The colosseum thrummed with anticipation, the sun beating down on the central stage like a judgmental eye.
At the center of the arena, two figures now stood face to face.
Amelia Wystan—the nervous commoner girl with long brown ponytail swaying in the breeze—frowned up at her opponent, warm brown eyes narrowed in determination.
The blouse strained over her full C-cup breasts, rising and falling with each anxious breath. She clenched her fists—earth mana flickering faintly around her knuckles, hardening them into makeshift stone gloves.
Across from her, Lord Harlan Flueron smirked down—tall, lean, with slicked-back blond hair and cold eyes that screamed noble entitlement.
Fire mana danced on his skin like living embers. "Well, mud-blood," he drawled, voice dripping condescension, "this should be over quickly. Try not to embarrass your kind too much."
