Blacksmith of the Apocalypse

It was finally here, the start of the Martial Tournament, the height of the Pythian Games most people had been waiting for in anticipation. Between 8 and 10 o'clock in the morning, the participants assembled at the stadium to prepare for the preliminaries.

“It's a shame I can't enter myself, but I'm sure you will do well. If you can get a piece of legendary equipment from the Tower Master, we may even have a chance to rebuild Gamma in the future, “

Gallwell said to a young man, grasping his shoulder like a proud father.

“Thanks, Gallwell. I will do my best,” Tiny, Gallwell's second in command answered motivated. Gallwell, the chosen of Tyr was unable to enter the preliminaries since his level had surpassed 100 some time ago. he could only leave it to his second in command to secure the legendary equipment for them.

Although Gamma Resistance had agreed to a shaky peace with Arget Nore, it didn't mean they completely gave up on the idea of resettling their homeland and rebuilding the Gamma District. Especially since the undead empire was currently facing trouble, with their situation still unknown. If they fell, gamma Resistance would have their chance to reclaim Gamma.

“Oh, so Gamma Resistance is also sending their proteges into the race?” Brock, the master of the Boulder Guild approached them in the waiting room with a friendly tone. Although Gamma Resistance was not as old, Gallwell and the master of the biggest guild of Little Sigma had already met on some occasions.

“These are Byron, Clay, and Melony, “ Brock introduced the three adventurers that followed him.

“Is the Boulder Guild getting serious? You are sending three of you section chiefs?” Gallwell asked surprised. Although he had not met them before, he heard they were all very strong adventurers at the cusp of reaching lv.90.

“Are you really saying that when you are participating with Tiny, your vice leader?” Brock countered with a laugh. It was clear they were just here to compete in good spirits. As a subsidiary guild of Minas Mar, they had no great ambition to win this competition.

Their whole guild was decked out in relics from Minas Mar and if Brock, Marcel, or Elza really wanted to, they could probably make a deal with Seth to get a legendary item, if Minas Mar had some to spare.

Before they could continue their conversation a staff member entered the waiting room and called for their attention.

“Would all people not registered for the tournament leave the room now? As for the participants, please gather over here,” a woman instructed in a friendly but firm tone. In her hand, Brock and Gallwell were able to spot a pot with paper slips before they left the room.

They got to their seats just time time, when Umi Kaldrops took center stage. The oval of the stadium had changed once again. Instead of the hologram dome, there was now a vast arena with a tiled stone floor.

“Welcome everyone to our precursor of our Great Martial Tournament, the preliminaries. As you can see, because of the number of applications, we have decided on a traditional format for the preliminaries: The popular free-for-all Battle Royale!” the announcer exclaimed, earning massive cheers from the crowd, especially that part that arrived from the Chrona Empire.

“For those who don't know the rules already, I will explain them again. Each round will have 200 people fight in the arena until only one contestant is standing. The arena is prepared by the Adventurer Guild, so there is no need for the fighters to hold back. Disqualification is either by death or by being kicked out of the ring.

In the coming three days, you will see over 4000 people made up of famous adventurers, demons, Urthans, and cultivators, condense into 42 participants who will take part in the Martial Tournament on the final three days of the Pythian Games,” she explained the proceedings for the next few days.

The stadium shook in the roar of the crowd. This was what they were here for. A massacre, blood, and sand. A high-level display of martial combat.

“Without further ado, let's welcome our first batch. “

...

Polter was lucky. Not only was he able to participate on day one, but he also managed to get into Group 1 when drawing lots. Caleb, who was with Polter in the waiting room, had been not as fortunate and would need to wait until the third group of the day had their turn. At least that meant, they would only meet at the tournament if they both got through..

Together with 99 others, he entered the arena. The dwarf faced a completely different atmosphere than during the monster challenge.

The stadium was now filled to the brim and riled up in anticipation. he couldn't help but feel a slight pressure, having to fight to the death under the burning gazes of hundreds of thousands of people. On the bright sight, he wasn't the only one facing this pressure. He could see many that had a harder time staying calm.

Looking around, he also found that the lottery did its work. His opponents were a vibrant mix of players, cultivators, and demons, all with their distinct traits. The demons were a chaotic mix of humanoids of various shapes and sizes that made them easily discernible from ordinary people or beastmen.

What surprised him was that the only real difference between the players and the cultivators was their robes and the way they carried themselves. Surprisingly, there were also some variations of beastmen or demi-humans among the cultivators just like among the players.

The easiest way to discern players from cultivators was their equipment. Polter could not understand why they would insist on wearing flimsy robes or small armor ornaments at best. He tried not to underestimate them, but for a dwarf, it was clear, that proper armor was just as important as proper weaponry.

However, he didn't have the time to ponder at this moment. They had entered the arena and the fighters naturally spaced out in anticipation of the starting signal. Above them was Umi Kaldrops, hovering in the air.

She suddenly raised her microphone/ staff and fired a fireball at the crowd assembled below. The sizable spell crashed into an otherwise invisible barrier and dispersed.

“On another note, the arena is surrounded by the same kind of barrier as the Pythian Village, which blocks all attacks and energies. None of the attacks from the inside will be able to harm our esteemed audience, at the same time nobody will be able to meddle with the competition from the outside,” she explained her actions excitedly.

After the quick demonstration, she finally started the countdown to give the signal. 5...4.. As she counted down the tension in the arena grew. Polter felt the atmosphere change as he tried to keep watch on everyone around him.

3...2... Polter started channeling his mana and prepared his skills. The moment the signal was given the arena would turn into absolute chaos as everyone unleashed their skills and spells.

“1- Go!”

The arena exploded.

...

Sitting in a luxurious VIP lounge decorated in the style of the Cloud Continent were a group of cultivators, some hiding their identity, others like the man in the center only wore a mask for aesthetics.

“How many of our seedlings will be able to get through, what do you think?” The man with the silver mask asked the figure beside him. The robe beside him stayed silent as if pondering.

“Less than a handful, I guess,” it finally said.

“Don't you think you are underestimating our men a little?” he asked, slightly surprised at the pessimistic estimate.

“With the threshold is simply too high. Many of the participants have already shown to be much stronger than you cannon fodder.”

“Hmm, maybe, but we also prepared quite a bit for this. With our sect's secret pills, they are bound to win.” another cultivator involved himself in the conversation.

“I doubt it, but we will see who is right in the end,” the robe answered unimpressed.

“Hmm,” The mask did not say anything and simply looked at the arena, thoughtfully.

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