CHAPTER 93: THE CLASH BEFORE THE TOURNAMENT

"Are these two trying to show off or what?" Nolan muttered, narrowing his eyes at the twins sparring in the middle of the arena. "Why fight here, of all places?"

No one answered. The crowd of participants simply watched, captivated by the clash.

Still, Nolan could tell. They’re good fighters. Their punches carry weight, and their kicks hit hard. Strong enough to stand out... though still not the strongest. He glanced toward Linda and Celia. If either of them had to face these two, it wouldn’t be easy—especially Celia. Linda might be able to match their rhythm, maybe even strike first. But Celia... she’d struggle against that kind of raw speed and power.

The thought lingered as silence stretched between the watching participants—until movement above drew everyone’s gaze.

Up at the highest tier of the arena, where the spectators would soon gather, a slim man stepped forward. The seat behind him sat empty, but in his hand was a wind-amplifying device—something that carried his voice across the entire coliseum like a booming speaker.

The man, Odit, raised the device to his mouth.

"Everyone! Participants of tomorrow’s tournament—stop what you are doing and listen!"

The arena went still. Fighters turned toward him, voices hushed, attention fixed.

"Good. Now that I have your attention, hear this: Tomorrow will be different. The rules have changed."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"To make it clear for those not here, a large signboard is already being placed as I speak. On it, you’ll find the new rules written. But listen carefully now. First rule: Do not hold back. Fight with everything you have. There must be no excuse for losing."

He paused, letting his words echo before continuing.

"Second rule: Killing is forbidden. If you kill your opponent on purpose—you will be disqualified. If you kill unintentionally—you will still be disqualified. But..." his voice grew sharper, "if someone dies because you did not hold back, you will not be punished. Do you understand? Do not step into this arena with the intention to kill. Fight to win. Not to slaughter."

The crowd broke into whispers. Confusion. Frustration.

"What kind of rule is that?" one participant muttered. "It makes no sense. He’s telling us not to kill, but also saying people might die anyway."

"A strange rule," another spat. "Almost like he’s daring us to."

Odit raised his voice again, silencing them.

"Last note: Some of you fight alone. Some of you fight in pairs. Some come as teams of three or four. If you are a group of three or more, you will take turns in the tournament. But if you are a pair—you may enter together, even against a single opponent."

With that, Odit turned sharply, cloak brushing against the stone floor as he left.

The arena buzzed in his absence.

"What does it mean we can’t kill? What if someone dies anyway?" voices echoed around Nolan.

Nolan glanced at Celia and Linda. Both looked uneasy.

"Yes, Master," Celia admitted softly. "The rules don’t make sense."

Nolan placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Listen. If you see you can’t win, surrender. Don’t risk your lives over pride."

Celia nodded reluctantly. "Okay, Master. But... I still believe we’ll win."

"Me too," Linda added with quiet conviction.

Nolan smiled faintly at them both. "That’s all for today."

The tension lingered, heavy as the dusk settling over the arena. Tomorrow would be unlike anything they’d faced before.

"Well, let’s leave," Nolan said, motioning for Linda and Celia to follow.

As they turned toward the exit, Nolan accidentally brushed shoulders with someone. The man stopped abruptly, his expression twisting into irritation.

"Hey! Can’t you see where you’re going?" the man snapped.

Nolan blinked, meeting his sharp gaze. "Sorry. My bad. But you bumped into me too."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Are you making excuses? Trying to save face because you walked into me?"

"What?" Nolan frowned. "Don’t twist my words. Whatever." He started to walk past him.

"How dare you turn your back when I’m speaking to you!" the man barked, his voice carrying across the arena. His presence was imposing, his tone commanding. "Do you even know who I am?"

Nolan ignored him, taking another step forward.

That was enough to set the man off. He lunged, fist cocked back. "I’ll make you regret ignoring me!"

But before the punch could land, Nolan spun and caught his wrist mid-swing. His grip tightened, his eyes cold.

"Listen carefully," Nolan said, voice low and edged with warning. "The next time you cross the line, I swear—I’ll kill you."

The man—Kyrion—flinched, startled by the intensity in Nolan’s gaze. For a moment, his bravado faltered. But then anger surged again, and he pulled back, ready to strike once more.

"Enough!" a firm voice cut through the tension.

A royal knight stepped between them, armored boots clanging against the stone floor. "No fighting here. Save it for tomorrow. If you want blood, spill it in the tournament, not in the halls of the Empire."

Kyrion’s glare lingered on Nolan. His lips curled into a cruel grin. "So, you’re a participant. Good. If we meet tomorrow, you won’t leave standing. You’ll beg for mercy—but I won’t give it."

Nolan didn’t flinch. "Do whatever you want. But if you cross the line again... I won’t spare you."

The two locked eyes, a silent battle of wills sparking between them. The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken violence.

At last, Kyrion clicked his tongue and stepped back. With one last venomous look, he turned and strode away, cloak swaying behind him.

Nolan watched him leave, his jaw set, already knowing this wasn’t over.

"Master, are you alright?" Celia asked softly as she and Linda stepped closer, worry etched on their faces.

Nolan forced a small smile and shook his head. "Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it."

Still, his tone carried a weight he couldn’t hide. He turned toward the exit. "Come on. Let’s just go."

The three of them walked out of the arena, their footsteps echoing against the stone. But Nolan’s mind lingered on the man he had just clashed with.

That guy... Nolan thought, his fists clenching at his sides. I could feel it. He isn’t just strong—there’s something else about him. A strange presence. The kind that crawls under your skin.

He exhaled, trying to steady the storm brewing in his chest. "But it doesn’t matter," he said aloud, more to himself than to them. "Tomorrow... if I meet him, I won’t spare him."