The group began making their way back to the workshop, stepping carefully around the damaged earth. Nyla's ice wall dissolved behind them, revealing the full extent of the destruction the brief duel had caused.

"You know," Seth said conversationally as they walked, "when you said you wanted to test your weapon, I thought you meant like... swing it a few times. Maybe hit a dummy. Not recreate an apocalypse."

"It was a thorough test," Akhil defended.

"It was overkill," Aria corrected.

"Says the person who once destroyed an entire training ground testing a new skill," Akhil shot back.

"That was different! I didn't know the range would be that large!"

"Sure, sure."

Their banter continued as they entered the workshop, the temperature rising immediately as forge heat washed over them. The other dwarven smiths looked up from their work, eyeing the group with a mixture of concern and curiosity—they'd definitely felt those explosions.

Jerry led them to his personal station, where tools and materials were already laid out. "Alright," he said, pulling out measuring instruments and design parchments. "Who's next? And please, for the love of all that's holy, tell me none of you want something as complex as the Blood Fang."

"Dual blades," Nyla said immediately. "Enhanced with ice channeling. I want to be able to freeze enemies on contact, create ice constructs through the blades, and channel my abilities more efficiently."

Jerry nodded approvingly. "Straightforward but effective. I can work with that. Cores?"

She pulled out one of the advanced cores from their hunting. "Will this be enough?"

"More than enough. I'll split it between both blades." He made quick notes on parchment. "Give me until tomorrow morning. They'll be ready before the tournament starts."

"Next?" Jerry looked at Aria.

"Longsword," Aria said. "But I want it optimized for speed. Lighter than normal, perfectly balanced, with enhancement that increases cutting power without adding weight."

"A speed blade," Jerry mused. "Also doable. Core?"

Aria produced her advanced core, setting it on the workbench.

"Tomorrow morning as well," Jerry confirmed, making more notes. "What about you two?" He looked at James and Nibo.

"I'm good with what I have," Nibo rumbled, patting his worn but serviceable axe. "Rather give my core to someone who needs it more."

"Same," James said quietly. "My chains have... evolved. They don't need enhancement right now."

Jerry raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. "Fair enough. That leaves us with two blades to forge tonight." He looked at the group seriously. "I'll have my best smiths working through the night. The weapons will be ready by dawn."

"We can't thank you enough," Akhil said.

"You can thank me by surviving tomorrow," Jerry replied gruffly. "Now get out of my workshop. I have work to do, and you're all distracting."

They began filing out, exhaustion from the day's preparations finally catching up with them. Tomorrow would be the tournament. Tomorrow they'd face Jeren and his Centurions.

But tonight, they had new weapons being forged. Tonight, they could rest knowing they'd done everything possible to prepare.

As they left the workshop, Akhil looked down at the Blood Fang in his hands. The weapon had proven itself in combat—deadly, versatile, perfectly suited to his fighting style.

Tomorrow, it would be tested again.

Against enemies far more dangerous than a friendly sparring match.

Against warriors who'd won seventy-four consecutive matches.

Akhil's grip tightened on the glaive's handle.

Akhil sat cross-legged in his small room, the Blood Fang resting across his lap. His eyes were closed, breathing steady, trying to center himself before tomorrow's chaos.

'Are we ready?' The question kept circling in his mind like a vulture. 'We're stronger than we were. Better equipped. More coordinated. But is it enough?'

He thought of the seventy-four matches. Seventy-four fighters who'd believed they had a chance. Seventy-four who'd died anyway.

'What makes us different? What makes us—'

"AKHIL!"

Seth's voice shattered his meditation. Footsteps pounded down the hallway, urgent and fast.

Akhil's eyes snapped open just as his door burst open without even a courtesy knock. Seth stood there, breathing hard, face pale.

"You need to see this. Now."

The tone in Seth's voice—not panic, but something close—made Akhil immediately grab the Blood Fang and follow. They ran through the corridors, joining a stream of other people all heading in the same direction.

The main plaza.

Hundreds had already gathered, all staring up at the massive display screens. The same screens that had shown Jeren's introduction two days ago. The same screens that had broadcast that first brutal demonstration.

Akhil pushed through the crowd until he could see clearly.

The screen showed an enormous arena—even larger than the one from the previous broadcast. Pristine white marble gleamed under artificial lighting. Golden banners hung from towering pillars. Thousands of empty seats surrounded a central platform that could easily hold a hundred fighters at once.

And standing at the very center, resplendent in his crimson and gold robes, was Jeren.

His ornate fan was raised, partially concealing his face. But his eyes were visible—bright, calm, and filled with anticipation. The white mask covered his lower face, but Akhil could sense the smile behind it.

Then, with deliberate slowness, Jeren closed his fan with a sharp snap.

His face was revealed fully for the first time.

Handsome, ageless, with features that seemed almost too perfect to be real. And that smile—wide, genuine, the expression of someone about to witness something they'd been eagerly awaiting.

"I hope you're all ready," Jeren's voice rang out through every speaker in the settlement, smooth and captivating. "In a few hours, the tournament will begin!"

A chill ran through the crowd. A few hours. Not tomorrow. Not at dawn.

Tonight.

"I know you've all been preparing," Jeren continued, his smile widening. "Gathering cores, forging weapons, training desperately." He gestured broadly with his closed fan. "And I'm so pleased. The gods are watching, and they're excited to see what you've accomplished."

He began walking along the platform, each step measured and graceful.

"Fifteen thousand players. All converging on this location. All about to enter my arenas—yes, arenas, plural. We'll have multiple stages running simultaneously to accommodate everyone." His eyes seemed to stare directly through the screen.

"Some of you will face my Centurions. Some will face my elite fighters. Some will face each other."

He paused at the platform's edge.

"But all of you will fight. All of you will entertain. And the gods..." He looked upward, as if seeing through the ceiling to the divine realm beyond. "The gods are so very hungry for a good show."

Jeren's gaze returned to the camera, that unsettling smile never wavering.

"So rest while you can. Prepare your hearts. Say your prayers. Because in just a few hours, when the sun sets completely..."

His fan snapped open again, concealing his face once more. Only his eyes remained visible—bright, eager, absolutely certain of his victory.

"The Convergence Tournament begins."

The screen went dark.

Silence fell over the plaza. Hundreds of people stood frozen, the weight of those words crushing down on them.

A few hours.

'That brat didn't even want to waste any more time, he decided to start earlier'

Akhil's hand tightened on the Blood Fang's handle.

They were out of time.

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