That Time an American was Reincarnated into Another World

Chapter 123: Noose

Umara’s eyes fluttered open, her head, body, and chest throbbing from the exertion of her mana core. 

Talexia 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 rub her eyes 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. 

Three things caught Umara’s attention. 

John’s flamethrower and the gas were the first two. 

He looks more like a warlock than a summoner… Umara knew the sticky flames John spread operated differently from her own flames and was very curious about the poison gas. Recalling when he told her about such things a few days ago, she never imagined this was what they would look like in action. They probably had something to do with the so-called chemistry he talked about occasionally. 

The third thing… was the brutality. 

The Orb also recorded sound. Before the first round began, Umara had predicted Ravon would throw some insults at John but was still disappointed when he lived up to her expectations. She would soon forget about all that, however, when Ravon’s screams started echoing through the room. 

Burning him alive… Umara shuddered. She couldn’t imagine what he could be dealing with right now. Just the scarring would make him unrecognizable. 

Slightly better was the gas. At the very least, Kevala wasn’t burning, although her blind flailing and desperate rolling did little to assuage Umara of the incredible pain she must have been in. 

And then there was the way John treated that girl. Kicking her across the face was bad enough, let alone picking her up by the throat, and all after giving her those wounds. 

But she understood why it had to be done. The judge was corrupt, stalling the battles. They knew John couldn’t kill his opponents, so they wanted to try and force him into a corner by letting them have more time to try something, like the girl almost did. Thankfully, John could establish dominance pretty quickly, not to mention how parents would complain if their children were being hurt while the judge was stalling their treatment by not calling the battle. Carrion couldn’t do whatever he liked before all those other nobles. 

So watching all the battles didn’t take long, John making them quick. Talexia turned off the Orb after the replay was finished. 

Umara stared at a wall, then commented, choosing to ignore the thoughts of his opponents’ horrific pain and make a logical conclusion. 

“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. 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. 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 Talexia 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, heading to John’s room and hearing an authoritative voice reading something from that direction. 

When they rounded the corner, they saw 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, tossing 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.”

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 nodded as Umara knocked, sidestepping the fuming official to gently push open the door.

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 and sat down while Umara walked 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 dived into deep thought. 

But it soon became clear that he had made 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, your pride, or their thoughts. You’re risking the capacity to revolutionize the summoner class! What is this tournament compared to 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 its primary functions 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 reliable protection you have and, without it, you’re one mistake away from 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. 

She looked toward Maxwell, 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. However, 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 the Duchess’ words all too well. 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 most he had normally interacted with John outside of teaching him, 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.

The Duchess’ assessment was most likely correct. 

John was pissed, and he had been working his ass off 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 forced his hand, and he had decided to make them pay for it. 

Dropping out would be giving them what they wanted, 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 a final excursion and leaving forever. 

It would take a lot more to get him to stop especially when he had adequate power and wit at his disposal. After all, if he were any less accomplished, he wouldn't have survived up until now. 

Maxwell eventually sighed, walking out with the Duchess to the spectator stands. 

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. 

The judge’s hand snapped down. 

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

Walls suddenly rose, boxing in the entire arena and blocking lines of sight. Umara’s anxiety spiked 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. 

After another bout of silence, a shockwave rocked the arena. 

An enormous plume of dust rose above the walls, rippling from the force of the explosion as massive chunks of rock were sent flying into the air. The ground shook simultaneously, rattling the chests of the audience, the explosion painfully loud to their ears. 

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 were outright toppled, knocking others over like dominoes. There were also other faint sounds from what seemed like a person, but they couldn’t be heard over the lingering ringing in the ears. 

Most of the walls were reduced to heaps of rubble over the next five minutes until it all suddenly stopped. Silence reigned across the arena, the audience unwilling to even whisper. 

The judge couldn’t see anything and didn’t seem willing to call the battle 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. 

Another explosion rang out as a section of the outer wall was scattered across the arena border. A little while later, John stepped over the rubble, dragging a body behind him. 

Salivar Tone was thrown out like a broken toy, missing an entire hand with armor dented or blackened, rolling down the rubble for all the audience to see. 

John stood at the top of the pile, his clothes caked in dust and blood. None of his injuries seemed serious; in fact, he was barely worse for wear, only appearing 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 silence in response. He gazed across the audience 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! Your audience needs to see the finale!!”

“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 throughout the stadium, the judge bringing up his Aerial to speak to whoever was on the other side. 

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

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 in worry. John could clearly feel her anxiety. He was injured during the last battle, to say nothing of his depleted energy. 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 into 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. Seems like the medicine didn’t help him as much as they thought. He wasn’t going into this with much 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 from Lady Talerria’s spells. 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 the armor they gave me.”

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.”

“Because you all only fight mindless beasts. Now, with low reserves on both sides, 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 it 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 only managing to put dents into his skin before mushrooming and falling aside like so many coins. His Vigor formed a visible film above his skin, a mere fraction of the power that was coursing through his flesh. 

And those were just the bullets that managed to hit. He was fast and agile and unpredictable enough to throw off John’s aim, much more effective at dodging than any of the challengers that came before him. 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 toward John’s chest. 

At that moment, John’s eyes narrowed, a long breath escaping his mouth. With that breath came a dense white fog that pooled around their bodies, enveloping them, Ponteck’s Aura tingling in alarm.

And then another John appeared, one just as real as the original, breaking off his body. The two diverged on their own vectors.

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 within the fog as they ran away. He could only stand there, not willing to make the wrong decision. 

And then, he suddenly snapped toward John, the real John, whose 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 now was 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 pancaked, leaving a huge gash behind it. 

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 hand, 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 barely even got 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 another slug. Ponteck only expected two, correlating it with the amount of shells John slotted in. 

John backed off while firing, and as soon as the second shell 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 reached out with his other arm. 

John tried to dodge, but he was too close, and Ponteck was too committed. 

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

His skin broke like paper underneath a knife, the nails tearing down his chest, gouging angry red channels into his flesh and carrying away what remained of the shirt. 

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 him pouring blood. 

But he just smiled before jumping aside 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 shortly, taking off again into another run to be met with the shotgun. 

A few more slugs were fired, but Ponteck closed the distance too quickly. 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, even with such an advanced Aura, couldn’t counter that. He didn’t have enough time to learn the things that usually came with experience. He could only make do with what he had, though he wondered how John had gotten so good at fighting people. It definitely didn’t come from fighting beasts. 

So after another round of chasing, Ponteck finally broke out his best card. 

He 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 speed of thought and seemingly slow everything around him. It was his Crown, the dilation ability he hadn’t yet figured out how to activate at will.

Ponteck swung his sword in slow motion. 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, John soon realized that he would land flat on his back, and so, in preparation, he summoned an object into his hand. 

As time resumed, John felt the full force of his Psyka expenditure hit him, the blade of Vigor shooting right past him without so much as touching a single hair on his body. 

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

Ponteck dove forward at the opportunity. However, his eagerness to end the fight decisively led him to ignore 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 before his sword could reach him, his backside bloodied and heavily injured. 

John hadn’t come out completely unscathed either though. He winced and looked down to find a hole in his leg and another through his forearm. 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 burn 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 response. He was no doubt in a world of pain, his eyes almost out of focus and his remaining Vigor desperate just to keep him alive. 

John started hobbling over to him, his bloodied 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 fell back before throwing themselves at each other once 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 were probably equal. 

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

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

The two laid into each other for nearly five minutes, trading blows and bloody-ing each other further. 

John eventually stopped smiling and had to grit his teeth. His ribs were fractured and his face was swollen. His organs felt like they were about to explode with every body shot Ponteck delivered and his head was sending out waves of pain with every heartbeat. He could barely keep himself lucid when he was hit, almost blacking out before waking up to throw out another punch on pure instinct, his Psyka the only reason he managed to stay on his feet. 

But Ponteck was worse off. His Vigor reserves dwindled to 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 drove into Ponteck’s stomach, making him curl over before delivering another blow straight into his chin. With that, Ponteck passed out, collapsing to the floor.

John pulled his fist back. 

A few unsteady steps backward, and he stared, uncomprehending, at Ponteck on the floor. Their bloodstains painted a mural across the arena floor and their bodies. 

Taking a second to let it settle in, he stood silent, and slowly straightened out his body. 

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. 

But his victory cry was cut off by the menacing impact of someone jumping down from the stands. 

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

The hairs on the back of John’s neck rose, but he still shot him a bloody smile. 

Another impact was felt through the floor, but it wasn’t from Carrion’s side. From the corner of his eye, John saw Ignatius and Willow Verga rising from their landing. 

More Magisterium staff stepped down beside President Carrion. And then, as if in response, the Raven Chief appeared beside Ignatius, Shadowbane by his side. Even the Duchess glided down onto 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 slumping in the middle and feeling the heated clash of dreadfully powerful Auras. 

What broke it was the Puppet Master running on stage with Vizen, Umara right behind them. He 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, trying to pull her in for a kiss. But his wounded leg buckled as the adrenaline wore off, and he instead stumbled into Umara’s shoulder, barely able to keep standing. She caught him, disregarding the blood smearing across her clothes.

The Puppet Master walked over just then and patted 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 would go into the Hall of Fame. He was the prodigy of his bloodline, the seed for a new line of high nobles. 

Yet he had lost to a cold summoner who, not even a year prior, was completely unknown to the Kingdom.

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 matches! The first summoner to win in Magisterium history! Go on, Carrion! I want you to say it!”

John stumbled in blinding rage, taking a step toward Carrion, but lost his footing on the way. 

Umara caught him again. 

“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 onto 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 half concern and half joy as they walked off. 

Maxwell appeared before the couple. 

“Let us go 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 snorting out a laugh as she helped the half-conscious John walk out of the stadium. 

On the arena, the standoff continued for a little longer as Ponteck got rushed off stage, a whole staff of healers on standby. 

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 concurred, barely speaking through his anger. 

“The Magisterium will not validate your reports.”

“President Carrion, you are mistaken.”

Ignatius smiled. 

“You will announce the results of this championship to the world. Failure to do so will throw the Magisterium’s credibility into question, as well as the integrity of its staff. In such a case, I’m afraid some of the administration may have to be investigated, perhaps reeducated and replaced according to the Kingdom's bi-jurisdictional law with the Church… But of course, that’s only if this prestigious institution makes such a lowly blunder. I can’t imagine that happening, right, President?”

“...”

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

Yet its aftermath would be anything but.