I Am a Hero With A Hundred Abilities
Chapter 82 - 82: Ch 81. Acknowledged

The arena fell into silence, a heavy hush blanketing the vast dome as the first match of the Crownspire Ascension was about to begin.

Ethan leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. These names hadn't been on the list Natasha sent him—they weren't considered major threats. Still, like every other contestant in the stands, he watched with full attention.

Not out of concern… but out of respect. This was the opening bout of a tournament that would determine the greatest prodigy of their generation.

Two figures stepped into the arena.

The first was a young man with vibrant green hair and sharp green eyes, wearing sleek aerodynamic battle-tech armor. A black cape fluttered behind him, and he gripped twin daggers, each pulsing faintly with wind-aligned energy.

Across from him stood a broader figure, a youth with earthy brown hair and eyes, clad in heavy battle-tech armor that clanked with each step. In his hands rested a massive battle hammer, the head of it inscribed with glowing runes.

High above the ring, the announcer adjusted his sunglasses, then raised his hand.

"Begin."

There was no hesitation.

The green-haired warrior exploded forward, the wind howling at his feet as he rocketed across the arena in a flash of movement. A sonic boom cracked the air as he closed the distance in a breath, his dagger aimed straight for his opponent's throat. He wasn't holding back.

But the earth user was ready.

Just before the dagger landed, jagged stone pillars erupted from the ground in a crisscross pattern, aiming to impale and trap the wind user. Without missing a beat, the green-haired youth leaned back, then exhaled a concentrated blast of wind from his mouth, shouting:

"{Gale Vault!}"

The force of the gust shot him into the sky, narrowly dodging the impaling earth. In the air, he grinned. This was his domain.

With a flick of his wrists, he slashed his daggers through the air, sending razor-sharp wind blades raining down.

The earth user raised his arms, stomping once as a thick rock barrier surged up to shield him.

The wind user spun in midair, his voice echoing:

"{Cyclone Dive!}"

A miniature tornado formed around him as he spiraled downward like a comet, hurtling toward the shield.

The earth user roared back:

"{Terra Sentinel!}"

The rock barrier unfolded like a blooming flower, forming into a towering golem made of living stone. As the wind warrior descended, the golem's massive fist rocketed upward, colliding with the wind user's spiraling form.

BOOM!

A shockwave burst from the impact, powerful enough to stir the hair and clothes of the contestants in the stands. Yet none looked away—not for a second.

As the dust cleared, the two warriors were still standing, breathless but far from finished.

Then, they charged.

A blur of motion. Wind and Earth clashed in a dizzying ballet of blades and blows.

Wind blades sliced through stone barriers.

Stone spears burst from the floor, forcing the wind user to dance and flip midair.

Dagger strikes met with the crushing force of hammer shockwaves, sending cracks rippling through the arena floor.

But gradually… the wind user began to slow.

Fatigue crept into his limbs.

The earth user seized the moment.

He stomped again, causing the ground beneath his opponent to seize around his ankles, locking him in place.

Before the wind user could react—CRACK!

The battle hammer crashed into his side, sending him skidding across the arena.

As he stumbled to rise, the earth user stepped forward, lifting the hammer for a final blow.

But just as it came down—the wind user vanished.

A soft tone rang across the arena.

"We have our victor—Stoneheart."

The announcer's voice rang out confidently, followed by a wave of pre-recorded cheers, echoing eerily in the empty dome.

Stoneheart—the brown-haired earth user—calmly turned and made his way back to the stands, his expression stone like.

The announcer adjusted his glasses again and grinned.

"Next match, step forward!"

And just like that—the first match of the Crownspire Ascension was over.

But the tension in the arena had only just begun.

****

The first round of the Crownspire Ascension carried a rhythm—a rising pulse that never once dulled.

Each match, like the first, was a showcase of skill, power, and ambition, none falling short of expectations. If anything, some surpassed them. Tension built like a storm in every clash, and finesse colored each strike, each ability, each tactic.

There were no dull moments. Each battle was a duel of conviction, the weak were mercilessly cast out, and the strong carved their way forward.

One by one, contestants were eliminated, the number shrinking with every fierce exchange, leaving behind only the victors, the ones with the strength and will to continue.

Then came the moment the stands buzzed for—Valen Droskar's match.

He stepped onto the arena floor with a silence that radiated pressure, his red eyes cold and indifferent. His opponent stood across from him, tense and ready—but to Valen, he was nothing. Just a nameless obstacle.

The announcer's voice echoed:

"Begin!"

And just as quickly, it ended.

Brutal efficiency.

The contestants barely had time to register the match before Valen's opponent was sprawled on the ground, bloodied and broken.

Not even sixty seconds.

The announcer's voice cracked with surprise but still declared:

"Victor—Valen Droskar."

As Valen walked back to the stands, the other contestants watched him in stunned silence. This wasn't just speed—it was dominance.

Among those watching the live feed was Lady Yvarra Droskar, Valen's mother. Her eyes never left the screen. She did not smile. She did not clap. Her thoughts were distant.

"Children's play," she murmured.

This was only the beginning.

Next came Sophia's match. Unlike others, she used no flashy arsenal, no array of devastating powers. Only relying on her common ability

"{Blade Summon.}"

And that was enough.

A single gleaming sword appeared in her hand. Not summoned in chaos, but with elegance. And with it, she danced.

Her swordplay was flawless—every parry, step, and slash executed with precision born of obsession. Her opponent never stood a chance.

One final flash of steel—and the duel was over.

Sophia stood untouched.

Her silent nod as she returned to the stands was all that was needed.

Then came Kane Volcrest.

The moment the announcer gave the cue, the air erupted in a crackle of violet and purple lightning. Sparks danced like wild spirits.

And in a flash—his opponent was gone.

Vanished from the stage in a thunderous strike, no time to scream, no chance to react.

The arena's systems confirmed the opponent was alive—but unconscious. Deeply so.

Kane turned, walking back to the stands.

But as he walked—he passed Ethan.

Their eyes didn't meet. Kane didn't even glance at him.

Why would he? In Kane's mind—Ethan was a footnote.

And to the other contestants, Ethan's match—the last of the first round—was just formality. They had already dismissed him.

He was weak. He was irrelevant.

And that's why, when the announcer said "Begin," the world shifted.

The moment the battle began—reality cracked open.

Ethan didn't hesitate. He didn't test the waters. He stepped forward and struck.

And in under a minute with just a single blow Ethan defeated his opponent.

The arena was quiet.

Too quiet.

****

As Ethan stepped calmly back into the stands, every pair of eyes followed him.

It was subtle at first—just a few heads turning—but it quickly became something undeniable. The entire room, contestants from noble houses, elite clans, and prestigious bloodlines, were now fixated on one boy.

Ethan Cross.

Even Sophia, cool and composed, couldn't help but blink. A brief flicker of surprise crossed her usually stoic face.

"He's gotten stronger," she thought to herself.

That blow was clean, decisive and unhesitating. There was a clarity in it that spoke of someone who had seen death… and learned from it.

Kane Volcrest said nothing.

He simply stared at Ethan as the boy walked past him, a long moment of silence stretching between them. There was no malice in Kane's gaze—just calculation, as though measuring something he hadn't accounted for. Then, with a quiet scoff under his breath, he looked away.

The other contestants followed suit. Some whispered. Others remained silent. But all had the same thought—

Ethan wasn't weak.

He wasn't just lucky to be here. He was chosen, and now it made sense.

Of course, none of them would admit it out loud.

They were elites. Prodigies. Warriors of pedigree.

But deep down, they accepted the truth.

The Ascension had made no mistake.

Only the best of the best had been selected for this stage. Ethan's victory—though unexpected—simply confirmed the standard.

Call it shameless if you like.

But in this world, shamelessness is a tool of the strong.

They didn't need to like Ethan.

They didn't need to cheer for him.

But they did one thing without question—they acknowledged him.

Still, acknowledgement wasn't fear.

Because even now, as impressive as his blow had been, none of the remaining contestants had used their full strength yet.

Ethan had made a statement. But the game was just beginning.

And everyone was ready to raise the stakes.

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