Gon's Harem System
Chapter 202: A heartless necessity

Chapter 202: A heartless necessity

The air was thick with sweat, sand, and the ringing echoes of distant spells clashing like blades.

All around the ring, mages were locked in their own battles, flashes of light, eruptions of dust, and bodies weaving, stumbling, falling.

But here, in his narrow corner of the warped battlefield, Gon moved with quiet deliberation. Every motion was controlled. Every breath, measured.

He faced the boy, the one he’d fought blow for blow only moments ago.

The ground beneath them sloped precariously, uneven with ridges and dips as though the arena itself were a living creature, restless and spiteful. Neither spoke.

Their eyes locked, both of them coiled like springs, waiting, just waiting, for the other to make the first fatal move.

Then something snagged Gon’s attention, sharp and sudden, like a flash of motion in his peripheral vision.

He turned his head just slightly, instincts kicking in, and there it was.

Off to his left, barely a few yards away, a mage in deep emerald robes stood right at the edge of the arena platform.

The fabric of the robe shimmered in the shifting light, catching glints of gold thread as it fluttered in the wind, the color a sharp contrast against the dull, scuffed stone beneath his boots.

Her feet scrambled over a slanted patch of ground, her arms flailing in a desperate attempt to remain upright.

One heel dipped past the boundary, and she cried out, more in fear than in pain, as she fought to regain her balance.

She was already losing her fight, though her opponent hadn’t yet landed a final blow.

Gon tilted his head, watching her.

A corner of his mouth curled into something close to amusement, no, not amusement.

Something darker. A cold calculation stirred behind his eyes, the kind that came not from cruelty, but from strategy.

The rules of the tournament were simple: remain in the ring, or lose. It didn’t matter how.

He shifted his weight. A single, elegant movement followed.

Power surged invisibly at his fingertips, channeled with practiced ease and no more warning than the flicker of intent behind his eyes.

A crimson burst streaked through the air, unseen by most until it struck the mage squarely in the chest. She didn’t scream.

There was only a shocked gasp as the impact sent her tumbling backward, past the edge, robes fluttering like torn banners in the wind, before she vanished from view.

A beat of silence.

Then the announcer’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos like a bell tolling doom.

"One more mage has fallen! Out of the ring!"

Gon didn’t flinch. He didn’t look to see if she had landed safely. He didn’t care.

The boy he was facing, however, had hesitated, eyes flicking to the empty space where the girl had stood, confusion flashing briefly across his face.

His lips parted, and for a second, it looked like he might speak.

But then he rushed forward instead, perhaps out of indignation, or simply the need to erase whatever advantage Gon had seized.

It didn’t matter.

Gon was ready.

Gon shifted his weight and stepped sideways just as the boy lunged forward, moving with sharp, practiced precision.

His boots scraped against the stone floor, finding the right angle at the last second.

The staff came whipping through the air in a tight arc, aimed straight for his shoulder with enough force to knock him clean off balance.

But he was already moving.

He ducked under the strike, feeling the rush of air as the wooden shaft sliced past, missing him by inches.

The motion was smooth, instinctual, like his body had already calculated the attack before his mind had.

He could feel the heat of the momentum brush against his skin, close enough to sting.

Dust rose around their feet as they collided again, blade meeting wood, sparks flying. Gon didn’t give him time to regain footing.

With a graceful turn, he spun on the uneven sand and released a flurry of razor-like attacks, slicing through the air.

The boy dodged. Barely. His footing was uncertain now, the shifting terrain pushing him further and further back with each evasive step.

His boots skidded near a steep incline, the lip of the ring only feet behind him. He knew it.

Gon saw it in his eyes, the way they darted sideways, calculating, panicking.

Gon pressed forward. There was no pause.

The final strike was swift, almost gentle in its execution, but it carried weight. Power. Precision.

The boy raised his staff to block, but it was too late.

The impact caught him cleanly across the chest, and the force lifted him, just slightly, off his heels.

For a moment, his body seemed suspended in the air, outlined against the brilliant chaos of the battlefield beyond.

Then he flew backward, arms flailing, his voice lost in the rush of wind as he toppled over the edge and out of the ring.

Silence fell, brief but dense.

Gon stood still, shoulders rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm.

The boy was gone, expelled from the battle like a pawn swept from the board. And now, the ring was just a little less crowded.

He waited.

Eyes flicked upward, toward the floating balcony where the announcer sat. The crowd had seen. They had all seen. That was the second opponent Gon had cast out.

He waited for the words.

For the voice.

For the declaration.

But none came.

The arena remained quiet. The murmurs in the crowd resumed, but the loud, echoing announcement he expected never arrived. No booming proclamation. No celebratory horn.

Gon’s brows pulled together, just slightly.

Was it a mistake? Had they not seen?

He glanced to the edge of the ring where the boy had fallen. There was no sign of movement, no hand clawing back up, no last-minute return. He was gone.

Still, nothing.

For a moment longer, Gon stood frozen. Suspicion stirred in his gut like cold water. But he shook it off. This was not the time to dwell. Not here. Not with enemies still breathing.

He turned from the edge, his gaze sweeping across the broken terrain until it settled on a new figure, a lone mage who had kept to the shadows, perhaps hoping to be overlooked, perhaps simply biding his time.

It didn’t matter.

Gon stepped forward, the motion slow and deliberate.

His boots made soft thuds against the ground, crunching over loose stone and blood-stained sand. His grip tightened around his sword.