprehension.
"Even if you drained the entire vault of Takumi," muttered one elder, "you wouldn't find this many sacred artifacts."
So where had they come from?
Had the Eastern adventurers somehow plundered a divine vault? Had a powerful faction risen without their notice?
Then someone pointed to a sigil on one of the warriors' cloaks.
"A knight's trainee badge… from Tranquenhold."
A murmur swept through the stands.
"...A trainee knight… wielding a sacred object?"
For a moment, no one knew what to say.
Reality itself seemed to waver.
This wasn't a tournament anymore.
It was the beginning of something far greater.