The emergency meeting was held in the largest hall available—a space normally used for guild gatherings that was now packed with over three hundred adventurers. More stood outside, listening through open windows and doors. The air was thick with tension, fear, and desperate determination.

Akhil stood at the front, the Blood Fang resting against his shoulder. Beside him were Nyla, Aria, Ryan, Seth, Nibo, James, and J—the core group that had fought together, survived together. Behind them stood representatives from the elven and dwarven districts, guild leaders, and other experienced fighters.

"We need to move soon," Akhil began, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. "Get to the tournament location before it starts, so we can see how things work, understand the layout, observe the rules."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"But first, we need to be clear about our objectives." Akhil's expression became serious. "The main goal—the ONLY goal that matters—is to end this tournament and reduce casualties as much as possible. This isn't about glory or proving ourselves. This is about survival."

He paused, making eye contact with as many people as he could.

"For the first matches, our priority is to watch and observe. See how Jeren runs things, how the tournament structure works, what rules we're bound by, what loopholes might exist." His hand tightened on the Blood Fang. "We gather intelligence. We learn. We prepare."

"And if we see an opening?" someone called from the crowd. "If Jeren's vulnerable?"

"We assess carefully before acting," Akhil replied firmly. "Which brings me to an important point—Jeren knows."

That got everyone's attention. Confusion spread across faces.

"In his broadcast, he mentioned our preparations. Gathering cores, forging weapons, training desperately." Akhil's jaw tightened. "He's been watching us. Knows what we've been doing. Which means he's prepared for it."

The murmurs grew louder now, more nervous.

"So we can't rush in blindly," Akhil continued. "Can't assume anything will be easy or straightforward. Jeren is a Titan. He's orchestrated these tournaments for who knows how long. He has divine backing. Underestimating him would be fatal."

A grizzled adventurer near the front—someone Akhil recognized as a veteran guild member—raised his hand. "But he doesn't look that strong, does he? In the broadcasts, he's just standing there with that fan, talking. No weapons. No obvious combat abilities."

"Which is exactly why we need to be careful," Nyla interjected. "The Titans we've faced didn't look dangerous at first either. Langdon seemed like just a guy in a mechanical suit until he wasn't. The Blood Monarch..." She glanced at Akhil. "Well, we all know how that turned out."

"Exactly," Akhil agreed. "So for now, our strategy is simple: observe first, strategize second, act third. Only once we've seen his capabilities, understood the tournament's mechanics, identified his weaknesses—only then do we make our move to end this."

Most of the crowd nodded in understanding. But one voice cut through the agreement—loud, aggressive, challenging.

"You're acting like you're the boss!"

A muscular adventurer pushed his way forward through the crowd. Akhil recognized him—Harry, a B-rank fighter known for his strength and his ego in equal measure.

"Sure, you've done some impressive things," Harry continued, jabbing a finger toward Akhil. "Fought some Titans, got a fancy weapon. But you don't know the outcome of things any more than the rest of us!" His voice rose, addressing the crowd as much as Akhil. "We'll listen to your suggestions, but you can't tell us what to do. You're not in charge here."

Akhil kept his expression neutral, waiting.

"Jeren is the cause of this mess," Harry declared. "So the moment I see any opportunity—ANY opportunity—to kill him, I'm taking it immediately. I'm not going to stand around observing while people die!"

Several adventurers murmured agreement. Others looked uncertain, glancing between Akhil and Harry.

Akhil opened his mouth to respond, to explain why charging in recklessly was exactly how you got yourself and others killed, to remind Harry that seventy-four fighters had probably thought the same thing—

Then he stopped.

He saw the determination in Harry's eyes. The stubborn set of his jaw. The way others were nodding along with him. These people were scared, desperate, looking for any action that felt like control in a situation where they had none.

Arguing would waste time they didn't have. And ultimately, he couldn't force anyone to follow his strategy.

"Do whatever you want," Akhil said quietly, letting his hand drop.

Harry blinked, clearly having expected more argument. "What?"

"I said do whatever you want," Akhil repeated, his tone flat. "I'm not your boss. I'm not in command. If you see an opportunity and want to take it, that's your choice." He looked at Harry directly. "Just understand that the consequences are yours too."

He turned away from Harry, addressing the rest of the crowd.

"Everyone here has to make their own decisions. I can't force you to follow any strategy." His voice grew firmer. "But I will say this—the people who survive tomorrow will be the ones who think before they act. Who work together instead of charging in alone. Who understand that this isn't a normal fight."

Akhil gestured broadly to everyone assembled.

"Now, there's another practical concern. Jeren mentioned multiple arenas running simultaneously. We don't know how many yet, or how fighters will be distributed among them. But it means we'll be separated. Split into different groups, different locations."

The reality of that sank in. They wouldn't all be together. Couldn't coordinate in real-time. Each arena would be its own isolated battle.

"Which is why everyone—and I mean everyone—needs to be prepared." Akhil's eyes swept across the crowd. "You can't rely on someone else to save you. Can't assume backup will arrive. Each person here needs to be ready to fight, to survive, to make smart decisions on their own."

Nyla stepped forward. "We should still organize into loose teams where possible. People who've fought together before, who trust each other. Coordinate within your groups however you can."

"And remember," Aria added, "the goal is survival first, winning second. If you're overwhelmed, retreat if possible. Live to fight another round."

"Don't be a hero," Ryan rumbled. "Dead heroes don't help anyone."

The advice was practical, sobering. The initial bravado from Harry's outburst had faded, replaced by the grim reality of what they were facing.

"Any other questions?" Akhil asked.

Silence. Everyone understood. Or at least, they understood as much as they could before the actual tournament began.

Then a familiar booming voice cut through the tension.

"Speaking of preparations!"

Jerry pushed his way through the crowd, several other dwarves following behind him, all of them carrying large wrapped bundles.

"Y'all would need some killer weapons for this tournament!" Jerry's voice echoed through the hall, filled with pride and enthusiasm. "And I and my minions have been working through the night preparing all that's required!"

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