---
CHAPTER 70 — The Silence Before the Fall
The arena was immense. A sea of black stone and broken columns, restored by the UAP to host an event that had not taken place in decades.
The bleachers rose as far as the eye could see, encircling the central platform like an eye open to the sky. Thousands of spectators filled them — officials in dark suits, military commanders in impeccable uniforms, heads of state with faces tired by politics, and representatives of entire nations who knew of the existence of Celestials.
Their cries echoed in the dry air, a continuous background noise rolling like a wave. Some waved flags, others chanted names, still others observed in silence, their gazes fixed on the eleven silhouettes lined up at the center of the arena.
Zayn stood straight.
He wore an entirely black outfit. Not a hint of color, not a single detail that stood out. A black hooded jacket, with dark color blocks and a nearly invisible black logo on the chest. Black sleeves, black forearm guards, black motorcycle gloves. Black cargo pants, with large black pockets and black knee reinforcements. And black low-top sneakers with black soles.
Everything was black. Like a standing shadow.
Borealis glowed on his wrist, the only light in this darkness.
Beside him, Yojuro stood still, eyes half-closed, hands in his pockets. Cynthia stared at the crowd, fists clenched. Blanche seemed colder than usual. Rodrigue rolled his ball between his hands, his smile slightly strained. Kai had his arms crossed, a silver chain hanging from his belt. Akamaru stared at the ground, as if searching for something invisible. Loyd was already smiling — an empty smile that promised nothing good. Kira kept his eyes closed, motionless. Enara looked at Zayn, as always. And Ranmaru, at the end of the line, stared at the sky, his monocle faintly glowing.
Behind them, the cries rose, swelled, faded, then rose again.
"YOJ-U-RO! YOJ-U-RO!"
A child's voice, piercing, coming from the lower bleachers. Haruka.
She stood, too small to see over the heads, but she waved her arms with all her strength. Yojuro didn't turn his head. But his fingers moved — an almost invisible gesture, a sign.
He had seen her.
---
In the honor bleachers, the powerful observed.
Râ sat, arms crossed, his gaze haughty. His presence radiated a silent heat, like a sun that had sat among men. Beside him, the White Lady observed with calm gentleness, her hands clasped on her knees. She didn't speak. She watched the young fighters like one watches flowers before a storm.
Further away, Ryo leaned against a column, arms crossed, a smirk on his lips. He wasn't looking at the arena. He was looking at the spectators. As if searching for something else.
Azel stood near the entrance, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on Zayn. Not a word. But Zayn felt his attention, an invisible weight on his shoulders.
At the top of the bleachers, in a glassed-in box overlooking the arena, men and women in suits sat in a row.
The presidents. The heads of state. The ministers. The generals.
They didn't shout. They observed. They judged.
The silence up there was heavier than the cries.
---
A Paladin stepped forward to the center of the arena.
He was tall, clad in a grey coat, his face impassive. He held a scroll in one hand, a blade at his belt. His gaze swept over the eleven fighters, the spectators, the bleachers.
He raised his hand.
Silence fell, all at once. Even the cries died out.
"Welcome to the final phase of the Paladin examination."
His voice rang out, clear and cold.
"You are the eleven survivors. The last ones. The only ones to have crossed the labyrinth, the trials, death itself."
He unrolled the scroll.
"The rules are simple."
He raised one finger.
"One: each match is single combat."
A second finger.
"Two: matches are determined by lot."
A third.
"Three: there are no limits. No time. No rules. No stops."
A fourth.
"Four: the winner is the one who puts their opponent out of combat."
A fifth.
"Five: death is permitted."
The crowd held its breath.
The Paladin lowered his hand.
"Let the best one win."
He stepped back.
Silence lasted a second. Then the cries resumed, louder than ever.
Zayn looked at his hands. He wasn't afraid. Not yet.
He looked at his brothers in arms, his enemies, his friends. They were all there, lined up, ready.
The tournament was beginning.
--