Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 65: The Unexpected Challenger

The woman’s expression softened slightly, though her tone remained measured.

"Confidence is one thing, but overconfidence is another. Your opponent is no amateur."

She paused, her voice growing quieter but more pointed. "He’s a Regional competitor. They chose him last year to represent the town."

Ivaim tilted his head, intrigued.

"Regional, huh? So, he’s got a reputation to uphold. No pressure for me, then."

She let out a faint sigh, crossing her arms.

"You’re taking this too lightly. His ability allows him to manipulate gravity—targeted and precise. I’m telling you this not because I pity you, but because I’d rather not see a new competitor crushed, literally or figuratively."

Ivaim’s smile didn’t waver, though his mind quickly registered the information.

’Gravity manipulation… That’s going to be annoying.’

"I appreciate the warning," he said lightly, leaning the baton against his shoulder.

"But if I start worrying now, I’ll lose before the match even begins. Besides," he added with a wink, "what kind of story would it be if the underdog didn’t get to surprise everyone?"

Her expression didn’t change, but a flicker of amusement flashed in her eyes.

"Just don’t get yourself killed. The arenas have enough drama without someone pulling a stunt."

"Noted," Ivaim replied, giving her a playful salute before heading toward the arena entrance. Despite his casual demeanor, his grip on the baton tightened slightly.

’Gravity manipulation might be tricky, but it’s not like I haven’t faced worse opponents...’

As he walked out of the storage room, the distant hum of the crowd in the makeshift arena grew louder, a stark reminder of the challenge ahead. He glanced back at the woman, who was now watching him with a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Don’t worry," he called out. "I’ll give them a show they won’t forget."

Her response was a simple nod, but the words she muttered under her breath lingered in the air: "I hope you know what you’re doing."

Ivaim offered a faint smile as he stepped out of the storage room and made his way toward the makeshift arena.

The sound of the crowd grew louder with each step—cheers, shouts, and the occasional raucous laughter. His grip tightened around the baton, his fingers brushing against its cool metal surface.

’Let’s hope my confidence in my abilities pay off.’

The arena itself was a modest space, its floor made of packed dirt, surrounded by wooden bleachers hastily assembled to accommodate the eager townsfolk.

Torches mounted on posts flickered, their flames casting dramatic shadows across the scene.

At the center stood the announcer, a wiry man with a booming voice and an exaggerated sense of showmanship.

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"Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer bellowed, his arms spreading wide. "Welcome to the morning’s first bout! A clash of strength, strategy, and skill awaits you!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Ivaim stepped into the light, squinting slightly as the sun streamed through gaps in the wooden beams above.

"In this corner," the announcer continued, gesturing toward Ivaim’

"We have a fresh face! A daring newcomer who steps into the arena with nothing but a baton and, we can only assume, a whole lot of guts! Give it up for Ivaim!"

The applause was polite, but subdued. A few murmurs ran through the crowd—curiosity, doubt, perhaps even amusement. Ivaim managed a small wave, his usual carefree smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

’Not exactly a warm welcome, but I’ll take it.’

"And in the opposite corner," the announcer’s voice grew louder, almost reverent.

"We have a seasoned fighter, a warrior of renown! The town’s very own champion from last year’s Regionals! The man with strength to rival a bear and an axe sharp enough to split steel! Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for Garath ’The Unyielding’!"

The crowd roared as Garath stepped into the light. A broad-shouldered man, he exuded an aura of raw power. His fur-lined cloak draped haphazardly over his bulky frame, its edges frayed from countless battles in the wilderness.

His face was weathered, a jagged scar running across his left cheek. The massive, gleaming axe hung across his back, its polished blade catching the dim torchlight like a predator’s glare.

Ivaim blinked, his thoughts immediately derailing.

’Wait... isn’t he that guy who made a fuss at the store yesterday over some Premium Mead?’

His brows furrowed slightly.

’Seriously, this damn [Coin of Fortune], I shouldn’t have used it so casually, it has a really twisted sense of humor...’

The memory of Garath’s loud argument with the shopkeeper flashed in his mind.

’He almost flipped a table over a drink. And now I’m supposed to fight him?’

The announcer’s voice boomed, interrupting his train of thought.

"Combatants, take your positions! This will be a single-round match. Victory is declared by knockout, surrender, or—" he hesitated, casting a wary glance at Garath’s imposing axe, "incapacitation. Are we clear?"

Garath gave a single nod, his movements deliberate and calm. With one practiced motion, he swung the axe off his back and let it rest in his massive hands.

The crowd collectively sucked in a breath as the blade caught the light, its edge so sharp it seemed to hum with potential violence.

Ivaim exhaled slowly, twirling the baton in his hand to hide the slight tremble in his fingers.

"Clear as day," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Garath’s lips curved into a smirk as he eyed Ivaim, his voice a low rumble.

"You look a little small for this kind of thing. Sure you’re not in the wrong place, boy?"

Ivaim met his gaze, his own expression calm, though his mind raced.

"Small?" he replied, feigning a lighthearted tone. "That’s just efficient. Less for you to aim at."

The crowd chuckled, a few whistles cutting through the air, but Garath didn’t seem amused. He hefted his axe, letting the weight shift in his hands.

"Efficient or not, you’ll still bleed like anyone else."

Ivaim’s lips twitched into a faint smirk.

"That’s assuming you can hit me."

The tension in the arena thickened as the announcer stepped forward, raising his arms to quiet the murmuring crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the match is about to begin! Fighters, ready yourselves!"