American Isekai - Chapter 123 (Patreon)

AN: Big chapter! I know you've all been waiting for this, and I don't like cliffhangers so I kept everything together in one big scoop. Enjoy

Umara’s eyes flittered open, her chest throbbing from the exertion of her mana core.

Talexia, her mother, was right beside her bed when she looked over, sitting there and observing her.

“How are you feeling?”

“...Like shit.”

“You really are speaking more and more like your boyfriend.”

The Duchess just rolled her eyes. This wasn’t really the time to bother with her language.

Umara sat up a bit, taking a second to wake up before asking.

“How’s John?”

“He’s fought four of his battles. He’s about to face one more warlock before he fights Ponteck.”

“How is he handling it?”

“Almost too well, if I’m being honest. Here, take a look.”

The Duchess brought up an Orb, projecting a video of the recent battles.

Umara saw John’s flamethrower, as well as his poison gas. She recalled a few days ago when he told her about such things, but never imagined that this was what it would look like in action.

There was nothing magical about it. The screams she heard and imagining the horrible aftermath those opponents would have to deal with made it just seem cruel and cold blooded.

True weapons of war. That’s what those were. They weren’t something to be used in a school tournament like this, but it wasn’t like they weren’t forcing his hand either.

Still, it made him look more like a warlock than a summoner. She made a note to ask him how those things worked, because that of the flamethrower definitely acted different than her own flames, and she was curious about the poison gas. She had a feeling it all had to do with the so called chemistry he talked about occasionally. The fuel being burned was different and the chemical of the gas was unique.

Watching all the battles didn’t take long, because he made them all quick. So she was soon caught up, Talexia turning off the Orb.

Umara commented.

“He’s doing well, but running through energy. He’ll need to get through the next battle fast.”

“That’s what everybody is saying. And that’s exactly why President Carrion is sending out an earth warlock to fight. They’ll wear him down.”

“Earth, huh?”

Umara pondered for a second before letting out a long breath.

“They still don’t know how his weapons work.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A bunch of dirt can’t stop the things he can throw out. You’ll see. For now, I need to get out there.”

“You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when my boyfriend walks off the arena safe and sound.”

Umara ignored her mother and crawled off the bed, making her sigh and cast a spell.

Umara suddenly felt incredibly light, making it much easier to walk out of the medical ward.

They circled around to the staging area, and that’s where they found the door to John’s private staging room.

Except it was surrounded by a few people, John standing in the doorway with a less than pleased expression, facing a short man with a large mustache.

“...decree of President Carrion, you will need to submit your coat and hood for inspection. The rules state that-”

“I don’t give a shit what the rules say. You’re not taking my coat.”

“...Then your only option is to forfeit the remaining battles or equip different and approved gear.”

“Different and approved. How long is the approval process for new gear?”

“Approval requires at least a day of processing and testing.”

“Fucking bullshit.”

He scoffed before taking off his coat and hood.

Then, he tossed them to Maxwell behind him.

“Since you guys want to play these games, then fine. I’ll compete without gear. Unless you want to inspect my dick as well to make sure it’s not some concealed weapon.”

“You’re a disgusting man.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you fucked on over here and interrupted my nap, you short pile of hairy shit. Now fuck off before I rip off the rat off your face and shove it up your ass.”

*Bang!*

He slammed the door, leaving the official too stunned to properly respond.

Even Talexia was stunned by the language, looking down at Umara who scratched her head.

“He can get a bit irritated when he wakes up before he has to. I’ve learned not to wake him up unless absolutely necessary.”

“Has he yelled at you like that before?”

“No, not like that. I’ve been kicked once though.”

“Kicked?”

“H-He was asleep. Again, I just don’t try to wake him up anymore. Sleep is important for him and his internal clock is actually really good. That and he sets alarms for everything.”

“Hm.”

The Duchess hummed as Umara knocked on the door, bypassing the fuming official and entering.

John snapped around, but his face softened when he saw it was them.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. How’s your energy?”

“Around 75%. Pardon my French, but if those cocksuckers hadn’t woken me up, it’d be a bit better.”

“...Your french?”

“It’s a turn of phrase. Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.”

John smiled while sitting down, Umara walking over to the arm of the couch.

“...So you can’t wear your coat?”

“Seems like it. More rules, more bullshit. If I wanna stick it to them then I just need to play along and win anyway.”

“Or you can back out.”

Maxwell spoke up, catching their attention.

“It’s too risky now. My only solace in this whole thing was the gear I gave you. It’s the one thing that you could rely on to protect yourself. Now it’s gone, and you’re at an extreme risk of death  if you so much as step foot on that arena. The risk outweighs the reward. You need to stop.”

“...”

John was silent, all of them watching him as he seriously pondered.

But it soon became clear that he maded his decision.

“No. I need to fight.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Neither was I. Like I told Umara. This is exactly why I need to double down. This is the only way I can win against them.”

“Winning against them doesn’t matter. You need to focus on the future. Your potential is far more important than this tournament, pride, or their thoughts. You’re risking the capacity to revolutionize the summoner class! What is this tournament in front of that?!”

“It’s a matter of principle.”

“It may be, but right now, you’re using that as an excuse to be stubborn.”

“...”

John went silent, eventually huffing.

“I don’t like all of these valid points you’re making.”

“I’m not an easily convincible idiot. Now, are you going to be a rebellious child and continue, or will you do the smart thing and back out?”

“...We can use this next battle as a gauge. I agree that it’s more dangerous but it’s also not like I’ve had to use my coat much at all so far. Besides, even with the coat, if I had to fight in close quarters with Ponteck, it wouldn’t help much.”

“Yes it would. You think that coat is only good for magical resistance? Impact mitigation and dispersal are it’s primary fucntions alongside dilation. I know exactly what a summoner needs and you can easily wear that coat until you’re an Authority 9. It’s the only realiable protection you have and without it, you’re one mistake away from near certain death, instead of ten.”

“Man, you’re not going to let me squeeze my way through, are you?”

John sighed, and then, they all heard a voice.

“John Cooper and Salivar Tone, to the arena!”

“...”

They looked between each other for a second before John stood.

He didn’t say anything as he walked out the door, Umara deciding to follow him and leave the Duchess and Maxwell alone together.

The Duchess looked toward Maxwell when the door closed, sensing his fuming anger.

“Children. Can’t always reason with them.”

“He’s an adult. He should be acting like it. And he’s ignoring the most obviously lopsided risk-reward ratio. It’s asinine.”

“Mm, it is. The only consolation I would have is the fact that he’s actually a bit smart despite his attitude. And I would consider how angry he is too. My daughter has told me about what he’s had to deal with, and this is his last chance to do something about it. From that perspective, I can understand his decision.”

“...”

Maxwell pinched his nose, and decided to remain silent. He understood that as well, and it was true that he wasn’t very involved in John’s daily affairs, so he wasn’t aware of how he usually felt.

All he could sense was how he was doing whenever they met. This was the longest amount of time Maxwell had been in close proximity with John and it was when he was facing his greatest conflict yet with the Magisterium.

John’s mind was closed off. He was too focused to get an accurate read of his emotions besides the obvious temporary ones. That was an extraordinary feat to accomplish in front of Maxwell’s Aura and attunement to Psyka.

This all meant that what the Duchess was saying was probably the most correct interpretation of the situation.

John was pissed, and he had been working his ass off in order to do something about it. Initially he had just been wanting to bypass the tournament and get out of the Magisterium. But yet again, they were forcing his hand, and he had decided to make them pay for it.

Dropping out would be giving them what they want, and he had enough of that. He wanted to prove a point, to spit in their face and glorify his name, the name they hated. It would be one last hurrah before going on one final excursion and leaving forever.

So it would take a lot more to get him to stop, especially when he had the power and wits he did. After all, if he were any less adequate, he wouldn't have survived up until now.

Maxwell eventually sighed, walking out with the Duchess to go and watch the battle.

He would just have to sit back and watch. That was all he was allowed to do now.

…

Umara gave John a quick kiss before he walked up the arena in nothing but a shirt, pants, and boots. He didn’t have his coat or hood with him.

Instead, he had a cigar in his mouth, puffing smoke occasionally.

He stood across from Salivar Tone, his last warlock opponent. Salivar was dressed in actual armor, not unlike a knight, and wielded a heavy staff. He was a big man who seemed like a knight in a warlock’s body, given the wrong Crest at birth.

He had a perfect earth affinity, adding to his durability, especially against someone like John who utilized ranged weapons.

After some waiting, the judge’s hand went down. That’s when something unexpected happened.

The warlock cast his barrier before raising some walls around himself to protect against John’s barrage of gunfire. Anything that made it through was blocked by the armor. It was obviously much higher quality.

And then, walls were suddenly created, rising from the ground and boxing in the entire arena.

Everyone’s line of sight was blocked, Umara’s anxiety spiking in real time as everything went quiet.

A minute passed, only occasional gunfire reaching their ears. John wasn’t shooting much and only the rumbling sound of earth could be heard in between the shots.

Then, after another bout of silence, they all heard an explosion unlike anything they had ever heard before.

BOOOOM

A plume of dust rose above the walls that made a shockwave visible before huge chunks of rock were blasted into the air. The ground shook simultaneously, rattling the chest of the audience, the explosion making their ears ring a bit.

And that was only the beginning.

Explosive blasts were heard continuously after that, not from a mere gun, but from something much larger, much more potent.

Some walls within outright crumbled and knocked others over. There were also other faint sounds, from what seemed like a person, but they couldn’t be heard over the lingering effect of the explosions.

That continued for almost 5 minutes. After that, there was a long silence.

The judge couldn’t see anything, and didn’t seem willing to call the battle either even if he could. Unless absolutely necessary, they would give John’s opponent enough time to do damage, wear him out, or kill him.

But he soon didn’t have a choice.

Anther explosion rang, a chunk of the outer wall getting blasted outward. A little while later, John stepped over the rubble, dragging a body behind him by the back of the neck.

Salivar Tone was thrown out like a broken toy, rolling down the rubble for all the audience to see.

And John stood at the top, his clothes all dusty with a few bloody holes in his shirt and pants. He was bleeding from several places, but not profusely. He seemed generally okay, if only a bit more tired.

He looked toward the judge, who had no choice but to call the match.

“The winner is John Cooper.”

“...”

Yet again, he received some silence in response. And to that, he looked out toward everyone and lifted his arms.

“Are you not entertained?! Huh?! I’m not even wearing any armor now! If President Carrion is going to insist on taking away a summoner’s only lifeline, then I’ll win this tournament without it! You!”

He suddenly pointed to the judge, who jumped a bit.

“When is the next battle?!”

“...That is undetermined.”

“Undetermined?! Are you trying to give Ponteck Gulliard, the greatest knight of our generation, more time to rest?! And yet here I am, fighting battles back to back?! He’s had hours! Bring him here! Bring me my final opponent so we can settle this tournament once and for all!”

“Woooo!!”

The crowd suddenly exploded in cheers as John walked down the arena. Then, their cheers turned into a chant.

“Ponteck! Ponteck! Ponteck! Ponteck! Ponteck! Ponteck!”

Ponteck’s name rang out through the stadium, the judge bringing up his aerial to speak to whoever was on the other side.

John stood around, several warlocks coming to clear out the arena. The walls were torn down and the floor was cleared, making it look brand new.

And then, just as the crowd started to die down, a man appeared from the medical ward.

It was Ponteck, and he leaped up to the arena, making the crowd explode with cheers once more.

John turned with a toothy grin, and was about to walk over when Umara suddenly grabbed his arm.

“...Are you sure about this? I don’t know if Ponteck is out to kill you. But no matter what, none of this is worth it if you die. Just… please tell me you’re confident.”

Her purple eyes looked up at his golden ones in worry. John could clearly feel her anxiety. He was injured during the last battle, not to mention the energy he expended. It couldn’t have been easy, and he may not be running with anything more than half his reserves.

But he only smiled, his dusty hand gracing her face.

“I’ll be taking that title, my dear. Your boyfriend is about to become the Crowned Champion. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be done quick.”

“...”

She didn’t respond as he just turned and left, walking up the arena to meet Ponteck.

He looked fine with his armor on, only slightly weathered. But his face told a different story. He was still battered, his reserves low and only barely recovered. It wasn’t like he was going into this with better health than John.

He held his helmet underneath his arm, and shockingly, spoke first.

“John Cooper. I’ve been told several things about you, and heard many more rumors.”

“They’re probably true.”

“Doubtful. It seems we’re both in a suboptimal state. You’ve been worn down and I’ve only partially recovered. I have maybe 40% of my Vigor.”

“I would estimate about the same for my Psyka. Perhaps a third left if I’m being more accurate. That jackass before you was difficult to get to.”

“Understandable. Then it seems I only have a slight advantage. So long as I also go without armor.”

With those words, Ponteck suddenly tossed his helmet away, tearing off his armor alongside it before throwing it off the arena.

John’s brows raised.

“How fair. You know, we never got to talk in any capacity before. But I’m starting to think you’re a pretty decent man.”

“And I’m not so inclined to believe the slander I’ve heard about you. Unfortunately, there are good things waiting for me should I deal with you. A Marquess household can’t afford everything and I need to take all the rewards I can get. I’m sure you understand what that means for our battle.”

“I do. But I can at least respect you despite that.”

“Respect for your enemy… I don’t hear that very often.”

“You don’t need to like someone to respect them. Now, with low reserves on both ends, this battle will go quickly. Let’s just skip to the climax, shall we?”

A Lewis Gun appeared in John’s hand with those words, smoke puffing from his mouth one more time before he grabbed the short cigar and flicked if off the stage.

Ponteck unsheathed his sword in response, his blood stained clothes shifting as he took his stance.

For a while there was silence, until neither of them waited for the judge’s signal and started themselves.

Ponteck took off in a dash as John’s finger slammed down the trigger, explosions ringing out in rapid succession.

Lead flew towards Ponteck, fully empowered bullets embedding themselves into his muscles, yet unable to proceed any further. His Vigor formed a film above his skin, a fraction of the power that was coursing through his body internally. It was something only John could see with his new eyes.

He attempted to dodge the bullets as well, and was able to do so better than all those before him. He was fast and agile, yet strong and explosive enough to throw off John’s aim. It bought John time but hurt Ponteck less.

John ran as well, kiting him until the pan magazine ran dry. Then, he switched to the StG, unloading a magazine as the distance was closed.

Ponteck’s legs exploded as he shot himself toward John like the bullets coming his way, the tip of his sword snaking around the gun and straight towards John’s chest.

But John started to dodge it like he had seen it coming a mile away. And at the same instant, a clone appeared, splitting off as both dodged and broke into their own directions.

Ponteck was thrown off for a split second, enough time for both Johns to break off a distance away. Ponteck had been told that John used illusory techniques, but seeing it now in person wasn’t something he could have prepared for.

He spread his own Aura, but had a hard time immediately differentiating the two as they ran away. He could only stand there, not willing to make a wrong decision.

And then, he suddenly snapped toward John, the real John, who’s brows raised.

“You’re good.”

The other clone disappeared instantly, John having distanced himself several meters. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

In his hands was now a Browning A5 with slugs instead of the birdshot he used for spells.

He started firing immediately, Ponteck’s pupils narrowing as he felt the threat.

He retreated as one of the slugs impacted his body, shattering the thin film above his skin and burrowing into his muscles before the slug was flattened, creating a large gash.

Even after mustering all his power he couldn’t completely resist the slugs. He found it harrowing. Not even arrows carried such penetrative and devastating power behind each and every one, let alone in such rapid succession.

On the other end however, John was feeling disgusted. He couldn’t believe that Ponteck was actually resisting fully empowered slugs with his bare body.

At the very least, with each shot, Ponteck’s reserves fell drastically. Both of them were expending energy at unbelievable rates, but neither were about to back off.

John let off four shells before stopping and reloading. That instant he stopped though, Ponteck shot forward, almost completely closing the distance with a single step. John hadn’t even gotten two shells in by the time Ponteck was in front of him.

However, as if John predicted it, he pulled the trigger and let off more shots. Ponteck only expected two, correlating it with the amount of shells John slotted in.

John backed off while firing, and as soon as the two shells had been fired, Ponteck diverted energy into his legs and shot forward again.

However, John was ready with one more shot, the slug firing off and tearing into Ponteck’s dominant arm.

It tore through his tricep, making it fall limp for a second as Ponteck reach out with his other arm.

And John tried to dodge, but Ponteck was too fast and committed, and he too tired.

Ponteck’s fingers clawed downward, his fingernails making contact with John’s chest and sliding down.

His skin broke like a paper underneath a knife, the nails tearing through down his chest, gouging out some flesh along the way before sliding off with his shirt that was now nothing more than rags.

John, who was throwing himself backward, continued to do so with a long groan. He hit the ground and rolled, popping right back up to his feet and looking down to see the pouring blood.

But he just smiled before jumping back to dodge another oncoming strike.

A clone appeared again, and although Ponteck knew what to look for, he was getting too tired to do so quickly. It bought John valuable seconds as he just stood there, creating more distance.

But he found the real John at some point, taking off again into another run, being met with the shotgun.

A few more slugs were fired, but Ponteck closed the distance too quick. John was shockingly agile for a summoner, but nothing he could do would ever come close to the physical abilities of a knight. The only thing that was saving him was his predictive ability.

Ponteck, while having an advanced Aura, couldn’t counter that. He didn’t have enough time to learn such things that usually came with experience. So he could only make do with what he had.

And after another round of chasing, he finally broke out his best card.

Ponteck dashed forward, and John got ready to fire another volley. But right before he pulled the trigger, his instincts screamed at him.

That’s when he suddenly felt something. Time dilation, not on the level of his coat, but good enough to work with his vast speed of thought and slow everything around him.

With that he saw as Ponteck swung his sword. It was so fast that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with it normally, and from it, a diagonal blade of white Vigor shot out toward him.

It visibly sliced through the air as John contorted his body, shifting his torso and kicking his leg up so it wouldn’t bisect him from the shoulder to the thigh.

However, he soon realized that he would land flat on his back, and so, for the immediate future, an item appeared in his hand.

And time resumed, his Psyka drained, bodily energy sapped, and the blade of Vigor shooting right past him without touching a single hair on his body.

John’s back slammed on the floor, placing him into the most vulnerable position he could be in.

Ponteck dove forward at the opportunity. However, his tunnel vision wans’t so bad not to notice the small object flying behind him.

John smiled as the grenade disappeared behind Ponteck, the pin twirling around his finger.

With a Bang, the grenade exploded, sending Ponteck’s body flying over John, his backside bloodied and heavily injured.

And John wasn’t completely unscathed. He winced and looked down to find one hole in his leg and one through his forearm, wounds created from some unlucky shrapnel. There was probably a broken bone somewhere in there, but he couldn’t mind that right now.

He slowly climbed up, his injuries screaming at him. The cut down his chest, yet another fingernail injury, seemed to incinerate under the lingering power of Ponteck’s vigor. But that wasn’t half as bad as the grenade shrapnel that caused his limbs to bleed profusely.

Once he was on his feet, he turned toward Ponteck.

He was also climbing to his feet, several holes through his back, no doubt plenty of broken bones and hurt organs. It was far worse than what John was dealing with.

But he was a knight. His wounds weren’t even bleeding, at least not visibly, which was freakish enough.

John laughed a bit.

“Now it’s a fight. How much Vigor you got? I’m about out of Psyka.”

“...Yeah.”

Ponteck spit out some blood with that minimal respose. He was no doubt in a world of pain, his eyes almost out of focus and his remaining vigor working to just keep him alive.

So John started hobbling over to him, his bloody grin threatening to give Ponteck nightmares.

“Come on, boy. Stick em’ up! Let’s have a man’s fight!”

“...Agh!”

Ponteck shouted, the two putting up their fists and diving toward each other.

John delivered the first blow to Ponteck’s stomach, sending out a shockwave of pain. But Ponteck delivered one in response, his knuckles digging right into John’s head.

The two recoiled before delivering more. Each one of Ponteck’s blows were precise, backed by years of technique. Just because he used the sword didn’t mean he didn’t know hand to hand combat. In fact, the two skills were probably equal.

But John had power. When reduced to their bare bodies without any magic, John was bigger, heavier, and actually stronger. Vigor gave knights strength, but it was still only supplemental. The strength of a knight with Vigor meant nothing for their pure bodily and muscular strength.

So John hit harder, and he could take the blows. Ponteck could dish them, but his severe injuries were doing him no favors.

And so for nearly 5 minutes, the two laid into each other, going blow for blow, bloodying each other further.

John eventually stopped smiling and grit his teeth. He could feel his ribs fracture and his face was swollen. His organs felt like they were about to explode with every body shot Ponteck dlivered, and his head was sending out waves of pain with every heart beat, his Psyka run dry. He could barely keep himself lucid when he was hit, almost blacking out before waking back up to throw out another punch on pure instinct.

But Ponteck was worse off. His vigor reserves dwindling into nothing, his wounds started to bleed out. His skin was deathly pale and his weakness was obvious.

That sneaky grenade had been the noose around the neck.

And with one final punch, John hammered the last nail in his coffin.

His knuckles connected with the center of Ponteck’s stomach, driving up before pulling back. Ponteck collapsed just as John was about to deliver another blow to his head.

John pulled back, realizing that his opponent was done.

A few unsteady steps backward, and he took a look at Ponteck on the floor. Both of their bloodstains painted a picture across the arena floor, both of their bodies drenched red.

As if it took a second to settle in, he stood silent, his body slowly straightening out.

He stood tall, his shoulders rolled back to put himself on full display.

And then, his smile broke out, his chin lifting to the sky.

“RAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!”

The crowd exploded as he roared into the sky for several seconds, adrenaline coursing through his body in a euphoric high.

The next moment, there was the sound of impact as a person jumped down from the stands.

John looked over to see President Carrion land on the edge of the arena, looking at him with a dark gaze.

John felt his neck tingle in threat, yet despite that, shot him a bloody grin as if daring him to.

That’s when there was another sound, John spinning the other way to see Ignatius Verga, along with his wife, land on the opposite side of the arena.

More Magisterium staff stepped down with President Carrion, adding to his side. And then as if in response, the Raven Chief appeared beside Ignatius, Shadowbane by his side. Even the Duchess moved up on the arena.

John felt a few more Auras light up from the stands as well, one of them being the familiar Patriarch Tavera.

For a moment, there was a standoff, John in the middle and feeling the heated clash of some dreadfully powerful Auras.

What broke it was the Puppet Master running on stage with Vizen. Umara was there as well. She ran over to his side as Vizen tended to Ponteck.

“A few dozen internal wounds, some organ scrambling. Goodness John. You’re making me work today.”

“Hell yeah.”

John chuckled and grabbed Umara, pulling her in and planting a long kiss on her mouth.

The crowd went ballistic once more as he leaned her over and started swapping tongue, almost falling in the process out of sheer weakness. But Umara was there to bring them back up, saving him the embarrassment while her face flushed with her own.

The Puppet Master walked over just then and pat John’s shoulder, but before he could speak, John suddenly turned to President Carrion, letting go of Umara.

“Looks like I won. But that’s not enough. I want you to say it.”

“...”

Carrion was silent, glaring in pure rage at the kid who had slapped him in the face. Not many people knew about what was going on, but for those who did, they knew Carrion had lost.

It was impossible. It had never happened, should never have happened. Ponteck was a genius that could go into the hall of fame. He was the prodigy of his bloodline, something that could create a new line of high nobles.

And he had lost to a cold summoner who, not even a year ago, nobody knew the name of.

Seeing Carrion’s silence, John frowned and yelled. His own anger, imperceivable before, suddenly exploded out all at once through his Aura.

“Say it! Fucking say it! In fact, take out that trophy and lay it down at my fucking feet! John Cooper is the Crowned Champion of the Magisterium’s Tournament! He defeated Ponteck Gulliard in fair battle after 5 consecutive wins! The first summoner to win in Magisterium history! Go on President Carrion! I want you to say it!”

John stumbled in blinding rage, taking a step toward Carrion, but faltering unsteadily.

Umara caught him.

“John-”

“Come on, Carrion! Say my fucking name! I want you to engrave it into your fucking skull!”

“John!”

Umara yelled, pulling John back and grabbing his face.

They looked each other in the eyes.

“This is it, John. This is that time.”

“I… I gave it everything I had…”

“I know. And you won.”

She hugged his head, the blood of his face smearing on her shirt.

“...You won. So let’s go. It’s over now.”

“...”

He was silent, nodding into her shoulder a bit before standing straight.

She helped him as they walked off the arena, those who had come to his side making a path, watching them with smiles as they walked off.

Maxwell appeared before the couple.

“Let us got to Polaris. They will treat him, and he’ll be safe.”

“Should I leave him with you or…”

“I won’t dirty myself with his blood. Just follow me.”

He waved, Umara smiling as she helped the half unconscious John walked out of the stadium.

On the arena, the standoff continued for a little longer.

Ignatius Verga spoke first.

“I quite enjoyed this finale. I think those of the Holy See will find the results of this tournament to be quite historical.”

“The Whetted City will mark this day as well. Never has a summoner been so capable as to best the Magisterium’s greatest.”

Carrion grit his teeth as the Raven Chief agreed. He looked like he was about to explode.

“I look forward to your next announcement.”

Ignatius shot Carrion a smile before turning and walking away, everyone else following in kind. Like that, the standoff was broken, the tournament ending quietly.

Of course, its aftermath would be anything but.