CHAPTER 220: CHAPTER 220: THE ARENA AND THE BRACKETS

The streets leading to the Grand Arena were already packed. Students from all four academies moved in groups, dressed in formal training gear or academy uniforms. But toward the back of the procession, two figures walked at a more relaxed pace.

Noel and Marcus.

Neither looked particularly rushed.

"I still feel like that stew from last night is fighting me internally," Marcus muttered, hand on his stomach.

"Yeah. Probably cursed dwarf spices or something," Noel replied with a sigh. "Still, we better not be late. They’re showing the brackets today."

Marcus smirked. "Excited?"

"Not really. Just want to know who I’m up against. Hopefully I don’t get eliminated in the first round."

Marcus gave him a flat look. "You? Come on. With your level, you’ll go far."

Noel shrugged. "Same for you. But if we both keep winning, we could probably see each other in the third round."

"How do you figure?"

"They’re drawing names from four separate boxes—one per academy. The early rounds are designed to guarantee inter-academy matchups. So unless something weird happens, we can’t fight each other before round three."

Marcus raised his eyebrows. "That actually makes sense. That way it’s balanced, and every academy has to prove themselves from the start."

"Exactly."

As they turned the final corner, the arena came into view.

It was massive—built into the mountain itself, with carved stone towers and glowing banners displaying shifting sigils of all four academies. Dozens of students were already inside.

Noel exhaled slowly.

"Let’s see what fate has prepared for us."

Inside the Grand Arena, the sound of footsteps and low chatter echoed across the stone walls. The main floor was wide, with smooth tiles marked by faint arcane lines. Massive stands rose around the perimeter, where hundreds of enchanted seats hovered slightly above the ground, humming with mana.

Noel and Marcus entered through the central gate, quickly spotting the rest of their classmates gathered near the center. All 160 tournament participants were already present—positioned loosely in their academy groups, eyes turned upward.

Four thrones loomed above in a high viewing platform, cut into the upper wall of the arena.

Four figures sat there.

At the far left was Director Nicolas von Aldros, dressed in his dark blue and gold robes, arms folded and expression unreadable.

Next to him sat a heavily bearded dwarf, thick and short, his crimson cloak draped over steel-plated armor. That had to be the host—Director of Tharvaldur.

Beside him sat a tall woman with long violet hair, braided down one side, dressed in flowing robes of deep purple silk. Her gaze was sharp, assessing. The Director of Luceria Grand Academy.

And finally, at the far right—impossible to miss—was a man with sleek black robes and curved obsidian horns rising from his skull. His skin had a faint red tint. The Director of Velmora.

Noel’s gaze settled on Nicolas.

’So, he’s back. Good. I’ll need to speak to him soon about what he found on the Fifth Pillar...’

His eyes drifted to the horned director beside him.

’...But first, I’ll enjoy watching him suffer sitting that close to a demon.’

Up above, Nicolas shifted slightly in his seat. Whether it was discomfort or irritation, it was hard to tell—but it was there.

The murmurs of the crowd faded as the dwarf director stepped forward to the edge of the platform. His voice boomed across the arena without the aid of magic.

"Young warriors of Vaelterra!"

He paused for effect, grinning under his thick beard.

"You are the future of this world—mages, knights, tacticians, champions. Tomorrow, the tournament begins. Fight well, fight proud. Let this be your chance to earn fame and honor for your academy... and maybe even yourselves."

A ripple of scattered applause moved through the students. Some nodded with solemn faces, others just stood there quietly.

"But above all," the dwarf added with a wink, "enjoy it. This only happens once."

Then he stepped back, and Nicolas rose smoothly in his place.

Where the dwarf had been informal, Nicolas was all precision. Hands behind his back, voice calm but commanding.

"Now, listen carefully. In a moment, you’ll discover your first opponent. To ensure fairness, all first and second round matches will be between students of different academies. After that, any matchup is possible."

He raised his right hand, and with a whisper of mana, four ornate boxes floated up from the ground—each marked with a different crest: Imperial Valor, Luceria Grand, Velmora, and Tharvaldur.

They hovered high above the arena floor, slowly spinning in place.

"Each box holds the names of its respective students. Watch carefully."

With a sharp gesture, he sent out another pulse of magic. One by one, slips of paper began flying out of the boxes—hundreds of them—until 160 names glowed midair.

They began aligning, slotting themselves into rows and columns, forming a massive transparent bracket that hovered over the arena.

Gasps and whispers spread. Some students squinted, trying to locate their own names.

Nicolas spoke once more.

"A detailed version of your match schedule will be available in your locker rooms. Due to the number of participants, some of you may fight twice in the same day. Be prepared."

The bracket shimmered, finally locking in place.

Noel’s eyes narrowed.

Time to see who he was up against.

Lines of glowing text stretched across the sky above them—names pairing off one after another, each box a potential duel. It was hard to focus on anything specific with so many glowing letters flickering in constant magical shimmer.

But then, he found it.

Noel Thorne vs. Varian Kraxus.

A demon. The name alone sounded aggressive, but Noel couldn’t recall any specific details from the novel. Just a vague memory of the early rounds being full of surprises.

’Great. A demon right out of the gate. At least I won’t get bored.’

His eyes kept moving.

Garron vs. Anastasia.

He blinked. Then again.

’...Wait.’

A cold chill ran down his spine as realization hit.

The red hair. The piercing red eyes. That smug grin.

The girl who had approached him four nights ago outside Luceria’s hotel.

The one who asked if he had a girlfriend.

’Anastasia. That’s her. The damn girl.’

He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tightening slightly.

’She’s dangerous. Fast, unpredictable, and likes to toy with people before finishing them off. I remember now—she made it far in the novel.’

He looked toward Garron, who was still staring at the sky, unaware.

’Gods. What a matchup. Let’s see if he even makes it past round one.’

A quiet sigh escaped him.

’I’ve been relaxing too much. I need to review everything again... I’ve let my guard down.’

The bracket shimmered one last time before slowly fading from the sky.

The crowd began to murmur again, nerves and tension settling in as reality took shape.

The tournament had officially begun.