Chapter 107: Royal Retaliation
The competitor tunnel shook with noise.
Even fifty meters underground, the roar of a hundred thousand fans was deafening. The sound bounced off the walls and followed Team Soup like a living thing, chanting their name over and over.
"TEAM SOUP! TEAM SOUP! TEAM SOUP!"
Renna was skipping.
Her bow bounced on her back as she hopped down the tunnel, her braids flying behind her.
"Did you see them fly?!" she shouted over the noise. "They looked like bowling pins! Kaelen went first and then the big armored guys just EXPLODED and then the sneaky ones tried to run but the fire caught them anyway! I’ve never seen anything like it!"
Lyra walked next to Holden. She looked calm, but her eyes were much warmer than before. She kept glancing at him sideways, like she was seeing him for the first time.
High above the arena, invisible from the tunnel but easy to imagine, Prince Oscar was losing his mind.
"KILL HIM!" The prince’s screech had been picked up by the arena microphones before the broadcast cut to commercial. "DISQUALIFY HIM! THAT’S CHEATING! HE’S CHEATING! SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!"
The tantrum of a spoiled child who had never been told no.
Holden smiled.
They walked out of the tunnel into the competitor staging area. Staff members stared at them with wide eyes. Other teams who had been eliminated earlier pressed against the walls, whispering.
Nobody tried to talk to them. Nobody got in their way.
Team Soup walked back to the Competitor Village like they owned the city.
Maeve was waiting in the villa’s main room.
She was sitting at the table with her tablet in front of her, six different screens projected around her in a halo of blue light. Her glasses reflected the data as it scrolled past. She didn’t look up when they entered.
"Sit down," she said.
The tone wiped the smiles off their faces.
Renna stopped skipping. Emric straightened up. Lyra’s hand drifted toward her spear out of pure instinct.
"What is it?" Holden asked, dropping onto the couch.
Maeve pushed her glasses up. "I hacked the arena’s digital scheduling board about twenty minutes ago. The Royals just updated tomorrow’s bracket."
She tapped her tablet. A holographic bracket appeared above the table. It showed the remaining teams, their paths mapped out in neat lines.
Team Soup’s name sat at the bottom. Above it, connected by a single line, was a name written in dark red text.
"Blood-Iron Academy," Emric read aloud. His face went pale.
"You know them?" Lyra asked.
"Everyone knows them," Emric said quietly. "Blood-Iron Academy is a third-year powerhouse from the northern territories. Their team consists entirely of heavy assault specialists. Each member is a Rank 2 cultivator, averaging 3-Star. They are infamous for a specific fighting style."
He paused, his jaw tight.
"They don’t just win matches. They deliberately target joints, spines, and meridians. In the last regional tournament, four of their five opponents required emergency medical intervention. Two of them will never cultivate again."
The room went quiet.
"They’re not here to win," Maeve said flatly. "They’re here to cripple us. The Royals specifically paired us with them because they know what Blood-Iron does."
Renna’s hand found her bow strap. "So it’s another trap."
"It’s a different kind of trap," Holden said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The first one was political. This one is physical. They can’t rig the arena without people noticing, so they rigged the bracket instead."
"What do we do?" Lyra asked.
Holden looked at his team. Emric was running calculations behind his eyes, probably trying to find a mathematical solution to an unsolvable problem. Renna was gripping her bow like a lifeline. Lyra was calm on the surface, but her fingers were tense.
"We go to sleep," Holden said.
"Sleep?" Renna repeated.
"Tomorrow’s fight is tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, you rest. Your body needs it, your mind needs it, and panicking tonight won’t help you fight better in the morning."
"But—" Emric started.
"Emric. Trust me."
The tactical nerd closed his mouth. He pushed his glasses up, nodded once, and headed for his room.
Renna followed, still looking uneasy.
Lyra lingered for a moment. She looked at Holden with her sharp blue eyes.
"You have a plan," she said. It wasn’t a question.
"I’m working on it."
"Don’t do anything stupid."
"No promises."
She almost smiled. Then she turned and walked to her room.
Maeve was the last one left. She closed her tablet screens and stood up.
"You’re going to that weird training place again, aren’t you?"
"How did you—"
"You’re making that face again. The one where you stop talking and stare at nothing." She picked up her tablet and walked to the door. "I’ll keep watch outside. Don’t stay in there too long."
"You’re the best."
"I know."
She left.
Holden went to his room, locked the door, and drew the curtains. He sat on the floor and focused his mind.
The System responded instantly.
A gold screen flickered in his vision.
[Instanced Dungeon: Available]
[Note: Difficulty has been auto-adjusted to match host’s recent combat performance.]
Auto-adjusted.
Holden raised an eyebrow. He generated the portal.
Whoosh!
The blue column of light erupted from the floor, brighter than before. The light pulsed with an orange tint that hadn’t been there yesterday.
Holden stood and stepped through.
The bedroom vanished.
The floating sky platforms were gone.
Holden stood on a narrow ledge of black volcanic rock. Above him, there was no sky. Just a swirling ceiling of dark gray smoke and ash. Below him, a lake of glowing orange lava churned and bubbled, sending waves of heat rolling up the cliff face.
The air was heavy and hot. Every breath felt like inhaling hot soup.
The ground trembled.
From the lava lake, something rose.
A figure emerged slowly, dripping with molten rock. It was massive. Three meters tall, encased in blackened phantom armor that glowed orange at the seams. A helmet covered its faceless head, shaped like a snarling demon.
In one hand, it carried a spear the size of a telephone pole, the tip glowing white-hot.
And beneath it, climbing out of the lava was a beast. An armored phantom charger, its flanks protected by plates of forged ghost-iron, its eyes burning like twin furnaces.
[Wave 1 Spawned: Phantom Warlord (Rank 2, 8-Star)]
[Mount: Phantom Armored Charger (Rank 2, 6-Star)]
[Objective: Eliminate all targets]
[Warning: Enemy power level exceeds host’s base stats. Caution advised.]
[Note: Phantom Mounts are bound to their summoner. Eliminating the summoner destroys the mount.]
Eight-Star.
Three full stars above Holden’s hidden 5-Star rank. This wasn’t a sparring partner anymore.
This was a boss.
The Warlord climbed fully onto its beast, settled into a riding position, and lowered its spear toward Holden.
The lava lake surged.
Holden summoned his Star-Forged Sword from his inventory and smirked.
"Good."