Outworld Liberators-Chapter 204: Sowing Seeds for a Thousand-Year Preparation

Chapter 204: Sowing Seeds for a Thousand-Year Preparation

"Now, we will be showing those who placed for eleventh to twentieth. Hatcheteer, please step forward and receive your prize and to honor of being the named disciples of Radeon Terraces."

Hatcheteer climbed the stage and received a finely made wooden token, rich enough in craft to feel luxurious in his hand.

He was the oldest among those gathered, only a few days shy of thirty.

Born to a family of timbermen, he had lived a decent enough life, steady and honest, yet some part of him had always believed he was meant for more.

He could be greater than this. He could become something else. And now, with that key resting in his palm, the thought no longer felt like a foolish dream.

The audience got excited. This was what they had been waiting for.

The real names. The real cuts. Eldric had not displayed a full ranking list, and it was no accident.

Less than a percent would ever touch cultivation in a way that mattered, not because the talent was rare, but because the choosing was.

Calling mortals one by one like this was a blade and a crown at the same time.

If Radeon Terraces still did not earn a great name after this, then they were truly something else.

More names followed, each one landing like a thrown coin.

Speedy. Manpowder. Whiteblade. Finehanging. Youngpoison. Rumbler. Toolglove. Smallsteels. Handlefiddler, holding the eleventh slot.

The list was dominated by the Debt Collectors Society.

Six of them had clawed their way into this range, and the stands murmured at the pattern even as they pretended not to.

Handlefiddler let out a slow breath when he heard his own name.

He had already made arrangements to hand over his place in the Debt Collectors Society.

This was his last job. After this he would belong to Radeon Terraces, and he was certain enough to feel calm about it.

He had watched Eldric operate. The speeches. The ghost attendants. The way resources were discussed in whispers and traded in glances.

It was obvious to anyone who had lived by contracts and read the fine print of power.

He believed in hard work. He also believed in repayment. When he had been dirt poor and broken, someone had picked up his pieces.

This was his way of paying that debt forward, even if it left a sour taste in his mouth.

He felt a flash of indignation toward Tiberius. If that man had focused on the tournament instead of games within games, he could have ranked higher.

Still, that was not Handlefiddler’s problem now. He stepped forward when called, face steady, and kept his thoughts to himself.

Eldric’s voice rolled out again, calm as ever.

"Now, we will be showing those who placed for sixth to tenth. Youngbanners, please step forward and receive your prize and to honor of being the outer disciples of Radeon Terraces."

The spearman had dragged the rest of his team up the mountain by stubbornness and raw lungs, but on the last stretch they were still too young, too light, and they slipped below the twentieth.

He alone stood in the light now, the only one chosen as a disciple.

His team still won something worth bleeding for.

Each of them received a copy of the Workman’s Body Strength Codex, and that was not a prize you stumbled across twice in a lifetime.

Eldric’s voice rolled over the arena again.

Then came the rest in order, each name landing heavier than the last.

Raxutus. Ropefist. Daylightrays.

Then sixth place. Irongrit.

Daylightrays made the stands murmur.

He had come out of nowhere, a stranger with a clean rise and a clean record, the kind of climb that smelled too smooth.

Tournaments were not all fairness and flowers. This one was a business at the end of the day.

Calyx, ghost though he was, carried righteousness in his bones. His gaze sharpened, mouth parting as if to object.

Radeon looked at him. It was only a look, but it asked everything without a word.

Are you going to make the money? Are you going to shoulder the cost? If not, then hush.

Calyx closed his mouth.

When Irongrit stepped forward, he did not hold himself like a winner.

He held himself like a man who had been bracing for disappointment his whole life and could not believe the ground had not given way.

Eldric handed him the badge. It was not the simple wooden token given to named disciples.

This was forged, cold metal edged with weight and meaning, stamped with a pair of golden hands.

Behind the gold was something that shocked him, his name engraved in steel.

Irongrit broke. He sobbed openly as he clutched the badge to his chest.

"Thank you," he cried. "I will work hard. Thank you for this chance." 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Some in the stands laughed at first, then stopped. The sound in his voice was too honest to mock.

Eldric stepped closer, face calm, almost kind.

"Young man," he said softly, "would it suit you if we showed a brief account of your life, to inspire those who are watching?"

Irongrit did not understand how it would be done. He only nodded, still drowning in joy.

The linen screens flickered.

Faith was the safest knife. If a man believed in you with his whole heart, he handed you a piece of himself without knowing it.

Radeon took that offered piece and the arena filled with Irongrit’s past.

A boy in the rain, six or seven years old, fist clenched so tight his palm bled. Rain pelted his small body in a run down backyard.

Tears streamed down his face as he stared in grief at a mound that barely registered as a grave.

A voice spoke over it, not Eldric’s. A heavenly voice, warm and steady, the kind that made tired people sit straighter.

"Lost his mother at a young age."

The scene shifted. Irongrit hauling cargo for rich merchants, paid in paltry coin, back bowed, hands raw.

He bought incense anyway, even when it swallowed half his wage.

"Filial piety, though heaven and earth divide them."

The rain returned. He stood before a grave that had been improved stone by stone, swinging a warped piece of steel until his arms shook and his teeth ground.

"Perseverance, to improve oneself, to reach a goal."

Then the earth opened like a mouth, skeletons visible in the broken ground, death in every direction, and Irongrit still clinging, still fighting.

"Unwavering fighting spirit in certain death."

Tears in the stands went from shallow to real. People watched his life and saw their own failures hiding inside it.

They had been hungry too. They had been poor too. They had quit anyway.

The heavenly voice softened.

"His life held more downs than ups. Simply unlucky, I would say. Similar to many of you."

"Still he stands here before you. Do you think it is impossible?"

Eldric rested a hand on Irongrit’s shoulder as the young man shook with sobs.

"The path is still long and arduous," Eldric said. "Do not let this world change you. Change the world."

Those words sown a seed. A seed that really changed the world.

"Now, we will be showing those who placed for fifth to second. Sackmace, please step forward and receive your prize and to honor of being the inner disciples of Radeon Terraces."

Most of these names had already been whispered through the stands.

Still, people watched like starving men watching bread get cut.

Reelfisher came in fourth. Lonequiver took third. Almsgiver claimed second place.

One by one they stepped forward and received tokens stamped with four golden arms, heavier and finer than the ones below, proof that Radeon Terraces knew how to make even metal feel like destiny.

Goldman did not care about his image anymore. He stood and roared like a fool, eyes wet and proud.

"Woo. Woo. That’s my son. Look. He is so awesome."

He shouted it again and again until the people around him stopped laughing and started smiling, because it was only a father doting on his child now.

Then Eldric’s voice lowered a fraction, the way a room quieted when it sensed something important.

"Now we will go to first place," Eldric said. "It seems it is tied. Let us welcome our champions of the Mortal Tournament of Radeon Terraces. Tabulae and Raj."

The arena rose like one body. A standing ovation rolled across the seats. Hands clapped until palms stung.

Even those who had lost stood, because they knew what it meant to survive that mountain and still be named.

Tabulae froze. She had been off to the side, half grieving, convinced she had been disqualified, forgotten, or erased by some rule she had missed.

The sound hit her like a wave. Her eyes watered. Her spine straightened on instinct. Pride filled her chest so fast it almost hurt.

Reelfisher, Lonequiver, and Sackmace passed near her on their way back and clapped as they went.

"Senior sister," Lonequiver joked, grin sharp.

Reelfisher and Sackmace both elbowed him at once, their mouths tightening as they flicked their eyes toward Eldric.

Not now. Not in front of God Eldric. Do not let your tongue make trouble.

Raj stepped forward with calm that felt inhuman.

He bowed in the Asura formal way, clasped hands, then sank into a lotus position right on the stone. He opened his palms.

Eldric placed the badge into his hands with measured care.

Tabulae saw it and panicked.

Was that what winners did? Did she need to kneel? To bow? To sit?

Her feet felt suddenly clumsy.

Eldric lifted his hand and waved her over, smile kind and patient, as if he could see her confusion and did not intend to punish it.