My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 1053: The Interclan Tournament (Part-4)
Azzy raised a seventh finger.
"Seventh," he said, "the battle ends when one is either not in a situation to continue or voluntarily admits defeat."
His gaze sharpened.
"Killing is not acceptable," Azzy said. "Neither is suicide."
The air turned colder.
"And if the referee or one of us stops the match," he continued, "because we believe death is going to occur, then the remaining seven clan leaders not involved in that battle will vote for the winner."
A clean solution.
But also political.
Everyone understood that too.
Azzy raised an eighth finger.
"Eighth," he said, "there are no restrictions on using external weapons, armor, and accessories to protect yourself or increase your output."
Some rookies relaxed.
Some mentors nodded.
But then Azzy's eyes narrowed slightly.
"However," he continued, "no pre-activated skill cards, healing cards, or soul-energy recovery cards are allowed."
The words struck harder.
"Those caught violating this rule," Azzy said, "will not only be removed from the tournament, but their clan will also be penalized by losing a chance to substitute."
Several leaders on the balcony exchanged glances.
That was harsh.
That was humiliating.
Azzy's voice remained even.
"As for other types of cards and tools, they are allowed," he said. "But I discourage it. You aren't fighting here for personal glory. There is no audience to clap for your win. You are here to uphold the honor of your clan, and relying too heavily on external tools will not help you in that."
He paused, then added dryly, "Or you can think of it as a win is a win. It is up to your discretion."
A few nervous laughs came from the ground, quickly dying.
Then Azzy's tone turned sharper.
"However, for the expert division," he said, "any type of external card, tool, or weapon is forbidden, including the use of your storage card bound to your soul."
The expert representatives stiffened instantly.
"The only card you are allowed to use," Azzy said, "is your own Soul Card and nothing else."
That was absolute.
It meant expert division would be pure power and skill.
No tricks.
No hiding.
Azzy raised a ninth finger.
"Ninth," he said, "for rookie division battles, there is no time limit. Only your condition matters."
Some rookies looked relieved.
Some mentors frowned.
Then Azzy continued.
"For expert division battles, the maximum time is fifteen minutes," he said. "When time passes, regardless of condition, as long as both are able to move, it will be declared a tie."
A tie.
That meant strategy would matter.
Dragging a match out could be a win in itself, if your goal was simply not to lose.
Finally, Azzy raised his last finger.
"Tenth," he said, "this is not a rule."
The arena quieted again, sensing the change.
Azzy's gaze swept across the battlefield slowly.
"It is a reminder," he said. "Consider it a suggestion, if you want to."
His tone softened slightly, though the authority remained.
"This tournament is conducted as part of the efforts to bring the hidden clans to the same platform," Azzy said. "Not for you to show off superiority. Many of you may someday become colleagues, teammates, perhaps even comrades, in the Combined Elite Forces of our hidden clans."
The rookies listened carefully now.
Even the veterans did.
"So it would be better," Azzy finished,en, "if you keep your unnecessary attitudes and superiority complexes in check… for the sake of a better future."
He paused, then straightened.
"Now," Azzy said calmly, "without further ado…"
His eyes narrowed slightly, and the faintest hint of amusement appeared.
"Let the Inter-Clan Battle Tournament begin."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the arena erupted into applause.
Not loud like a stadium.
Not chaotic like a public event.
But heavy, disciplined clapping, the sound of warriors acknowledging the rules of a battlefield they had willingly entered.
Azzy nodded once, satisfied.
Then his gaze sharpened again.
"All representatives," he said, "except for those representing the Kuru Clan, and one mentor from each other clan, disperse the arena."
He gestured outward with one hand.
"You may remain in the stands or wait at the edges. The battlefield must be cleared."
Immediately, movement began.
Warriors rose.
Mentors spoke.
Groups separated.
Some rookies glanced at each other with curiosity, already measuring future opponents.
Some looked filled with hatred, remembering old grudges that would soon have a legal excuse to surface.
Some looked excited, eyes burning with ambition, because this tournament was more than sparring.
It was a ladder.
A chance to be noticed.
A chance to rise.
And as the arena slowly emptied, the Kuru Clan's representatives remained behind, standing at the center like the first blades to be drawn.
From the balcony above, Azzy watched them quietly.
His expression remained calm.
But his eyes were sharp.
Because the first match would not simply begin the tournament.
It would set the tone for everything that followed.
*
In the end, the battlefield was cleared until only the Kuru Clan remained.
Twenty representatives stood at the center of the arena like a disciplined army waiting for orders, ten rookies and ten adults, each wearing simple combat attire with sacred markings embroidered along their sleeves. Their eyes were steady, their posture straight, and even their breathing looked controlled, as if they had been trained not just in combat, but in restraint.
Eight mentors stood behind them like silent guardians.
From above, the balcony seats remained occupied by the clan heads, but none of them returned to the glass VIP box anymore. It wasn't necessary. The balcony itself had become the real throne room, the place where decisions would be made and reputations would be carved.
Azzy sat in the center, relaxed yet watchful, his gaze drifting over the arena like he was observing pieces on a board rather than people.
Beside him, the other clan leaders sat with varying expressions, some amused, some curious, some already bored, while others looked like they were waiting for blood.
Then one of the Kuru mentors stepped forward.
He was tall, with sharp eyes and long hair tied behind his head, wearing robes that looked old-fashioned, almost priest-like, and the moment he moved, his presence carried a strange weight, like his soul energy was tied to something deeper than mere rank.
He bowed deeply.
"Greetings, Clan Leaders," he said with respect.
His voice was calm, but it carried power.
"My name is Hayagriv."
He then spoke with clear confidence.
"The Kuru Clan issues its challenges," he said. "For the team category, we challenge the Minamoto Clan. For the duo category, we challenge the Death Clan. And for the solo category… we challenge the Blood Clan."
The moment those words fell, the air changed.
A few rookies in the stands stiffened.
Several mentors narrowed their eyes.
Even among the clan heads, expressions shifted.
Because those challenges weren't random.
They were deliberate.
Minamoto, Death, Blood.
A line of danger.
A line of reputation.
Azzy's gaze flickered, his expression unreadable, and he turned slightly toward the other mentors, his voice calm but carrying enough authority that it sounded like a command rather than a suggestion.
"Those who refuse," Azzy said aloud, "may leave the grounds and join your teammates."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, without hesitation, Yashna Night's voice rang out from above, sharp and smooth like moonlight over steel.
"We accept."
Her tone was calm, but the certainty in it made several rookies swallow.
Hajime Koto, Mentor of the Minamoto Clan, spoke next, his voice steady and disciplined.
"We accept."
And finally, Kael Blood spoke, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curved into a polite smile that looked almost predatory.
"We accept."
Azzy nodded once, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Proceed with your teams and keep them on standby. We will begin the team battle in ten minutes."
Hayagriv bowed again and stepped back, and immediately the Kuru representatives began shifting positions, their mentors murmuring quietly to them, giving last-minute instructions. Across the battlefield, the Minamoto rookies entered from the side gates, their footsteps measured, their expressions serious, their presence carrying the cold discipline of a clan raised in the art of war.
Ten minutes passed like the pause before a thunderstorm.
Then the referee stepped forward.
And the first battle began.
*
Rookie Division: Team Battle
Kuru Clan vs Minamoto Clan
Five rookies from the Kuru Clan walked onto the battlefield, each of them Rank-5, their auras steady and controlled, their eyes bright with youth but hardened by training.
