At the highest tier stood three grand royal chairs, carved from green stone, occupied by the event's organizers. A short distance away, others sat in rigid silence. On the opposite side, the crowd overflowed with joy—cheering, swaying, alive with motion. From them rose a raw flame of passion that filled the air.
As Millie absorbed the atmosphere, a figure emerged from the corridor she had entered through. A tall man, cloaked head to toe in brown, moved steadily toward the arena. There was something deliberate and unsettling in the way he walked.
He stepped onto the black stone path encircling the battlefield, his gaze sweeping across the grounds. Inside this path stood another circular boundary, formed of jagged black stones, uneven and sharp. Two narrow exits broke the ring. Passing through one of them, the man entered the battlefield itself.
Millie's eyes settled on the red-stone arena, a place that stirred beauty and fear at once. The ground looked unyielding, harsh beneath the light, its color unmistakably close to burnt sienna.
His steps came to a halt at the very center of the arena, where a thick, towering pillar of black earth stood. A door had been carved into the pillar. Opening it, the man disappeared inside.
Millie knew exactly where that door would lead him. She waited for his rasping voice. He was the announcer of this place—every year the same one, whose voice never failed to sting her ears.
Moments later, the sound reached her. Millie's eyes snapped toward its source. The man now stood atop the pillar, on a large circular platform carved from black stone. Compared to the vast red-stone arena below, the black platform was smaller—yet still immense enough for battle.
His rasping voice echoed across the grounds and reached Millie's ears."Welcome, everyone, to this thrilling event!"
The crowd erupted in cheers. A wave of excitement swept through the arena. Millie, however, felt little anticipation. She already knew that the man would continue speaking like this for quite some time.
Just as Millie had expected, the man began his speech.
"I welcome the excitement flowing within all of you,"he said with a broad smile."Such excitement is natural, as you all are standing within one of the greatest events in nation."
Pacing across the black stone platform, he spoke with rising fervor. The moment his voice rang out, the crowd erupted into cheers.
Beside Millie, Tessa's face glowed with a different kind of joy. The wave of excitement had completely swept her away. But drowning Neon in that same wave was impossible. Like Millie, she showed no interest, no enthusiasm at all.
"EVERY YEAR, WIELDERS COME TO THIS ARENA TO DISPLAY THE HEAT OF THEIR BLOOD!"
The man's voice thundered across the arena. He was doing his job well feeding the crowd's anticipation, inflaming it further with every word he spoke.
Millie was more eager for the battle than the speech itself. In this event, large and small institutions sent their students, each coming to showcase their abilities. If Millie had energy within her , she wouldn't have been here—she would have been on the red arena itself.
It was thrilling to watch how new blood, full of fervor, fought for recognition, gauging their own strength. Every year, this event was divided into three parts.
As the man in brown continued speaking,
"In the early days, this event took place among youths aged thirteen to fifteen, which happened some time ago."
The crowd's voices echoed throughout the arena.
"First-year winners, the Cool Kamen Dawgs!
Stronger than his age!
The new future, Kamen Dawgs!"
Millie was also a fan of that boy. It was a little embarrassing, as he was two years younger than her, yet he seemed ten times stronger. He was truly amazing. When he won, the entire arena went wild for him.
The second round was for youths aged sixteen to eighteen, which had just concluded. In the arena, no cheers arose for the winner of this round; instead, a deep silence hung over the place. Millie knew well the reason for that silence.
The boy who had won the second round was absolutely terrifying to his opponents. He had shattered his competitor's four limbs, leaving the entire body marked with knife wounds. Time and again, the competitor had narrowly escaped death. Observing him, it seemed less like a fight and more like a slaughter.
Tessa, who usually got carried away by excitement, fell silent at the mention of Silver Woods.
The final round was today. Participants aged eighteen to twenty-two were taking part. People from every corner of the country were most driven to witness this round—rich or poor, beautiful or plain, all eagerly awaited it. Even those who could not attend felt thrilled just hearing about it.
At the news of the third round, a wave of tension and excitement surged through the arena.