Morning supper began in a good mood. Serin occupied the empty chair nearest to the Count and dug into his food. After having fallen unconscious and witnessing the Divine Arena, he felt unusually fatigued—and very hungry indeed.
He broke the bread and took a small bite.
Warmth spread through his body almost instantly. The bread was dense and fragrant, paired with a mild stew that carried a faint herbal aroma. The food wasn't particularly delicious to Serin, who came from Earth, but he wasn't one to be picky.
Fortunately, salt was not uncommon in this new world; he really didn't know how he would be able to stomach it otherwise.
For a few moments, no one spoke.
Cutlery moved quietly against plates, and the crackle of the hearth filled the gaps between breaths. Serin ate slowly at first, then a little faster, only realizing how hungry he truly was after his second bite.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed the Count watching him—not openly, but not hiding it either. There was no sharp scrutiny in that gaze this time, only something steadier. Measured.
Serin straightened unconsciously, adjusting his posture as he continued eating.
Across the table, Alaric remained composed, his movements neat and practiced. Edric, on the other hand, ate in silence, his attention divided between his plate and Serin's presence, as though unsure how much attention was appropriate.
Ellis sipped her tea, her gaze drifting occasionally toward Serin before returning to her cup. She seemed to want to speak but held herself back.
Serin felt unbearably awkward sitting among a bunch of strangers eating breakfast, but it couldn't be helped. He'd have to make a conscious effort to mix in among them and truly see them as family. Of course, this couldn't be done in just one day.
Feeling the gazes from various directions occasionally examining him, Serin suddenly felt like an animal in a zoo. To distract himself, his mind wandered off to his own thoughts—something he had been deliberating ever since waking up in the morning.
Serin needed to know more about the Divine Arena. From the original Serin's memories, he wasn't able to understand much. And although rules and operational information were somehow added to his brain, Serin still didn't know what others knew about it—the origins of it, among other things.
Serin was conflicted. He could not decide whether to reveal that he had been to the Divine Arena to the Count and others or keep it a secret.
He was very cautious. Before getting the full picture, he didn't want to take risks. He didn't know how others would react to it, and it would not be good if it turned out to be something bad.
What conflicted with this, however, was what Adam Feller had said during their match, as well as how others were behaving in the Precipice, which was like a lobby—or a safe zone, if you would—before the match itself.
It was safe to assume that the Divine Arena was not a big secret, as Adam was acting like it was a very common thing, something that should be known to all. The uncertainty for Serin, however, was whether this applied only to where Adam was from—the Republic—or whether it was also the same for the Solmarch Empire.
In the end, Serin decided to hold back and wait a little longer to gather more information.
Having made the decision, he sighed inwardly. Lost in his thoughts, Serin no longer felt uncomfortable, so he naturally loosened up at the table, no longer so tense. This did not go unnoticed.
Still somewhat faded, Serin reached for the bread again, tearing off a smaller piece this time.
As he did, the sleeve of his tunic slid back slightly, exposing a strip of pale skin along his forearm.
The Count's hand paused mid-motion.
It was subtle—so subtle that no one else noticed. His fingers hovered above his cup for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
His eyes shifted.
At first, he said nothing.
Serin dipped the bread into the stew, unaware. He lifted his arm again, and this time, the mark was clearer—faint, almost translucent, like something half-burned into existence rather than carved into flesh.
The Count's gaze sharpened as he squinted, staring at Serin's arm.
He saw a symbol.
One that he had seen before. It was much too familiar, and precisely why it couldn't be ignored.
The Count took a slow sip of his tea, buying himself time as he contemplated briefly.
Ellis noticed the shift first. Her eyes followed the Count's line of sight, then flicked to Serin's arm. Her brows drew together slightly, though she said nothing.
"Serin," the Count said at last, his voice calm and measured. Immediately, everyone turned to look toward him in curiosity.
Serin too looked up. "Yes, Uncle?"
"Roll your sleeve down."
The table went quiet.
Serin froze for a moment, then did as instructed, confusion flickering across his face. "Is something wrong?"
The Count did not answer immediately.
Instead, he placed his cup down gently and looked around the table.
"That will be all for now," he said, not raising his voice. "You may clear the dishes."
Steward Bartley wore a serious expression. He too saw the symbol and recognized it instantly. He glanced at Serin with concern for a moment, then gave a cursory look to all the servants present.
The servants obeyed at once. Soon, all of them left, leaving behind only the household members and the Steward.
Alaric glanced between his father and Serin in confusion, not fully understanding what was going on. Edric, on the contrary, seemed to know something, his gaze transfixed on the symbol, his face frozen in a mixture of shock and curiosity.
"That mark… when were you chosen by the Gods?" the Count spoke finally, his expression stern.
Alaric suddenly widened his eyes in realization. Ellis clasped her hands together, looking at Serin with concern. Countess Elayne frowned, while Edric muttered under his breath, "I knew it!"
Serin froze in his seat. He had already been apprehensive, trying not to make any mistakes, but being called out so suddenly threw him off completely. His heart began racing, his hands grew sweaty. He understood immediately that the Count was talking about the Divine Arena, and he cursed himself for not noticing the mark on his own body earlier as panic surged.
Just as he was beginning to spiral, for a moment, it was as though he missed a beat. Then his breathing calmed, his emotions anchored back, and his heart slowed. He became rational.
Serin noticed the sudden change, feeling an unprecedented calm. Then the feeling went away, and he was back to his normal self. He didn't have time to ponder this change—he had to make a decision.
The decision was not difficult. Since the others already knew, he could not deflect. Everyone seemed shocked, some even concerned. The choice became easier.
Serin paused for a moment as he gathered himself, then began retelling his experience. Of course, he carefully chose to withhold some information, such as his alias. He no longer had doubts. In fact, one of his headaches was finally solved—he could now clear his questions with the Count.
Time passed as everyone listened attentively, holding their breaths. Eventually, Ellis smiled with relief, Alaric sighed, and Edric stared at Serin with envy.
Even the Count seemed more relaxed. "Dear nephew, it's truly fortunate that you came out safely. It's my fault—I forgot to consider this and warn you… thankfully…"
"Nephew, this is a blessing in disguise! If you prepare well and play your pieces right, you could earn many Divine Blessings!" he encouraged, a wide smile appearing on his face for the first time.
Suddenly, Ellis chimed in, "But Father… it's too dangerous!"
Count Hainar frowned. "Nonsense! One must be willing to take great risks to achieve great things!" He shrugged dismissively.
"Cousin, did you get a blessing? What kind of blessing did you get?" Edric asked excitedly.
"Hmm… it was an Uncommon Blessing called Anchor," Serin said. "But I don't know what it does…" he added promptly.
Then a bolt of realization struck him as he recalled the oddity from earlier.
Anchor…
Anchor… does this blessing help me rein in my emotions and calm down? Like an anchor holding a ship from drifting away… he guessed.
"No matter. We can ask the priest later. This is truly a happy moment! Wonderful!" the Count bellowed.
Serin grew suspicious. Why so out of character? Could it be that he's just really glad for his nephew? Serin considered, then shrugged and pushed the thought aside.
The Countess, who had been silently watching until now, placed her hand beneath her chin and asked curiously, "Prince Serin… it appears you have a natural affinity for strategy. After all, you managed to pass the trial without preparation, where many have failed and died despite being prepared."
"You flatter me, Aunt. I got lucky… my opponent was but a child," Serin said calmly, trying to downplay his abilities.
"From the Republic… you said?" the Count asked, schadenfreude and disdain evident in his eyes.
Serin nodded.
"Quite far away… The Gods are great and compassionate. To think that two people so far apart could be picked randomly," the Count said in awe as he clasped his hands reverently, the rest following his lead.
Finding an opportunity, Serin finally asked a few questions of his own. It turned out that random people across the continent would be chosen—regardless of station, age, or gender—and summoned to the Divine Arena… to play chess, no less.
It was said this was the arrangement of the merciful Gods, who wished to give everyone an equal chance to gain power.
Serin could only roll his eyes at this.
How was it an equal chance if only a few were chosen randomly? Why not everyone? And if the Gods were so merciful, then why was there a death penalty?
Serin did not understand, and more than that, he felt chilled to the spine seeing that no one else seemed to notice this simple logic.
He did not voice these thoughts, only making a mental note to himself.
After more chitchat and exchanges of information, breakfast finally ended, and everyone dispersed.
Before leaving for his room, the Count stopped him as Steward Bartley stood to the side.
"Dear nephew, it's good that you now have something to rely on. But it's still not enough. I have made all the preparations," he said, gesturing toward the Steward.
"You must quickly learn what is needed for someone of your station. I will be busy in the coming days… you may ask your cousin or the Steward if you need anything," the Count said seriously, gripping Serin's shoulders firmly.
Here it comes.
Serin nodded, letting out a reluctant sigh inwardly.
He knew the days ahead would not be easy or comfortable. But there was no other choice. There was reluctance—but also anticipation.
He even looked forward to it, just a little.