The tension on the ship had reached an unbearable limit.
With the collapse of the structure, the pressure between the participants overflowed. It was no longer about winning — it was about surviving.
Experienced mages, warriors trained since childhood, and prodigies from noble bloodlines turned on each other without hesitation. Like sharks drawn to the scent of blood, the strongest began brutally eliminating the weakest — pushing, striking, killing to reduce the competition.
A boy from the Island of Salmas conjured wind spears that pierced the chest of a fallen ally. A girl with white hair used enchanted threads to behead three opponents at once — only to be crushed seconds later by a man with black eyes who summoned a flaming stone hammer.
It was a bloodbath.
Amid the chaos, colossal tentacles emerged from the depths — black, pulsating, wrapped in a thick red liquid that burned like acid. Wherever they touched the hull, the ship melted like wax. Not even enchanted wood could withstand it. Every inch given brought more bodies to the deep.
At the center of the collapsing platform, Diaz Enker fought like a man possessed.
His sword vibrated with each impact — firm, precise, brutal strikes. Every tentacle that approached was slashed apart with fury. The red liquid splashed, eating away at the ground, burning his shoulder. But he didn't stop.
— DAMN IT!!! — he shouted in rage, slashing another tentacle that had nearly split him in half.
But while he fought the beast...
...others flew toward victory.
At the top of the wreckage, Aron Vermelion stomped his foot with runic fury. The seal beneath him glowed bright red.
— Runic Manifestation: Blood Eagle!
Living veins sprouted from his skin, extending outward. The coagulated blood shaped itself into a colossal creature — an eagle with a four-meter wingspan, wings sharp as blades.
Aron leapt onto it. The creature took flight, slicing through the sky with ferocity.
One of the sea creature's tentacles tried to grab him — but the eagle spun in the air, cutting through the black flesh like butter. Blood and viscera spiraled over the sea.
Above, Aron screamed like a king crowned in blood.
Below, Vlad Vince watched the scene with clenched teeth.
— Damn showman... — he growled, activating his mystical glove.
The water around him rose like obedient arms.
— Manifestation: Water Horse!
The liquid mass took the form of a steed made of pure magic, neighing like thunder. Vlad mounted it and, with a furious leap, shot toward the horizon, piercing through the tentacles like a legendary warrior. Each strike from his glove created shockwaves that cleared a path in the sea.
— LET'S SEE IF YOU CAN KEEP UP, DIAZ ENKER! HAAA!
In the corner, Alkan Vir remained still... until the very last second.
Then, his body began to dissolve. Ash covered his skin, his hair, his clothes. And in a whisper of wind, he vanished — carried like living dust, floating toward the Arena.
Meanwhile, Diaz was attacked by three tentacles at once. He cut one, two — but the third grabbed his ankle. Another struck his arm with brutal force, sending his sword flying.
— I have to get out of here! I have to... use my Primordial Force! Even if I don't understand how it works! — he thought, desperate.
But he hesitated for a second.
And in that second... the tentacles wrapped around him like hungry snakes.
— AGHHH! — he was dragged into the depths, spinning violently, sinking along with debris and corpses.
On the nobles' ship, El Dourado and his entourage watched everything through the runic mirrors.
— Looks like Diaz Enker only has brute strength... — he commented with disdain, drinking from his goblet of golden wine.
Asla, at his side, clenched her fist against the railing of the floating balcony.
But instead of anger... her eyes sparkled.
— Come on, my lord... even without understanding your Primordial Force... even without knowing the space-time that rests in your blood... you MUST awaken it now.
Her gaze was hungry.
— Because when you rise from these depths, Diaz... the world will tremble.
Depths of the Runic Sea
The darkness beneath the surface was dense, suffocating. The tentacles wrapped around Diaz Enker like living chains, dragging him deeper and deeper into the abyss. The water grew colder, thicker — as if the sea had a will of its own.
His lungs burned. His muscles screamed.
But nothing hurt more than what was tearing through his mind.
The voice.
That damned voice.
— "You should never have been born."
— "Weak. Pathetic. A mistake..."
— "You only bring shame to that name."
The image of his father, Artur Gloters XIV, rose in his mind — eyes of steel, an expressionless face, a cruel sentence.
Then came his brothers.
— "You're not a real Gloters."
— "How do you expect to represent the bloodline if you can't even properly wield magic?"
Contempt. Isolation. Humiliation.
Amid the bubbles and crushing pressure, Diaz screamed.
But only the sea listened.
Until something lit up in his mind.
The image of Aron Vermelion — his blood eagle flying with majesty, defying the sky and the gods, cutting through monsters with its wings.
The blood, channeled with precision, molded with control.
It wasn't just power.
It was structure. It was flow. It was runic logic.
And Diaz saw it.
"It's not about copying... it's about understanding the behavior of magical flow. Every ability is born from the combination of intention, source, and form."
He had never been formally trained.
But he had raw talent. Instinctive.
A denied gift — but present.
And now, it was awakening.
The currents of the sea revealed the creature at the bottom:
A colossal beast, chained by ancient magic.
Abyssal eyes stared at Diaz in silence — as if testing his soul.
Diaz didn't look away.
Above him, thousands of liters of water and chaos away, pieces of the ship floated. The sky, distant, looked like an impossible dream.
Then he whispered:
— "Runic Manifestation... Position Swap."
Surface — Seconds Later
BOOM!
A purple flash tore through the ocean. Water exploded in all directions.
Like lightning from the abyss, Diaz burst to the surface, gasping, floating on one of the wreckage pieces — exactly where his vision had locked in the moment of the spell.
Runes spiraled around his left arm, freshly carved by the energy of dimensional exchange.
His core pulsed in his chest.
His body dripped, but his eyes... shone with clarity.
On the ship, the nobles stood up abruptly.
Asla nearly dropped her goblet.
— "He... did it...!" — she whispered, eyes wide, lips trembling between surprise and fascination.
El Dourado let out an impressed whistle, rising with a slow chuckle.
— "HAAA HAAA... Well, well... looks like he's still in the game! Let's head to the arena, gentlemen!"
The nobles murmured, shocked.
Analia Vir narrowed her eyes, hiding her surprise.
Even Klaud Vince lost his proud posture for a second, frowning.
But the race was not yet over.
Ahead, those who had advanced early were facing brutal trials.
Aron was still flying atop his eagle, surrounded by sea monsters with bat wings and ethereal claws.
He cut through them with ease, eyes half-closed.
When he saw Diaz emerge, he merely raised an eyebrow.
— "He learned... just by watching?" — he thought.
And returned to the fight, impassive.
Farther ahead, Vlad Vince fought multi-headed sea serpents, each head spewing elemental venom. His runic glove glowed, but he gritted his teeth.
— "Damn! This glove is draining my flow too fast... And that Diaz... comes back with an absurd ability?!"
Further on, Alkan Vir, still in his floating ash form, dueled against an entity made of vapor and flesh.
It moved like liquid, screamed like a human.
Alkan smiled slightly, as his fragments sliced the creature from the inside out.
But they all noticed.
Diaz was advancing. Fast. Unstoppable.
Leaping from fragment to fragment, he began to turn his new ability into an absolute weapon.
Position Swap. Runic Manifestation.
Every fallen body in the sea — every piece of debris, every defeated enemy — became a marker.
He vanished from one point and reappeared meters ahead, always in motion, each time closer to the floating arena.
Until the sea opened again.
Three monsters emerged.
Marine creatures with semi-human forms, side mouths, and eyes covering their entire heads. Bone claws. Chests marked with runes.
Aberrations born from ancient pacts.
Diaz didn't stop.
One of them charged with hurricane force — Diaz swapped places with the shadow of a corpse behind the creature, emerging with his sword engulfed in energy, runic flow channeled in a straight line.
He sliced the monster from top to bottom.
The second tried to grab him — he swapped with a rock to the left, reappeared spinning with brute force, and cut the creature's leg, which screamed with a distorted double voice.
The third was the largest. But Diaz already understood the behavior of space around him.
He channeled the magic directly into his blade, which shone like a star about to collide with the world.
— "You're just another wall between me... and the top."
Three consecutive swaps.
One vertical strike.
Explosion.
The monster shattered into black fragments, as if it had never existed.
Diaz dropped to his knees, sweating, gasping — but the arena was there. Right in front of him.
And he entered.
The first.
Galvora Arena
The gate opened like the mouth of a divine beast.
Diaz Enker stepped through.
In the clouds, living runes formed:
"First Participant to Reach the Arena: DIAZ ENKER"
In the hearts of the others... something ignited.
Envy. Rage. Pressure.
Aron glanced sideways, for the first time showing a shadow of genuine attention.
Vlad clenched his fists, veins bulging.
Alkan paused his attack for a second.
— "Interesting..." — he murmured.
The race wasn't over.
But the world now knew:
Diaz Enker... came to win.
The arena was colossal — a dome of enchanted stone, floating runes spiraling above.
Ethereal stands held aloft by magic.
Combat platforms scattered like islands in a suspended ocean.
The roar of the sea below still echoed.
But inside... the air was dense. Solemn. Made to crown legends — or destroy them.
In the highest section of the stands, the Lords of Marlen watched.
All wore the same expression: discomfort.
El Dourado, standing in the imperial balcony, raised a chalice of runic wine.
Around him, the golden entourage gleamed under the enchanted sun — arrogant nobles, but now... tense.
— "Diaz Enker... you will not ruin my plans." — Klaud Vince muttered, eyes narrow, voice low.
The others remained silent. But their fingers dug into the portable throne, tense as springs.
Analia Vir leaned back. Her expression was cold, but her eyes measured Diaz as one reassessing a dangerous problem.
Sara Vir smiled subtly, clearly impressed.
And then, as if the very structure felt the shift, El Dourado spoke with his thunderous voice:
— "HAAA HAAA... Bravo! Bravo! Diaz Enker... the first man to set foot in the arena! What a delicious surprise!"
His voice echoed off the enchanted walls.
He extended his arm, theatrical:
— "And for being the first... he shall have the honor of witnessing something many may never see. He shall meet... his potential bride!"
The words fell like stones.
Diaz frowned.
He hadn't expected this.
Not now.
Not so soon.
El Dourado smiled.
He snapped his fingers.
Magical bells rang out.
The golden curtains at the back of the noble balcony opened slowly...
And from the enchanted marble halls, she emerged.
Sofia Kalter
Her reddish-brown hair danced with the arena's runic wind, like leaves swept by a celestial gale.
Every step was measured, light, dignified.
Her eyes — emerald green — did not waver.
They were as deep as ancient forests... and as sharp as obsidian blades.
Pale skin. Lips of soft crimson.
A presence that swayed between innocence and lethal nobility.
Absolute silence.
Then, murmurs.
— "By the gods..."
— "She's a goddess..."
— "El Dourado has a daughter like that?!"
Even Analia Vir, queen of coldness, discreetly widened her eyes.
Sara Vir smiled with restrained respect.
Arlin Vir, by contrast, clenched his fist so tightly his nails pierced his skin. "If I had known she was a fairy, it would've been me in Alkan's place..."
The nobles whispered praises. Toasts. Congratulations.
But no one was more shaken than Diaz.
His heart raced.
His eyes widened.
Sweat trickled down his face.
Because on that face...
there was a cursed memory.
Liah Rhenstar.
His ex-fiancée.
The one he saw only once — but who never left his mind.
The one who still believes he's dead.
Sofia Kalter was older now.
But the features were there.
The large, intense eyes.
The shape of the face.
The lips — firm, yet delicate.
The proud posture.
The natural magnetism.
The difference?
Liah had silver hair — strands of moonlight.
Sofia had hair like burning autumn.
But the impact...
was like a punch to the gut.
Diaz took a step back, eyes locked on her.
— "This can't be..." — he murmured.
His chest tightened.
The world seemed to spin.
Sofia stopped beside her father, and looked straight at him.
For a second, their eyes met.
And she... smiled.
But it was an enigmatic smile.
Almost as if she knew him.
Diaz froze.
July, beside El Dourado, watched everything closely.
A mysterious smile formed on his lips.
— "So... Sofia smiled at him..." — he thought.
El Dourado, laughing heartily, raised his arms:
— "Ladies... and gentlemen! A round of applause for the young mage!"
The crowd erupted in reactions, applause, murmurs.
But Diaz no longer heard anything.
He only saw her face.
Only felt that old wound open once again.
And he knew just one thing:
He had to forget.
No matter what.