—

[Rank]

[1. Sylas Grimblade]

[2. Saliver Entrim]

—

[Since you are the first rank, you have the right of choice]

[Please select your Battle Arena]

—

A list of options flashed before Sylas. They felt endless, many of them just being slight variations on very similar options.

There were fields of ice, ones of greenery as far as the eyes could see, ones that were planted high in the skies, and others that were the direct opposite of that.

Without exaggeration, there were easily billions of options. It seemed ridiculous that anyone would take the time to create so many battlefields from scratch.

While it seemed more likely that they had taken the projections of real places and recreated them here, something about that felt off too, with how similar a lot of these were. They didn't have the same sheer variation that real-life ecosystems and locations would have.

Even so, Sylas went each all of them, one by one. His pupils darted around, his eyes dancing as he consumed as much information about each battlefield as he could.

But after the very first one, he realized something.

These weren't F-tier battlefields.

"I see. That's why."

This wasn't what the information the Weaver Guild and Fanelei had given him. They were doing this on purpose.

The billions upon billions of environments were definitely being randomly generated. They had seen enough of Sylas' abilities to know that if they gave him an F-tier battlefield to work with, Salivar would face the very same issues he already had.

Sylas would be too powerful on an F-tier battlefield. Even an E-tier battlefield would give him too many advantages.

All of these shapes and variations of the exact same battlefields were obscuring the originals. And even now, more were appearing.

No matter how fast Sylas went, he couldn't keep up with the creation of the battlefields. They didn't want him to find the original F-tier battlefields.

Sylas stopped, closing his eyes.

Without an F-tier battlefield to take unilateral control over, his odds of defeating Salivar plummeted from what was basically a 30/70 proposition in favor of the latter to not even 5%.

Whether it was his Rune Mastery, [Glassvolt Throne], or any one of his other abilities, they would be quite lacking in a higher-world scenario.

Sylas had only been able to so "easily" defeat the likes of Amende because they had fought on an E-tier battlefield. He had truly easily defeated Leia because they had been on an F-tier battlefield.

The situation would be very different, and he would have risked his life considerably more fighting them on a neutral battlefield.

Sylas' eyes snapped open, and his Will locked onto a choice—a sea of icy land with heavy snow falling from above. The glow of Aether was so real and tangible it seemed to have a delicate blue hue to it all, one that made one feel at peace when staring from afar, but would likely reap a life in person.

"D-tier," Sylas realized.

It would have to be good enough.

The world shook.

…

Sylas' gaze flickered, only to find himself standing on a floating ice shard moments later. The seas around it sloshed about, hitting against the thick ice only for its waves to shatter apart like glass falling to marble.

The ice shard—or maybe it was more accurate to call it an ice glacier—was so heavy it hardly budged at all.

Sylas exhaled a cold breath, his air hanging densely in the air. Fog pooled, and ice particles formed in the shadowy hues, sprinkling down in a faux hail.

Clenching his fists, Sylas' Will surged. Currents of emerald and gold pooled around him, the armor of a Scorpion Warlord taking shape.

His hair became a stark white, his skin paling, his eyes turning radiant shades of blue.

Slowly, the deep emerald and the deep royal blues fused into one, a Whale Armor layering atop a Scorpion Armor until a shimmering teal and sky-blue color formed, under-layments of gold forming silky strands over both.

Sylas clenched his fists.

Chi.

The E-tier Scorpion Warlord Armor formed over them both, an interconnected mesh of sky blue, deep violets, and gold layering atop one another.

Every action was cold and calculating, and seemingly more impossible than the last—even until the moment he stretched out a palm and the world shook.

His swirl of emerald and gold Will gripped the world with strength and menace, the vibrating presence of a Trident Will taking shape.

Chains rattled along his arm, his Madness Key dancing in the winds that kicked up around him.

He grabbed onto it, and the world fell into a sudden silence.

Standing there, he looked like an Emperor of the Seas, the commander of an era. The ice cracked beneath his feet, his aura forcing the glaciers to sway more than the waves alone ever could have.

"Are you finished?" Salivar spoke his first words since the very first round. Even now, his head of streaming blood remained shimmering and whole.

He took a step forward, his foot pressing against the ground so lightly it couldn't be heard at all—especially not with these howling winds around.

"It's not bad. Where are your stats at now? Probably around two million or so. If we factor in your Classes, your Skills, your Comprehensions… for an F-tier, being able to exhibit strength around five million stat points is truly impressive, especially given your lowly starting position. It's no wonder you're so arrogant.

"No, no. I'm sorry, I still haven't really factored in your Combat Matrix Index. I'm sure you can do more than just summon that Rune Armor Fusion, right? Let's double that just for the sake of fairness, hm? Do you think it's enough?"

A glow in Salivar's eyes was growing in their depths of crimson.

"I guess we'll see, hm?"

—

[Salivar Entrim (???)]

[Level: ???]

—

[Physical: 2,710,999]

[Mental: 3,110,999]

[Will: 3,110,999]

—

Salivar took a step forward and vanished. When he appeared again, his fist was driving through Sylas' gut.

Or so it seemed.

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