East of the arena, the Black Hall rose in solemn silence.
It loomed vast and austere, a monolith of dark stone that seemed not merely to stand, but to endure, its surface swallowing light rather than casting it back, as though the structure itself rejected the world beyond it.
At its entrance, towering doors stretched upward, etched with ancient markings so faint they appeared uncertain, shifting at the edge of perception whenever one lingered too long upon them.
Within, the air carried weight.
Not suffocating, nor hostile, something subtler, more deliberate. It lingered with a quiet awareness, as though the hall itself observed those who entered, measuring without haste.
The candidates filed in, their earlier energy diminished to a restrained murmur. Voices softened without instruction, lowered by instinct rather than fear, as if some unspoken rule governed the space. Even footsteps seemed reluctant to echo too loudly against the darkened floor.
The interior extended far beyond expectation. Towering pillars lined the vast expanse, their upper reaches vanishing into shadow, giving the impression that the hall had no true ceiling, only an endless ascent into darkness. At the far end, elevated upon a long obsidian platform, figures sat in absolute stillness.
The Prime Ministers.
Five aged presences, seated before the gathered youth, unmoving yet unmistakably dominant. They did not speak, nor shift, yet their very existence bent the atmosphere around them. It was not intimidation in its crude form, but something deeper, a quiet acknowledgment that power resided here, ancient and unchallenged.
A faint sound broke the stillness.
Tap.
Tap.
Footsteps rang with sudden clarity, sharp against the polished black floor, each step carrying farther than it should, as though the hall itself ensured it would not go unnoticed.
Nemesio stood ahead, his posture unyielding. A slight movement of his hand followed, subtle yet deliberate, a signal for reverence.
It went unseen.
Curiosity held the candidates captive. Their gazes wandered, drawn not to instruction, but to the overwhelming grandeur surrounding them.
Eyes traced the endless stretch of the hall, the colossal pillars, the oppressive scale of it all, a place so far removed from anything familiar that it seemed unreal.
Then.
"Bow your heads."
The command cut through the air without warning.
"You stand in the presence of the Five Prime Ministers of Mercedes."
There was no rise in volume, no need for force. The authority within his voice struck with precision, leaving no space for hesitation, no room for misunderstanding.
Their attention snapped back, as though seized.
From the hall,
to him,
and then, at last, to the figures seated in silence.
Understanding came swiftly, carrying with it a jolt of belated awareness.
They bowed.
Not as one, but in hurried succession, movements uneven, imperfect, yet undeniably sincere.
A low murmur stirred through the hall, subtle at first, then spreading in quiet ripples as restrained voices found one another in hushed exchange. The tension that had settled upon the candidates began to shift, fragile, uncertain,
and then it broke.
A laugh rose above it.
Deep.
Resonant.
It did not merely echo; it filled the chamber, rolling through the vast expanse with a force that seemed almost physical. The sound carried age, strength, and an unrestrained confidence that paid no heed to the weight of the room.
One of the seated figures leaned forward, his presence sharpening as he moved. A man carved by time rather than diminished by it, bald, with a thick white beard running along his jaw, full and untamed, lending him a fierce, almost defiant appearance.
"Do not be too severe with them… Ironhead."
The amusement in his voice lingered, his laughter following close behind, reverberating against stone and shadow alike.
A faint shift passed through Nemesio, subtle yet unmistakable.
"Oi… old man." The words came low, measured, though irritation threaded through them with quiet persistence. "I have long since outgrown that name."
The old man's grin only widened, unrepentant, as though the passage of years held no authority over his memory.
"Not to me."
His gaze sharpened with something warmer beneath its edge, something that refused to be concealed.
"You remain my little Aurelius."
Laughter surged again, fuller this time, unrestrained in a way that seemed almost out of place within such a solemn hall, yet, paradoxically, it did not shatter the atmosphere so much as fracture its rigidity. The oppressive stillness eased, if only slightly, the air no longer quite as heavy as before.
From the side, an assistant stepped forward with practiced composure, a collection of documents held neatly in hand. Their presence, though far less imposing, carried its own quiet authority, grounded in order rather than force.
"Your match results have already been compiled and submitted by High Commander Kimura."
The voice was calm, precise, cutting cleanly through the lingering echoes of laughter without resistance.
"What follows is a simple roll call."
A measured pause allowed the words to settle, drawing the candidates' attention back into focus.
"When your name is called, you will step forward and listen carefully."
A slight shift of the documents, the faintest sound against the otherwise silent hall.
"Those who are citizens of the Northern Region will remain. You are to be assigned to a guild within the Defense Corps."
Another pause, deliberate, allowing the distinction to take hold.
"For those from beyond this region, your statement will be issued upon your name being called. Thereafter, you are free to depart. Your placement will be determined by your respective regions."
Silence followed, not empty, but expectant.
"Thank you."
The first name rang out soon after, clear and unwavering.
One by one, they stepped forward.
Each movement carried a weight that had not been there before, a quiet gravity that settled upon their shoulders as they crossed the distance toward the obsidian platform.
The hall, vast as it was, seemed to narrow in those moments, reducing itself to the path between where they stood… and where they would be judged.
Because this was no longer about strength alone.
Not anymore.
Here, beneath the watchful presence of those who governed power itself,
futures were decided.