Leonidas stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding attention despite the soft cadence of his voice.
His elegant figure was draped in a white garment trimmed with intricate gold, the neckline adorned with ornate golden necklaces that caught the sunlight and shimmered faintly.
Neatly parted blonde hair flowed gently in the morning breeze, and his dark blue eyes scanned the field with quiet precision, taking in every detail without a hint of rush.
His voice, soft yet measured, carried effortlessly across the arena.
Gohon!
"My name is Marcus Leonidas Antonius. I am the second emperor of Mercedes. I trust Lord Nemesio has already forged your brave hearts with his words. Today, none of you must falter, for you are the warriors of future generations."
He adjusted his glasses with a practiced finger, a soft cough punctuating the movement. Gohon!
"Now, I will be explaining the arr—"
"That voice… it sounds oddly familiar," Jurgen muttered under his breath, his fingers tracing along his jawline as he tried to place it.
"…So none shall make mistakes or disrupt the tournament," Leonidas continued, his voice regaining strength and clarity.
"The arrangement is a two-man duel. Two random prodigies will be paired against another two. The first team to knock out or immobilize the other wins."
His tone remained calm but authoritative, each word precise. "This is purely to test your skills and gauge your rank.
Some may wonder how participants from outside Mercedes can succeed, but this tournament is the gateway to the Defense Corps. Those from other regions who prevail will receive a written statement, signed by the highest authority in Mercedes, and sent for official approval."
The young prodigies listened with rapt attention, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Leonidas, their postures taut with anticipation.
"You must not take the fight too lightly, or too far. Inflicting harm with the intent to kill is strictly prohibited and may result in immediate disqualification. Fight fairly, as the honorable gentlemen and women that you are. Thank you."
He exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly as he strode toward his seat, letting out a long, relieved sigh.
"Whooo! That was tough, Nemey. Speaking in front of such a crowd is… exhausting. And a little weird, considering our ages aren't that far apart." He groaned, sliding into his chair with a soft scrape of leather against the platform.
"Well, not everyone becomes an emperor at such a young age," Nemesio replied, his calm smile steady, almost soothing. "And trust me, they'll take your words seriously. It will only empower them further."
Their light chatter still floated through the air when another voice cut sharply through it, commanding attention like a whip cracking across the arena.
"Silence! My name is High Commander Kimura Yamazaki, and I will be the conductor for this match."
At the first syllable, Jurgen's expression darkened, a cold, unexplainable anger curling in his chest. His eyes narrowed, fixing on Kimura with a silent, wicked intensity.
"As you all know, your names and details have been filed and sent from your respective regions," Kimura continued, voice firm and precise. "Some of your abilities have been ranked alongside your files."
Jurgen's jaw tightened as the man's gaze swept over the gathered prodigies.
"I am honestly impressed," Kimura said, pacing slowly, eyes glinting behind his spectacles, "a few many of you young stars have managed to grasp the concept of Reira and harness it quite effectively and that's a good thing."
He paused, letting the words settle like a measured weight. "But do not grow too comfortable. Reira can be as dangerous as it is powerful. I would rather you learn the stages of Reira but we'll save that for another time. I must urge you not consider yourselves lacking simply because your abilities have yet to manifest fully."
"The fact that each one of you are here means none of you should be underestimated. None must underestimate their opponents, I repeat, no one. Underestimating your opponent will only drive you into a corner."
Kimura reached slowly into the folds of his long, dark coat and pulled out a massive leather-bound book.
His fingers swiped across the pages with precision, stopping after the fourth, as if to punctuate the gravity of the instructions.
Then, his head snapped up, eyes locking onto the crowd and every gaze seemed to tighten, as if weighing, judging, daring them all.
"Now then, I shall call your names and your opponents," he bellowed.
A low cough rumbled from him, and then the list began.
ANTON FIDELIS and BALBIN CUSTOD versus VIKTOR BULLSWINE and AKASORA MOSHI.
SASAKI CHŌBEI and ASHIKAGA TAKAUJI versus BILLY THE KID and LOCUSTA.
Nyugen… Kuro… versus Hito…
One name followed another, relentless, a tide of syllables that threatened to overwhelm. Jurgen's focus wavered as the words blurred together, becoming a murmur in the back of his mind. None of them mattered.
Until his own name came.
JIRO KUSUNOKI and BUCKLER BLACKWOOD versus BUBBLES WILKES BOOTH and JURGEN EINZELBERHT.
A sudden jolt ran through him, the rhythm of his heart quickening. His hands clenched instinctively. This was his first real battle, and every nerve in his body felt alive, alert to even the smallest movement.
"Now, the first participants make your way to the arena," Kimura announced.
The first four fighters stepped forward onto the concrete stage, moving with a careful precision.
They spaced themselves evenly across the open arena, their figures tense and deliberate.
The sunlight traced their shadows across the ground, sharp and unwavering, as though marking the start of something that could not be undone.
"I won't lose to anyone. Absolutely!" Jurgen muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening into a fist, slick with sweat.
The pulse in his wrist throbbed with determination, his chest rising and falling with controlled, deliberate breaths.
Among the first four, one presence immediately seized his attention. It wasn't flashy, no overt display of power, but the air around them vibrated with quiet certainty, a subtle gravity that made Jurgen's senses spike.
VIKTOR's arm, blackened from elbow to wrist, looked as if it had been scorched beyond recognition, charred flesh or cloth, it was impossible to tell. Each subtle movement sent shadows crawling across the burned surface, a living warning of the power he carried.
Messy, unkempt hair fell over sharp, calculating eyes that glinted with something undeniably dangerous. His gaze alone carried the promise of chaos, a silent threat that seemed to hum in the air around him.
He wore a tattered black shirt, loose and frayed, the sleeves stopping at the elbows. The edges were scorched, as if fire itself had stopped just short of consuming him entirely.
A glint from a small earring caught the sunlight, a tiny, deliberate shimmer against the dark silhouette.
His baggy trousers billowed slightly in the wind, the only detail of his attire that felt mundane, but even that movement carried an underlying tension, like a predator coiled before a strike.
And then, in a flash, Kimura appeared on the stage. Without a word, his arm swiped downward, a gesture both sharp and commanding.