Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 757: Tournament of Destiny’s first blood

Chapter 757: Tournament of Destiny’s first blood

A deep, resonant drumbeat echoed across the colossal Arena of Gods, signaling the beginning of the Tournament of Destiny. The vast audience fell briefly silent, holding their collective breath in anticipation as the mighty gates began to rise on opposite ends of the battlefield.

The eastern gate rumbled upward, and from within its shadows emerged a hulking figure nearly three meters in height—Godrick. His muscles rippled powerfully beneath his tattooed skin, every inch of him carved and defined by countless battles. Each tattoo shimmered faintly, radiating the potent aura of a Sage, making clear that this was no ordinary warrior but a seasoned Viking champion.

Yet as he strode forward with confidence and pride, a wave of vehement boos surged from the crowd, echoing harshly throughout the arena.

"Boo! Traitor!"

"Coward!"

The people had made their judgment clear. They recognized this man as a puppet, a mercenary of the corrupt elite, and their disdain for him reverberated through the stands. However, Godrick paid no heed to their jeers, his cold eyes glinting with excitement and greed. All he cared for was victory—and the reward that victory would grant him.

His attention quickly shifted to the western gate as it slowly ascended, revealing a strikingly beautiful young woman stepping calmly into view.

The instant she appeared, the boos instantly transformed into deafening cheers.

"Freya! Freya! Freya!"

The chant thundered like a tidal wave, shaking the very foundations of the Arena of Gods.

Freya walked forward in simple, plain battle robes. Unlike Godrick, she carried no visible weapons or armor—her belongings had been confiscated upon her unjust imprisonment. Her adversaries had done everything possible to ensure she faced this battle severely weakened and unprepared.

Yet despite her obvious disadvantage, there was no fear in Freya’s clear, determined eyes—only the steady, fiery resolve of a warrior determined to reclaim her own fate.

A faint but sincere smile briefly graced Freya’s face as the chants of her supporters warmed her heart. Yet that fleeting moment of warmth quickly vanished as her gaze shifted upward to the elevated podiums floating high above the battleground.

Those lofty seats, reserved for the mightiest clans and families of Valhalla, stood mostly empty.

The Tournament of Destiny was divided into two phases. The first selected the ten strongest Sages to advance to the final phase, where they would compete alongside prequalified Legendary warriors. Given the injustice of the trial—using a tournament to decide the fate of an innocent woman—most families had chosen to boycott the event, unwilling to stain their hands in such a farce.

Only one podium was occupied, and as Freya’s gaze locked onto it, her expression darkened.

Freya’s eyes burned fiercely with anger and loathing as she focused on the single occupied podium.

There sat Earl Octavio, the powerful nobleman who had orchestrated this entire farce—the father of the wretched man who had attempted to abuse her and who, by her own hand, had been swiftly dealt justice.

Octavio lounged comfortably, smugness oozing from his every pore as he openly enjoyed Freya’s suffering, a cruel smile curling on his aged lips as he met her eyes.

Freya felt a surge of fury building inside her heart. She wanted nothing more than to leap across the arena and crush that arrogant smirk off Octavio’s face. But she restrained herself, breathing deeply and calming the tempest within. Her revenge would come, but first, she had another battle to win.

Returning her gaze to the opponent before her, she noticed the predatory lust and arrogant disdain in Godrick’s eyes. He was eager to defeat her.

"You’ll soon be mine, princess," Godrick mocked confidently, gripping his enormous battle axe. Freya’s eyes only sharpened in response.

The cheers gradually subsided into tense silence as glowing numbers appeared above the battleground, counting down the moments until the start of the fight. There was no referee, no mediator—only raw strength and determination would decide this match. Victory required incapacitation, surrender, or death.

Three... two... one.

The flaming numbers faded away, marking the official beginning of the battle.

Instantly, Godrick lunged forward with terrifying speed, his muscles swelling even larger as his totemic power surged. His massive axe descended with the force of a falling meteor, aimed squarely at Freya.

To him, the fight had already ended. Freya had been imprisoned, weakened, stripped of weapons and treasures; she posed no threat. Victory was assured, or so he thought.

But as the enormous axe blade closed in, Freya showed no fear—only a fierce, disdainful smile. Her power erupted from within like a volcanic eruption, shocking the audience and sending visible waves of energy rippling outward.

A small ring suddenly appeared in Freya’s hand, pulsating with an ancient power. From the ring an armor emerged, enveloping her slender figure in less than a second. A small but sturdy shield, gleaming brilliantly, materialized on her left forearm just in time.

"CLANG!"

The colossal axe met the diminutive shield with an earsplitting metallic crash—and stopped completely. Godrick’s eyes widened in utter disbelief and shock.

"How—what is this!?" he gasped, straining futilely against the immovable barrier. Those were his last words.

"CRACK!"

With merciless, precise strength, Freya’s mace collided with the side of Godrick’s skull, shattering bone instantly and obliterating his brain. His towering body crumpled lifelessly onto the blood-stained arena floor, utterly defeated in a single decisive blow.

An immediate, stunned silence fell over the entire stadium. The sheer speed and brutality of Freya’s victory stunned everyone.

Octavio, whose confident expression had turned from smug amusement to disbelief, abruptly rose from his seat in outrage, his face twisted with fury and shock.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Octavio roared, visibly trembling with rage. He cared nothing for Godrick’s death; rather, he was furious that Freya possessed such potent artifacts despite his meticulous planning and sabotage, not to mention that clearly, her energy pool was full of vibrant power and life.

He was on the verge of ordering his guards to seize her equipment immediately, determined not to allow her to continue fighting with any advantage.