r/TenkaichiManga

I do this after read tenkaichi chapter 62, this chapter was very good omg.

I think that I take this:

Attack/Reaction speed

Endurance/Stamina Skills

Defense

Experience

Range

BIQ

Maybe AP

​

Chapter 8: Sword vs Pen

Before the presenter's voice could resonate again, the coliseum underwent a radical change. The heavy gates on the sides of the arena opened and dozens of Seraphim entered at a hurried pace, sweeping away the remains of mud, washing the blood of Flamma, and repairing the tiles. In a matter of minutes, the arena was impeccably clean, almost unreal, leaving the ground ready and cleared for the next clash of legends.

It was then that the silence was broken by a golden light. Niké, the Goddess of Victory, did not walk toward the microphone; her body began to rise spectacularly, levitating without the need for wings, floating with supernatural grace toward the zenith of the coliseum. Her face overflowed with a giant smile, her eyes shining with a wild and pure emotion that emanated from her like a wave of energy. That emotion was so vivid and real that it instantly became contagious, making even the calmest spectator feel their heart jump and begin to scream.

Niké spun her golden microphone in the air, pointing at the stands with overwhelming energy:

— I KNOW YOU MISSED MY VOICE, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND DEITIES PRESENT! —the goddess shouted, and her voice made the chests of the tide of souls vibrate—. Master Kamiizumi showed us an unprecedented spectacle in the first round, but this... this is just the beginning of everything! The arena has been rebuilt and the ultimate reward is still waiting for an owner! THE DIVINE DESIRE WITHOUT LIMITS, the opportunity to fulfill any will before the heavens, is still at stake! Ladies and gentlemen, warriors and gods... WE OFFICIALLY START THE SECOND ROUND!

In the millisecond she finished her sentence, the Underworld sky erupted in a visual feast. Right behind Niké, while she levitated at the highest point spreading her frenzy, thousands of crimson and golden fireworks exploded in unison, creating a deafening roar that shook the foundations of the coliseum.

Meanwhile, in the deities' tribune, the atmosphere was less noisy, but infinitely denser.

Ares, the God of War, was so extremely ecstatic by Niké's announcement and the outburst of the fireworks that he had stuffed a handful of grapes into his mouth to calm his anxiety. Upon hearing the concepts of the warriors to come, his eyes burned with wild anticipation. He tried to shout with euphoria, but the emotion played against him: he choked loudly in the middle of the box.

— Agh—! Cough, cough! T-these... cough... are the names...! —Ares tried to say, with his face red and punching his chest.

Upon seeing him, one of the nymphs from Hades' retinue, her face pale with pure worry from being before the God of War, approached running and began to give him quick and frightened blows on the back to help him breathe, creating a most comical scene in the divine box.

Behind them, oblivious to his nephew's commotion, Hades, the God of the Underworld, gently swayed his glass of wine, watching the crimson liquid swirl against the glass. The spark of genuine curiosity that had been born in his eyes after witnessing the end of Kamiizumi and Flamma was still completely lit. He was fascinated by the potential of mortals. He took an elegant sip of his drink and, without looking away from the rebuilt arena, spoke in his deep, slow voice:

— Ares... once you stop fighting your own food, inform me —the King of the Dead requested, with a subtle tone of interest in his voice—. A conqueror who unified the steppes and a berserker who masters the word as much as the sword. Tell me, nephew... what kind of records do these two souls have in the books of Heaven? I want to see how far they can push their limits this time.

Ares, finally recovering his breath after one last blow from the nymph, bared his teeth in a fierce smile and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back on the marble railing.

— I assure you, uncle! This is going to be a damn work of art! —Ares exclaimed, his eyes bloodshot with emotion—. We are about to see the clash between the most implacable military calculation of the East and the most brutal blood poetry of the North! Neither of them knows what it means to back down!

Back in the center of the arena…

Niké, floating in the air, began to descend dynamically toward the center of the arena. Far from maintaining a rigid posture, the Goddess of Victory did a couple of happy and rhythmic turns in the air, executing extroverted and fluid dance steps while holding her golden microphone. Her face radiated such overflowing emotion that it was impossible not to catch it. She landed floating a few meters from the ground, closed her eyes for an instant, and took a huge breath of air, expanding her lungs to give the final announcement.

In that precise second, the environment of the coliseum transformed. The massive holographic screens of Purgatory came to life, projecting sharp images of infinite steppes and mountains covered by a dense layer of snow whipped by freezing winds.

Before Niké could utter a word, an ancient and chilling sound emerged from the stands on the Mongol side. The gigantic war drums, decorated with skins, began to rumble with a heavy rhythm that made the tiles tremble. In unison, thousands of nomadic warriors stood up, joining their voices in a unanimous and chilling clamor:

— UUKHAI! UUKHAI!! UUKHAI! UUKHAI!! —they roared with a tribal force that froze the blood, while the shamans began the Khuummii, that deep and resonant throat singing that imitated the whistling of the steppe wind and the roar of wild beasts. The atmosphere became so dense that you could feel the vibration in the air. While the throat singing enveloped the stands, the holographic screens showed glimpses of the Khan's life: steel clashing under snowstorms, the unification of divided tribes, and endless hordes of horsemen riding toward glory.

Niké, with her eyes wide open from adrenaline, exclaimed at the top of her lungs through the microphone, her voice cutting through the drums with an electrifying energy:

— WHO IS THE MAN CAPABLE OF SUBDUING THE VERY EARTH FROM THE SADDLE OF HIS HORSE?! WHO IS THE ONE WHOSE MENTION ALONE MADE THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE MOST POWERFUL DYNASTIES IN HISTORY TREMBLE?! COMING FROM THE COLD OF THE FROZEN STEPPES, THE ABSOLUTE UNIFIER OF NATIONS, THE STRATEGIST WHOSE COLD MIND NEVER KNEW DEFEAT!...

The holographic screens flickered, showing colossal maps painting themselves red while Niké ascended a couple more meters, gesticulating with total euphoria:

— He not only unified the nomadic tribes of Mongolia under an iron fist, but he created a political and military structure so solid and implacable that it defied all logic of his era! He led successful military campaigns that swept from East Asia to the gates of Eastern Europe... An implacable conqueror whose passage through history was so devastating that it claimed the lives of nearly ten percent of the world's population in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries!! A force of nature that rewrote geography with blood! Prepare yourselves for strategy incarnate, the terror of mortal kings...! THEINDOMITABLE WOLF!!....

GENGHIS KHAN!!!

The left tunnel seemed to exhale a gust of freezing wind the instant the conqueror took his first step into the light, unleashing total madness in the coliseum as the throat chants reached their climax.

Accompanied by the deafening climax of the Khuummii and the rumble of the drums, the figure of the Conqueror finally emerged from the shadows of the left corridor. Genghis Khan advanced toward the light with a firm, silent, and predatory stride, as if his boots were accustomed to treading the earth of freshly subdued battlefields. There was no exaggerated ostentation in him, but an innate and heavy presence of imperial authority that silenced the nearby boxes.

His build was robust and strong, a body forged by decades on horseback and in the mud of war. His face, implacably weathered by the sun and the frozen wind of the steppe, showed sharp cheekbones and a rigid jaw, wrapped in an expression of absolute calm. However, in his dark and penetrating eyes, a faint glimmer of icy, bluish ferocity shone; the spark of the wolf that devoured a continent.

His clothing honored his legends: he wore an imposing armor of red and golden lamellar plates perfectly fitted. A heavy wolf skin hung majestically over his left shoulder, the design of which integrated perfectly with the pauldron and the bracer, where the head of the animal carved with fierce detail stood out, a clear reverence to the "Blue Wolf" of Mongol mythology. From his waist hung a Dao with a curved blade and formidable appearance; the hilt looked visibly worn by the friction and sweat of countless battles, the perfect symbol of his lethality in close combat. His mere presence seemed to cool the air of the arena as if he brought with him the eternal winter of the steppes.

The entire coliseum held its breath when the freezing atmosphere of the Mongol emperor collided head-on against a burning pressure that began to emanate from the opposite tunnel.

Niké, floating at the zenith of the arena, felt the change in temperature and her behavior completely transformed. Her jovial elegance evaporated, being replaced by a violent frenzy. A completely wild, deranged, and bloodthirsty smile was drawn on her divine face. Her eyes shone with a golden and dangerous light as she squeezed the microphone with a force that made the metal creak, adopting a hunched, almost predatory posture, infected one hundred percent by the berserker spirit.

— AND FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD...!!! —Niké roared at the top of her lungs, her voice losing all finesse to become a torn and electrifying scream—. PREPARE FOR THE MOST BRUTAL CLASH YOUR SOULS HAVE EVER WITNESSED!!!

On the giant holographic screens, the images of the snowy steppes shattered, being replaced by fierce fragments of the new contestant's life: Viking drakkars defying storms with monstrous waves, axes splitting wooden shields on foreign shores, and a man drinking mead among the corpses of his enemies while writing verses with the same hand that held the steel.

The heavy right gates began to open slowly, emitting a metallic screech that made the skin crawl. However, before the light of the coliseum could illuminate the hallway, the only thing that could be distinguished in the deepest darkness of the tunnel were two bloodshot eyes. Two flashes of brilliant crimson red, full of homicidal madness and an unquenchable thirst for combat, fixed directly on the figure of Genghis Khan.

The goddess leaned forward, laughing with a wild frenzy that made the skin of the stands crawl:

— Do not be fooled by his intellect!! This man composed his first lyrical poem at the tender age of three, but at seven... at seven years old he had already sunk his first axe into the skull of another child in a fit of rage! A prodigy of poetry and a monster of violence! A warrior with a skull so thick and indestructible that enemy swords would blunt upon striking his head... The berserker of the fjords who plundered entire kingdoms and defied the very king of Norway with verses of blood! Ladies and gentlemen, deities present, let us receive the terror of the seas...!! THE DEVASTATING BEAR OF THE NORTH!!!...

EGIL SKALLAGRÍMSSON!!!

When the gigantic silhouette finally crossed the threshold of the right tunnel, the entire Purgatory felt the weight of a living legend. Egil Skallagrímsson advanced like a force of indomitable nature, an absolute contrast to the military neatness of the Khan. His mere presence radiated the smell of mead, mud, and the fierce winds of the North Sea.

He was a massive hunk of muscle, a man whose stature and shoulder width dwarfed the coliseum guards. He did not possess the athletic figure of the gladiators, but the brutal physiognomy of an authentic Nordic warrior: a chest as wide as an oak shield and a weathered belly that betrayed both his nights of feasting and his years on the front line in the shield wall. His skin was marked by pale scars, memories of swords that had barely managed to scratch his flesh.

His face was the living image of ferocity. A long, braided beard, unkempt and speckled with gray, framed a rustic jaw. His skull, famous for being as thick as a rock, was crowned by a wild, chestnut mane that fell onto his shoulders. On his back, he wore an imposing and rough cape made from the skin of a giant black bear, whose head rested on his right shoulder, giving him the exact appearance of his new title.

In his hands, Egil held a large Viking sword with a wide blade. The metal, heavy and worn by years of looting, lacked the refined ornaments of royalty, having instead the crudeness of iron forged for killing. Along the imposing blade, the edges were engraved with ancient Nordic runes that seemed to vibrate with each of his heavy breaths. Every step he took made the ground rumble, and that wild smile, with clenched teeth, showed that he did not see the Khan as an emperor, but as the perfect prey for his next poem of blood.

Niké, floating at mid-height in the center of the arena, breathed heavily with her chest heaving due to the colossal amount of energy she had spent to ignite the crowd with her presentations. With a smile still drawn on her face, she brought the golden microphone back to her lips, preparing to shout the official order for the fight to begin.

But she couldn't. The words froze in her throat...

Without warning, without any bell ringing, and without receiving permission from the deities, the Wolf of the Steppe and the Devastating Bear of the North stared directly into each other's eyes. There was no need for provocations. For the two greatest predators in human history, the formalities of the gods were an insult. They did not obey foreign laws; they dictated their own with the edge of steel.

In a blink, both figures vanished from their starting positions. The crimson silhouette of the Khan and the imposing Nordic bulk of Egil transformed into two blurs of pure destructive speed that closed the distance in a flash.

The wolf and the bear ran to meet the other with absolute and dirty certainty. Neither raised their guard. Neither feinted to dodge or seek an advantageous position. It was a suicide charge, a frontal collision where the millimeter calculation of the Mongol and the berserker fury of the Viking were reduced to a single, primitive instinct: tear the rival's head off before the opponent did the same. Chaos broke out in Purgatory without asking for permission, leaving the gods and Niké herself mute from pure shock.