The stadium was already overflowing.
Crowd poured into the public stands from every direction, voices blending into a constant roar that never truly settled.
Above them, the Noble galleries filled at a slower but steadier pace, every arrival drawing glances, whispers, and respectful distance.
Cars and ornate carriages lined the vast parking grounds beside the stadium, stretching far beyond what Rey had expected.
Today, the city had reached its peak.
Contestants gathered at the stadium's main gate, forming long, restless lines.
Weapons gleamed.
Armor clinked.
Nervous excitement hung thick in the air.
Yet amidst the chaos, one path remained untouched.
A wide road laid with deep crimson carpet cut straight through the entrance grounds.
No one stood on it.
Not a single noble dared step upon it.
That path was reserved.
For the Duke.
And his family.
A black car crawled forward through the congestion.
Inside, Hosric gripped the wheel calmly, while Fenlor and Rey sat in the back, watching the crowd through the windows.
"So much people…" Fenlor muttered.
"It's been fifteen minutes, and we haven't even moved a hundred meters."
He clicked his tongue.
"This is your fault, Rey. If you hadn't delayed us, we'd already be inside."
Rey rubbed the back of his head, smiling awkwardly.
"Sorry. I didn't expect it to get this bad."
Hosric glanced at the mirror.
"If you're that impatient," he said flatly,
"you can walk. The stadium's right ahead."
Fenlor stiffened.
"But Dad—"
Hosric's eyes met his through the mirror.
That was enough.
"…Fine," Fenlor muttered.
"Come on, Rey. You too."
Rey nodded immediately and stepped out.
He didn't mind walking.
Sitting still for so long had started to feel uncomfortable anyway.
Fenlor exited after him, weapons strapped properly.
Rey's gaze lingered on the sword at Fenlor's back.
The sheath was long.
Balanced.
Double-edged.
"…Peak First Rank?" Rey asked casually.
Fenlor shook his head.
"Early Second Rank. Forged from mid-tier beast bones."
He sighed.
"Dad wouldn't let me bring anything higher."
Rey nodded.
"Still impressive."
"Hurry," Rey added as horns blared behind them.
"We're blocking the road."
They merged into the flow of people heading toward the stadium.
Within minutes, the entrance loomed before them.
Guards divided the crowd efficiently.
The public was guided toward the spectator entrances.
Contestants were directed forward for inspection.
Fenlor slowed.
His eyes flicked sideways.
Hosric's car had finally cleared the congestion and was now gliding smoothly toward the reserved path.
"…We should've waited," Fenlor muttered.
Rey shook his head.
"Doesn't matter. Car or foot, the result won't change."
Fenlor hesitated, then turned sharply.
"Wait here. I'll talk to Dad."
Before Rey could respond, Fenlor disappeared into the crowd.
Rey exhaled slowly.
He wasn't eager to enter the Noble section.
Not with the surname he carried.
Not yet.
Minutes passed.
A message arrived.
Fenlor: I'm inside with Dad. Want me to get you in too?
Rey smirked.
Rey: Nah. My turn's almost here.
He slipped the phone away.
Three inspection lanes worked in parallel.
As Rey stepped forward, a guard called out.
"You. Next."
Rey handed over his badge.
The guard read the number.
Paused.
Then frowned.
He pulled out a folded sheet from his pocket and compared the numbers.
His eyes widened.
"…Proceed."
Rey blinked.
"Uh… you're not checking—"
"No need," the guard interrupted quickly."Move forward. Don't block the line."
Rey was gently pushed ahead.
Confused, he glanced back.
The guard avoided his eyes, sweat forming on his brow.
'That number…
The manager's order…
No inspection. No questions.
If delayed, immediate dismissal.'
"…What kind of background does he have?" the guard muttered under his breath.
Rey entered the stadium grounds without realizing what had just happened.
Behind him, another figure stepped into the line.
Gravion.
A long spear rested against his shoulder, gauntlets strapped at his waist.
He stared at the stadium with a strange nostalgia.
"…Second time."
In his past life, he'd been eliminated early.
The Duke's heir had taken first place.
Claimed the reward.
Used it to dominate the University for some time.
Not this time.
'That prize will be mine.'
He smirked.
'Even if it was prepared for the Duke's own blood.'
His thoughts sharpened.
'I've mastered all basic arts.
These kids won't last a single exchange.
Peak Apprentice… maybe.
Above that? Retreat.'
Gravion scanned the crowd subtly.
Still nothing.
'That art thief…
Eight footwork manuals, gone in one sweep.
If he's here… I'll find him.'
The gates opened wider.
Contestants poured inside.
The stage began to fill.
And above them, the stands roared to life.
The tournament had begun.
The Noble gallery slowly filled.
One carriage after another arrived, each noble family settling into the sections assigned to them, separated cleanly to avoid even the smallest friction.
Hosric Valemont sat among them, calm and composed, his presence carrying a quiet authority.
Beside him, Fenlor leaned against the railing, eyes drifting toward the ground below where contestants continued to gather.
Hosric spoke without looking away.
"Fenlor."
His son straightened immediately.
"Do not get overconfident," Hosric said evenly.
"Confidence is strength. Arrogance is weakness. No matter who you face, keep your composure."
Fenlor nodded obediently.
"And when you meet Rey," Hosric continued,
"bring him here. If he refuses like before, tell him I called him personally."
"Okay…" Fenlor replied, then frowned slightly.
"But Father, if you say he's more mature than most kids his age, why worry so much?"
Hosric placed both hands on Fenlor's shoulders, his grip firm but gentle.
"He is here without his family," he said.
"Surrounded by nobles, power, and ambition. Even the strongest minds feel lonely in such places."
His gaze softened just a little.
"You are his cousin. Support him. Help him where you can."
Fenlor nodded again, more seriously this time.
"Okay. I will."
A message buzzed on his phone.
His expression brightened.
"My friends are already inside," he said.
"I'll go meet them."
Hosric waved him off.
"Go."
Fenlor left the gallery, heading down toward the arena floor.
Below, the stadium buzzed with restless energy.
Groups had formed everywhere.
Some were old companions who had trained together for years.
Others were fresh alliances, formed out of convenience, fear, or ambition.
Yet not everyone stood in groups.
A few preferred solitude.
Rey was one of them.
Some had tried approaching him earlier, drawn by rumors and misunderstandings, mistaking him for a noble.
He had rejected them quietly.
Now, no one bothered him.
Which suited him just fine.
The time crept closer.
9:30 sharp.
The flow of people slowed, then stopped.
The gates closed.
The arena was full.
Rows upon rows of contestants stood arranged with military precision, stretching from one end of the ground to the other.
Rey stood near the center.
When he lifted his head, he could see thousands upon thousands of spectators filling the stands.
Above them, the Noble gallery gleamed with refinement.
And higher still…
Movement.
Subtle.
Heavy.
A pressure pressed down on him without warning.
Rey's breath hitched.
His instincts screamed.
Slowly, he looked up.
Toward the highest stage.
Toward the seat prepared for one man alone.
Duke Ashcroft.
A Disciple-ranked martial artist.
One of the Empire's Dukes.
A man rarely seen, shrouded in mystery.
Unlike other Dukes who flaunted their might, Ashcroft remained distant, his true strength unknown.
Rumors whispered that he was no ordinary martial artist.
Rey's eyes narrowed.
'…He feels like a beast wearing human skin.'
The Duke's gaze shifted.
Downward.
For a brief moment—
Their eyes met.
Rey felt his spine go cold.
He immediately lowered his gaze.
'Don't invite trouble.'
His heart beat faster.
'Was he really looking at me?'
He didn't dare look again.
When he finally glanced up moments later, the Duke was no longer watching him.
Rey released a quiet breath.
'…Maybe I imagined it.'
But somewhere above, the truth lingered.
Moments later, a voice echoed through the stadium.
The host adjusted the microphone inside a booth below the Noble gallery, a mirrored panel reflecting the arena for him.
"Good morning, people of the Dragon Kingdom!"
Cheers erupted.
"Today marks a historic occasion. Brave warriors from across the Kingdom have gathered here to compete for entry into the Empire's Martial University!"
The excitement surged.
"As you all know, only 200 among you will earn that honor."
A pause.
"Let us look at today's numbers."
Panels lit up above the stands like massive crystal screens.
"…28,832 contestants."
Gasps and murmurs spread.
"Nearly thirty thousand applicants registered, and this many have appeared today."
The host smiled.
"To manage this scale, contestants are divided into four sections: A, B, C, and D, each containing 7,208 participants."
The panels shifted, diagrams appearing.
"Each section will undergo five elimination rounds. From there, two semifinal rounds will determine the final fifty from each section."
"Those two hundred will advance to the Finals."
The explanation ended.
The host straightened.
"And now—"
He turned toward the highest platform.
"—our Duke, Lord Ashcroft, will address you and officially begin the tournament."
Silence fell.
The Duke rose.
His presence alone quieted the entire stadium.
"I declare the Tournament of the Best… open."
His voice carried effortlessly, reaching every corner.
"Show the glory of the Dragon Kingdom."
"The top two hundred finalists shall receive rewards from the Duke Family itself."
"Push forward."
"Bring out your very best."
He raised his hand.
Fireworks exploded across the sky.
The stadium erupted.
The tournament had begun.
Among tens of thousands…
Two stood apart.
One wrestling with unease beneath an unseen gaze.
Another smiling, eyes filled with memories of a past life.
The future was uncertain.
But one thing was clear—
This tournament would be anything but simple.