The Last Paragon in the Apocalypse Chapter 1409: Rask Vorn - the Iron Breaker

The display flickered to life, unveiling the initial roster of 64 matches.

With 128 inmates thrown into the mix, 64 fights lay ahead, allowing two to unfold side by side since the vast arena could accommodate them both.

This round wouldn't wrap up in a single day. Even if those dual battles dragged on for hours, it posed no issue.

They could easily stretch this over a few days, given that these weren't straightforward skirmishes.

Once the matchups appeared, crowds eagerly scanned for Blood Sword's opponent. Spotting his name in the sixth slot and his rival, a collective gasp rippled through the audience.

"Is this rotten fortune, or perhaps the heavens signaling that Blood Sword ought to throw in the towel? How on earth will he endure even one blow from that savage beast?"

Whispers of doubt spread rapidly, with some outright accusing the event hosts of underhanded tactics by pitting Blood Sword against a fighter renowned for his savage style months earlier.

Rask Vorn, better known as the Iron Breaker, claimed victory in the 41st Blood Tournament via raw ferocity. He demolished each foe with effortless dominance.

That ferocious spectacle lingered in every spectator's memory, so news of his matchup with Blood Sword drained all optimism for the unexpected contender.

"No cause for suspicion here. It's a competition, after all, and random pairings mean anyone could draw any adversary—that's just how it goes."

The Needle Mistress declared, aiming to soothe the growing fury. Yet the fervent supporters of Blood Sword, now rabid fans, continued hurling insults at the organizers. When their protests refused to die down, she opted to kick off the opening bout.

In a private chamber set aside for a single occupant, Klaus lounged, eyes fixed on a massive monitor showing Rask Vorn's profile. He'd already directed Icon to dig deeper into his adversary.

Her research revealed Rask as part of the Ironblood Human lineage. A innate manipulator of metals, he stood as a Low-Level True Immortal boasting three Immortal Rings.

Klaus also uncovered the beastly nature of his foe.

Footage from his Blood Tournament showed every rival meeting a gruesome end—their skulls pulverized.

His signature finishing blow involved clashing his twin hammers with the enemy's head caught in between. Moreover, he could harden his flesh to steel-like toughness, rendering most strikes futile against his guard.

"Seems I'll tangle with a tough savage this go-round." A grin crept across his features.

This powerhouse evoked memories of a demigod Klaus clashed with in his fourth life. That fight consisted entirely of probing for a weak spot in the foe's armored hide.

Much like Rask, that warrior wielded metal powers, so this encounter promised to echo the past. Should his affinity prove potent, it'd pose a real test.

Klaus eased his thoughts and bided his time. Though he'd failed to breach that ancient brute's armor, he'd snapped a handful of bones by the clash's close. Now, he'd prevail or perish in the attempt.

The opening pair of contests ignited, plunging straight into frenzy.

One featured victors from the 47th and 30th Blood Tournaments, the other pitting the 51st against the 25th champions.

All had claimed past glories, yet among these four, only two would emerge breathing.

Crimson Reaver seized the 47th Blood Tournament through cunning combat savvy and outright malice, not mere chance. He commanded chain blades that stretched across tens of meters.

Right from the outset against the 30th titleholder, every hit he delivered aimed to torment before slaying. He struck with precision in timing and target.

Ultimately, he dispatched his rival in under half an hour, concluding the initial matchup. Simultaneously, the second fight wrapped with Queen of Silence triumphant.

True to her moniker, she remained utterly mute. Yet were her vile acts exposed, the masses would crave her agonizing demise.

Over the years, she'd committed horrors so repugnant that, without testimony, no one would credit her with such audacity.

But as she eviscerated her foe in the most excruciating manners imaginable, the entire crowd rediscovered their dread of her.

As the adage warns, beware the quietest souls.

With her duel finished, the following pair was summoned.

Klaus held the sixth position, making his turn imminent.

"Now, prepare for the showdown I suspect many of you have anticipated," the Needle Mistress announced, sparking uproar. Roars of excitement echoed through the venue and beyond.

"Ladies and gentlemen, entering the fray is the 128th Blood Tournament champion, Blood Sword."

The portal to Klaus's waiting area swung wide, and he stepped forth, arms folded behind him, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he advanced to the platform.

Icon had briefed him on every one of the 127 villains in this event, so mercy held no place in his plans.

These ranked among the realm's most perilous and wicked entities, and he yearned to see them perish—he'd ensure their swift dispatch.

The grin adorning his face stemmed not from the adulation around him, but from the thrill of the slaughter he intended to unleash.

Once he took the field, his challenger was introduced.

"And now, greet Rask Vorn, the Iron Breaker and conqueror of the 41st Blood Tournament, stepping into the arena."

A separate entrance parted, admitting a hulking figure over two meters tall, muscles bulging, as he hauled his massive hammers across the ground toward the stage.

His stare fixed unblinkingly on Klaus throughout. The malice in his eyes suggested he'd already deemed Klaus doomed.

Upon reaching the combat zone, he hoisted one hammer to perch on his shoulder, jabbing the other toward Klaus.

"Gaining Immortal status doesn't equip you to stand against me," he halted, slinging the second hammer onto his other shoulder.

"Surrender wisely, and I'll crush your skull before we squander more effort."

Klaus remained planted with that steady smile for moments, then a light laugh bubbled from him. He reached out, summoning the Flame Eater Bow into his grasp.

"You know, folks always claim brutes possess minuscule minds, but I dismissed that notion. Some brute companions of mine boast sharp wits.

So perhaps the proverb misses the mark. Rather than branding all brutes dim-witted, it should target Rask Vorn, the boastful two-and-a-half-meter oaf, as utterly brainless."

Veins bulged fiercely on Rask’s brow, his face twisting in rage. Fury erupted from him, and fortuitously, the signal to commence the brawl sounded precisely then.

In a flash, he vaulted skyward, unleashing a skill.

"Titan Hammerfall."