Kalon Bloodborn POV

Standing two heads taller than me, Galen was an embodiment of strength and mystique. His bulging muscles bore runic engravings that seemed to glow faintly, and gemstones adorned his wrists, ankles, and neck, reflecting the light like trophies of conquest. His disheveled hair and matching beard framed a face hardened by countless battles. The air around him was thick with an aura of dominance, and the crowd's chants of his name echoed through the arena.

Galen's sharp gaze bore into me as he lowered his head slightly, scrutinizing. When he spoke, his baritone voice rumbled like a distant avalanche, resonating through the arena.

“It’s not often that someone matches my record. Not long ago, I reset this record after being challenged by a mighty warrior. And now, another steps forward to challenge it.” He raised his arms, a slow and deliberate motion, yet it carried an undeniable weight. The cheers grew louder.

“I go by Galen, the ‘Giant Wall.’ May I have the honor of knowing your name, warrior?”

I met his gaze with unwavering resolve. “The name’s Kalon. But I am no warrior—I am a great scholar.” My declaration sent murmurs rippling through the crowd. Clearly, my deeds at Stygia hadn’t reached their ears.

Galen chuckled deeply, his amusement tempered by respect. “We are all warriors at heart, Kalon. But I respect your insistence.” His eyes shifted to the illusory scoreboard displaying our tied points, a subtle spark of challenge flickering in his expression.

“You pose a threat to my record. I dare you for a match.” His tone, though calm, carried the weight of wounded pride.

A grin tugged at my lips. His pride had taken a hit, and he wasn’t hiding it. “I accept your challenge, Galen. But you should be ready to accept the outcome because I will come out on top.”

The crowd erupted, half cheering my boldness, half cursing in support of their champion. Galen’s eyes widened slightly at my confidence, then narrowed. He took a deep breath, and the arena seemed to hold still. When he exhaled, it was in a thunderous bellow that shook the very ground beneath us. Tarvile trembled with his voice, and I knew this match was going to be more than just a competition—it was a battle of will.

Galen’s laughter rumbled through the arena like distant thunder, his deep voice thick with amusement. “Very presumptuous of you. The new generation keeps surprising me. He too was like that, bold and ambitious. But unlike him, I hope you live up to your words. Every great force meets an immovable wall. I am that wall.”

As Galen’s words settled, the arena grew tense with anticipation. Behind us, the craftsmen worked diligently, testing the gears of the artifacts and fine-tuning the mechanisms for the match. Each clang and whir of their tools only heightened the atmosphere.

I stepped back to join Damon and the rest, their encouraging smiles doing little to calm the storm in my head. Damon leaned in, his voice low but insistent, as if reminding me of the stakes.

“His awareness is otherworldly,” he said, his expression grave. “I couldn’t even sense the ambient mana under his control, but he already predicted the artifact would explode.” His words replayed in my mind like a mantra.

I had my methods—using the relationship between mana and spirit energy to detect and manipulate—but Galen’s awareness seemed to surpass even that. A mix of emotions flooded me: doubt, anticipation, and something I had long suppressed—fear.

This wasn’t just a match. Galen was a pantheon, a being of legend who had fended off thousands of demons. His name carried weight for a reason, and I knew there was every reason to be cautious. Yet, against all odds, a quiet confidence surged within me. Perhaps it was my mastery over spirit energy, or the memory of countless hours honing my abilities. Whatever it was, it steadied my resolve, anchoring me in the face of this overwhelming challenge.

The judge’s voice cut through the mounting tension. “Clear the arena!” The workers hurriedly vacated the platform, ensuring their safety from the confrontation about to unfold.

I tightened my fists, my gaze fixed on Galen as he prepared to face me. His towering form radiated an unshakable presence, yet I stood firm, ready to prove myself. Whatever doubts lingered in my mind, I buried them deep. This wasn’t just about breaking a record; it was about confronting the immovable and daring to surpass it.

On the judge’s signal, the game began. Mana-reinforced boxes trailed out, their movements swift and calculated. Blood surged through my vessels, a familiar warmth blossoming behind my eyes as I activated godeyes. Instinctively, droplets of blood materialized around me, reshaping into hovering pieces of flesh positioned strategically along the boxes' paths.

Through these flesh constructs, my vision expanded, capturing everything at once—the faint presence of spirit energy interwoven with mana inside each box. The subtle interaction between the energies was barely perceptible, but to me, it was as clear as day. Acting on pure instinct, I unleashed my first assault. The hovering flesh grew and morphed into spikes of blood, each one surging toward its target with deadly precision. A wave of destruction followed, as multiple boxes shattered in unison.

The crowd roared in approval, their cheers igniting a fire within me. My initial momentum was undeniable, and for a brief moment, victory seemed within reach. Yet, as I glanced at Galen, expecting a reaction, I was met with something unexpected.

He remained in a neutral stance, his massive frame unmoving. His posture, though exaggerated and almost ceremonial, radiated an unshakable composure. His eyes betrayed no playfulness, only an intense focus that seemed to pierce through the chaos of the arena. It wasn’t disdain or fear—it was something far more unnerving: clarity.

I forced myself to ignore him, redirecting my focus to the task at hand. My lead continued to grow as my attacks tore through the increasingly erratic boxes. The curses and jeers from his supporters began to fade, replaced by a quiet tension in the air. The thrill of competition coursed through my body, urging me to push harder.

However, the game’s intensity escalated. The boxes moved faster, their patterns more erratic. My flesh constructs, once synchronized and precise, now faltered in their cohesion. They grew haphazardly, responding to my commands with desperation rather than discipline. Each successful strike felt like a struggle, and the points increased slowly.

The cheers from the crowd were a distant hum, overshadowed by the pounding of my heartbeat. This wasn’t just a contest of skill anymore—it was a battle of endurance, precision, and, above all, resolve.

My control faltered as I sensed an immense surge of mana erupting from Galen's court. The energy was overwhelming, a force so potent that it destabilized my focus on godeyes. Then, a deafening boom reverberated through the arena, its magnitude shaking the very foundation beneath us.

The protective shield surrounding Galen's court crumbled, shards of mana-reinforced wood and stone catapulting into the sky like missiles. For a brief moment, all that remained was chaos—dust, debris, and the lingering echoes of the explosion. In the midst of this destruction stood Galen, unscathed and unwavering, his towering figure a stark contrast to the devastation around him.

The recording artifact in his court blinked incessantly, its numbers climbing higher at an unnatural pace. Galen moved, his form fluid yet deliberate, each motion filled with a precision I couldn’t comprehend. His first step, slow but calculated, obliterated another cluster of boxes in a single sweep.

I stood there, bewildered. How could he detect so many at once without wielding spirit energy? His awareness was beyond comprehension, his mastery of mana detection unparalleled.

The crowd roared, their cheers so deafening they seemed to fuel Galen’s relentless rampage. It was as if they had waited for this exact moment, a chance to witness the Great Wall in all his glory. Responding to their adoration, Galen continued with a calculated ferocity, his scores climbing rapidly, inching closer to mine with each strike.

Panic surged through me. My advantage was slipping away, undone by his unmatched power and precision. Summoning every ounce of my resolve, I conjured more flesh constructs, desperate to hold my ground. Spikes of blood pierced through the air, colliding with the accelerating boxes. Yet, no matter how fast I worked, the gap that once stood between us was gone.

The artifact in the center displayed a sobering truth: Galen had overtaken my score. The top spot, my hard-earned lead, was no longer mine. My focus flickered back to the roaring crowd, their chants for Galen resonating in unison. It was as if the arena itself had turned against me, rooting for the Great Wall.

Defeat loomed, its weight bearing down on me as I fought to regain control of the game—and my composure.

The game ended with my defeat, and while the loss stung, it wasn’t bitter. In fact, there was a strange satisfaction in witnessing a glimpse of a pantheon’s power. If this was what a pantheon could do in a simple game, what lay within him in battle must be incomprehensible.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, tension still lingering in my body. A massive hand suddenly rested on my shoulder, its weight nearly staggering me. The pressure was unlike anything I’d felt before—an almost tangible representation of the power that radiated from him.

“I’m impressed, I must say,” Galen began, his baritone voice carrying both amusement and respect. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to go that hard.”

My comrades rushed down to meet us, coming to a halt just before the towering figure. Jared, ever curious, scurried toward the pantheon, peering at him with wide eyes. Damon’s unease was palpable as he shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between Jared and Galen. Clovis, noticing the tension, tugged Jared back by his shirt, attempting to create some distance.

“At ease, young one,” Galen said with a chuckle, his deep voice resonating with a strange warmth. “Your brother has caught my interest with that magic of his. I invite you all to my abode.” His gaze fell on me, sharp yet unreadable. “But first, we must celebrate.” There was an undeniable weight in his words, a stress that sent a shiver through me. It was clear he had seen through my deviant arts—he certainly knew my techniques weren’t conventional.

Despite my apprehension, I couldn’t refuse his proposal. Around us, the celestials cheered as Galen announced a grand feast in honor of the match. Those who had been eager to spend time with me now wore displeased expressions, their hopes dashed by Galen’s commanding presence. Yet, none dared to voice their discontent against the pantheon.

The unease I felt about being questioned faded as the celebration unfolded. The feast was unlike any I’d experienced before—a festival of grandeur and joy, where the boundaries between giants, celestials, and mortals blurred in the spirit of revelry. For a moment, even my lingering doubts were swept away by the intoxicating energy of the festivities.