CHAPTER 92: RIVALS IN THE ARENA

"This place is really, really large... so we’re going to fight here?" Linda asked, her eyes sweeping over the arena.

"Yeah... it’s enormous," Celia replied, a nervous edge to her voice. "I’m going to be nervous. I hope I can handle the crowd watching me fight."

"Don’t be nervous," Nolan said firmly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You don’t have to be."

Celia nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

Suddenly, a familiar voice called out, racing toward them across the arena floor.

"Nolan! Nolan!"

Nolan turned slightly and caught sight of Alaric sprinting toward them. His expression tightened. Let’s pretend we didn’t see him, he thought quickly. He subtly turned his face away. Celia and Linda mirrored his action, averting their gaze.

As Alaric reached them, slightly out of breath, he exclaimed, "I was calling you! You didn’t even hear me!"

"Well, well... isn’t this Mr. Prince? Aren’t you the Prince of Sindra? What are you doing here?" Nolan asked casually, though his tone carried a faint edge.

Alaric straightened, bowing slightly. "Oh... I’m a guest. The King of the Empire invited me—and my father, who is also a king. My brother, however, didn’t come."

Ah, Lucan told me about that... I forgot, Nolan thought, remembering the conversation.

At that moment, two demi-humans and a human approached gracefully. The demi-humans were Nymera and another whose name Nolan quickly learned was Seraphina, the human.

"Prince... your Highness, why did you leave us running?" Seraphina asked, her tone a mixture of irritation and concern.

"Oh, don’t mind me," Alaric replied smoothly. "I saw a friend."

"Is he... is he this Mr. Nolan?" Nymera asked, narrowing her eyes.

"He is not a friend," Seraphina said sharply, her hand brushing against her sword.

"Yeah... he’s not my friend. I cannot be friends with a loser who is also a prince," Nolan said, stepping back slightly.

"Hey, wait, wait, wait! What do you mean ’loser’? Aren’t you going to... have you changed your mind about joining my party? It could be fun," Alaric said, grinning.

"You are a guest... but you brought your party members. One of them isn’t here, though," Nolan said, noticing the slight gap in the group.

"Yeah... that’s Galad. He went on an errand," Alaric replied. Then his gaze swept to Celia and Linda. "Wow... looks like you brought your beautiful companions with you."

"Move closer to Nolan," Alaric added with a teasing grin.

"Hey! Get your eyes over there!" Nolan snapped, scowling.

Alaric laughed, the sound light and confident. "I’d love to see how you perform tomorrow."

"Well," Alaric added. "I just came to say hi. I’ll be taking my leave now."

With that, Alaric turned on his heel, Nymera and Seraphina following closely, flanking him as they walked away. Nolan watched them go, the tension slowly ebbing from his shoulders.

"What is he doing here? That playboy... he has everything. He’s a prince, not a guest in this place. I almost forgot... but look at the beautiful ladies by his side. And when he’s in Sindra, there are even more. That’s the annoying part. I despise playboys. I despise them," Nolan muttered, tightening his fists.

Celia tapped his shoulder gently. "Master... what’s going on? Why do you look so... pissed or something?"

Nolan quickly forced a smile. "Oh, no, no, no. It’s not like that. Don’t mind me... I was just happy to see him. Happy to see Alaric here," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Okay, anything you say," Celia replied with a small nod.

Linda’s gaze drifted across the arena. "Wow... look at this place. It’s huge. Just imagine... how it’s going to feel when I’m fighting here with my bow. I wonder... is there anyone from my race participating? There’s a champion from all over the world, adventurers from everywhere... surely some of the Elf race are strong too. Will I get to fight them?"

"You might," Nolan said calmly, "but I’m sure you’ll be one of the strongest among your race."

Linda nodded, determination shining in her eyes.

"I’m going to be one of the strongest," Celia said confidently.

"Yeah... you too," Nolan added, glancing around the arena. "Wow... this place... the air... it’s heavy. It’s strange, almost as if the sand beneath us has soaked up blood over the years. Even now, I can sense it... remnants of past battles. The last tournament was long ago, but tomorrow... there’s going to be bloodshed again. But it doesn’t matter. There’s prize money at stake... and Lucan’s brother—who is said to be the final challenger... he’s going to face the champion of the last tournament. I want to see strength... and to defeat it."

Nolan’s thoughts lingered on the coming battles, a mix of anticipation, strategy, and resolve coursing through him.

Then, Nolan’s eyes caught someone who looked strikingly familiar—long hair like Alaric, but with a sharper, stronger face. Shirtless and ripped, his muscles gleamed under the sunlight. They could be twins, Nolan thought, heart racing.

And indeed, there were two of them. Like mirror images, they moved with fluid precision, clashing against each other as if in perfect synchronization. Every punch, every kick, landed with a controlled force that made the air crackle.

The other participants in the arena stopped watching anything else, their attention riveted entirely on the pair.

"Hey, brother. Is that all you’ve got?" Zing called, a teasing grin on his face.

"Nah... this is just getting started," Zion replied, his voice calm but sharp.

Zion launched himself forward, running, leaping, and striking Zing’s head with a kick. But Zing barely moved; his neck bent slightly, absorbing the blow with practiced ease.

Then it escalated. They began trading rapid kicks, spinning, ducking, and striking with relentless speed. The sharp thuds and swishes of their blows echoed throughout the arena, each one punctuating their incredible strength.

The other participants could immediately tell—they were strong. Not just strong, but evenly matched, each move countered flawlessly, each strike met with equal force. The air between them seemed to hum with energy, a tangible display of skill and power.

Even from a distance, Nolan could feel it—these two weren’t just fighters. They were a force of nature.