Kane chose to sit openly in the general admission stands for the second quarterfinal match.

Surrounded by ordinary citizens and loud merchants, he made no effort to hide his presence.

Sitting in the open meant the royal family could easily spot his red hair among the crowd.

He wanted the prince to look up and see exactly who was studying him.

The stadium erupted into a deafening roar of worship when Prince Aelrindor stepped onto the white sand.

This reaction went far beyond simple cheering as it was the product of five hundred years of ingrained royal conditioning.

Elven nobles stood up without being asked, bowing their heads in deep reverence.

Young children tossed colorful flower petals from the lower balconies to bless his path.

Dressed in white armor adorned with gold filigree, the prince looked like a living god stepping down from the heavens to bless his subjects.

Rutheus entered a moment later from the opposite tunnel.

The giant barbarian received polite, slightly nervous applause from the audience.

They respected his physical power, but they certainly didn’t love him.

He represented the wild, untamed world existing just outside their safe walls, a brutal reality they preferred to ignore.

Ding!

A loud chime signaled the start of the match.

Aelrindor proved to be genuinely dangerous within the first ten seconds.

Kane possessed extensive game knowledge about the royal fighting style, but seeing it executed physically was a different experience.

The prince utilized an elite technique called Starfall.

His silver spear moved with such speed that it created highly convincing afterimages in the air.

The real attack remained practically invisible until it actually landed.

Kane leaned forward in his seat, realizing his own high Agility stat would struggle to track those strikes cleanly without relying on pure instinct.

For three grueling minutes, Rutheus held his ground through veteran experience and stubborn endurance.

The towering warrior took several shallow cuts to his torso and thighs, bleeding onto the sand while searching for a recognizable pattern hidden within the flashing afterimages.

He blocked what he could, trusting his superior vitality to carry him through the storm.

Then the golden prince did something that simply didn’t exist in Kane’s game data.

’Huh?’

Aelrindor suddenly shifted his footwork and switched to a secondary, hidden technique.

Abandoning his two-handed grip on the spear, his left hand shot forward like a striking viper.

It wasn’t a standard punch or a claw strike.

His glowing fingers struck a precise nerve cluster located near the giant’s right shoulder, aiming to sever the limb’s combat function permanently.

Slash.

The dirty trick partially worked.

"Gah!"

Rutheus staggered backward as his right arm stopped responding completely.

His giant two-handed sword slipped from his numb fingers and crashed onto the stone tiles beneath the sand.

A collective gasp ripped through the packed stadium.

The audience watched the invincible barbarian finally lose his primary weapon.

Sensing total victory, the prince pressed forward aggressively to finish the execution and claim his glorious win.

Rutheus stood on his back foot, bleeding from a dozen cuts with one useless arm hanging at his side.

As the deadly silver spear lunged straight toward his chest, the giant barbarian didn’t try to dodge.

He simply reached out and caught the thrusting spear shaft directly with his bare left hand then squeezed his fingers tight, stopping the prince’s forward momentum completely.

Aelrindor widened his eyes in shock, straining to pull his weapon free, but the giant’s grip was like a steel vise.

Rutheus looked down at the struggling royal heir and flashed a bloody grin.

"You’re faster than the last prince," Rutheus rumbled, his deep voice carrying across the quiet fighting floor.

"But you aren’t fast enough."

Twisting his wrist sharply, Rutheus snapped the enchanted wooden shaft right in half.

He didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second.

Using his only good hand, he drove the broken end of the spear directly into the prince’s left shoulder.

"WAHHHHH!"

The elven prince screamed in pure agony.

The deafening cheers died in their throats, leaving only the sound of the royal heir gasping for air as bright red blood stained his pristine white armor.

Up in the highest balconies, the royal guards panicked.

Dozens of armored elves began moving swiftly toward the arena floor, breaking the sacred tournament rules to execute an unprecedented intervention.

They intended to swarm the barbarian and protect their bleeding future king.

Aelrindor raised his good arm and waved them off frantically. His pale face was tight with pain, but his eyes burned with deep humiliation and furious pride.

Having his own guards save him from a one-armed savage would destroy his political standing forever.

Stepping back to create distance, the prince called the match himself.

He officially claimed the victory on a minor technicality.

Rutheus lost the use of his dominant weapon arm first, which technically constituted a total combat disadvantage ruling under the strict tournament guidelines.

The announcer declared Aelrindor the winner, but the crowd simply did not celebrate.

"By technical ruling of combat disadvantage," the announcer’s voice echoed across the quiet stadium.

"The victory belongs to Prince Aelrindor."

No deafening cheers answered the official declaration.

A young elven girl in the second tier leaned over the marble railing with a woven basket of flower petals, but her mother quickly pulled her back.

The sudden movement caused the basket to tip over, so the pink petals spilled uselessly onto the empty benches below.

Nervous whispers began to ripple through the expensive lower tiers.

"Did you see the blood soaking his armor?" an older nobleman murmured, leaning close to his neighbor.

"Our prince is actually limping."

"That barbarian broke a royal spear with his bare hands," a noblewoman whispered back, raising a silk fan to hide her pale, shocked face.

"Aelrindor had to call the match himself to survive."

Kane watched all of this unfold from his seat in the general stands.

’He cheated to win and still got hurt,’ Kane thought, resting his chin thoughtfully on his knuckles.

Kane shifted his gaze toward the opposite tunnel where Rutheus had disappeared moments earlier.

That specific elven nerve technique didn’t reverse with time or basic healing magic, meaning the warrior was permanently crippled.

He frowned, putting the pieces together as a sudden realization hit him.

’Rutheus knew the prince would resort to that hidden technique. He has been fighting in this arena for twenty years, so he has seen every dirty trick the royal family uses to stay in power.’

He threw away his livelihood just to damage the arrogant prince and soften the target for Kane.

Kane sat quietly with that knowledge for a long moment.

A familiar blue window popped up to cover his vision, outlining the path ahead.

[Quest Updated: The Tournament]

[Semifinal opponent confirmed: Prince Aelrindor]

[Prince’s combat efficiency reduced: 23 Percent due to shoulder injury]

[Rutheus sacrifice noted]