47th of Season of Air, 80th year of the 32nd cycle

  The wall gave one loud crack before Newt arrived at the scene. The longclaw had a bloody face and a pair of legs sticking out of its jaw as it slashed its sword-like claws once more against the reinforced palisade.

  The blow landed, then Newt’s glaive sliced the manabeast’s throat, and it toppled to the ground, disappearing as it did, along with Slickhorn’s remains. With two more minutes before the start of the next wave, Newt headed for the repair token, taking the long way through the jungle. He hoped he would find something useful, but the jungle appeared empty.

  With scant few seconds remaining, he waited for the next enemy to materialize.

  Damn, we lost Slickhorn, and I have more than ninety percent of my mana remaining. I can hold out until round twenty if I keep this pace, probably thirty if I stop detouring into the jungle. Yes, hopefully, I can manage another extra lane.

  ***

  “The event is proceeding much like the honorable grandmaster presiding over it has announced. Seven hundred and twenty teams of one or more have started the event, two hundred and fifty of which were the lone contestants, who had joined through the qualifiers.” A pleasant female voice spoke as if reading from a sheet.

  “Seventy-one team eliminated in the first round, a hundred and seven in the second, fifty-two in the third. Most of these were lone mageknights, but there were two small orders who fell as well. Then the longclaws made a huge escalation.”

  Sleek struggled not to fall asleep, Hardy made a better partner. His roughness and lack of charm made for a good foil. Meanwhile Northstar, with her calm voice and clinical analysis, choked the life out of their broadcast. That was what the association president had wanted after Hardy’s foolish outburst, though. Dullness, which wouldn’t rock the boat or offend any powerhouses in a moment of shock, which strangled someone’s stone-brain.

  Damn rockhead, Sleek silently cursed Hardy for making his life difficult before continuing the broadcast.

  “That’s right, Northstar. When the round started, close to a half the remaining teams had weaker links, people who would have already fallen had they been alone. Longclaws broke through their defenses, slaughtered the defenders, and while the number of teams which have failed is not all that shocking, a mere hundred and twenty-three, almost all teams, save for the top thirty have lost one or more members.”

  Sleek made his career out of reading boring lines of numbers, transforming them into something exciting. Part of his talent came from the fact that numbers excited him, especially numbers of sparkling crystals trickling into his pockets. Another portion of his talent came from the adopted persona and his airy nature, where, unlike Hardy, he never committed to anything. Under different circumstances, it was a weakness, but for an unbiased reader of numbers, such a trait made him a better professional.

  “The royals and the ten ducal houses are still present in full strength, as are seven of the independents and three large orders. But one of Explorer’s Gate’s teams, and an individual who has earned our special attention, isn’t doing that well.”

  Thankfully, Northstar picked up the speech.

  “They started off well,” she said, “sending the weakest member into the jungle while their lead combatant took on two lanes, the same tactic employed by all the major forces, but unlike major forces, Explorer’s Gate could only spare one person to comb the jungle.”

  Mid-sentence, Dreadwalkers appeared in the hundreds of projections Sleek and Northstar observed.

  “Well, that escalated quickly!” Sleek exclaimed before Northstar could steal his line. “From longclaws to their massive cousins in a single step — and half of them died before I finished that sentence. Royals and their dukes are really something else, aren’t they? Those are peak third realm dreads, strong enough to challenge fifth realm manabeasts, and so many of them died in a heartbeat.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  In a corner projection, Newt ran for the next lane, as did the majority of the participants Sleek watched out for. Explorer’s Gate was yesterday’s news. The day’s event preferred powerful solitary participants or well-rounded teams.

  “The Diamondsouls’ teams are completing their second line of defense,” Sleek shouted, doing his best to paint carving wood as the most interesting affair in the world. “Without spare flags for their spell seals, they are manually scribing their secondary defenses onto the walls.”

  “This event’s format favors them greatly. Their spell seals trapped the dreadwalkers and killed them in a matter of seconds, while nearly half the other teams’ strongholds are under attack now.”

  A multitude of projections displayed more or less identical scenes of dreadwalkers tearing the defenders to shreds. Those who had surrendered initiative and fought close to their fortresses died in droves, and the massive saurians attacked the gates, splintering them and stomping on the illusory villagers.

  Projections flickered and disappeared like bubbles as teams got eliminated. The seal scribe in charge of controlling them resized the remaining ones. Hundreds still floated in the air, but the clutter would soon clear.

  “Look at him burn the ground behind him! Explorer’s Gate’s Newstar Salamandra is rushing to his order’s third undefended lane. The Dreadwalker has torn away the wall’s reinforcements, aaand it’s dead, with Newstar rushing to repair the damage.”

  “The Thundertitans’ Steeldream Ultraraptor and Bravesoul Thundertitan have also slain their third dreadwalkers, but the Thundertitans’ situation is completely different from Explorer’s Gate’s. Their scouts have already found multiple caches with tar, pit traps, and additional villagers while their peak experts hold their fortresses.”

  Sleek found the topic boring, especially with the new wave starting. “The dreads’ rampage eliminated a hundred and twelve teams, and seventy are still trying to deal with them.”

  A pair of smaller saurians appeared across all screens.

  “An unexpected twist, the sixth wave is a pair of longclaws. And these are air attributed, so far, a hundred and twenty-five teams have fallen in the Dreadwalker wave, but who will survive this one?”

  ***

  Oblivious of how the outside world viewed his trial as a brutal sport and pastime, Newt hounded the second longclaw. Its strong air affinity made the monster freakishly fast, and it reached a third of the way to the fort before Newt caught up to it and slew it.

  Afraid he might miss the swift saurian, Newt blasted his way towards the fort at full power without regard for saving mana. He reached the adjacent lane in a single leap, happy that Flare and Twochains were still keeping up with protecting their own walls. Before the Blood Cult’s attack, Explorer’s Gate had better options than Redleaf and Slickhorn, but things being what they were, they had to make the best use of what they had available.

  I should’ve sent Slickhorn to roam the jungle too.

  His teammate’s senseless elimination irked Newt as he bisected the illusory longclaw’s head and dodged the other’s talons slashing at his torso.

  Newt executed the second threat just as twin booms echoed from Slickhorn’s lane. The beasts had landed six blows on the wall before Newt had arrived, and instead of facing him, they each struck the palisade one more time before perishing.

  The wall hung in tatters, but mere thirty seconds had passed since the start of the wave, and Newt rushed to the next lane, in which Twochains kept the two beasts at bay. Kusarigama made for a poor defensive weapon, but the man held long enough for Newt to sweep in from the flank and slaughter the monsters.

  Twochains shouted his thanks, but Newt ignored him and sprinted to see how Flare was doing. By the time he arrived, the lane was empty, Flare running through the jungle in an attempt to find anything useful.

  “Twochains!” Newt bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Stop blocking the beasts. Let them reach the wall and kill them while their backs are turned, then go to the repair token and repair the damage!”

  Twochains excelled at attack, not defense. Newt believed he should be able to defeat defenseless saurians before they destroyed the wall. That would buy them extra time and keep Twochains safe.

  With over two minutes remaining, Newt circled through the jungle, heading for the nearly destroyed wall’s repair stone while looking for something that could give his team an advantage.

  As Newt rushed through the impossibly dense shrubbery, he caught a glint of metal. The sight was artificial. In trees and shrubs so dense there were no direct rays of light for metal to reflect, so Newt swerved to the left where he found a pile of seven-foot-tall metal spikes.

  Newt waved his hand through them, and the items disappeared, providing Newt’s team with an unknown benefit.

  He sprinted onto the lane and repaired the gate just before three longclaws appeared. With a sweep of his blade, Newt slew one, but the remaining two bolted, rushing towards the fortress. By the time Newt slew the other two, the fortress was less than six hundred yards away.

  Racing to the next lane, Newt crushed the longclaws, but not before the last one landed a hit on the wall. Another three booms sounded, and Newt flew towards them across the fort without care for his dwindling mana reserve. He had more than half remaining, and the way things were going, the challenge would end long before he exhausted himself.

  Newt landed in the middle of the longclaws with the wall reduced to ruined wood, one hit away from breaking. He slew one longclaw, roasted another’s head with a ball of flame, but the third one shattered the palisade, and the cowering villagers started screaming.