As she advanced, Seth noticed something strange: the gazes of the nobles and officers in the stands—both from Kastal and the Empire—were not entirely on her. Many of them looked lower, fixed on the floor just behind her heels.
Only once the woman had sat on her granite throne did Seth see why.
A large snake slithered up the side of the massive chair. Its scales were the color of sun-bleached bone, and its eyes shimmered with a deep violet as it turned to watch the crowd. The creature coiled around the Empress' shoulders like a living mantle; its head settled beside hers before its forked tongue began flicking silently through the air.
A contracted beast, Seth thought, trying to go through the pages of his father's encyclopedia mentally. He really wanted to learn more about it, but it would be stupid to cast Identify on it and risk pissing off the strongest person in the whole place.
"An Oracle Snake," Director Ryehill muttered under his breath behind Seth.
Oracle Snake. Seth repeated the name in his mind a few times. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it.
Before anyone said anything else, two more figures entered the arena and cut through the ambient tension like a blade. They didn't wear the colors of Kastal or the Bridan Empire and instead were clad in armor that blended chain mail and fitted plates with a layered fabric draped across their chests. The pieces of equipment were flawless, forged with a craftsmanship so precise they seemed destined to be sported during ceremonies—yet there was no doubt the metal could also take a hit.
Neither of them wore a helmet, giving Seth a clear view of their faces. Both had sharp features and skin as pale as snow. The woman's long black hair spilled down her back, while the man's was cropped short. Their eyes swept over the crowd with a chilling detachment.
Stitched across their chests gleamed an emblem: a sun split neatly in two halves—one gold and one black—and encircled by five small stars. The crest pulsed with aether as they walked without haste, each step echoing with an authority that had hushed even the murmurs in the stands.
"The NEVAK representatives," Elena whispered, her voice tight with a mix of awe and apprehension.
As the two armored figures approached the royal platform, King Theron rose to his feet and stared down at the arena. "Director Cranner, you may begin the matches."
Director Cranner of Oskon Academy gave the man a short bow, then made his way to the center of the arena to meet the leader of the fighters from the Bridan delegation. The two men began exchanging a few words too low for Seth to catch from this distance.
Seth's eyes flicked back for an instant to the Empress, who was now engaged in conversation with the King and the officers of the NEVAK, then his gaze moved to the line of ten Bridanis standing opposite his teammates.
His eyes swept over them, then stopped. On the left of the line stood a young man and a young woman with strikingly similar features yet expressions that were opposites. The woman's long, dark hair framed a face filled with fierce determination. There was a thin, pale scar running from below her left eye down to her cheek.
Seth's eyes then widened as he examined the young man beside her… it was the frail young boy from the alley. The same matching dark hair and eyes, the same devoid countenance. And a x-shaped scar on his left cheek.
Without wasting a second, Seth activated Intermediate Identify.
He's a Peak-Iron Wielder with a subclass? Seth exclaimed inwardly. And he let himself get pushed around by three non-Wielder muggers?
'He obviously doesn't have the pride of a beast,' Nightmare said through Link, contempt clear.
'No,' Seth answered, watching the boy yawn—the action contrasted with the bearing of the other proud imperial students. 'He clearly doesn't.'
As Director Cranner continued to discuss with the representative from the Bridan Empire in the middle of the arena, Elena leaned toward Seth. "They are all either Rank 40 or Rank 60…and the Rank 60s all have subclasses. Most are Rare or Epic grade. And that one… Dark Assassin… I've never even heard about it."
Seth's gaze moved to each of the black-and-silver-clad students, information from Intermediate Identify repeatedly surging in his vision. Elena was right. Five of them were Peak-Iron, and the other five were Rank 40. Yet it wasn't that or their subclasses that made Seth grit his teeth—it was their name.
Only three had a House name or a Last name. Seven were basic commoners.
Seven of their ten elite soldiers. This was the undeniable difference between a nation that allowed its people to awaken and one that buried them alive in taxes.
Seth looked to the platform, where King Theron was now laughing at something the Empress had said. A hot, acidic anger rose in Seth's throat. That man, along with the noble Houses supporting him, was the reason Kastal was crumbling. He had been depriving the commoners of their potential, denying them the chance to fight for something better.
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Seth's father may have helped the man, but it hadn't been out of loyalty. Seth knew that. One day, he would tear the entire system down. To free everyone.
Director Cranner finally finished his discussion in the middle of the arena and strode toward the students of Trogan, Sidera, and Oskon.
"The rules are simple," the man began. "It'll be a series of one-on-one matches, with barriers that scale to each fighter's Toughness, just like we use in the academies. But the empire has insisted there be no surrenders. The only way a fight ends is when a barrier breaks."
He then paused, letting the weight of his last words settle before continuing, "I don't know if they plan to use this as an excuse to humiliate you in front of everyone, or if their goal is to try killing you by draining your barrier close to depletion before finishing you with their strongest spells. Either way, you need to be ready. Also, you'll fight one opponent after another; if you win and still have any barrier left, you'll immediately start the next match. That's why they only brought five fighters per category… they think ten is enough to handle all twenty of you."
Unease rippled through the students, and Seth couldn't help but glance at Elena, who clenched her fists beside him. That's an insult to her dear nation.
"A ward will also be placed over the arena to prevent any intervention from spectators or other fighters," Director Cranner added. "Stepping inside will cause extreme pain—you'll pass out before you can even take two steps, so do not try to intervene."
Seth looked at the fighters from the Bridan Empire in the distance behind the director. Could he really blame them for wanting to humiliate or kill Kastal's best soldiers? In a few weeks, they would all be battling in a Warfare Rift. This was an opportunity for the empire to demonstrate its supremacy, intimidate Kastal's higher-ups, and possibly force an early surrender.
Director Cranner's voice cut through Seth's thoughts again: "We will begin with the Rank-60 bracket. The King and Empress wish to ensure the important matches have concluded while they're still here in case their own discussions do not last the entire morning."
A gate on the side of the arena slid open and Captain Michaelson strode out, his military uniform gleaming in the sun. The man took his position as supervisor for the fights. His Paladin subclass, with its focus on defensive Light spells, made him a perfect referee to intervene as quickly as possible once someone's barrier was entirely depleted.
But Seth's own fight with Lucius had proven there was a limit to the man's casting speed.
From Kastal's ranks, a tall, confident-looking student from Sidera Academy stepped forward, hefting a massive, polished halberd. On the other side of the arena of compacted sand, one of the Bridani commoners took their position, a simple longsword held loosely in one hand.
Seth narrowed his eyes, filling Intermediate Identify's grooves.
On the side of the ring, Captain Michaelson looked first at the confident Weaponmaster, then at the impassive Spellblade before raising a hand high in the air.
"Get ready!" he shouted, his voice booming across the coliseum.
A cloud of shimmering azure aether coalesced between the two fighters, then split, washing over them and forming individual protective barriers. Simultaneously, the supervisor of the Bridan Empire made a sharp, cutting gesture with his hand. An oppressive wave of aether distorted the air above the entire battle ring to form an almost invisible dome over it.
The ward was now in place.
Captain Michaelson's hand swung down. "Fight!"
The Weaponmaster from the Sidera Academy, Joric, let out a roar, and a wave of raw aether washed over his body. Seth saw the fighter's muscles swell under the uniform.
Battle Roar, Seth thought, recognizing the Iron spell that temporarily boosted a Warrior's Strength. The young man lowered his halberd a second later, and a shimmering, forward-pointing cone of aether encased him—Juggernaut Charge.
Seth watched the Weaponmaster shoot across the ring like an arrow as his weapon sliced through the air with a loud whistling sound. That opening should have put the Spellblade from the Bridan Empire on the defensive, yet the young man didn't even seem to brace himself.
He simply shifted his weight. The moment his opponent got close, the Spellblade's sword turned into a blur, unleashing a series of impossibly fast strikes—the first struck the halberd's shaft and deflected the weapon, then the successive slashes sliced Joric's barrier.
His charge completely neutralized, the Weaponmaster stumbled for a moment before immediately trying to recover. He swung his halberd in a horizontal arc, and a beaming light flared along the blade. The empire's fighter simply ducked under the glowing weapon, then his own sword lashed out like a serpent's tongue, scoring three rapid strikes against Joric's thinning barrier.
With a growl, the noble raised his halberd to retaliate, but before he could bring it down the Spellblade opened his unarmed hand and a sharp burst of fire surged out of his palm. The spell slammed into the Weaponmaster's chest and disrupted his momentum.
Just like that, the noble's attack was yet again neutralized.
Clearly starting to feel desperate to land a single hit, Joric infused his weapon with aether for every swing, but nothing connected. The Spellblade in front of the noble was a phantom, his footwork flawless and his speed baffling. He flowed around the furious assault, his own blade and Fire spells punishing every single mistake of the student of the Sidera Academy.
Seth flexed his hand while watching the one-sided carnage.
This was more than just superior fighting technique or higher-grade spells. Both of the Warriors were Rank 60, so they should have been near equals, but the combat playing out in the ring defied that. The Spellblade moved faster than Joric, and his strongest blows landed with a weight that almost surpassed the Weaponmaster's Strength.
It's like his attributes are higher than Joric's… as if they were boosted by something. A Legacy, maybe? Seth wondered before shaking his head an instant later. No, his subclass wouldn't be Spellblade. Toren said Legacies give rare ones like mine… it must be something else.
In the ring, the fighter of the empire saw an opening. He ducked under another clumsy swing, and this time he sent out a pulse of force instead of fire, ramming into the Weaponmaster and sending him stumbling backward. The Spellblade then followed with a leg sweep that took the Sidera student down in a heavy thud.
The young man planted his foot on the downed noble's throat, pinning him to the sand. The Weaponmaster gasped, his hands clawing at the boot, his face turning red. Then, just as his struggles began to weaken and his eyes glazed over from lack of air, the Spellblade released some of the pressure. Joric immediately took a gasp of air, yet before he could even exhale the foot pressed down again on his neck to choke him a second time.
As the fighter of the empire toyed with the defeated noble, he slowly raised his head and his cold eyes swept over every student from Trogan, Oskon, and Sidera. The message was clear. 'This will be you. Under my boot.'
"Get off him, you bastard!" a high-pitched voice came from where stood the other students of Sidera Academy.
A young woman lunged forward with rage. Yet the moment she crossed the ring's boundary, a guttural cry of pain tore from her throat—she collapsed to the ground, twitched once on the sand, then lay motionless, seemingly unconscious.
In the ring, the Weaponmaster's barrier shimmered weakly, being now nothing more than a hair-thin film of blue leather. The Spellblade looked down, and a smug grin curled his lips as he raised his sword.
Flames erupted along the blade, transforming the steel into a searing orange blaze. With a contemptuous slash, he brought the weapon down across the Weaponmaster's face.
The remains of the azure barrier vanished into motes of light, and the flaming sword hit the noble's unprotected skin directly. Captain Michaelson's golden barrier appeared a fraction of a second too late, flaring into existence around Joric just after the blade had cut and burned a deep gash across his cheek and eye.
Letting out a loud, pained scream, the Weaponmaster clutched his scorched face and rolled on the ground.
The empire's Spellblade calmly flicked the burning blood from his weapon the moment the flames winked out, then he turned to face Seth and all the other students of Kastal.
"Who's next?"
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21 24!! advanced chapters on !