“More elixirs over here! This one’s in critical condition!”0

“This side’s barely hanging on too!”0

The tournament staff rushed to pour elixirs over knights bleeding heavily from head to toe. They were all victims of Keter’s technique, Fission. The staff looked up at Keter, still standing atop the mountain, as if he were a monster.0

It wasn’t because Keter was overwhelmingly strong. What chilled them to the bone was something else entirely.0

How could he have not killed a single one of them in a situation like that?0

Every knight struck had sustained critical injuries, but none were dead. With timely elixir treatment, they could all be saved.0

He held back while surrounded on all sides?0

Sure, the rules of the tournament forbade killing fellow participants, but this wasn’t child's play. Emotions flared in the heat of combat, and death was not uncommon when real weapons and real injuries were involved. As long as both sides fought in earnest, no one would complain if one of them died—that was a long-standing understanding.0

But Keter hadn’t killed a single person. That was madness—a more terrifying kind than killing them all.0

He’s a monster. How could such a creature have been hiding in the Sefira family?0

It wasn’t just the tournament staff that thought that. The spectators watching the entire situation and the remaining competitors were thinking the same.0

“He still has aura left? Even if he was a Master with a hundred years' worth of aura… There’s no way he...0