Chapter Eight: The Tournament
The audience roared with anticipation as the combatants stepped onto the field. The massive stadium vibrated with life, filled with students, military officials, civilians, and foreign dignitaries from across the cardinal world. The sunlight shimmered across the polished steel of the Hunter team's armor, contrasting the flowing garments and auras of the Cultivators. A single glance could tell this was no ordinary tournament.
Thirty Silver-ranked Hunters stood tall, their combat gear glinting, backed by three Hybrids—Aisha and Alice, the stoic German twins, and a quiet Chinese prodigy in glasses with a near-invisible presence. The Cultivator team faced them with equal strength—thirty Silver-ranked cultivators and three hybrids: Maria, Sumi, and a girl cloaked in melancholy, her black hair draping over her face like a veil of mourning.
On the edge of the field, Miss Jin-Young Zheng stood with elegance, raising her hand. Her lemon-colored eyes shimmered like twin stars.
She whispered, "Collapse the bounds."
Space rippled like disturbed water, the sky cracked into fractals of starlight, and reality folded. Her fingers curled inward. The entire field twisted into a different plane.
Suddenly, the contestants vanished.
They had been transported.
---
Inside the Cardinal Replica World
The recreated world was a living story—an infinite expanse of lush green meadows, wild forests, and high, snowy mountains under a twilight sky. The wind flowed with the scent of magic and steel. The cardinal replica was not a simulation—it was a metaphysical narrative with regenerating structures, replicating the lower world's infinite multiverse logic.
Maito took in the sight, raising a brow. "So this is her story realm... She really went all out."
Zhong folded his arms. "Keep your guard up. This isn't a playground. These stories may be weaker than the lower world, but they're still deadly."
Misuki's lifeless eyes narrowed. "We can die here. And no one will mourn us."
Across from them, Sung Ki cracked his neck. "Then let's make it count."
---
Meanwhile in the Stadium (Lower World)
Saito sat amongst the crowd, watching through the holographic screen.
"They just vanished," he whispered, scanning the confused crowd. Yet, no one else panicked. "Why is everyone acting normal? This is insane."
Suddenly, a man in a black suit stepped onto the announcer's platform.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what you witnessed was the transition into a metaphysical replica—The Tournament World—created by Professor Jin-Young Zheng. It is a cardinal story fragment, existing outside time, but within causality. Each fighter's abilities are limited to three selections only. Victory or death will determine who rises."
Saito blinked. "A world without time but driven by events... So reality is based on narrative logic?"
He recalled a conversation on the car ride earlier...
---
Flashback: Car Ride to the Tournament
"Sumi... about that corpse I saw that looked just like me—what was that?"
"That wasn't you, silly," she giggled darkly. "That was your 'existence' in this world."
"My existence?"
"Or maybe... what's left of your trace here." She stared at him, serious now. "That monster you fought didn't kill your body—it ate your presence, your memory, your story. But I created your story, remember? So it kept searching."
Saito's heart dropped. "So I'm not... real?"
She smiled, tapping his forehead. "You're more real than you think. Just... born from the wrong page."
---
Back in the present, he rubbed his temples. "I don't even know my type, my rank, or class..."
He turned to his book.
"Three class types exist: Dominator, Projector, and Devourer. Dominators manipulate story-bound reality. Projectors force external truths into this reality. Devourers... classified."
He flipped another page.
"F-rank: Bronze—superhuman with control over minor metaphysical realms. Silver—can collapse the origin of entire metaphysical domains. Gold—can erase the very foundation of narrative frameworks."
The book stopped at Silver.
He groaned. "Of course. No mention of the real power players. Typical."
---
Meanwhile: Paris, France
The ruined city stood silent.
Debris lay everywhere. Burned cars. Broken glass. Not a soul in sight. At the center of the devastation, a black beast sat calmly—hulking, horned, its red eyes burning.
A Minotaur. A thinking one.
Sir Alexander stood watching the satellite feed, pale-faced.
"Status?"
"No life signals from the north gate. No survivors. No exit signatures."
The Minotaur raised its head and locked eyes with the camera.
Alexander gasped. "It... sees us."
Suddenly—
"He's arrived, sir!" a soldier shouted. "The Nigerian Hunter... Favour."
A teen stepped into view. White hair, glowing blue eyes, dressed in a blood-red uniform.
The Minotaur vanished.
BOOM.
A thunderous impact threw Favour into the gate.
---
Inside the Dimensional Story: Favour vs the Minotaur Horde
The blow launched him across the sky. Favour scraped his feet along the ground to slow down, only for the Minotaur to appear behind him—another brutal kick sent him flying into the stratosphere.
In mid-air, he smirked.
"Cute."
He pointed down.
CRACK— A massive blue beam laced with lightning split the planet's core. The impact bent the atmosphere, caused earthquakes, and ruptured tectonic plates. The Minotaur barely dodged.
Before it could counter—
Favour twisted reality. Black holes spiraled behind him, materializing shotguns. Infinite numbers. Steel-bodied. Myth-infused.
The sky turned to hellfire.
BOOM BOOM BOOM—
Bullets fired. Not ordinary ones—each shell was encoded with narrative erasure logic, striking through past, present, and future. They pierced through time itself.
Tens of thousands of Minotaurs emerged through cracks in space.
Favour raised a brow.
"Amateurs."
The bullets ripped through space-time, annihilating galaxies, star systems, and entire multiverses. Explosions rippled across infinity.
Within seconds, the horde was reduced to ash.
He floated in space.
"And now..."
He raised his hand like gripping a gem. Suddenly, another blast hit him from nowhere.
CRASH—
Planets cracked.
Favour tumbled beyond light-speed, outside the narrative fabric. He gasped.
"What was that...?"
His eyes locked on the damaged multiverse.
With a gesture, he clenched his hand.
The infinite stories—the entire narrative structure—compressed into a cube in his palm. It resembled chocolate.
He looked around.
"Empty dimension. Erased attacker. Mission done."
He walked out of the gate, tossing the cube into his mouth.
---
Back in Paris
"He's walking away... like it was nothing..."
Alexander was speechless.
"Sir," said a soldier. "That boy... Favour. D-Silver Ranked Projector. 18 years old. Father dead. Mother—unknown."
"His code name is 'The World Eater.'"
Alexander's breath caught. "The World Eater? The one second only to the War Generals?"
"Yes, sir."
Alexander whispered, "Nigeria... how are they keeping him on a leash?"
---
Meanwhile: Back in the Tournament World
Explosions rocked the forest. Cultivators and Hunters collided. Sword qi and mana crashed like tidal waves. One cultivator sliced through mountains. Alice teleported behind him, slashing with light constructs.
Zhong summoned void beasts from another dimension.
Maito countered with reality grenades.
Maria, silent, tore through enemies with nothing but pressure and gravity.
Sumi clashed with the black-haired girl.
"You're strong."
The girl looked up. Her eyes were blank.
"I don't know who I am."
Their battle shattered half the replica world.
Above them, Zheng smiled faintly.
"It's working. They're adapting."
---
Back in the crowd, Saito clutched his chest. "This world is... a lie. And I'm a part of it."
He looked up at the hologram.
"Still... I'll find my place in it."
The tournament raged on. And the true story had only just begun.
--
To be continued