The Intermission Room was a cavernous workshop located beneath the arena stands. It was filled with anvils, alchemy tables, and target dummies.
Most candidates were resting. The warriors were sharpening their blades; the mages were meditating to restore mana.
Elian was sweating.
He had claimed a workbench in the far corner. On the table before him sat a pile of 142 Monster Cores—glowing blue orbs the size of golf balls.
"One hour," Elian muttered, his hands moving in a blur. "If I want to survive the tournament, I need force multipliers."
Analysis, the Ghost commanded. Core properties: Unstable Mana. Casing: Hardened Resin. If the casing is breached without a stabilizer, the mana discharges as thermal energy.
"It explodes," Elian translated. "Good."
He grabbed a handful of sand from the floor of the workshop.
[Skill: Material Synthesis][Ingredients: Sand + Monster Core (x1)][Catalyst: Mana Thread (Compression)]
Elian squeezed the sand and the core together. His mana flared, fusing the grains into the orb. The blue light of the core turned a jagged, angry orange.
[Item Created: Flash-Frag Grenade][Effect: Detonates on impact. Releases blinding light and high-velocity glass shrapnel.][Stability: Low (Do not shake).]
"Nasty," Elian grinned. He made ten of them.
Next, he looked at his Rot-Iron Blade. It was garbage. The Tetanus effect was useful, but the durability was down to 8%. One solid clash with a Greatsword and it would shatter.
"I can't forge a new sword in an hour," Elian reasoned. "But I can reinforce this piece of junk."
He took five Monster Cores and lined them up along the flat of the rusty blade.
[Edit Mode: Fuse]
He sank the cores into the metal. The rusty iron groaned, drinking in the mana. The black mold on the handle spread, turning into a hardened, grippy texture. The blade didn't become shiny; it became darker, vibrating with a low hum.
[Weapon Upgraded: Rot-Iron Blade +5][New Effect: Mana Poison. (Strikes disrupt the enemy's mana control).][Durability: 50/50 (Reinforced)]
"Better."
He had ten minutes left. He looked at the remaining pile of cores. He looked at the heavy steel plates he had stripped from his failed armor experiments.
"Ghost," Elian thought. "Do I have enough mana to build a construct?"
barely. A Golem requires a soul-anchor. You don't have one. But... you can build a simple automaton. A turret.*
Elian's eyes lit up. "I love turrets."
He began to weld the plates together using [Edit Mode].
The Bracket
"Intermission Over!" the magical voice boomed. "All candidates to the viewing deck!"
The surviving eighty-four candidates gathered on the balcony overlooking the arena. A massive holographic bracket appeared in the air.
Elian scanned the names. Match 1: Valerius Thorne vs. ... Disqualified.Match 2: Sera vs. Random Mage.
His eyes found his name.
Match 12: Elian Vance vs. Goran (Berserker)
Elian sighed. "Of course. Karma."
Across the deck, Goran saw the bracket too. The big man turned, his face purple with rage. He pointed a thick finger at Elian.
"YOU!" Goran roared. "You owe me a new bike, you rat!"
Elian gave a little wave. "I think the fire improved the paint job, honestly."
"I'm going to crush you," Goran growled, slamming his fists together. "No bridges this time. No hiding. Just you and me in the dirt."
"Candidates for Match 12!" the Proctor shouted. "Enter the ring!"
The Arena
The crowd cheered as they walked out. The arena floor was flat, hard-packed earth. No cover. No pillars. Just a killing circle.
Goran stood on the far side, wielding a massive double-headed battleaxe. He wore heavy plate armor that looked like it could stop a truck.
Elian stood opposite him. He wore his light leather armor. He held his rusty shortsword in one hand and a nondescript burlap sack in the other.
"Begin!"
BOOM.
Goran didn't hesitate. He activated [Charge]. Red aura flared around him as he launched himself across the arena like a cannonball. The ground shook with every step.
"DIE!" Goran screamed, raising his axe for a vertical split.
Elian didn't move. He stood perfectly still, watching the Berserker close the distance. 30 meters... 20 meters...
The crowd murmured. "Is the Builder frozen?" "He's going to get splattered!"
10 meters.
Elian dropped the burlap sack.
"Edit Mode."
He didn't edit the ground. He edited the sack.
He had packed the sack with loose dirt and three Monster Cores. [Action: Reshape + Hardening.]
Instantly, the sack didn't just sit there; it erupted upward. The dirt solidified into rock, shooting up into a three-meter-tall stone pillar directly in Goran's path.
Goran, mid-charge, couldn't stop.
CLANG!
He slammed face-first into the pillar. The impact was like a bell ringing. Goran rebounded, stumbling back, dazed, his nose streaming blood.
"Dirty trick!" Goran yelled, shaking his head to clear the stars.
"It's called zoning," Elian called out from behind the pillar.
Goran roared and swung his axe at the pillar. The stone shattered under the blow—Berserkers dealt bonus damage to structures.
"Where are you?!" Goran shouted through the dust.
"Here."
Elian stepped out from the dust cloud. He tossed a small, orange orb.
Goran swung his axe at it reflexively.
CRACK-BOOM.
The Flash-Frag Grenade detonated on the axe blade. A blinding white light seared Goran's retinas. Simultaneously, shards of mana-infused glass peppered his face and exposed arms.
"ARGH! MY EYES!" Goran dropped his axe, clutching his face. "I CAN'T SEE!"
The crowd went silent. They were used to honorable duels—swords clashing, spells flying. They weren't used to pocket sand and flashbangs.
Elian walked calmly toward the blinded giant.
"You have heavy armor," Elian analyzed aloud, as if giving a lecture. "Great for stopping blades. Terrible for mobility. And your helmet..."
He tapped Goran's breastplate with his sword.
"...has terrible ventilation."
Goran swung blindly, a massive haymaker. Elian ducked effortlessly.
Elian reached into his pouch and pulled out a small, metallic object. It looked like a metal spider with a glowing blue core. He slapped it onto the back of Goran's armor.
[Deploying: Sentry Turret (Parasite Mode)]
"Get off!" Goran thrashed, feeling the weight.
The little turret activated. It didn't shoot bullets. It shot Mana Shocks.
ZAP. ZAP. ZAP.
Every second, a jolt of electricity surged directly into Goran's spine through the armor. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it was enough to lock his muscles.
"Gah! Ah! Stop!" Goran twitched, dancing a jig of involuntary spasms.
Elian stood back, watching his handiwork.
"Yield," Elian said.
"Never!" Goran grit his teeth, fighting through the paralysis. He was strong. His Berserker Rage was burning through the stun effect. "I will... kill... you!"
He took a step forward. Then another. The turret sparked and died, its battery drained.
Goran opened his streaming, red eyes. "You're out of tricks, rat."
He picked up his axe.
Elian sighed. "Okay. Manual labor it is."
He plunged his sword into the ground.
[Class Skill: Edit Mode][Target: Arena Floor (5 meter radius)][Action: Liquefy.]
The hard-packed earth beneath Goran instantly turned into deep, sucking mud.
Goran sank to his knees. His heavy armor became a prison.
"Again?!" Goran screamed, trying to pull his legs out.
Elian walked onto the mud. But he didn't sink. [Passive: Architect's Walk (Movement on constructed terrain is unimpeded).]
He walked right up to Goran, who was buried to his waist and struggling like a trapped beetle.
Elian looked down at him.
"You really should have paid the loot share," Elian whispered.
He placed his hand on Goran's chest plate.
[Edit Mode: Reshape.]
He didn't hurt Goran. He simply bent the metal of the breastplate inward, just slightly. Just enough to make it really, really hard to breathe.
"Can't... breathe..." Goran wheezed, his face turning blue.
"Yield," Elian repeated.
Goran looked at Elian's cold eyes. He realized this wasn't a game to the Builder. This was pest control.
"I... yield!" Goran gasped.
[Winner: Elian Vance!]
Elian instantly reversed the Edit, fixing the armor and hardening the mud back into dirt so Goran could climb out.
He offered a hand to the Berserker.
Goran slapped it away. He climbed out, muddy, blinded, shocked, and defeated. He looked at Elian with pure fear.
"You're a monster," Goran whispered.
"I'm an Architect," Elian corrected.
The VIP Box
Up in the stands, the mood was different.
"Disgraceful," General Ironwood grumbled. "No honor. No technique. Just gadgets and tricks."
"Effective, though," the Guild Master of Azure Abyss countered. "He dismantled a Level 8 Berserker without taking a scratch. That boy has a tactical mind."
Sera leaned against the wall, watching Elian leave the arena. She was toying with one of her daggers.
"He fights like a Vulture," she murmured to herself. "Scrappy. Dirty. But Vultures don't have that kind of tech."
She looked at the bracket. If she won her next two matches... and he won his... They would meet in the Semifinals.
"Don't die before I get to you, Ghost," she whispered.
The Shadow
Elian walked back to the waiting room. The other candidates parted like the Red Sea to let him pass. They looked at his pouches of grenades with wariness.
He sat down on his bench and exhaled. "One down. Four to go."
Alert, Kaelen's voice cut through his relief. Don't get comfortable. Look at the Medical Bay.
Elian frowned. He focused his [Blueprint Sight] through the walls toward the infirmary where the injured candidates were taken.
He saw the heat signatures of the doctors. He saw the wounded. And he saw one figure moving among them. The Acolyte of Decay.
The Cultist wasn't fighting in the tournament yet. He was wandering the halls. He stopped beside a stretcher holding a heavily injured warrior. He placed a hand on the warrior's chest. The warrior's aura flickered and dimmed. The Cultist's aura grew slightly brighter.
"He's draining them," Elian realized, disgusted. "He's feeding the bomb."
He is preparing for the finale, Kaelen said. We have to stop him. But we can't do it in the open.
"I need to get him alone," Elian planned. I need to manipulate the bracket.
He looked at the digital board. The Cultist was in Block C. Elian was in Block A. They wouldn't meet until the Finals.
"I have to win," Elian said, gripping his sword. I have to win the whole damn thing just to get close enough to kill him.