RISE OF THE HOLY DEMONIC GOD Chapter 149 — The Round Where Eyes Decide

[15th June]

The sixth day of the tournant arrived with the capital still buzzing.

The excitent hadn't faded.

If anything, it had matured.

People no longer cheered blindly. They watched carefully now, weighing every movent, every technique, every flaw.

So battles stood out more than others, reigniting the crowd again and again.

It all began with Rey and Aric's clash.

Then ca the elental prodigies.

Then, there were a few monster-like contestants who had yet to be pushed to their limits.

Each day added fuel to the fire.

Rounds Three and Four passed quietly for Rey.

His opponents were competent. Skilled. Slightly above average.

But not monsters.

Each was defeated cleanly, without spectacle, without drawing unnecessary attention.

And that was exactly how Rey wanted it.

The first battle's fa hadn't been his choice.

But losing to protect his anonymity had never been an option.

Winning was mandatory.

Now, though, the noise around his na had finally begun to die down.

By the fourth round, even when he stepped onto the field, the applause was lukewarm.

No roars.

No gasps.

And that was fine.

By then, the tournant had thinned dramatically.

Out of tens of thousands, only around 1,800 contestants remained.

Four hundred and fifty per section.

The weak were gone.

The lucky were gone.

Only those with real strength were left standing.

New stars were rising in every section, pulling attention away from past battles.

Rey blended back into the mass.

And he intended to stay that way.

But today was different.

Today marked the beginning of the Fifth Round.

And unlike before, the host had left everyone with a warning.

No rules were explained.

No format revealed.

Only a single sentence spoken with deliberate weight.

'A special condition will be announced.'

That alone was enough to make the capital uneasy.

Rey woke up early.

Very early.

He moved into the underground training room and began warming his body, carefully cycling through controlled stances.

Not pushing.

Not rushing.

Today wasn't the day to overdo it.

'Please don't let it be rged sections…' he thought as he stretched.

'Or random cross-section matchups.'

His own section was manageable.

The others?

Not so much.

There were people out there he didn't want to face yet.

After five full sets, he stopped.

Pushing further would only dull his edge.

He left the underground room and headed upstairs, checking first to make sure Hosric wasn't around.

Luckily, the house was quiet.

He showered quickly, letting the warm water calm his thoughts.

Minutes later, he stepped out, dressed and composed.

The black overcoat his uncle had given him settled naturally over his shoulders.

A few scratches marred its surface.

Remnants of earlier rounds.

One of his recent opponents, a spear user, had managed to slip past his arrows while Rey was holding back.

It had been a reminder.

Strength wasn't just about power.

It was about control.

He slung his bow and quiver onto his back.

His arrow count was still high. Only a dozen or so had been lost.

He wasn't wasteful.

Raining arrows wasn't his style.

He checked his dagger and concealed it properly.

Only after confirming everything did he head downstairs.

Hosric was already there.

Seated calmly at the table.Tea in hand.

"Oh," Hosric said with a faint smile.

"Looks like I wasn't wrong to co early. You're aware of today's announcent too, I assu."

"Good morning, Uncle," Rey replied as he sat down.

"Yes. That's why I didn't want to be late."

He hesitated, then asked, "Do you know anything about what's coming?"

Hosric shook his head.

"No. Only the Dukes' family and the instructors know."

He took another sip.

"But don't worry. With your strength, getting into the university shouldn't be a problem."

The butler placed Rey's breakfast in front of him.

He began eating.

"Where's Fenlor?" Rey asked casually.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Hosric's fingers tightened against the table.

"Eat first," he said sharply.

"And yes. He's riding with a friend. He hangs around with his friends more than with his father."

Rey noticed it then.

A faint crack in the table's handle.

A shallow hand imprint pressed into the wood.

His throat tightened.

'He's angry…'

Hosric's emotions were volatile when family was involved.

Rey wisely said nothing more.

He finished his al in silence.

Soon after, they left the house together.

Hosric drove.

Fast.

Too fast.

Rey's heart jumped more than once as the car sped through the streets.

He chose not to comnt.

'This isn't about ,' he realised.

'It's about Fenlor.'

The stadium lood ahead.

And with it—

A round shrouded in mystery.

A pressure that hadn't existed before.

Sothing was about to change.

And every remaining contestant could feel it.

After arriving at the stadium, Rey separated from Hosric once again, quietly declining the invitation to join him in the Noble gallery.

By now, Hosric had stopped insisting.

He already had his suspicions, and pushing the matter further would only worsen things, even if reality differed from his assumptions.

Rey entered the main grounds, where a large crowd had already gathered.

Everyone had arrived early today.

All of them wanted to witness whatever major announcent was about to shake the tournant.

Most contestants wore tense expressions, anxiety clearly written on their faces.

Only a handful stood calmly, supported by confidence in their own strength.

As expected, the Host was already present.

The man who never appeared before 9:30 was standing on the platform even before 9:00 sharp.

That alone unsettled the crowd.

After a few more minutes of uneasy waiting, movent rippled through the stadium.

The Duke appeared in his stand.

His gaze swept across the crowd and contestants alike.

The mont Rey felt that cold, suffocating pressure linger over him, he instinctively looked up.

For a brief second, their eyes aligned.

The Duke's gaze paused on him… then moved away.

Rey exhaled quietly.

He was certain now.

The Duke had noticed him before. More than once.

'Maybe it's because of my battles,' Rey thought.

He couldn't imagine any other reason for soone of that stature to pay attention to him.

The Host finally raised his microphone.

"Hello, my fellow contestants," he announced, his voice echoing throughout the stadium.

"We've walked a long path in just a few days. Out of twenty-eight thousand participants, fewer than two thousand of you remain."

A pause.

"Quite a brutal cutoff, wouldn't you say?"

Murmurs spread instantly.

"As you know, each section now holds roughly four hundred and fifty contestants," the Host continued."

And unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of ti to fully enjoy every match you've been putting on."

His tone shifted.

"So today's elimination round will include a small… adjustnt."

The stadium fell silent.

"Instead of two hundred and twenty-five contestants advancing from each section, only two hundred will move forward."

A beat.

"Yes, you heard that correctly."

Gasps erupted.

"From the winners of each section today, twenty-five contestants will still be eliminated."

Shock rippled through both contestants and spectators.

"This elimination will not be random," the Host added calmly.

"Our judges will conduct a precise evaluation of every match. Performance, damage dealt, battle sense, control, and overall execution will all be considered."

"From that evaluation, only two hundred contestants per section will advance, leaving us with eight hundred total participants."

The tension thickened.

"And secondly," he continued, "tomorrow, Rounds Six and Seven will be conducted back-to-back."

A wave of disbelief swept through the stadium.

"By the end of tomorrow, we will determine the Top Two Hundred contestants of this tournant."

The uproar was imdiate.

"Now," the Host concluded, raising his microphone,

"without wasting any more ti, let us begin the Fifth Round. Section A contestants, prepare yourselves."

"Let the wills of the young clash… and shine like stars."

The stadium exploded into chaos.

"What—!?"

Even the Noble gallery erupted in disbelief.

Such rapid progression could heavily affect results.

Contestants stood frozen, shock and fear clear on their faces.

Except for a few.

Rey was one of them.

His worries eased instead of rising.

There would be no section rging.No random cross-section battles.

'That ans tomorrow, the tournant effectively ends… aside from final rankings,' Rey realised.

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

'Does that an my test ends as well?'

As the field was prepared, Rey and the other contestants moved away.

Soon after, participants were called much earlier than on previous days.

Rey returned to the sa seat he had chosen before and waited.

This ti, however, everything was different.

The original twenty battlefields had been reduced to five.

Each field now handles two contestants per set.

Rey quickly calculated his turn.

Afternoon.

Match duration had also increased, from three minutes to five, allowing contestants to display their full abilities.

And they did.

The battles below were no longer restrained.

Each contestant unleashed the strength they had been hiding.

One after another, familiar faces were eliminated.

What shocked Rey most was their level.

Nearly all of them were close to Aric's strength.

Just a step or two behind.

At the very least, every one of them was an Apprentice-rank cultivator.

True geniuses of their families and organisations.

The pressure was suffocating.

Judges—who had never appeared before—now observed from above like hawks.

Rey extended his senses subtly.

The mont he felt their aura, his heart sank.

Their presence surpassed even the Mother Beast he had once faced back in his hotown.

'Acolyte-rank Artists… all of them?' Rey thought grimly.

'How are people like this serving as judges?'

His unease deepened.

'If sothing goes wrong today… will I be exposed?'

The judges recorded everything ticulously.

Damage output. Control. Movent. Tactical decisions. Battle IQ.

Nothing escaped their eyes.

Rey watched closely, using his abilities to learn what he could.

Unaware that another gaze had locked onto him.

Not from the crowd.

Not from the Noble gallery.

From above it.

From the Duke's stand.

Behind the Duke, Marcus—the Head Butler of the Duke family—stood like a loyal knight.

After a mont, Marcus bowed slightly and stepped back.

The Duke waved him away without even turning his head.

Marcus paused.

He cast a brief glance toward the public area below… then closed his eyes and left.

The Duke shifted slightly, as if sensing sothing, then closed his eyes as well.

Outside the Duke's stand, Marcus stood on a balcony.

Two n knelt before him.

"Master… everything is prepared," one of them said carefully.

"Shall we execute it today?"

"No," Marcus replied coldly.

"Tomorrow. During the first match."

His grip tightened.

The stone railing beneath his hand cracked.

"There must not be a single mistake," he continued.

"If anything stains the family's na… bring your heads to yourselves."

"Yes—yes, sir," the second man stamred, sweat pouring down his face.

"There will be no trace. We will clean everything."

"Good," Marcus said.

"Leave. Prepare."

The two n vanished like shadows.

Marcus looked down at the stadium once more.

"No one will be allowed to challenge our Lord's rule," he thought coldly.

"All corruption and rebellion will be erased."

"For the Young Lord… these growing weeds must be cut before they wound his steps."

"I will be the blade."

With that, Marcus returned to his position behind the Duke, his face calm and unreadable.

Below, the matches continued.

Unaware of the storm quietly forming above them.