The noise in the stands still hadn't subsided after the recent match. Ralf had stepped out and finished it so quickly that many spectators hadn't even managed to grasp what had happened. Some blinked in confusion, others whistled and clapped, demanding more, while others exchanged words of admiration about his strength.
Torren sat calmly, as if not at all impressed. His gaze was still fixed on the arena, but his expression remained impassive. He didn't even move, only muttered quietly, as if to himself:"Just as I thought."
His composure cut through the atmosphere around him — as if, for him, everything that had happened was already obvious in advance.
Beside him, Michael looked at the arena with completely different eyes. He leaned forward slightly, staring at the spot where, just a moment ago, magic had flared. His face radiated genuine admiration. For him, any display of strength, especially one so confident and swift, was a reason to rejoice, not to envy."What speed!" he couldn't help but exclaim with a bright smile, speaking more to himself than to those nearby.
Felix sat relaxed, yet a faint trace of mockery glimmered in his gaze. He shook his head slightly, as if pitying the spectators who had been given only a few fleeting moments instead of a proper duel. For him, a battle had to be more than just a quick strike — it had to be a spectacle, a performance to be remembered. Leaning back, he muttered under his breath:"Too simple. No spark, no flame."
Michael turned toward him, smiling even wider, not taking his words seriously. He always knew how to cheer others up and lighten the mood."Well, Felix, that just means you'll have the chance to show them what a real spectacle looks like. I know you won't disappoint."
Felix only smirked, adjusting the gray robe draped over his shoulder. Even in the identical uniforms of the participants, he somehow managed to look as if he were stepping not into a battle, but onto a stage before an eager audience.
Torren listened to their exchange but added nothing. His gaze slid back to the arena once more, as though he already knew how the next duel would end.
A little farther away, apart from them, Ralf and Rob were speaking quietly to one another. Their tones were calm, without emotion, clearly discussing not the beauty of spells but the details of combat — strengths and weaknesses of opponents. Renald sat by himself, detached from conversation. He looked collected and confident, as though his battle was already unfolding in his mind and he was merely waiting for the elder to announce the result.
And then the elder's voice thundered across the arena, drowning out the roar of the crowd:
"Participant number 27654, Renald Solfaris, is victorious! His opponent cannot continue the match!"
Applause rolled through the stands. Some leapt to their feet, others simply nodded, accepting the outcome as natural. Renald rose, gave the elder a restrained nod in acknowledgment, and calmly returned to his seat. His steps were measured, his expression remained composed, as though he had known the result even before the battle began.
Michael followed him with the same light smile that rarely left his face. For him, a friend's victory was a source of joy, not comparison. Felix, on the other hand, leaned forward, straightening as though he was finally slipping into the right frame of mind.
He stood, adjusted his gray robe and trousers. For a moment, he paused, letting the spectators take note of his movement. Then he turned back to his companions, a light smile playing on his lips, as though promising them a performance."Looks like it's my turn. Try not to get bored."
And he strode confidently toward the exit leading down to the arena. His steps were unhurried, yet each one felt like part of a rehearsed performance. At that moment, his entire bearing spoke not of someone going to fight, but of someone preparing to deliver a show that would be remembered.
As the roar of the crowd began to fade, Renald slowly climbed up to the participants' seats. His steps were steady, his face showed neither fatigue nor concern. He stopped beside Ralf and Rob."Good work," Ralf remarked briefly, glancing at him."And yours as well," Renald replied calmly. "Confidence in battle is everything."
Rob said nothing, only nodded in acknowledgment. That was enough; they understood each other without words.
A short distance away, Elaira and Selene, sitting almost side by side, exchanged quick glances. Selene didn't appear defeated — rather, her eyes gleamed with respect for her opponent."Impressive," she said softly."You fought with dignity too," Elaira replied with a light smile.
At the far end of the row, tension began to simmer between two figures. Blitz approached Zigrain, his steps brisk, his face stretched in a manic grin. He looked as though he was spoiling for a fight right here among the participants.
Zigrain narrowed his eyes, giving him a cold, prejudiced stare."What do you want!?" he snapped, irritation sharp in his voice.
Blitz didn't answer right away. He only grinned wider, showing that the question didn't even matter to him, and stood his ground as though testing Zigrain's patience. For a moment, the air between them grew taut, and several participants nearby shifted uneasily.
Meanwhile, Rob rose from his seat."Time for me to prepare for my match," he said calmly, and headed down toward where the next fighters were gathering.
Almost immediately, the elder's voice rang out once more over the arena, cutting through the murmur of the crowd:
"Participant number 678, Felix Shinkasui, is victorious! His opponent cannot continue the match!"
The crowd reacted with a chorus of noise. Some shouted in delight, others in disappointment that the fight had ended so quickly. But Felix returned to his seat with a light, satisfied smile, as though this too had been part of his planned performance.
At the other end of the row, one of the unknown participants, seated with two companions, let out a low, sinister laugh. His grin was cold and malicious, and in that moment, only one thought circled in his mind:
"Who will be my opponent?"
His eyes gleamed with eager anticipation.
On the arena floor, fights continued one after another, yet in the stands, attention lingered on the storm brewing between Blitz and Zigrain. Blitz, his manic grin never fading, loomed closer, clearly enjoying the irritation radiating from his rival.
"What do you want!?" Zigrain snapped again, his gaze frigid and hostile.
"Oh, nothing much," Blitz drawled mockingly. "Just remembered how pathetically you fell during the first trial from the elder. Remember? When I used you as bait, and you and Michael and Torren all got caught at once. You went down beautifully that time."
Zigrain clenched his teeth and looked away, clearly struggling not to give Blitz more fuel for his taunts.
"And then…" Blitz leaned in closer, his voice sharp as a blade. "The second trial. Ah yes! You faced Adam. He roasted you so badly you were the first to drop. Now that was a sight worth remembering."
Zigrain's fists whitened from the strain. He spun back toward Blitz, fury blazing in his eyes."Shut up," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Or I'll wipe that filthy grin off your face myself."
Blitz only laughed loudly, not retreating an inch."That's exactly what I want to see."
By now, Katsu had already finished his fight in the arena. His blade carved a sharp arc, and his opponent crumpled to the ground. The elder's voice announced the winner, and the audience greeted the outcome with a wave of applause.
Not long after, Rob's battle ended as well. His icy spear shattered at the very moment his opponent tried to deflect it, detonating into a storm of shards across the arena. Once again, the elder's voice carried over the crowd, and the stands erupted in noise.
Blitz snorted, casting Zigrain one last glance."Well, time for me. I'm second in the next matches. Don't get lonely."
He turned and headed toward the passage leading to the arena. As he passed Michael, he deliberately held his gaze on him. His grin widened even more, dripping with mockery and challenge. Michael's face darkened, anger flashing in his eyes. He still remembered vividly how Blitz had acted during the trials — ruthless, manipulative, crushing opponents without a shred of mercy.
Michael's heavy stare followed him, but he said nothing. Blitz only chuckled and, without slowing, vanished into the corridor that led to the arena floor.