Supreme Swordfiend

Drawing closer to the tent, Leon took in its design.

A single pole with stretches of fabric tied to the top, each filigree-adorned bolt seeking to outstrip the last in garish ostentation, their position secured by clean white marble slabs, the immaculate rock holding the fluttering cloth in place.

Each one placed deliberately, to create a luxurious canopy, shielding any occupant from the sun’s glare. The tent itself was otherwise empty, save for five high-backed mahogany chairs, each fitted with royal purple cushions, positioned to overlook the pit a short distance away.

His guide gestured for Leon to take a seat, the swordsman choosing to sit in the central chair. The choice felt right. Taking any other seat would set the wrong impression- one of weakness. The cushions were plush, as expected, though emanated a comfortable chill that covered his whole body.

Thanks to all the fire-breathing dinosaurs, Leon hadn’t thought about the more mundane applications of magic, like turning a cushion into a personal air conditioner.

The gaps between the five chairs allowed his strange guide to take up a position at Leon’s side, visible in his peripheral vision even while he shifted his focus to the pit.

Shaped not by the work of human hands, the pit was a natural formation, twisted to serve the System’s purposes. Steel portcullises were built into the compacted sandstone walls, veins of stone running until they met thick iron reinforcements.

Grates installed on the floor, their purpose only revealed once Leon noted the unnaturally dark sands. The pit had been flooded before, its purpose only becoming totally clear as the swordsman studied the ramshackle wooden towers built within.

Reaching only a quarter of the way up the pit, the pit’s architects had spaced the towers equidistantly, a set of rope bridges connecting them together. While the ropes were still in good condition, the towers themselves weren’t. Entire sections of wood smouldered on some, the ladders to allow entry hacked off on others and one poor tower had been toppled, a spike of sand having pierced through a support.

The pit- or more accurately, the arena- had seen combat before, arrows and broken spears littering the grounds, bloodstains and severed limbs, a common sight.

The stranger noticed this, its arm protruding, a wave of mana washing over the arena, cleansing it. The sands returned to their dry state, the detritus of combat washed away and the towers once again pristine, though no less shoddy in construction.

Inclining its head once more, the stranger spoke.

“Forgive this lowly one for departing so soon- the remaining honoured ones have arrived. This one must fetch them here before the selection can begin. Excuse this lowly one.”

It was beyond Leon’s duties or desires to grant the creature leave- it could do as it liked.

With a blur, it vanished, sending shivers down his spine.

Taking a breath, Leon began absorbing regular unaspected mana. While it would produce a lesser effect compared to using water mana, not having access to Ebb and Flow could be deadly.

What felt like seconds, but must have been minutes later, the stranger returned, an eclectic band in tow.

A woman entered as the head of the pack, stepping in time with the white-robed alien, wearing a form-fitting crimson dress, accented with gold trim, contrasting against her pale skin.

A pair of golden earrings adorned her, each one inlaid with a glistening ruby, the overhead sun’s rays catching the gemstones in such a way that they gleamed.

Her hazel eyes affixed on Leon and he met her gaze, her flowing scarlet hair unbound, flowing in waves down her back, framing her picturesque features perfectly.

There was something about her that intrigued Leon, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it might be, aside from her attractive appearance.

Maybe it was the fact she was the first well-presented woman Leon had seen in nearly a week, maybe it was the barest hint of cleavage her dress exposed or maybe it was that look in her eye, the one of recognition even though he’d never met her before.

All of that she ruined as she spoke.

“Servant! Another sits upon my throne! Remove him at once!”

The alien servant answered with a new emotion tinging its words, one Leon was near certain of being faux contrition.

“Apologies honoured one. The claiming of the first seat is a right offered to the strongest. This lowly one would normally propose the honoured one offer a challenge for the seat, were fights among the honoured not grounds for immediate expulsion from the selection. This one offers a most humble and sincere apology for failing the honoured one”

Leon felt he now had a grasp on the alien’s character- obsequious and fawning to an irritating degree, though not above showing petty favouritism.

Its values aligned with every other being from the Myriad Worlds he’d interacted with- the powerful are to be obeyed as they make the rules, the weak disregarded or disdained at one’s discretion.

The woman either didn’t notice the falsity in the being’s tone or didn’t care. Leon inspected her, withholding the use of his bloodline for now.

While a string of victories had brought his confidence to new heights, Leon felt he was growing more adept at controlling any emotional reactions, recognising that in a place like this, acting rashly could spell his doom.

Plus, anyone worthy of reaching this place had strength worth respecting- while Leon disdained taking care of weaklings, forging friendships among his relative equals had benefits, though the payoffs would be contingent on returning to Earth.

While Leon went over his game plan, the woman answered the creature, her arrogant tone utterly unaffected by the setback she’d faced.

“Barely acceptable! You three shall wait for I, genius mage Octavia Caesar, to choose an appropriate seat!”

It was as she crossed Leon’s path, glaring daggers all the while, that his [Sealed Fiend Eyes] finally spat out a Class and Level.

“Level One Volcanic Eruption Pyromancer- Legendary Class.

Aggregate Level- Level Twenty-Six.”

The addition of rarity information was new, his skill revealing more information as promised, the revelation that the woman had an equal aggregate level to him made Leon’s sword hand twitch, though he knew that her stat gain per level must have been lower otherwise she would have been ranked as stronger than him.

Despite her overbearing attitude, a Legendary Class holder would be someone worth befriending- or at least keeping on his good side. Leon reassured himself that this decision was based entirely on the cold logic of costs and gains- her appearance didn’t factor into it.

As Octavia flounced into the seat on Leon’s right, she used one hand as a support for her head, resting her chin upon her knuckles as she studied the arena, the other placed to her side, slender fingers lightly touching her temples, a soft wall declaring her disinterest in conversing with him.

The swordsman turned his attention back to the remaining humans.

A giant of a man was next to enter, easily seven feet tall, dark beard thick and braided, a long-handled double-headed battle axe on his back, chest bare, showcasing defined muscles.

He looked as bored as Leon felt, his face an impassive mask, marred by a pair of ugly cuts along the sides of his mouth, making it appear as though the man was always smiling.

Wearing only a warrior’s set of faulds for armour, alongside a shredded pair of cargo trousers, Leon felt it redundant to even examine the man.

A [Berserker] or [Barbarian] of some flavour. Still, he affixed the man with a stare if only for the sake of passing the time.

“Level One Natural Berserker- Rare Class

Aggregate Level- Twenty-Seven

This user bears an inactive [Gaian Fury] bloodline. Consumption will loosen user’s bloodline seal by sixteen per cent.”

At once Leon’s predatory instincts kicked in, his own bloodline locking on to the berserker, causing the inexpressive man to break out in a cold sweat.

Octavia even deigned to shift her attention from the pit, her eyes lighting up as she felt Leon’s blood stir.

Thankfully, an act of intimidation didn’t seem to be worthy of expulsion. Reigning his bloodline in after a moment, Leon spoke.

“Forgive me for that little outburst- you have something that caught my eye is all. That a labrys on your back?”

After a pregnant pause, the man answered, still shocked at the bloodthirsty aura the relaxed young man had used.

“Aye- shame, since I’m no Greek. Woulda taken a proper highland axe over this boyo any day, even a Danish one’d do. Needs must, eh?”

“I hear that- haven’t found a sword I really liked since I got here.”

Taking a seat on Leon’s left, the giant eyed him curiously, perhaps expecting further aggression. With none forthcoming, he offered a scarred palm to Leon.

“Name’s Finlay, Finlay MacPherson. Pleasure ta meet ya pal.”

Accepting the man’s handshake, Leon was surprised to not feel any attempt to crush his hand from the larger man, a sensation he’d found all too common when two men wanted to establish a pecking order.

A smarter man than his dress sense implied- though a high standard of both brain and brawn was a given for those who had thrived in the Tutorial.

“Leon Knox. The pleasure’s mine Finlay.”

Both men shifted their focus to the fourth member of their little group as she entered.

A slip of a woman with tan skin, her curly black hair visible despite a hood obscuring her face from view. Unlike Octavia, she dressed in a plain, unadorned black robe, one that obscured much of her figure, her posture stooped and low, body language closed off and defensive.

She carried a pendant in her hands, fidgeting with it as she walked. Cast in silver metal, in the shape of a four-pointed star, the pendant held a mass of visible mana which was ominously swirling in the centre, visible through a glass panel, a deep blue verging on black vortex spinning endlessly.

Pale green eyes peeked out from beneath the baggy robe, surveying the room for a seat, settling on the one beside Octavia. She moved quickly to claim it, though not quick enough to evade an inspection from Leon.

“Level Five Necromancer Adept- Uncommon Class

Aggregate Level- Thirty”

That explained the skittish nature- a necromancer wasn’t exactly a noble and upright Class, she must have assumed it would invite scorn should it have been revealed to a group of strangers.

Leon wondered how she’d attained it- then again, it seemed everyone here had their own lucky encounters that had propelled them beyond the common rabble.

Perhaps the information would prove useful, should he need to deal with the woman, though Leon doubted it would come to blows.

The last member of their little group entered clad in leather armour, a cloak of common make on his back, practical and worn leather armour, a bow and a quiver alongside a pair of curved knives.

A hard, scarred face, clean shaven with short cropped hair. Not quite handsome, perhaps unconventionally attractive? The man’s face was too angular, too sharp, and Leon was no expert on what appealed to the female gaze.

He held himself with confidence, despite the implication that he was the weakest of the five, his hands still at his waist where he kept his knives, a certain jittery distrust clear to see on his face from the way he assessed the room, searching for exits, analysing the four threats seated before him.

Leon approved- as the weakest among them, this response was only appropriate.

Taking the last seat with a nod to Leon, the swordsman’s examination revealed the man’s class.

“Level Twenty Hunter- Common Class

Aggregate Level- Thirty”

A much more plain description- still, to have survived five days and still have a viable instance implied a certain level of strength. Though this hunter clearly didn’t enjoy the same advantages Leon did, he felt the man deserving of the same respect as any of the others.

Their alien friend stepped up as the hunter took his seat, bowing to each of them individually before speaking.

“Welcome honoured ones- now that all the honoured are together as one, this lowly one shall explain the rules of the selection.”