The galactic tournament began with fanfare and proud speeches, champions and warriors praised for their courage in the face of certain death. For death was the only outcome for all participants, except one, the winner.

In a thousand of arenas across the capital, demons fought and died, each victory strengthening the victor's powers and cultivation.

Some demons used sharp weapons or strength to crush their foes, others used magic and mental powers. A few even used beasts and slaves as cannon fodder.

Then there was the special contestant. A human sponsored by the Soultrader Guild, who used all those methods and plenty others. Elemental magic, weapons or his bare hands, whoever stood in front of him was destined for certain death.

Sure, most of the opponents were only Demon Lords, who naturally stood no chance to win.

But a dozen fights in, a High Lord jumped in the arena, and the spectators felt a sliver of hope. Surely this fight would be at least spectacular?

Pef ignored the proud demon, and instead raised himself a table and a chair, and calmly poured himself a cup of tea. The High Lord demon was flabbergasted and insulted.

Leaving tactics aside, he drew out a bone-white morning star, glowing with beautiful violet and blue flames, then flashed forward, intent on crushing the human poser.

A large humanoid shape made of water and ice blocked his path, and backhanded the demon into the far wall of the arena. Twice as tall as even this 5 meter demon, it seemed to have more strength than a High Lord.

Cursing loudly, the demon regrew his crushed jaw, and eyed the construct with wary eyes.

He changed targets, attacking the summon instead, using his most powerful strike. The figure exploded into ice shards and water mist, then reformed its shape, like nothing happened.

In fact, it retaliated with a kick, punting the demon into the far wall again. The exchange continued for an hour, demon and summon restoring themselves back to health and continuing to hit each other with ever stronger hits.

The spectators began to boo and curse, as the human formed a bed for himself and lazily went to sleep, ignoring the brutes who battled to the death right near him.

Nine hours later, Pef woke up and stretched his arms, then looked around confused. Most of the spectators had left, only the judges and a few die-hard supporters still hanging around, looking not too pleased.

Pef shrugged and sat at his table, then drank some tea. Then he began taking out his cooking utensils, and started preparing breakfast, the smell of cooked meat driving the arena crazy.

Even the enemy High Lord stopped for a moment, glancing towards the source of the amazing smell.

Fried snake and spider, grilled poultry and pig, then a salad of various vegetables and even a bowl of ice-cream.

Ped nodded towards the tired demon, then gestured towards the bountiful table, full to the brim with the breakfast of champions.

Cautiously, the demon approached the table, eyes glancing warily towards the water summon, which had sat down and ignored him.

"Nice fight. You must be hungry." Pef said politely, then bit down on his juicy spider meat, and chewed loudly.

With a finger gesture, another chair rose from the sand, on the opposite side of the table.

"It smells great..." the demon admitted with a frown, and stepped even closer.

Pef nodded and explained. "Tastes even better. Sit and eat. It's not like we're going anywhere soon."

Warily, the High Lord sat down and began to eat, eyeing Pef with a curious face.

"Your summon cannot kill me, human" he proclaimed with a pride voice.

"No, it can't. Anyway, we'll stay here for a month, while the contestants get thinned out. No point winning this fight too early, after all." Pef mused, and poured some wine for his opponent.

"Clever. Wait till the tournament enters final stage. Let the weaker demons get eliminated..." the demon muttered, sipping the wine with a cautious stance. Determining it wasn't poisoned, he gulped the rest and smiled.

"Exactly. I'll be careful and try not to kill you by accident. Eat up and prepare yourself. Today you fight my fire summon." Pef said gently, his voice flat.

The water summon burst into flames, and the new summon boxed at the air with claws made of plasma. The demon gulped audibly, and bit into another chunk of meat. He would need the energy.

Pef returned his attention to his inner world, where Vela was slowly recovering her strength and Qin trained harder, draining her qi with strenuous flame jets and fire clones.

His avatar trained with Lia in sword forms, exploring what was possible using sword ki. More importantly he was polishing his sword intent.

It took almost of month of constant failures, until he could materialize a sword made only of sword ki, without a material support.

Lia wasn't too happy though. "You're cheating! A blade made from a shaped telekinetic field is still a blade." she admonished Pef with a pointed finger.

Pef waved his avatar's hand around, now ending with a blazing blade of sword ki, covering an invisible weapon. "The blade is not made of matter. Even the gloves approves. Says it's textbook description for One with the world, stage 1. Now I need to make a hundred such blades."

Lia cocked her head for a second, then expanded her palms into open fingers, each nail ending with a tiny blade glowing white. "Like this?" she asked innocently.

Pef sat down and sobbed, his achievement belittled by a mere Saint. Sure, her 'swords' were tiny, but she had ten! One order of magnitude better than him, while two ranks lower in power scale.

'I'm an idiot at cultivation, aren't I?' he complained to his glove.

'Not important. Soldiers with your ability are already good enough in the Legion. Perfect frontliners against Godbeasts and Lesser Fiends, when outnumbering them a million to one.' the glove replied with an amused tone.

'I'm outnumbered at least a trillion to one, and that's only on this planet.' Pef cried in despair.

'Yeah. That's why you hide in the middle of an arena, in your bed?'

'What? My bed is great!' Pef protested, defending his sculpted bed.

The glove knew not to argue about the bed. Pef was quite capable of throwing the glove away and defend his bed. Well, 'her' bed. The one that Lara made for him.

Sculpted with scenes from the Wall, where Lara had served for a couple of millennia. Her death had hit him hard, more than the entire rest who died on the perimeter combined.

Whatever, given his karma and the overseers of this universe, they would meet her again, reborn into a different body, but hosting the same soul.

It had told him, time was different now, as a million years meant little, perhaps not even another rank.

'Time has three dimensions, same as space.' the glove said instead, hinting the idiot onto the path he needed to find.

Pef blinked in confusion for a second, staring at the glove then back to his fire clone.

The pit fight went on, the clone getting better and stronger with every bout. Flails of fire and flame jets, explosive orbs and incendiary eye beams.

Hour after hour, the fire clone grew stronger, especially when using plasma weapons.

The High Lord demon wouldn't die just from these attacks, but it did exhaust him to regenerate constantly. He had also begun to adapt, using mana imbued sand to defend himself.

Sadly for the demon, it was time for this fight to end.

Pef gestured slightly, making the summon vanish.

The haggard demon regrew his melted arms and eyes, then staggered towards Pef's table.

A jug of wine awaited him, along with a piece of paper.

He began reading with a tired voice. "I hereby surrender to the Legion, knowing that my life and soul are bound by this contract. Or else..." the demon stopped, considering his options.

"I need a local to manage some things for me. No pay, but the food is great and I'll make you a Greater Demon, in the future." Pef explained in a soft voice.

The demon looked around, his senses scanning the other arenas. "Less than a hundred left. Ninety six plus a Chosen. I could become a Great Demon, with three victories."

"Perhaps. But you can't win this one." Pef said gently, an invisible blade forming in his hand, then he swiped downward, slicing off three left demon arms.

"Even if you win, they'll never give you a Chosen rank. There are three..."

"Deal or not?" Pef interrupted abruptly.

The demon bent down and reattached his arms. Then, he picked the contract and finished the vow. "Or else I suffer hellflame." The violet current flowed around him and the contract, binding them together.

"Judge! Your verdict?" Pef yelled, rising to his feet, contract in hand.

"Legion wins. Now hurry to the Central Arena. The finals will begin as you arrive." The Soultrader yelled back, and a couple of spectators woke up, as they fell asleep in their seats. The other seats were emptied long ago, the demons migrating to more spectacular arenas.

As Pef walked by the trader judge, he dropped a jug of wine in his hands. "Thanks for being so kind. I prefer to keep trustworthy demons alive, and working for me."

"A Greater Demon for a pet?" the judge said with a sharp voice, while smelling the wine cautiously.

"You think like a human, judge. You'll go far." Pef answered cryptically, then walked away, his captured prized following meekly.

Arazmodel awaited him at the Central Arena, smiling widely.

"Ah, the fabled champion of Mi'ridolor. Clever plan, with the delay. Your victory and qualification to the finals took everyone by surprise. The bet odds were a million to one!"

"What about now?" Pef asked grinning back.

"Now is only twenty to one. I made a fortune! A thousand planets in one month!" the Soultrader exulted with sobs of joy.

"Good enough, I guess. Just remember, Arazmodel. I want the humans from those planets." Pef said softly, gesturing towards the High Lord salve to follow him inside.

A guard stepped to block his advance, since the arenas were meant for single combat, or slave escorts.

"Only the winner can enter. Your companion can wait outside." the guard demanded, waving the High Lord away.

Pef stopped, looking at his prize. Then took out a broken collar from his storage. "He's my slave. But yeah, forgot to collar him." Then he gestured at the High Lord, and threw him the collar. "Put this on."

With a click, the collar snapped around his neck, though without the violet glow of a bound collar.

"Good enough?" Pef asked with a smile.

"Eh. Not my problem, Legion. I wish I had bet a jade slip on you." the guard admitted with regret.

"There's still time. You can bet a hundred and make two thousand." Pef whispered as he passed by.

As soon as Pef entered the arena, the announcements began, the Soultrader Leader proclaiming the final open.

Pef stopped and pointed to the side, where other contestants were seated on benches.

Two demons were called to the middle, and in three seconds, one of them died.

Then another two. Then another. Rarely fights lasted for more than a minute.

"Still confident in three victories?" Pef asked softly.

His demon hesitated, glancing at the remaining contestants. "One, maybe two."

The next bout, one of the High Lords had gained enough magic and crossed the threshold, reaching Greater Demon rank. "What about now?" Pef asked with a smile.

"One, maybe..." the High Lord said with some worry.

"Remember, this time my summon will fight beside you." Pef whispered with a smirk.

"Legion and High Lord Secisnal!" the Soultrader called out.

Pef jumped into the arena, and pushed his demon forward.

The other demon drew a glowing blade and jumped into the arena as well.

"Zorkel? You're a slave for this human? Hahaha, I've seen it all now!" Secisnal laughed, along with the entire public.

His laughter didn't last long. A clone made of ice materialized behind him, and grabbed his shoulders in an unbreakable grip.

Zorkel stepped in, one hit of his morning star crushing the other demon's knee. Two more hits splattered his head and ribcage. Then he punched inside the torso, fist coming out with a bluish core covered in blood and guts.

While Zorkel devoured the blue core, Secsinal evaporated in screams and violet flames.

Pef jumped out, followed by his slave. "Two more?" he asked curious.

"Yes, Legion. Maybe one. I'm close." the High Lord replied with a grateful voice.

More fights followed, thinning the ranks of the contestants.

Zorkel won again, this time supported by a flame clone. The new core wasn't enough, but there was still time.

No other Greater Demon had emerged, yet.

Then at the next round, Zorkel did Descend, and became a Greater Demon.

Just in time, as the quarter-finals brought Pef and the other Greater Demon face to face.

"Legion and Greater Demon Kofel!" the Soultrader called.

The spectators drew forward, since it was rare to see two Greater Demons fight. Plus the human might provide other tricks.

Pef glanced towards the Soultrader, eyeing the mace he held in hand. It looked like an old flintlock pistol, barrel long and thick.

'That's our gun?' he asked a bit dismayed at the archaic look. Well, it would have been futuristic, if these humans would ever invent firearms.

'It doesn't shoot bullets, Soldier. Shape doesn't matter.' the glove replied with a stern tone.

'Okay, don't belittle the godslayer weapon. Got it.' Pef said a bit amused.

Zorkel and Kofel rushed to grapple each other, both their strengths now orders of magnitude higher than Pef's. He gallantly stepped away from the melee, then hid underground.

The sand was only a few meters thick, laid over some durable material made of scales.

Still, that wasn't important. His knife flew away, and speared upwards from the sand, right when the demons had locked each other into a stalemate of grips.

His first cut sliced through Kofel's abdomen but missed the core. The knife remained inside the body and turned around, slicing again.

It missed the fatal strike, as Kofel was wildly bouncing around, predicting the knife's moves.

However, it did slice off one arm and part of the ribcage. Pef blinked up, slicing with his invisible blade while his clone piled on top of the Greater Demon to hold him still for a second.

His strike hit true, cracking the core and chipping out a bit. A burst of violet lighting hit Pef in return, throwing him into the far wall, body half melted and clothes aflame.

The demons continued to fight, Zorkel gaining the upper hand now, while Kofel was badly injured and trying to regenerate. He didn't get the chance, as Pef guided the knife into a corkscrew spin, hitting the core with a dozen hits in one second.

With a terrified wail, Kofel vanished into hellflame, a handful of core fragments dropping onto the red-blood sand.

Zorkel collected the loot greedily and returned to Pef's side, one hand petting the core fragments like sick puppies.

"Keep the sword and one small core. Give me the rest." Pef said weakly, holding a palm out to gather the loot.

Then blinked out, dropping on the bench to heal and digest his prize.

Killing a Tier 3 in direct combat, even if assisted, gave him a tremendous boost, pushing his cultivation one third of a rank.

Zorkel digested his own prize, getting a bit stronger and rejuvenating himself to full health.

"Two more, and we win!" the demon proclaimed with confidence.

Pef sighed, his senses watching alarmed as two more Greater Demons emerged in the other matches.

'Another victory like this and I'm not living through the day.' he complained to his glove.

'The trader suspects something. You'll get the last High Lord in the semifinal.'

Pef nodded inward, admitting the cleverness of the plot. Too many Greater Demons would mean less power for the rest. But a human winner was still far worse.

"Legion and High Lord Mermedal!" the Soultrader announced, making the crowd complain loudly.

Pef jumped in the arena and took out his bed. In a minute, he was fast asleep, fire clone keeping watch.

Zorkel glanced back at his master and his fiery guardian.

"I guess we play for a while, High Lord." he said to the other demon.

Pef slept like a baby, that means 18 hours. The crowd was in uproar at the shameless human, though many secretly admired his demented courage, to sleep in the middle of the Central Arena, in the middle of the semi-finals.

When he woke up, he glanced around at the spectators, then at the Soultrader.

Then, he took out his kit and started making breakfast. Most important meal of the day, after all.

Soon, Zorkel stopped smacking poor Mermedal and begged with his eyes for some food.

Pef nodded and pointed at Mermedal. "You hungry, High Lord?"

The demon bit off then spat his tongue on the sand, too tired to talk. Perhaps as an insult.

Pef shrugged and called his water clone to sit on the High Lord while he and Zorkel feasted.

"Some people rather die, I get it." He mused, pouring more wine for his Greater Demon.

"He's so stupid. He could become like me in the final." Zorkel said with an unbelieving tone.

Pef nodded. "Mermedel's not stupid. That's why he'd rather die."

They ate in silence, savoring the meal, as if it might be their last.

Then Pef rose and blinked next to the defeated demon. "See you in hell, Mermedel." he said softly, then stabbed his right hand into his core. The core shattered, flames dragging the demon into hell.

"And now, the long awaited semi-final! Greater Demon Lashiel and Greater Demon Vorn!" The Soultrader proclaimed while looking disgusted at the human problem.

Pef blinked away, landing beside Zorkel.

The fight was terrific, as both Tier 3s were mages of good standing. Lighting, sand storms, acid, blood magic. Everything and every spell they knew while backed by formidable strength and durability.

"You have healed, Legion? I think we can take whoever wins. They'll be tired and injured." Zorkel asked in a concerned tone.

"Yes. I will win, there's no doubt about it." he answered in a bored voice.

"Still...after..." Zorkel said in a whisper.

"I know. Stay back, after. In high orbit would be better." Pef said with a grin.

After two hours of desperate attacks, Vorn bit into his opponent's stomach, and ripped out his core.

"The Soultrader's Guild tournament is at the final stage. Whoever wins gets to become a Chosen!" Verzinel yelled from his podium.

Pef and Zorkel jumped into the arena, facing the shredded Vorn as he tried desperately to heal into a combat shape.

"Legion and Greater Demon Vorn!" the trader announced.

"Hold him for me." Pef said calmly, as he began gathering sword ki like an armor around himself.

Then with a flurry of punches and stabs, Pef pounced on the weakened demon, every hit aimed at his core. His knife flew around, slicing off a demon arm or leg when necessary.

The Greater Demon kept healing back, but it was a predetermined fate. It took almost five hours, until Pef managed to pierce the core with his bare fists.

The Legion's method did the rest, the boon of direct combat against a higher tier raising his cultivation to the peak.

Not a Tier 3, but only a feather away.

With a flash of violet magic, Zorkel fled and flew away, doing his best to stay alive for what was next to come.

"And we have a winner. Legion of Mi'ridolor. You claim the title of Chosen?" the Soultrader asked in a polite and ceremonious voice.

"No. I'll gift that to my good friend and sponsor, Arazmodel, of your Guild." Pef answered with a smile.

Verzinel glanced confused towards Arazmodel, who had jumped in the middle of the arena.

"You heard the human! I am Chosen, by right of combat!" the High Lord claimed loudly.

Verzinel closed his eyes, no doubt speaking with someone else with his mind. "Agreed! You promoted this champion, and claimed the highest prize. Well done, Chosen!"

A funnel of violet energy descended from the sky, engulfing Arazmodel in thick layers of magic. He howled with joy as the title began taking seed, raising him to the station of Chosen.

Pef walked slowly towards Verzinel, stopping when he felt a spike of killing intent.

"What else, human? You gave away your prize." the demon growled.

"I am interested in that mace. Can I touch it?" he asked with an innocent voice.

Verzinel's eyes glowed with blue magic, then he pulsed with power. "Blasphemy!" the demon yelled.

Then he bashed Pef with the mace, his Chosen strength sufficient to shatter muscles and bone.