Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

Chapter 81 Regional's Prelude

The journey to Elthram was long and tiring, stretched out by the harsh landscape of Vallgorath.

The group—consisting of Ivaim, Mayor Halvin, Blacksmith Tharos, and several town officials—traveled through steep hills, winding paths, and dense forests.

Each step seemed heavier than the last as the uneven roads and rocky terrain slowed their progress.

It took days before the town of Elthram finally came into view, its outline barely visible against the fractured sky.

Ivaim glanced up, his gaze lingering on the strange sight.

'This Fractured Reality is so detailed... so wide,' he muttered in his head, filled with a mix of amazement and unease.

'I'd expect nothing less from a Throne Holder like the Master of Cruelty.'

He shook his head, trying to focus, but the thought lingered.

Nathan's words came back to him, replaying in his mind like an echo.

'Killing the Reality Master isn't necessarily the only way to escape...'

'However, What we're left with no choice but choosing it as a way out?' The question struck like a hammer, and his stomach churned at the possibility.

His brow furrowed as he considered their odds.

'If it is... I doubt we'd stand a chance,' Ivaim admitted to himself, the thought lingering as the carriage creaked under his shifting weight.

The weight of those words settled heavily on him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

He peered outside as they neared the gates, catching a glimpse of the impressive structure.

'Hm. Quite big. Elthram really is rich,' he thought, taking in the polished stonework and the intricate carvings decorating the archway above the gate.

It was clear this town had resources, power, and no shortage of pride.

'Perhaps that's why the Regionals are held here...'

Mayor Halvin and the town officials stepped out first, greeted by two stern-looking guards in polished armor.

One of them held a long list while the other gripped the hilt of his sword, ready for trouble if needed.

"State your purpose and provide your verification," the guard with the list commanded in a formal tone.

Mayor Halvin nodded, unrolling a parchment from his satchel.

Still, he allowed Tharos to guide him forward, his vision obscured by the heavy fabric.

The muffled sounds of the guards and the creak of the gates opening were the only clues he had as to their surroundings.

He could hear the faint murmurs of people within the accommodation center, but he remained hidden beneath the cloak.

Though it all felt unnecessary.

...

After settling into the accommodation center, the days dragged on for Ivaim as he waited for the official debut meeting of the Regional Competition.

With nothing much to do, he spent most of his time practicing with the equipment that Blacksmith Tharos had crafted for him.

The armor, surprisingly light and well-fitted, allowed him to move with ease. Its custom design struck a perfect balance between protection and agility, just as he had hoped.

The baton he'd requested was sturdy and responsive, fitting perfectly in his grip.

As for the dagger—an addition Tharos insisted on—it was small but sharp, tucked securely at his waist thanks to a hidden compartment in the armor. He had to admit it was a clever touch.

'Not bad at all,' he thought as he rolled his shoulders, testing the flexibility of the armor one last time.

Everything about the setup felt right, but his thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.

'I wonder how tough the other contestants are...'

The question lingered in his mind as he stared out of the window, the dim sky above Elthram serving as an uneasy reminder of the stakes ahead.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, the day of the meeting arrived.

The venue was a massive stadium, its towering stone walls lined with banners from every town participating in the competition.

The seats were packed with townsfolk and officials, all eager to see the champions who would soon battle for glory.

Ivaim, along with the other participants, stood on the stadium floor. The expanse was overwhelming, the air thick with tension and anticipation.

In the middle of the arena stood a lone figure, a man dressed in official robes adorned with intricate golden embroidery.

He held a scroll in one hand and raised the other to command the attention of the crowd.

"Welcome, champions, officials, and spectators, to the Regional Competition of this year!" the man announced, his voice amplified by some unseen magic.

The crowd erupted into cheers before gradually quieting as he continued.