Among all the information the presenter was sharing about the tournament, there was one detail that particularly caught Lucas off guard.
"Sixty-four participants? Isn't that a bit few..." he muttered aloud, blinking in surprise.
Realizing he had spoken his thoughts, he quickly looked around, but fortunately, the only other person in the booth was Sequoria. Luvrio was still running late and had yet to arrive, while the guards assigned to protect the royal family were stationed outside the cabin to give them some privacy.
"I understand what you're thinking, my child. Given the size of the stadium and the number of participant rooms, you probably expected at least a hundred entrants, didn't you?" said Sequoria, reading her son as easily as an open book.
'I often forget—judging by how she behaves in some situations—but there's a reason why this woman is called the wisest queen our kingdom has ever known. I'm truly grateful that she was one of the few people Alberia chose to tell the truth about what's happening... I'm sure she would have figured out the truth at our first meeting,' thought Lucas, then nodded in agreement.
"Well, until just over a century ago, the average number of participants was indeed much higher," Sequoria began, her voice steady. "There were even times we didn't have enough rooms in the arena itself, and had to reserve entire hotels nearby just to accommodate them all. Especially from our capital city, participation used to be far more common. But ever since Fortore and Aislyra began competing, the number of entrants—especially from within our own kingdom—has steadily declined. The two of them were simply too strong. The only people who could even pose a challenge were high-level figures, like the current ministers or exceptionally powerful individuals from other kingdoms. This consistent dominance discouraged many citizens from even trying."
Lucas nodded again, this time with full understanding. "I get it..." he said sincerely. Thanks to his training, he had experienced firsthand what it meant to face his younger sister in combat. It was easy to see why not everyone would be eager to do the same.
But their attention quickly returned to the arena floor as Chiacchera shouted—seemingly with every ounce of energy in her body—the official start of the first day of the preliminaries.
At that moment, nearly every spectator in the arena put on what looked like a regular pair of glasses. Of course, these were no ordinary glasses—they were magical devices that enhanced the wearer's vision without requiring a physical enhancement spell.
Lucas, however, didn't use them. As part of his training, Aislyra had forbidden him from relying on such tools for the duration of the tournament. Instead, he was required to maintain the physical enhancement spell on his own eyes for the entirety of each battle—an additional layer of difficulty meant to improve his control and endurance.
Following Chiacchera's announcement, the first figure to step into the arena wasn't one of the two fighters scheduled to battle, but the tournament's referee—an elf who looked to be in his fifties, with long, faded blond hair. He held a strange device that resembled a wristwatch and came to stand beside Chiacchera.
"But first," Chiacchera proclaimed with renewed excitement, "allow me to introduce someone essential to this tournament's success!"
She raised her arms dramatically as the crowd leaned in.
"Many of you who attend the Tournament of the Golden Trees every year will already know this name! He has been our referee since the very first edition and is one of the oldest living beings on the continent. Give a warm welcome to... PINUSAL!"
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, the stands shaking with their energy.
During the tournament preparations, Lucas had already met Pinusal, and the man had left a strong impression. He struck Lucas as someone firm and meticulous, but also wise and kind—making him an ideal referee for an event of this scale. Although, when their eyes had first met, Lucas had the uncomfortable sense that this ancient elf had immediately seen through him—that he knew Lucas wasn't the real Alberia. But since Pinusal hadn't said a word about it during their entire meeting—and no rumors had surfaced in the capital—Lucas had cautiously concluded that he must have been mistaken.
"Mr. Pinusal, before the first two fighters enter the ring, do you have anything you'd like to say to the audience?" Chiacchera asked, offering the spotlight to the elder.
"Not much," said the elf calmly. He then activated the Mighty Voice spell so that everyone in the arena could hear him clearly.
"As with every year since the tournament's founding, I am honored to serve as referee for this sacred event," he declared solemnly. "And as with every year, I will carry out this duty with fairness and diligence."
Then, just as he was about to turn away, a faint smile crossed his face.
"This year," he added, "I hope to witness battles that even I will find surprising."
"Well then, I believe it's time to bring out the first contenders of the day!" Chiacchera shouted, gesturing toward a massive gate on the right side of the arena—just as it began to creak open.
"The person who is about to emerge from that gate is someone known not just in this city—but throughout the entire kingdom. Practically every member of every military corps respects this individual. A dark elf who could be described as both the sword and the shield of our nation..." Chiacchera began dramatically, as a familiar figure stepped out from the gate.
The dark elf was clad in striking armor that shimmered black and red like embers, adorned with small green accents. His very presence demanded attention.
"The Minister of Defense of Yggdora—SCURO!" Chiacchera shouted, her voice soaring through the arena.
The moment he appeared, a large portion of the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. However, unlike the overwhelming unity of voice that had greeted previous announcements, a noticeable portion of the stadium remained silent. Many elves eyed the white-haired dark elf with veiled suspicion and thinly masked disdain.
Lucas felt a pang in his chest. He understood that relations between elves and dark elves were tense—especially with the looming threat of war with the kingdom of Oscura—but Scuro didn't deserve those contemptuous looks. He was, without a doubt, the most loyal and honorable person Lucas had ever met.
Still, the cheers Scuro did receive were sincere—louder and more fervent than those given to most of other Chiacchera's announcements.
Scuro calmly walked to the center of the arena, turning to face the opposite gate.
With the Minister of Defense in position, Chiacchera turned and pointed toward the opposite gate, which now began to open as well.
"And to challenge our Minister of Defense is a prodigious adventurer from the Kingdom of Leore! A student of Brasto, the man who reigned at the top of Leore's Adventurers' Guild for over twenty years, this young warrior rose to the Gray Rank, the second highest adventurer classification, in under a month! His guild calls him the 'Shining X of Hope'..."
From the gate emerged a boy of about eighteen. His short hair was mostly brown, but with a prominent blond tuft above his right eye. His blue eyes glinted with determination, and his most distinguishing feature was a distinct X-shaped scar on his right cheek. He wore lightweight, high-quality armor and waved confidently to the audience as he walked.
"LARC ARCA!!!" Chiacchera announced triumphantly.
The crowd responded with enthusiastic applause—less overwhelming than for Scuro, but still strong and supportive.
Larc came to a halt less than a meter from Scuro.
"Do you both remember the rules?" asked Pinusal, stepping forward with the authority of centuries behind him.
Both fighters nodded.
"Before we begin, does either of you want to say something to your opponent?" Pinusal added, his gaze shifting to Larc.
"Yes, I'd like to speak to Scuro for a moment," Larc said, turning toward the minister.
Scuro raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
Pinusal gave him a nod of approval.
"Thank you," Larc said politely. Then, turning to face Scuro more directly, he began, "So, you're one of the famous six ministers of Yggdora? My master always referred to you all as monsters—foes so strong that I'd have to give everything I had just to stand a chance. He told me you were one of the toughest among them."
"I'm honored that someone like Brasto holds my colleagues and me in such regard," Scuro replied in a measured, serious tone. "But didn't you have a question you wanted to ask?"
"Yes," said Larc. "The Hero Caesar and his party visited your palace recently, didn't they?"
Scuro nodded once.
"Was there a boy among them—someone named Enea?"
Another nod.
"Did he say whether he would participate in the tournament? Or perhaps someone mentioned the whole party was joining? I'd really like confirmation."
"Yes," Scuro replied, unfazed. "He, along with the rest of the hero's party, confirmed that they would all be participating."
"YES!" Larc suddenly exclaimed, pumping a fist into the air. "Then I didn't come here in vain! If I can beat that bastard, I'll prove he never deserved the title of 'top adventurer.' Then Master Brasto will finally be recognized again as the best in Leore!"
Scuro listened carefully, then responded with a calm but penetrating voice.
"So... your goal is to restore your master's honor. Though I doubt Brasto himself would care—he's not one to be hung up on titles—it's still a commendable motivation. You're doing this not for your own pride, but because you believe it's what's best for him. That said..."
Scuro's gaze narrowed slightly.
"Enea, even if only for a moment, clashed with Fortore and demonstrated both extraordinary speed and power—without using any type of spell. He's far from an easy opponent. Are you truly prepared to face someone like that?"
The boy snorted at Scuro's question and, with complete confidence in his voice, declared,
"Of course—and I'll prove it by defeating you!" He drew his sword without hesitation.
"You seem very confident, boy," Scuro replied coolly, "but confidence alone rarely leads to victory. I have no intention of being defeated in the first round—especially not while my queen is watching. So take your master's advice seriously... because otherwise, you won't even get the chance to achieve your goal."
With that, Scuro drew his own weapon—a blade slightly wider than a standard longsword, though not nearly as large as Aislyra's enormous greatsword. The blade shimmered with a black edge and a deep red center.
"Well, I see you're both ready," said Pinusal, stepping between them. "The duel will begin when I give the signal. Understood?"
Both combatants nodded in unison.
Meanwhile, Chiacchera had exited the arena to ensure her safety during the match.
"Ready… Set… GO!" the referee shouted, his voice booming.
In that instant, Larc activated a spell "Spark Road!"
Crackling electricity surged across his body, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from view—at least for the majority of the spectators.
"I'm glad to see you've taken your master's advice seriously—starting with one of your derived spells," Scuro said, pleased, as he calmly blocked Larc's sword, which had approached at nearly lightning speed. "But if you think that this level of speed is enough to take down someone on Fortore's level, you're still dreaming!"
He then cast his own spell "Flaming Blade!"
Instantly, Scuro's sword burst into roaring flames.
"What?!" Larc exclaimed, recoiling in shock and quickly pulling his weapon back.
Scuro swung his flaming sword at him, but the only thing it struck was the ground—carving a shallow groove into the stone floor. Larc had already retreated several meters.
From the ease with which Scuro had blocked his strike, Larc immediately realized the danger. He had no chance of parrying a single one of the minister's blows—especially not now that his blade was on fire. Still, he wasn't giving up. He had a plan.
Thanks to his superior speed, Larc had time to adjust his strategy. But Scuro had already closed the distance.
'Damn it, I need more time!' thought Larc, dashing away again, leaving a trail of sparking electricity in his wake.
But just as quickly as he had escaped, Scuro was already behind him again.
"Why?!" Larc shouted in disbelief, dodging once more.
Scuro didn't answer, but the secret behind his speed wasn't speed at all. He was reading Larc's movements—predicting his trajectory before he even moved. Scuro's superior reflexes, sharp battle instinct and experience in battle allowed him to move first, heading straight for the spot where Larc would appear. That anticipation was enough to offset the difference in raw speed.
The match had become a relentless game of cat and mouse. No matter how fast Larc moved, Scuro was always right behind him. The minister never managed to land a hit, but it was clear who had the upper hand. Scuro's stamina far outmatched his opponent's, and had the pattern continued, victory would have been inevitable.
This went on for a few minutes.
But suddenly, the dynamic changed.
As they met once more in the center of the arena, Larc tried to block one of Scuro's heavy blows—and failed miserably. The impact sent him flying several meters, landing with his arms badly burned.
But then... a grin formed on the young adventurer's face.
Scattered across the arena floor was a trail of sparks, now forming a large, intricate circle with bolts of lightning branching inward from the perimeter, converging at the center—where Scuro now stood.
With a triumphant gleam in his eyes, Larc shouted,
"Sparks Road: BURST!"