Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

At the same time Ivaim spoke with Jarran about his opponents, in one of the dim rooms of the accommodation quarters, a wiry man with a shaved head and mismatched eyes leaned forward.

His sharp gaze swept over the nervous intelligence team huddled near the corner like prey sensing a predator.

Eris tilted his head, voice flat but commanding.

"This... Nathan everyone keeps talking about. They say he's going to win the Regionals. Why?"

The tension in the room thickened. After a hesitant shuffle, the team leader stepped forward.

Her voice wavered as she spoke.

"I-it's not just his abilities, sir. He has an overwhelming advantage in the arena."

Eris arched a brow, waiting. "Go on."

She swallowed hard, as though choosing the wrong words might cost her dearly.

"Nathan can conjure and control metal—any kind of metal. Armor becomes a deathtrap, and bringing metal weapons is practically suicide."

Her words sped up as if trying to rush past danger.

"Compared to the others, his ability just outclasses most. There's no hiding from him in a place like the arena. People think he's unbeatable."

Eris narrowed his eyes. "And what do you think?"

The leader hesitated, fidgeting nervously.

"W-well, sir, naturally you're stronger! There's no doubt—"

Eris raised a hand sharply.

"Stop." His voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Spare me your worthless flattery. What else do I need to know about him?"

The woman stood stiff, lips trembling as if weighing each word carefully.

"He—uh, he's calm under pressure. Cold, calculated. Doesn't waste movements. If he's targeting you, he won't miss."

Eris tapped his finger rhythmically on the edge of the table, his face unreadable.

"I see. So, he's my biggest opponent this year."

His tone was thoughtful, tinged with annoyance.

"Last year, it should've been me at the Coliseum of Chosens. But that pesky swordsman contradicted my ability a little too well."

The woman winced but forced herself to speak.

"Y-yes, um... Our team caught a leak. We managed to identify who your opponent is in the first round."

Eris leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Is it Nathan?"

The woman shook her head quickly.

"N-no. It's... The Underdog. Ivaim, from Fendral."

Eris frowned, tapping his temple as though searching his memory.

"The annoying guy that wouldn't shut up on stage?"

"Yes, sir," she confirmed nervously.

A faint smirk flickered across Eris's lips, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.@@novelbin@@

"Anything I should look forward to?"

"Well," she began hesitantly, "our team isn't entirely sure. He's... quite an oddball."

Eris's brow lifted slightly. "Oddball?"

The woman nodded vigorously.

"From what we've gathered, he got the nickname 'The Underdog' because he appeared out of nowhere during their town arena competitions. No one expected him to win, but he kept beating stronger opponents."

Eris folded his arms. "And?"

"What makes him strange," she continued, "is his habit of constantly talking and mocking his opponents mid-battle. A lot of people think it's his way of throwing them off mentally. It works—they get irritated and make mistakes."

Eris tilted his head.

"So, he's a clown."

The woman shook her head quickly.

"N-not exactly, sir. The oddest thing is... no one can seem to hit him. He always dodges, deflects, or outright avoids attacks—like he knows what's coming before it happens."

Her voice faltered as she added softly, "I-it's almost like the world favors him."

Eris's eyes narrowed, his voice cold.

"The world favors him?"

The woman flinched but nodded.

"I-it's just a theory, sir, but that's what it looks like to everyone who's seen him fight. He moves like he's a step ahead—always in the right place at the right time."

Eris folded his arms.

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"Sounds like nonsense. A trick or coincidence."

The woman hesitated before speaking again.

"Actually... there's more, sir. Our team looked into his matches. Ivaim's fighting record is strange—he doesn't win by brute strength or clever strategy. Most of his victories come from things that shouldn't happen."

"Explain," Eris commanded.

She swallowed.

"During one match, his opponent slipped on loose gravel that no one had noticed before. In another, a gust of wind knocked debris into someone's eyes at the worst possible moment. And in his last fight, an entire section of the arena platform collapsed—except right where he was standing."

Eris's lips thinned. "Lucky breaks."

"Yes, sir. But too many for it to be normal."

One of the younger intelligence officers, clearly eager to prove himself, stepped forward.

"Sir, there's a rumor he carries some kind of coin with him. People say it's enchanted—brings him good fortune."

Eris arched a brow.

"Superstitions? Is that the best you've got?"

The officer flushed red.

"W-well, no, sir. But... every opponent who underestimates him loses. They get frustrated by his antics, think it's just luck, and then—bam—they're out before they know what hit them."

The woman interjected cautiously, "And he's unpredictable, sir. He doesn't follow patterns. One minute he's dodging, the next he's throwing wild attacks that somehow land perfectly."

Eris tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully.

"So he's a slippery fool with strange luck."

"Y-yes, but dangerous nonetheless," the woman insisted. "A lot of people underestimated him and paid the price."

Eris's gaze darkened, his tone low but decisive. "Dangerous or not, it's still going to be a matter of whether he's capable of harming me with my regeneration..."

The woman shifted nervously. "Maybe, but... one last thing, sir."

Eris gestured impatiently. "Speak."

"We're still digging into his background, but something about him doesn't add up. He wasn't on anyone's radar before this year. No formal training, no known master. Just... appeared out of nowhere, winning fights."

Eris's mismatched eyes glinted with renewed interest. "A mystery, then."

"Yes, sir."

For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Eris finally pushed back from the table.

"This Ivaim might be more interesting than I thought. Keep watching him. I want every detail before the match."

"Yes, sir," the woman said with a shaky salute.

Eris strode toward the door, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Nathan, the so-called unbeatable. And now this lucky fool from nowhere." He chuckled darkly.

"This Regionals might be entertaining after all."

...

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