City of Cartag, Gregorian Empire.
Inside the Amphitheater
All preparations were in place. Red and gold banners draped every corner—one bearing the seal of the Empire, the other the emblem of the Order of Light.
The crowd buzzed with restless excitement, rumors spreading as fast as the cheap wine. Street vendors shouted over one another, selling everything from herbs to trinkets.
In a reserved section, separated from the common citizens, the nobles gathered. From afar, one could clearly see the figure representing the imperial royal family.
Alex greeted the masses with that twisted, charismatic smile of his—refined, elegant, every bit the imperial prince. Inside his luxurious private box, three figures of the Imperial Consulate sat with him.
Marilyn and Lucia scanned the arena with composed interest. Meanwhile, April—true to her Berserk nature—sat in the very first row among the commoners, solely for the better view of the imminent bloodshed.
Whispers kept rising. Excitement thickened.
Soon enough, the crowd began speculating about the tournament's victor:
Some bet on the local gladiators. But most were convinced the winner would be one of the three invited superhumans:
Captain Lucius Cortez, from the Imperial elite legion known as Spark.Franklin Michelli, better known as the Mercenary King.And Rick Hockenheim, the greatest warrior from the city of Rumsfeld in the Kingdom of Nordkrieger.
Rumors also swirled about the young promising nobles who had announced their attendance.
Then, suddenly, the Governor of Cartag rushed in, hurrying toward the center of the arena—an arena of dark stone crafted solely for this occasion by earth mages.
Acrisius arrived almost breathless, as if he'd left an important meeting barely an hour ago. At his side stood Cardinal Fausto of the Order of Light. The Governor handed him a special magical device, and the Cardinal raised it before speaking:
—"Citizens of Cartag!"
He paused, and the crowd fell instantly silent in reverence.
The Governor passed the artifact to Cardinal Fausto, who continued with booming authority:
—"On this Dontsun, marked by the prelude of death according to the order of the gods… today, in the year 992, on the final day of the glorious month of Jupiter—as tradition demands—we celebrate the Tournament of Glasthor."
The crowd erupted, roaring in near-religious ecstasy. The Cardinal lifted a hand, and the uproar stopped at once.
—"We give thanks to the gods… to the Order… and to the Emperor… FOR THE EMPIRE!"
—FOR THE EMPIRE!—the people echoed, shaking the amphitheater.
—"FOR GREGORIAN!"
—FOR GREGORIAN!
After Cardinal Fausto's proclamation, the atmosphere shifted. This wasn't just a spectacle. It wasn't mere tradition.It had become a ritual.
—"Let the participants enter the Arena!" the Governor declared with fervor.
One by one, the competitors marched in, taking their positions as the audience observed them with greedy anticipation. But their attention quickly latched onto the most unusual figure among them.
The smallest of the entire group, barely 160 cm tall. His outfit was strange—dark as the night—and his helmet stranger still, like a glowing box with cryptic symbols instead of a face.
Cardinal Fausto leaned toward the Governor and quietly asked:
Cardinal Fausto:—"Who is that slave?"
Acrisio:—"No idea, your eminence. I didn't bother paying attention to trash."
Cardinal Fausto:—"Shouldn't have asked. I'll be leaving soon. You have your priests and clerics here. Make sure you pay me well afterward."
Acrisio:—"Don't worry. His Highness Alex will ensure your payment once you leave the amphitheater."
Cardinal Fausto:—"A pleasure doing business."
Acrisio:—"Likewise, your eminence."
The crowd continued whispering, evaluating each participant. But those who'd attended the previous day immediately recognized that peculiar slave—and at the sight of him, murmurs spread like smoke:
—"That's him… the damn slave," a noble whispered.
—"The Abuser," a drunk muttered.
—"The what?" a child asked.
Finally, the Governor paid his respects to His Highness Prince Alex Magnus, and the announcer gave the official proclamation:
Announcer:—"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… today, you will witness a new tournament. Today, you will witness great battles. Sixty men will face each other in individual combat and fight against beasts brought from all corners of the continent… Today will be a long day of bloodshed."
He paused. Something had happened.
But he added:
—"The tournament will begin in just a few minutes. I ask all spectators for a bit more patience. Participants, return to your waiting area and await the next announcement."