The Forsaken Heir's Ascension
Chapter 95: Riven: The Ruthless One

Chapter 95: Riven: The Ruthless One

There were relieved smiles on the faces of the Rebel Team. No cheers, no jumping around—just quiet relief.

Three more matches to win before the main round.

The umpire’s voice echoed through the arena. "Injured participants, please move to the side of the arena for healing."

Alex stood up with a groan, following his injured teammates. Rina walked up beside him, where Hati was walking along. She reached out to pat the beast gently.

But Hati turned his head away, stepping to the other side of Alex.

Rina gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Alex glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Please don’t do that, Ms. Roarhart. I understand we’re on the same team, but I’d prefer if you refrained from being overly familiar."

Then, turning his gaze to Hati as he moved forward—leaving behind a stunned, teary-eyed Rina—Alex added quietly,

"At least he understands nobles a little better now."

Meanwhile, in another arena enclosed by shimmering barriers, two teams stood facing each other from a distance. A hint of fear flickered in the eyes of one side.

The umpire’s voice rang out:

"Veylor Club, your match is against Team F. You’ve won the toss and chosen to defend. Please take your positions. This will be a free zone."

Riven stood beside Lyra, chatting and laughing, when the announcement came.

A blue screen popped up in front of Riven.

[REWARD: WIN THE MATCH AND UNCOVER ONE SECRET ABOUT THE MYTHICAL GODS][MAIN MISSION PROGRESS: +0.5%]

Riven narrowed his eyes.

Fucking trash system...You’re just pulling rewards out of thin air now.

He glanced toward Aslan, who stood nearby organizing the team. Then he turned to Lyra, his eyes softening.

"I’ll be back in a bit. Just wait here, okay?"

Lyra rolled her eyes and pouted. "I’m not a little girl, Riven."

Riven chuckled and gave her a wink as he walked away. Just as he reached Aslan, he heard the angry stomp of Lyra behind.

"Hello, Captain," Riven said casually. "What’s the strategy?"

Aslan offered a respectful smile. "We were waiting for you, Vice-Captain."

Then he raised his voice. "Huddle up, everyone! Strategy time!"

Aslan looked around at his teammates with his big, serious eyes. "We’re going with an unconventional strategy. I know the other team is weak, but we can’t afford to take any chances."

"Yes, Captain!" came the unified, energetic response from all eight members.

Turning to Riven, Aslan continued, "Vice-Captain, you’ll act as the trapper. I suggest you take the middle columns."

Riven thought for a moment, then said, "How about the third column?"

Aslan nodded with a small smile. "Good choice—that’s the primary trapper lane. You’re allowed to use official academy traps in that zone."

Riven shook his head. "No need. I think I’ll be enough."

Aslan didn’t protest. He trusted Riven’s strength.

The whistle blew.

The huddle broke apart as the team members moved swiftly to their designated columns.

Riven stepped into the third column, scanning both sides. The lane was divided vertically and evenly, just like the others. The end of the column—like all the others—was sealed by a shimmering blue barrier that marked the edge of the arena.

Another whistle.

30:0029:59The timer had begun.

As soon as the timer began, Aslan moved swiftly from the front column into the middle vertical one, a short sword gripped tightly in his hand. His long arms swung low and loose like a monkey’s, his posture crouched—predatory—eyes sharp and unblinking. He looked like a beast waiting for prey to cross into his hunting ground.

Riven smiled faintly and drew his weapons—gleaming twin daggers, black and curved. One edge was razor-sharp and milky white, the other blunt and dark purple. The blades shimmered strangely, almost as if tearing at the very fabric of space.

They looked like dawn itself: the sharp end like morning light breaking through darkness, and the dull end like night slowly retreating.

He held the daggers at eye level, smirking."Dawn-Breaking Daggers... the only thing worthwhile that ever came out of that trash system," he muttered.

Then, more quietly—he added,"Let’s win this. Maybe then the system will finally give us some real progress... toward unlocking our new element."

Tensing every muscle, Riven crouched slightly, ready to move, daggers steady in both hands.

The attackers made their first move, shifting from the first column into the second—closing in fast.

Aslan held the center, a wall of precision and speed, not letting a single attacker slip from left to right. On the right side, some attackers got trapped between two defenders—struggling but contained.

But on the left, one attacker slipped through, heading straight toward Riven’s column unchallenged.

Riven’s eyes narrowed."So that’s the unconventional strategy, huh?" he muttered.

The attacker believed Riven was distracted.

Blink.

Riven vanished.

Blink.

He reappeared instantly—in front of the attacker who was mid-stride across the boundary.

A gleaming dagger arced toward the attacker’s head—swift,

Riven wasn’t pulling punches. He was going for the kill.

The attacker’s eyes widened in panic. With a reflex born of desperation, he raised his unarmored forearm to block.

Slash!

"ARGHHH!"

Blood sprayed as the dagger tore through flesh, and the attacker was launched backward—slamming into the barrier behind him.

BOOM!

A sharp, echoing sound rang across the arena.

1 ATTACKER - OUT

Riven looked at his bloodied blade, then at the writhing figure against the barrier. His expression turned into a mockingly sadness.

"Oh... he didn’t die," he said, voice laced with dry sarcasm.

Then, raising his eyes toward the remaining attackers, he stepped back

Aslan smiled faintly, watching his vice-captain toy with the attackers like a cat with mice.

Riven stood casually, arms crossed behind his back. His gleaming daggers remained hidden, dangling behind him as he strolled lazily back and forth within his column—like a predator waiting for foolish prey to step out of line.

One of the attackers, a quick-footed dasher, scanned the battlefield with shifty eyes. He looked toward Riven’s lane, then glanced toward the center where Aslan stood, vigilant but stretched thin. He noticed the captain’s attention flickering between the second and third columns.

The attacker met eyes with a teammate in the second column. A silent nod passed between them.

They moved.

The dasher edged closer to the boundary near the middle, while his teammate mirrored him from the second column. Then, in perfect sync, they jumped—one to the left, one to the right.

Aslan reacted instantly, rushing toward the second column attacker like a pouncing tiger. His blade flashed through the air and struck with brutal precision.

Slash!

1 ATTACKER - OUT

The crowd let out a collective gasp as the attacker was flung backward, eliminated mid-jump.

But the second attacker—the one on Riven’s side—saw his chance. With Aslan momentarily out of position, he darted forward, aiming to break through the gap between columns.

Riven’s eyes flared with murderous intent—but he didn’t move.

If he left his position, even for a second, the attackers in front of him might flood through the gap. He had to hold the line.

The attacker sprinted past, grinning—only to run straight into a defender in the fourth column, who intercepted him.

Riven’s glare darkened. He turned slowly toward the remaining attackers in his column, eyes burning with pure killing intent.

The attackers felt it—an ominous pressure like a mountain bearing down on them. Every breath felt heavier.

A voice echoed across the arena:

"15 minutes remaining."

Riven’s smile returned, cold and sharp. He whispered just loud enough for the attackers to hear:

"Only fifteen minutes left... why don’t you take the chance like the other one? I promise—I won’t do anything."

A chill swept through the attackers.No one moved.No one dared.

Time inched forward.

10 minutes remaining.

Their expressions turned tense, some biting their lips, others gripping their weapons tightly. But their feet stayed rooted.

5 minutes remaining.

Restlessness began to spread like wildfire. Fingers twitched. A few took hesitant steps forward... then froze again.

Riven’s smile widened, predatory and sure.

Now comes the desperation, he thought.

3 minutes remaining.

Right on cue.

A sudden burst of movement—From the second column, several attackers dashed left, aiming to overwhelm the defense.In Riven’s third column, half the attackers lunged toward the right, trying to break through the perceived weak point.

Just like before, Aslan dashed toward the first attacker who made a move, his blade already gleaming mid-swing. But in doing so, he left a gap—an exposed path near Riven’s column.

Half the attackers seized the opportunity, surging toward the right side, aiming to cross into the next column.

Riven appeared—like a shadow.

His daggers flashed with deadly grace, each one slicing through the air with eerie silence.

Slash!Slash!

Agonized screams tore through the arena as the blades found their mark—clean, precise strikes to the legs. Two attackers collapsed, blood spilling into the stone floor, painting Riven’s column crimson.

Scream echoing in the arena.

The remaining attackers, sensing the brief absence, sprinted forward. They crossed the third column. The fourth. No resistance.

But the fifth column had a defender—one who cracked under pressure. He managed to stop only one attacker, the other slipping through.

Into the sixth column.

Another defender intercepted cleanly.

3 ATTACKERS – OUTTIME REMAINING: 60 SECONDS"HEALERS, PLEASE TAKE THEM TO THE INFIRMARY," the umpire’s voice rang across the arena.

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