Chapter 508

No one in the stadium could believe what they were seeing. This had never happened before.

What the Phantom was doing threatened to change the tournament forever.

As the match began.

Instead of charging forward like the other competitors-rushing to shoot targets and collect points—the Phantom moved sideways.

It struck first.

With a brutal kick, it smashed into the blue mobile suit on its right. Metal snapped. Both legs were destroyed in one blow, leaving the suit helpless and frozen in place.

In the same motion, the Phantom twisted left. It seized the yellow mobile suit by the arms and swung it like a weapon.

The force was savage.

The yellow suit flew across the arena and slammed straight into the red mobile suit, destroying both in a violent collision.

The crowd gasped.

In just a few seconds, three competitors were already immobilized. Only seven mobile suits remained-including the Phantom.

“Impossible,” the commentator shouted, voice cracking. “Destroying or immobilizing competitors gives zero points! Why would the Phantom waste time attacking instead of chasing targets p>

“Is that even legal?” the second commentator asked sharply.

“Yes,” the first replied, stunned. “It’s legal-but pointless. It gives nothing. In all my years, competitors only attack others when they feel threatened. This-this is different p>

“So something big is happening here,” the second commentator said, struggling to contain his excitement.

“Maybe the Phantom’s Al is targeting the wrong objective. It’s supposed to maximize points by shooting dummy targets. Either the Al is malfunctioning, or its idiot owner ordered it to attack other competitors. If that’s the case, this is a truly stupid Al p>

Everyone could see it clearly.

While the other six mobile suits surged toward the targets, the Phantom moved in a different direction.

It didn’t chase points.

It hunted the other competitors.

The Phantom locked onto the nearest mobile suit—the one painted green.

The green suit sensed danger and spun around, launching a counterattack from above, trying to catch the Phantom off guard.

Eve smiled inside the cockpit.

“You really think that cheap shot will work on me p>

The Phantom launched upward and seized the green suit by the arm. Using the momentum, it vaulted higher and snapped both legs into a brutal cross-lock around the suit’s arm. Metal screamed as one arm tore loose under the crushing force.

Before the green unit could react, the Phantom ripped off the remaining arm. Its fist slammed into the exposed joint—once, twice—until the last limb detached and fell away.

The green mobile suit was finished. Completely disabled.

The arena fell silent.

“No!” Tobias shouted. “Alex, you have to stop Eve. The other companies will come after us for repair costs p>

“Then you’ll just pay them,” Alex said, smiling.

“We’re already bankrupt,” Tobias snapped. “Where do you think we’ll get the money p>

“You’ll have eight million,” Alex replied calmly. “So why not relax and enjoy it p>

“Damn it, Alex.” Tobias shook his head, completely lost. “You should tell Eve to focus on the dummy targets. That’s how you win this competition p>

Alex laughed, low and confident. “With your Phantom’s cheap tin body and outdated weapons, it would finish dead last that way. Trust Eve. She’s unbeatable p>

Everyone could see it now. While every other competitor focused on shooting targets and avoiding mines, the Phantom was actively hunting competitors.

The tournament’s Al systems were never designed for this.

The other mobile suits were programmed to prioritize targets, not combat. Attacking competitors will earn no poin, it fell outside their logic unless it was pure self- defense.

Only Eve was thinking beyond the rules.

And only Eve was turning the battlefield into a slaughterhouse.

That decision made the Phantom the center of the battlefield. Every remaining competitor turned toward it.

“Impossible!” one of the opposing technicians snapped, his face red with rage. “This isn’t supposed to be allowed. We’re here to hit targets, not tear apart other mobile suits p>

The Phantom advanced anyway-slow, deliberate, confident.

The gray mobile suit opened fire. Its laser gun screamed, scorching the ground

around the Phantom, blasting concrete and metal into the air.

But the Phantom moved like a dancer on ice.

It glided. It twisted. Every step was fluid, precise, almost beautiful. The laser shots missed by inches, carving destruction into empty space.

Then the Phantom closed the distance.

One brutal strike smashed into the gray suit’s head. The sensor unit exploded. In

the same motion, the Phantom ripped the laser gun free and tore the combat knife from its grip.

The truth was obvious now.

The Phantom had entered the match nearly unarmed.

Its production house was poor. Its built-in weapons were outdated, secondhand

junk.

Inside the cockpit, Eve’s voice was calm and cold.

“I’d rather die than use Bluthelm’s cheap trash. That’s why I hunt the ones with real weapons p>

With the laser gun in its hand, the Phantom changed.

It was like wings had unfolded from its frame.

It began firing at the competition targets-but the moment another mobile suit

entered its range, the Phantom didn’t hesitate.

It turned the gun on them.

The Phantom had become a true anomaly.

It exploited every opening, every fraction of a second when the other competitors were locked into shooting targets.

That tiny delay—the moment of vulnerability—was all the Phantom needed. One shot. One kill.

The stadium erupted in fury.

“That’s cowardly p>

“How can an Al driver be this cunning p>

“Damn it—that’s a filthy tactic p>

But anger didn’t stop bullets.

One by one, mobile suits fell.

In a matter of moments, out of ten competitors, only two remained.

That had never happened before.

The final opponent stood tall across the arena—a machine forged by Eisenwall

itself.

Its name was Alpha.

Ragnar laughed loudly, making sure everyone in the room heard him.

“This is perfect!” he said with a wide grin. “If Alpha crushes the Phantom here, I win

outright. Let’s see what that cheating pile of scrap can really do p>

Everyone knew the history. Alpha was the champion-year after year, always the winner The Phantom had spent decades scraping the bottom of the rankings, forever stuck in last place. ‘

Alpha sold for twenty million dollars, the most expensive mobile suit in all of Prussia.

The Phantom sold for four hundred thousand.

Almost fifty times the difference in price.

Ten times the power.

Or so everyone believed.

Down in the arena, Alpha stood face to face with the Phantom.

The commentator spoke quickly, trying to steady the crowd with logic. “We’ve run Alpha-versus-Phantom simulations hundreds of times. The result The Phantom doesn’t win even once. No matter how skilled it is it cannot defeat Alpha in a one-on-one fight. Alpha’s frame is larger, its armor is thicker and Fits: defensive rating is the highest in the tournament p>

The second commentator cut in with certainty. “Now, I believe Alpha has been given a direct engagement command. No sucker punches. No ambushes. No tricks in a straight fight, Alpha wins this one hundred percent p>

“It’s like a civilian car crashing head-on into a tank wrapped in solid iron,” he added.

“There’s no hope here. None p>

The entire stadium held its breath.

Then the Phantom stepped forward.

Slow. Calm. Unafraid.

It stopped in front of Alpha and spoke through the external channel.

“Hey, big bastard,” the Phantom said casually. “Since I can’t beat you in a fight, how

about you kneel right here? Let me shoot all the dummy targets and take the win.” For a split second, there was silence.

Then Ragnar, every Eisenwall technician, and the entire stadium burst into laughter.

“Do you think Alpha is stupid?” Ragnar sneered loudly. “Alpha, smash that cheap tin

can. Show everyone who the real king is p>

“Alpha, crush it!” the technicians roared.

The crowd joined in, voices swelling with bloodthirsty excitement. “Destroy that cheap mobile suit p>

“Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!” the people chanted, the name shaking the stadium.

Alpha moved.

Its massive frame surged forward, pistons roaring, armor plates grinding. The

stadium erupted in screams as people braced for impact.

And then-

Alpha knelt.

Right there. In front of everyone.

Its massive body dropped to one knee, servos locking, command protocols frozen.

The stadium went dead silent.

The Phantom walked past Alpha without even looking at it.

It raised its weapon and began firing.

One dummy target fell. Then another. And another. Clean shots. Perfect timing.

Every point went to the Phantom.

Ragnar’s voice shook as he leaned over the railing. “Alpha, what are you doing? Stand up p>

The commentator whispered, horrified, “This… this contradicts every simulation p>

“Didn’t you say it was impossible for the Phantom to win?” the other commentator asked, stunned. “But we just watched it win a direct engagement with Alpha.” “Completely impossible,” the first commentator replied stiffly. “Alpha doesn’t lose fair fights p>

“Then how did this happen?” the other pressed.

The first commentator swallowed.

The line sounded ridiculous.

And yet, it was true.

Inside the cockpit, Eve smiled.

“You’re big,” she said softly. “But your security wall is paper-thin. And your mind

behind it is even thinner p>

Shock rippled through the stands.

People felt sick.

The champion of every year. Eisenwall’s Alpha. Kneeling in front of a cheap forty- thousand-dollar machine.

It felt like betrayal.

Not just a loss.

A humiliation burned into steel, witnessed by thousands, and impossible to erase.