After spending a full day and night making Scratch Cards for Lightchaser and GodDraw77, Rita didn't leave her room. At most, she'd step out now and then to knock on the door across the hall, demanding that Mistblade show her the console. No response, of course. The other woman was clearly pretending to be dead. Ha. So this was Orpha's great monarch? Pathetic. Didn't look like much of a queen to Rita. Check latest chapters at 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵~𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖~𝙣𝙚𝙩 When the morning of the Solo Tournament arrived, she turned the deep-blue helm and warped straight to the battlefield. Twilight Library had been expanded again. The audience seats were nearly twice as large as before, and still every chair was filled. In the special viewing area sat seven GodDraw77s in total, each one radiant, divine, and terrifyingly beautiful. Everyone was waiting for GodDraw77's awakening—hoping she would continue what had begun three years ago and finally push open the door that had refused to open. On the white sails above the arena, fewer than two thousand students waited to enter the game. These were the strongest of the strong. Everyone else had simply quit. Not only was this year's Divine Game brutally difficult—with so many deaths that all one hundred resurrection slots across the academies and rogue factions had been exhausted—but Rita and Maple Syrup's duel had made one thing clear: ordinary students didn't belong in their league. Add to that the chaos from Crab, NightFury, Pine Bloom, Frenzied Shark, and Quex's brawl over divine relics... Just getting caught in the crossfire could mean instant death. Many who chose not to enter weren't weak—they were top-ranked demons and overlords from the ladder list. Mistblade wasn't surprised. This game was different from all others. It reset the board; everyone was back at square one. But most demons and overlords had only joined the cycle a year later than the abyssal players, so the gap was real. That same uniqueness, though, had flushed out multiple divine relics. When she and Maple Syrup reviewed their matches last night, they came to the same conclusion: another divine relic must still be hidden in this round. Either it hadn't been forced out yet, or its wielder was being extremely cautious—like NightFury with Whale Falls in the Wind, or Maple Syrup with Faded Homeland. Even Mistblade, once ranked among the top of Arisentna, couldn't claim to know all of the relics or the true connection between the divine voices and divine shadows they carried. To this day, she still had no idea what BS-Rita's lantern-shaped relic really was—the one that plunged the entire world into night each time she used it. In the air, the crimson card was the only one left. Under the gaze of every being present, the card spun once and struck the center of the white sail. Rita broke into a sprint toward it. She had only taken a few steps when someone ran up beside her. "What kind of competition makes you run like that?" Rita glanced sideways. "You've been running for years and you still haven't learned to fly. I run once and suddenly it's a crime?" He laughed, genuinely amused. "I thought you weren't talking to me anymore." Rita replied evenly, "I wouldn't ignore you. Even if Maple Syrup or Mistblade wanted to talk to me right now, I'd still answer. It's called manners." Fat Goose nodded vigorously. "Right, right. I heard about that. You spent all of yesterday knocking on Mistblade's door, begging her to open up so you could see the console. Worm Tavern made a fortune selling that story." Someday, she swore, she would burn every Worm Tavern in all of Arisentna to the ground. From above came Mistblade's voice. "So, what's the name of that lantern-shaped relic of yours?" Rita kept her eyes forward, lips pressed tight, saying nothing. She didn't even blink, not once, until she dove headfirst into the glowing gate of the dungeon. Mistblade asked, "Was that polite?" Fat Goose gave her a reproachful look. "Well, to be fair... you did mess up first." Mistblade blinked. "What?" She'd spent one day hiding in her room and somehow the whole city already had a new legend about it. [Solo Tournament Game – Sudoku] [Players must fill in their Sudoku grids using digits 1–9 so that every row, column, and 3x3 box contains all nine numbers.] [Each time a number is placed, there will be ten minutes of open looting. If the holder is killed, the number drops. After the timer expires, ownership becomes permanent. If the holder dies afterward, the number disappears with them.] [The first player to complete their grid wins.] Rita listened to the rules while taking in her surroundings. When she realized it was the same map as the Fun Match, she exhaled in relief. Perfect. This was the best place to hide and run. If they'd used the team-battle arena—the massive Roman-style coliseum—she'd have nowhere to go. Even so, this setup was not exactly comfortable. She glanced at the two people standing on either side of her—so close she could feel their breath. A Maple Syrup on the left. A Mistblade on the right. She was the cream in a murder sandwich. "The game doesn't even start for ten minutes. Do you two have to stand this close?" Maple Syrup shot her a frosty look but said nothing. Silent treatment, huh. Fine. Rita snorted and turned toward Mistblade, eyebrows arched. You got something to say? Mistblade quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the central platform of the circular library. She didn't dare meet Rita's gaze—afraid the girl might start yelling about that game console again. So Rita copied them both, folding her arms and staring straight ahead with a blank expression. Up on the next level, Crab pointed toward the three emotionless statues below and asked Pine Bloom, Mojie, and Pomango, "What are they doing?" Pine Bloom blinked back to reality, her gaze never leaving the three who stood in a perfect V-formation. "Probably arguing." Crab turned to go upstairs but stopped when Pine Bloom asked, "What do you think we are outside the game?" She wasn't just asking Mojie and Pomango. Crab paused too. They were all drifters, students with no school left, often helping each other survive. All four turned to study Maple Syrup and Mistblade—their auras commanding and sharp. The one between them, shorter by a head, was conveniently ignored. One radiated dominance, the other elegance—two completely different types of power—but both shared the same unmistakable presence: leaders. Rulers. People who bore the weight of nations. That was how Pine Bloom put it, and Crab, Mojie, Pomango, and even Quex—who had somehow perched herself on a staircase railing—agreed in unison. After a long moment, Pine Bloom sighed dreamily. "I must be that kind of important person too." Crab groaned. "Oh for—" Mojie muttered, "I'm starting to develop a prejudice against people with wings." Pomango nodded solemnly. "Same. You can't even hold a normal conversation with them." Quex sighed. "I'm leaving." But Pine Bloom stayed serious. "No, think about it. The way Maple Syrup and Mistblade look at us—it's cautious. They're wary of us." Crab nodded immediately. "Yeah. You might have a point." Pomango: "Convincing." Rita nodded vigorously too. In fact, she was certain she must be even more important than Pine Bloom and the rest. Otherwise why else would Maple Syrup and Mistblade be chasing her all the time? She wasn't even a succubus! Mistblade rubbed her temples. Even Maple Syrup, who'd been keeping her icy mask, couldn't help rolling her eyes at the collective idiocy below.