Inside the Coliseum
Nobility Box
The murmur of the crowd was a contained sea of voices—applause, whispers, restrained excitement. From the box reserved for the nobility, the young ladies watched the arena below, where the blood from the previous bout still stained the golden sand beneath the sun.The scent of incense and expensive perfume mingled with the distant echo of metal clashing.
Lucia Ducking, poised and regal, her expression as calm as it was cold, was the first to break the silence.
Lucia Ducking: —"I don't understand why they bother with all that theatrical nonsense about whether someone lives or dies."
Beside her, Marilyn Weston turned slightly, a faint smile on her lips, her voice unhurried.
Marilyn Weston: —"Oh? You noticed the announcer's hypocrisy as well?"
Lucia Ducking: —"Obviously. I'd have to be an idiot not to."
They exchanged a knowing look, the kind that implied a shared truth most nobles preferred to pretend didn't exist. They weren't the only ones who saw it—but they were among the few willing to say it out loud.
Marilyn let out a soft sigh, holding her fan gracefully before speaking again.
Marilyn Weston: —"It's clear the matchups were deliberately arranged. The only ones who've died are gladiators with aliases and slaves. Anyone with a background is registered by name and family."(I hope my classmate is recovering well from the injury he took in the first round.)
Lucia crossed one leg over the other, her eyes never leaving the arena.
Lucia Ducking: —"Unfortunately, this tournament really did turn out to be nothing more than a facade."
Marilyn Weston: —"It's obvious His Highness—the Fourth Prince—wants to secure his claim to the throne. Winning over the governors through spectacles like this couldn't be more transparent."
Lucia raised an eyebrow slightly and smiled with thin irony.
Lucia Ducking: —"At least something interesting came out of it."
Marilyn Weston: —"Yes… that man changed the entire dynamic of the tournament."
Lucia tilted her head, feigning innocent curiosity, though her words were sharp with intent.
Lucia Ducking: —"And what's your opinion of him… El Abu?"
The way she pronounced the nickname made Marilyn avert her gaze. Her expression tightened for just a second.Lucia caught it immediately—her smile sharpening like a dagger wrapped in velvet.
Lucia Ducking: —"What's wrong, Miss Weston? Does it bother you when I call him that?"
Marilyn Weston: —"No. In fact, I rather like how Miss Ducking refers to such a shameless name."
Lucia didn't get a clear answer. Her mischievous, competitive instinct pushed her to press further.
Lucia Ducking: —"You know, I think I'll tell my father to buy that slave."
Marilyn Weston: —"And how do you know he's a slave?"
Lucia slowly turned her face toward her, as if stating the obvious.
Lucia Ducking: —"Isn't it obvious? If he were the son of an important house, he'd have a name. Even if he were a commoner, I would've heard of him. But he's a complete unknown—so by elimination, he has to be a slave. That said… I've never seen a stigma like his before."
Marilyn Weston: —"Your deductive ability is impressive, Miss Ducking."(She must never find out that stigma pattern belongs to the Valentine family…)
Lucia smiled, a touch of playful charm in her expression.
Lucia Ducking: —"I think I'd prefer it if you called me by my name, Miss Weston."
Marilyn Weston: —"Very well, Lucia."
Lucia Ducking: —"That's better."
The silence that followed was brief, broken only by the distant roar of the crowd as new contenders entered the field.
Marilyn Weston: —"What do you think about the next match?"
Lucia Ducking: —"I believe it's between two superhumans."
Marilyn Weston: —"You're certain?"
Lucia Ducking: —"I think so. At this point, the tournament needs excitement—and a duel like that would certainly provide it."
Marilyn smiled, serene and composed.
Marilyn Weston: —"I misjudged you, Miss Lucia."
Lucia tilted her head, intrigued.
Lucia Ducking: —"And why is that, Miss Weston?"
Marilyn Weston: —"You are remarkably intelligent and well-mannered. Your title—The Rose of Flames—is well deserved."
Lucia lowered her gaze slightly, pleased, though her smile carried the confidence of someone accustomed to praise.
Lucia Ducking: —"Thank you. And you, Miss Weston, are kind, wise, and perceptive… you also live up to your title as The Saint of Lichstein."
Marilyn Weston: —"I believe you'll fulfill your father's ambition, Miss Lucia… the dream of overthrowing and replacing the Flamesword Duchy."
Lucia nodded calmly, though a restrained ambition gleamed in her eyes.
Lucia Ducking: —"My father has said as much. But there's still time… first, I must enter Aeris."
At that moment, the announcer's voice thundered from the center of the arena, grand and commanding, carried by the cheers of the crowd.
Marilyn Weston: —"It seems the next duel is about to begin."
Lucia Ducking: —"Alright. Let's watch."
Both turned their gaze downward as the coliseum gates slowly opened. The roar of the crowd surged once more, drowning out the murmurs of noble conspiracies—as though fate itself wished to bury their secrets beneath thunderous applause.
The secondround unfolded in a way few would have dared predict.
James Battler, the berserkerprodigy of thenorth—the one in whom the crowd had placed all its hopes—fell far earlier than expected. The defeat many anticipated only in the semifinals, against a superhuman, came instead in the second round… at the hands of a slave.
The entire audience was left outraged, caught between disbelief and fear.
The Abuser. A name that until recently sounded like mockery—a joke, an empty nickname—had become a roar echoing through the stands. He was supposed to be a gag, a jester, a clown. But after one overwhelming display after another, The Abuser had become the center of everything.
Where had he come from? No one knew. Only one thing was certain: his presence now carried a weight equal to that of the superhumans.
The third round arrived, and once again, The Abuser advanced effortlessly, dispatching his opponents with almost humiliating ease. The remaining three superhumans did the same. And so, the tournament reached its most anticipated stage—the fourth round: the semifinals.
The matchups were announced.
Rick Hockenheim would face the mysterious Abuser, while Lucius Cortéz—the Golden Eagle of the Spark Legion—would clash with Franklin Michelli, the dreaded Mercenary King.
No one wanted to miss a single moment. The Coliseum stands vibrated with anticipation, murmurs swelling like a rising tide. Everyone wanted the answer to the same question:
"Could The Abuser truly stand on the same level as a superhuman?"
Even Prince Alex, who until then had observed with mild indifference, couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity about what was about to unfold.
Then the announcer's voice thundered once more—solemn, powerful—shattering the tension with a roar that shook the arena:
Announcer: —"Ladies and gentlemen! Bear witness to an unforgettable battle! Lucius Cortéz, the Golden Eagle of the Spark Legion…versus Frank the Terror, the relentless Mercenary King! Only one of them will advance to the final!"
The crowd erupted, the roar reverberating through the entire amphitheater.
The first semifinal… had finally begun.