MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Scintilla observed her daughter with a radiant smile, one that seemed to brim with the certainty of the inevitable.

She had gone to unimaginable lengths, even taking her daughter's life with her own hands, all in the name of honing Serenelle's extraordinary Talent.

Yet, that confident smile wavered as her gaze fell upon the unexpected, her daughter's severed head tumbling through the air.

What she had foreseen as inevitable, Anthony's death, Serenelle's triumph, was unraveling before her very eyes.

She knew that even with her daughter's ability to return from death, Serenelle's chances of victory were slim.

Scintilla had witnessed Anthony crush Vahalin without breaking a sweat.

She wasn't naive enough to believe Serenelle could prevail in a direct confrontation.

But Serenelle's victory didn't rely on brute force; it hinged on the base action granted by her Talent.

It had worked, once.

Yet, Anthony had another card up his sleeve.

Scintilla watched in growing disbelief as her daughter revived, only to die again.

Anthony had fallen for the base action once, but he had already adapted, countering it effortlessly with ruthless precision.

Her daughter's repeated deaths played out before her eyes, and with each revival, hope diminished.

Then she saw Anthony sheath his katana.

In a blink, he was beside Serenelle, his hand resting on her head.

Blue flames erupted, devouring Serenelle entirely, leaving no trace, not even ashes.

Scintilla's radiant confidence dimmed, replaced by the weight of inevitability.

Her daughter was no match for Anthony.

Scintilla stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the empty space where her daughter had vanished.

She waited.

Waited for Serenelle to come back to life, as she always did.

But nothing happened.

Her composure began to falter as Anthony reclined beneath the parasol he had conjured earlier, a faint, satisfied smile gracing his lips.

Time dragged on, and still, there was no sign of Serenelle.

An hour passed.

The silence was heavy, yet the crowd remained patient.

Serenelle had been known to 'fake' her demise before, disappearing for hours during the early stages of battles, only to reappear at the opportune moment.

Surely, this was another of her ploys.

Five hours passed. Your next chapter is on empire

The confidence in the air began to dissipate. Spectators shifted uneasily, their eyes darting to Scintilla as if demanding answers.

Their silent stares seemed to ask: 'Could her daughter no longer resurrect?'

But Scintilla remained stoic, unwilling to admit defeat.

She knew her daughter's Talent, Cycle of Nines, granted nine lives.

Serenelle had not yet exhausted them all, she was certain.

And so she waited.

Another five hours slipped away.

Eleven hours had now passed since Serenelle's last death, and the faint glimmer of hope in the crowd faded into resignation.

"We have to end this"

Baldor Ironhammer finally declared, breaking the oppressive silence.

"We can't wait forever. Your daughter might have used up all her saved lives, and you just don't want to accept it"

Gorath Storm said, his tone impatient.

Of all the gathered, he seemed the most bored.

Scintilla's eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze toward him, her patience thinning.

If she could communicate with Serenelle after her deaths, she would have demanded an explanation for the delay.

But that luxury wasn't granted to her.

'Why is she taking so much time?'

She thought, frustration flickering in her mind.

The possibility of Serenelle's permanent death never crossed her mind.

It wasn't arrogance, it was certainty.

But she sighed, acknowledging she couldn't keep everyone waiting indefinitely.

Only she knew the truth: Serenelle could resurrect nine times.

'Even if she didn't win, at least she'll keep her life'

Scintilla thought, her gaze shifting to Anthony.

Finally, she turned to the gathered audience.

"I understand. We will declare Anthony the winner. There is no need to keep waiting"

A wave of quiet agreement swept through the crowd, though some muttered amongst themselves.

Aeltharion Moonwhisper, the Elf King, stood tall, his piercing gaze settling on Anthony.

Without warning, the parasol and reclined chair Anthony was seated on disintegrated into nothingness.

Anthony noticed the sudden change but didn't sense the slightest ripple of power or movement in the wind.

He didn't dwell on it; he already knew his strength wasn't comparable to the Elf King's.

"I must admit"

Aeltharion said, his voice calm yet authoritative.

"I never expected a human to win. Even if Vahalin failed, I thought the victor would emerge from one of the higher races, not from a lower race like a human or demi-human"

The Elf King spoke without malice, only blunt honesty.

His words carried a weight that silenced any objections, for they reflected what many had thought.

"To think you were this strong all along, yet chose to conceal it, only revealing your true strength in moments of peril"

Aeltharion continued.

Anthony remained silent, his expression unreadable as his eyes fixed on the Elf King.

"But it doesn't matter"

Aeltharion concluded.

"You are the last one standing. Therefore, in this Bloodbath, I, Aeltharion Moonwhisper, declare you, Null Anthony, the winner"

The crowd fell into silence, their eyes on Anthony.

They expected a reaction, a smile, a nod, a sign of pride.

But Anthony gave none.

Instead, his gaze shifted away from Aeltharion and landed on his mother, Mitchelle.

Her face lit with uncontainable happiness and pride.

She had eyes only for her son, scanning him for signs of harm.

The moment Serenelle's blade pierced Anthony's chest earlier, Mitchelle had been ready to intervene.

Only Michael's hand on her shoulder had stopped her.

"He's our monster baby"

Michael had said, confident in Anthony's ability to overcome any obstacle.

And he had.

If Michael hadn't stopped her, she would have interfered.

Now, Mitchelle blurred and appeared before Anthony, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

Her overwhelming love radiated through the gesture.

Anthony's stoic demeanor cracked as a small smile tugged at his lips.

He returned her hug warmly, though his inner thoughts betrayed his embarrassment.

'Dammit, Mom. You're cramping my style in front of these big shots'

Beside them, Irene descended gracefully.

With a wave of her hand, she cast a healing spell over Anthony, though there were no injuries left to heal.

It was an act she enjoyed, and Anthony was far too familiar with her habits to protest.

Michael and Collins remained seated, their gazes locked on Anthony, pride blazing in their eyes.

'My monster baby'

Michael thought with satisfaction.

Mitchelle stood beside Anthony, her joy still evident, but her eyes briefly shifted to Alala.

Something unspoken passed between them, though Alala's anger hadn't abated.

In the next moment, Anthony, Irene, and Mitchelle vanished under Mitchelle's power.

Elara, standing nearby, sighed deeply and glanced at Alala before disappearing in a flash of crimson light.

One by one, the spectators began to leave.

The Bloodbath had reached its conclusion.

But Scintilla remained, her thoughts heavy.

She had waited for her daughter to return.

And waited.

But Serenelle would never return to her.