A subdued hum rippled through the obsidian stands.
Not a cheer of victory but whispers. Heavy. Hesitant. Confused.
"Kaestell's boy… could've won."
"But he didn't go all in, did he?"
"The noble one was strong, but too straight."
In the noble galleries, subtle glances were exchanged. A few soft smirks. Raised eyebrows. Calculations behind every word left unsaid.
Count Riven Destrois clicked his tongue.
"No injuries. No blood.
Is this a new form of honor… or hesitation?"
Marchioness Selene Arceval fanned herself gently.
"Perhaps both.
But one thing is clear neither of them wanted to win too soon."
At the highest tier of the grandstand, Emperor Gaius Octavianus Magnus leaned slightly forward. Beside him, Lord Severan Malrec, the Imperial Chamberlain, smiled faintly.
"No fire," the Emperor murmured.
"But sometimes, ashes hide deeper embers."
"They're not desperate enough yet, Your Majesty," Malrec replied softly.
"The first duel isn't about winning. It's about measuring who's sane enough to outlast their own ego."
The Emperor gave no response. But his gaze sharp as the edges of a crown stayed fixed on the arena, searching for sparks still buried beneath stone.
Among the Solaria line, Lucius Magnus, Crown Prince of the Empire, observed the empty arena.
"That level of power won't hurt ."
"But it might be enough to distract him."
His eyes moved to a name on the Umbra roster:
Darian Duval.
Darian said nothing. Showed nothing.
But in silence, he recorded every movement, every breath, every tactical hesitation.
"Only one strike."
"But it forced Klyven back."
"Interesting."
In the crowd below, a mother clutched her son's hand tightly.
"Watch closely," she whispered.
"This is the world you'll grow into. Cold. Strong. But ordered."
Back in the arena, Magister Rusk stepped forward once more.
His staff tapped against the obsidian floor.
"Next Viella D'Arceon of Solaria.
Choose your opponent."