The Vision

"Arghhhh!!!"

A sharp cry went into the air as a sleeping figure awoke from his nightmare.

Sweat covered his bony skin as the soaked sheets that covered his body crumpled in response to his rise from his sleeping position.

"Haa… haa…" The old man made heavy breaths, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

Alas! Everything he had seen was no more than a dream. No, it was more than that…

"A vision… that was… no, it can't be-" His voice trembled as he mumbled in confusion, trying to collect his thoughts together.

This old man—possessing hair that was so bleached they looked like they were sparkling white and a wrinkled body that clearly accentuated his old age, was one of the few who had been gifted from birth.

He had the 'Gift' called Vision. In essence, he could see the future! Mulling over what he had just witnessed— the horror, carnage, and utter despair. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemies.

"No, that can't be allowed to happen!" His loud voice shook, but was filled with resolve.

Visions were triggered by unnatural occurrences. For him to have had such a horrid dream, perhaps the darkness he feared had already descended upon the land.

If he was going to prevent such a devastation, he had to hurry.

He moved his tired, fragile, body and stood upright. The bed wasn't a place that he should be found in after seeing all he saw.

"I have to… I need to inform the king. Darkness has come!" Now that things had come to this, there was only one way to change the dream he saw—to rewrite the future and ensure the safety of humanity, no, even the other races.

"Before things get any worse, we need them to appear… the Seven Cardinal Heroes!"

*

*

*

[3 months later]

"Gentlemen, you all know why you are here!!!" A loud voice echoed across the coliseum, nearly deafening people's ears.

He stood at the center of a stage whose platform remained lower than the seats surrounding it.

Dressed in a plain white shirt, decked with clean black pants, and accentuating his gentlemanly looks were clear brown boots that blended perfectly with his slightly bleached auburn hair.

He had a cheerful expression on his face, perhaps it was due to the nature of his job as a referee.

"YESSSSSSS!!!" Voices of hundreds of adult males rang in response.

The air seemed to vibrate as a result of their cries, even sending a slight jitter to the man who was well versed in handling crowds as large as this one.

The coliseum, an arena made for the very purpose of combat was brimming with life, as the seats surrounding the platform below was full of men, or rather warriors who were raring to go.

Energized by their response, the moderator beamed brighter than before— if that was even possible, and he opened his mouth widely to speak.

"You will all fight in a one-on-one match. The winner of the first round will face another challenger, and so on. If anyone experiences a loss, they will immediately be excused and the next challenger will come forward."

As soon as he began stating the rules, no one dared to speak.

The royal coliseum was silent, these men were warriors, not barbarians. Every single information counted.

"The last man standing will be declared the final victor, and as you were all told before this tournament began— the price for the winner… is an 'Object Of Power!'"

Upon hearing this, a roar filled the air once again.

It didn't matter how many times they had heard this, the very mention of the reward pumped more energy into everyone's veins.

The chance to wield something as powerful as an 'Object Of Power' was one everyone dreamed of having.

If they won this match, they would be given an item that guaranteed them absolute power— capable of making anyone unparalleled in their field.

"Oh? It's good to see that you are all pumped for this. Well, then— without any further delay, we shall begin this tournament!"

Another round of cheers were heard. The moderator brought out a long list of names from his breast pocket.

It was a scroll parchment that extended all the way to the floor. How such a thing was able to fit into his breast pocket was anyone's guess.

"You all registered for this event. Your names were chosen at random, so there's no need to worry about any form of advantage a person might have over you. This is totally based on random choosing."

Every warrior was aware that the first people to enter the ring were the ones with the greatest disadvantage.

The winner would get exhausted faster, and sooner or later, would probably fall at the hands of a weaker opponent.

However, since it was based on random selections, no one could complain about the unfairness of the situation.

"Now then, I shall call the names of the first two who will be participating in this tournament!"

As the energetic voice of the referee boomed, a few figures watched from an elevated position.

It was the top-most platform in the coliseum, which had barricades around it and a veil that ensured that no one could see inside.

Those who were within this special space enjoyed the best view, as they were able to see everyone in the coliseum, and they could peacefully converse among themselves without the watchful eyes of others.

A total of six youths stood at the edge of the barricade and watched the match in earnest. Behind them were two older men.

One sat on a massive golden throne, clearly the one in charge. He was, of course, the king.

The jeweled crown he had on his head, coupled with his extremely luxurious outfit, said everything about his status.

Beside the elegantly dressed king, was another perfectly outfitted man. He looked way older than his majesty and had white hair covering his head.

His white beard flowed, and was long enough to reach his chest. He tightly gripped a stick, having a distant look in his eyes.

Even though this old man stood beside the king, a distance from the barricade, no one in the special space closely monitored the tournament as much as him. Why?

It was simply because this whole thing was his idea.

No one knew this of course, but the true purpose of the tournament was to find a particular person.

While the old man's identity was still shrouded in mystery, he was—without a doubt—the one who had the vision of a vanquished world all those months ago.

A lot had happened between then and now. However, the forces of good weren't fully equipped to handle what was to come.

A last piece was needed, and therein lay the purpose of the tournament.

Pursing his lips, the old man uttered words in whispers, looking at the two men who had already entered the ring— his eyes set ablaze with hope. "O' Hero… please show thyself unto us!"