A perfect scheme. The Fox Sister concealed her satisfaction with her own handiwork behind an expressionless face.
The moment she saw the tournament bracket, she'd come up with this scheme—and the talent that let her do so terrified even her.
She had the ever-anxious Klye Andrich, a famous hunter in the human world (though she wasn't entirely sure why), paired against an opponent with an almost identical name. Without both conditions being met, the plan wouldn't work.
Through the Fox Sister's stratagem, the real Klye became the "fake." No matter how he tried to deny it afterward, this declaration had been made in front of this many people. Restoring his reputation would be a grueling task.
The only regret was that she wouldn't get to see that thoroughly carefree face of his panicking with her own eyes—but that couldn't be helped.
All that remained was for the real Klye to lose before the bewilderment hex she'd placed on him wore off. He wouldn't even get to set foot on this grand stage—before he knew it, he'd already be defeated!
The Fox Sister's transformation technique was flawless. Though the level of mastery varied, phantoms of the Abode of Confusion generally possessed the power to take on human form.
Klye Andrich took a step back and murmured in a dazed voice.
"What... are you... saying..."
"Surprised? Did you really never suspect there was a fake? Did you think our meeting was just a coincidence!?"
She read the mind of the human before her just slightly, smoothly weaving together a convincing narrative. The fox's art was a technique for deceiving people. Manipulating a stranger was child's play.
But this man called Klye Andrich—something was truly strange about him.
There was no cloudiness in his eyes, and no malice in his heart. A polished soul reflected the appropriate power within, and the staff in his hand was a Treasure Weapon as well.
His resemblance to the real Klye was, without question, limited to his name alone. If forced to add anything, perhaps his hair color was the same—but beyond those two points, everything was different.
And this man apparently—didn't know about the Thousand Transformations. Despite it being quite famous. The world truly was a strange place.
But this was convenient. If the opponent had been the fake, he might have wavered at the Fox Sister's declaration, but the man himself had no such awareness.
This was practically the heavens telling the Fox Sister to go ahead and pull off her deception.
Deceive Klye, deceive the audience—and deceive the real Klye.
The Fox Sister spread her arms wide, exuding confidence. She could feel countless gazes converging on her.
Curious stares. Confused stares. Contemptuous stares. The murmur of confusion was intoxicating. Confusion was the true purpose of the Abode of Confusion's phantoms.
—And then, Klye Andrich took a step forward and spoke quietly, though his voice trembled.
"Don't say such things, Klye. In this world—there are no fakes, and there are no originals."
By the time he finished, his body had stopped shaking. Eyes the same color as the real Klye's gazed quietly, gleaming.
His tone was calm, yet his voice somehow resonated throughout the venue.
"No matter what means a person uses, they can never become someone else. You can't become me, and I can't become you. But that's exactly why there's no need to become anyone else! You don't need to become me—you're already a splendid Klye Andrich!"
"...????"
The Fox Sister blinked, staring hard at the man who hadn't caught even a whiff of her scheming.
His strangely pleasant voice had completely captivated the audience.
So the real Klye might lack danger-sense, but this lookalike was equally oblivious.
"I don't mind if you look up to me. I don't care that you carry an almost identical epithet. But please—don't abandon who you are and try to become me. That's just too sad... The very fact that you have the right to stand in this Martial Emperor Festival means you're extraordinary. A mere fake couldn't set foot in this place. The fact that you look up to me included—you are Klye Andrich! I want you to acknowledge yourself without ever belittling that truth! And when you do—then I will face you with a smile and compete in martial arts! Right here, in this Martial Emperor Festival venue!"
His honest voice soared into the sky. A beat later, the venue erupted in explosive cheers. It seemed the audience had taken it as a performance.
The real Klye had been completely relegated to the role of a foil. It was going according to plan, and she had to admit—human society was quite the learning experience.
What to do next... Hesitating briefly, the Fox Sister raised her hand.
The fake's movement silenced the venue. Normally, this was where she would have drawn laughter and mockery, but it seemed that pitying gazes outweighed the scorn.
"...How pointless, real one. Here and now, you will fall. This is the Martial Emperor Festival—before spouting philosophy, show me your martial prowess. Or do you perhaps lack the confidence to win?"
At the Fox Sister's words, Klye's expression shifted to something slightly sorrowful—but then he shouted.
Wind howled. His black robes billowed dramatically, and the staff gripped in his right hand caught the eye.
A metal staff with a blue crystal embedded in its tip. And it was not of this world.
"I will never lose to you, the fake! Until you find your true self, I will stand as your goal, your ideal! Above all else—for Klye Andrich—no, for your own sake!"
The Fox Sister let those words pass through her ears like a breeze.
Klye Andrich had talent. Experience. A backbone in his spirit.
But the staff the man before her wielded was a strength that surpassed even that.
Purple lightning crackled around the crystal at its center. A Treasure Weapon staff—one specialized in a particular element, amplifying its power.
Understanding the scene before her without letting it show on her face, she nodded internally.
So he was far stronger than ten thousand times the real Klye. The mana housed within him had been refined and amplified explosively.
This man—a thunder mage. Moreover, a single-element mage who had devoted everything to thunder and nothing else.
The sky, the very air trembled. Thousand Heavens, Myriad Blossoms. Klye Andrich roared: "I will defeat you! I owe you a debt, so I will hold nothing back! Take my full power! Thousand Heavens, Myriad Blossoms—a thousand heavens traversed, radiant as ten thousand flowers—this is the power of I, the Thunder Emperor, Klye Andrich!!"
Almost reflexively, she looked up. And then—a single stream of light descended from the heavens.
§ § § In one corner of the Martial Emperor Festival's spectator seats, the members of the Mourning Specter were shrinking back as they observed the spectacle.
Kutoori Smart, sitting with his legs crossed and chin held high, clicked his tongue at the lightning raining down from the sky.
"Tch. As always, absurd power. And it's gotten even stronger again."
"He really is stupidly strong, y'know? We're basically useless."
Liliz Smart—Zurii—agreed with that assessment, heaving a deep sigh.
Klye was strong. Despite his ridiculous-sounding name, he was absurdly powerful.
He was simple. So simple he was easy to fool, he rarely thought deeply about anything, and he couldn't use the wide variety of spells that made a mage formidable.
But he was strong.
Of all the countless branches of magic, the only arts Klye Andrich could wield were thunder techniques—the most difficult of them all. And he loved that fierce light and devastating impact more than anything.
He had always operated solo. He had always been able to. No matter how large the opposing force, he never lost.
Even without a name like Thousand Transformations, Klye would have surely made it big.
—He had poured virtually all his ability into thunder magic. The epithet "Thousand Heavens, Myriad Blossoms" had been Luke and the others' idea, but "Thunder Emperor" was no self-proclamation. If he were to have an epithet, it would undoubtedly be that one.
Countless bolts of lightning struck across the vast venue. The tremendous impact and sound warped the barrier that should have been invisible between the spectator seats and the arena floor.
The converged thunder bored deep holes into the ground, and the soil thrown up by the shock swirled through the venue.
It was clearly not magic meant for use against human opponents, but he likely didn't care about such things.
Klye always went all out. That was both his greatest virtue and his greatest flaw.
Luke Saikol, who had looked pale since morning, clutched his stomach and muttered under his breath.
"This is bad... This is really bad... We don't even know what the opponent is planning yet..."
"Go get 'em, big bro! Kill that fake!"
Lusha cheered while trembling at the thunder.
Klye was certainly strong. But she didn't think he could beat a Level 8.
The Treasure Hall that Klye Andrich always explored was Level 5. It was precisely because weaklings like Luke and the others were there that he had to lower the level of the dungeons he explored.
His offensive magic was far too ill-suited for group activities.
If Luke and the others hadn't founded the Mourning Specter, Klye would have continued soloing dungeons and growing into an even more powerful mage. The thought wasn't without regret.
—No matter what means a person uses, they can never become someone else.
Ironically, Klye's speech had scored a critical hit on Luke and the rest. If he ever found out that he'd unknowingly become the fake—what would he think?
Having a similar name was, in the end, nothing but a children's trick. Sooner or later, the truth would come to light.
—But now that things had gone this far, there was nothing Luke and the others could do. The die had already been cast.
The Thunder Emperor roared. The number of lightning bolts increased further, amplifying the light and the impact.
Beyond the most famous high-level thunder spell—"Devastating Thunder."
The supreme-tier thunder magic: "Heaven's Thunder."
A spell that Luke and the others would never have witnessed in their lifetimes, it looked like a cataclysmic natural disaster.
If it struck head-on, even a Hunter whose body had been honed to perfection would be reduced to cinders. Because it was a continuous attack, even the Barrier Ring—considered the world's finest defensive measure—was rendered meaningless.
Perhaps no one had expected such a spell right out of the gate; the other spectators were equally stunned.
The lightning showed no signs of stopping.
The brilliance made it impossible to see Klye Andrich's figure. But Klye surely had the sense to stop his magic once his opponent was defeated.
The fact that the attacks didn't cease meant the opponent was still alive.
The reason the real one would declare the other a fake was beyond even Luke's foresight. But the real Thousand Transformations was a master schemer—if you didn't play your cards right, a terrible fate awaited.
Now that things had gone this far, even Luke couldn't bring himself to abandon the real Klye. Even Zurii, who had been written as a devious character, wasn't saying a word—their will was the same. As for Lusha, that went without saying.
Perhaps if they showed sincerity, the real Thousand Transformations would forgive them. If they had no intention of forgiving, wouldn't they have just exposed the deception immediately instead of making a grand declaration?
But even if the leader was willing to forgive, would the rest of the Mourning Specter do the same?
When one spoke of the Mourning Specter, they were the party that had crushed criminal organizations one after another and was feared even by Blacklist Hunters. Each member possessed a level of fame rivaling the Thousand Transformations himself. People like Luke could be crushed with a single finger. And on top of that—Klye might be innocent, but Luke and the others were not.
With the unending thunder crashing in his ears, he shuddered. Then, almost casually, Luke glanced at the real Klye's support section.
—In the support seats, the members of Beginning Footprint were shouting their encouragement.
Despite the ceaseless rain of lightning, they raised their voices without a care. At first, he thought they were cheering for the real one, but that didn't seem to be the case either.
"Go! Get him! Make him suffer!"
The one fired up the most was Sven Anger of the Storm Strike, whom they'd met once before. He looked like he was having the time of his life.
Luke no longer understood what was going on, but it seemed the real Klye's companions didn't care one bit about his strange declaration.
In every sense of the word, incomprehensible.
"............"
Luke stopped thinking right there. Enough—the burden was too heavy. No matter how much of a "foreseer" he was, some things simply couldn't be understood.
In the end, his foresight was just a cheap imitation of the Thousand Swords. A makeshift talent.
And then, abruptly, the lightning stopped. From within the dust cloud, Klye's bewildered voice reached their ears.
"Impossible... You dodged every single bolt of unavoidable lightning!? Who are you—Klye Andrich!?"