Chapter 146: Chapter 145: Opening Ceremony of the National Championship
The Imperial City did not sleep.
If anything, the hours before dawn only sharpened its energy, as though the entire capital had taken a single breath during the night and now exhaled it all at once into the streets. The celebrations that had filled the avenues past midnight had barely faded when the first wave of morning movent surged into place, replacing revelry with anticipation so thick it seed to vibrate through stone and air alike.
Vendors who had closed their stalls only hours earlier reopened them with chanical precision, hands moving through practiced routines as fires were rekindled, banners unfurled, and goods arranged in perfect display. The scent of fresh-cooked food spread quickly, weaving through the already crowded roads where travelers hurried toward the arena district, their arms filled with supplies, flags, betting slips, and opinions they shared freely with anyone willing—or unwilling—to listen.
Children ran between adults with faces painted in crude but enthusiastic depictions of beast symbols, their laughter cutting through the noise like sparks in a storm. Noble families passed through the chaos in elevated carriages, their routes carefully cleared by guards, their expressions composed despite the undeniable excitent around them. anwhile, common citizens had begun lining up outside the public gates long before sunrise, securing positions with a determination that bordered on stubborn defiance.
Because today was not just another event.
Today marked the official beginning of the National Championship.
And the city understood exactly what that ant.
The sound reached the academy residence before the light did.
It ca first as a distant rumble, low and indistinct, like thunder rolling across a far horizon. Then it grew, layer by layer, until it beca sothing far more structured—trumpets blaring in ceremonial rhythm, massive drums striking deep, resonant beats that echoed through stone, and bells ringing with a tallic clarity that cut through everything else.
By the ti the sun began to rise, the sound had transford into a living force, pressing against walls, filling corridors, and settling into the bones of anyone who heard it.
Valen’s door slamd open.
He stepped into the courtyard shirtless, already fully awake, his expression alive with anticipation as though the noise itself had dragged him out of sleep and filled him with energy in a single motion.
"Finally," he said, stretching his shoulders with a satisfied roll as he looked toward the distant arena district.
From the opposite side of the courtyard, Rowan erged more slowly, his expression far less enthusiastic. His eyes were narrowed, his posture stiff with the lingering effects of a restless night, and his patience clearly worn thin before the day had even properly begun.
"If you shout like that before sunrise again," Rowan said dryly, "I’m going to register you as livestock and sell you to the nearest farm. At least then the noise would be expected."
Valen turned toward him with a grin that bordered on feral.
"You’d need a stronger rope than that," he replied.
Rowan stared at him for a mont, then exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I regret everything," he muttered.
Across the courtyard, Aether stood near the well, the cool morning air brushing lightly against his skin as he washed his hands with asured movents. Unlike the others, he had been awake long before the city’s noise reached its peak, his routine uninterrupted by the rising chaos beyond the walls.
In his other hand, he held a folded sheet—the arena schedule—his eyes scanning its contents with quiet focus.
The Spirit Fairy hovered beside him, her soft golden glow steady and calm, while the Fla Sovereign Pup stretched lazily nearby, its movents unhurried, as though the tension in the air held no urgency for it at all.
Perched invisibly along the courtyard wall, the Fallen Succubus watched the scene with open amusent, her attention lingering on Aether as she tilted her head slightly.
"You’re strangely calm," she observed, her voice carrying a note of curiosity that was not entirely mocking.
Aether didn’t look up from the schedule.
"It’s an event," he said simply.
The Succubus let out a quiet, lodic laugh.
"That," she replied, "is a remarkably unambitious way to describe what is essentially a battlefield disguised as entertainnt."
Aether folded the schedule neatly.
"Then it’s still familiar," he said.
She studied him for a mont longer, her smile softening into sothing almost thoughtful.
"Yes," she murmured. "I suppose it would be."
The courtyard gate opened before the conversation could continue.
All eyes turned.
Liora entered without hesitation, her presence imdiately altering the atmosphere in a way that was subtle yet undeniable. Her attire had changed from the practical travel clothing of previous days to sothing far more deliberate—white and silver layered in a design that balanced elegance with combat readiness.
Light armor was integrated seamlessly beneath the flowing fabric, its structure visible only in the way it shifted with her movent. Her hair was tied back, her expression composed, and her gaze steady.
The Celestial Fate Butterfly drifted above her shoulder like a fragnt of starlight given form, its wings trailing faint threads of golden luminescence. The Moondream Hare followed close behind, its movents silent, its presence barely disturbing the air as it moved.
Valen stared openly for a mont before shaking his head with a low whistle.
"Our team," he said, "is honestly offensive."
Rowan raised an eyebrow.
"To the opponents?" he asked.
Valen’s grin widened.
"To morale," he replied.
Liora did not acknowledge him.
Her attention settled on Aether.
"You did not die overnight," she said.
"No," Aether replied.
She nodded once.
"Good."
That was the entirety of their greeting.
And yet, nothing about it felt incomplete.
The preparation that followed was efficient, almost understated in its execution. There were no unnecessary delays, no dramatic speeches, no attempts to heighten the mont beyond what it already was.
Because it didn’t need to be.
The city had already done that.
—
The procession toward the arena began shortly after.
Official teams moved in coordinated lines through the city streets, each delegation escorted along designated routes that converged toward the championship district. The sheer number of participants transford the roads into a shifting tapestry of color, motion, and presence.
Different uniforms marked different origins—so adorned with intricate patterns that spoke of noble lineage, others simple and functional, emphasizing practicality over display. Beasts accompanied many of them, ranging from massive, imposing creatures that drew imdiate attention to smaller, more subtle companions that radiated quiet power.
So teams marched with military precision, their formations tight and disciplined, their expressions focused. Others arrived in ornate carriages, their entrances crafted as carefully as any performance. A few favored spectacle above all else—one desert delegation rode towering, sand-scaled lizards whose every step sent vibrations through the ground, their appearance alone enough to command attention.
Valen watched everything with open interest, his gaze moving from one group to another as though he were cataloging potential opponents before ever stepping onto the battlefield.
"This," he said, his voice filled with approval, "is excellent."
Rowan, walking beside him, let out a long sigh.
"That sentence," he said, "has never once led to anything good."
They reached the arena district as the sun rose fully over the city.
Though they had seen it before, the Imperial Championship Arena had transford.
The massive gates stood open, their structure adorned with spirit banners that floated in the air as though carried by unseen currents. The outer ring was alive with motion, thousands upon thousands of spectators already filling the seats, their voices rging into a continuous roar that rose and fell like waves against stone.
Above the arena, projection crystals hovered in carefully arranged positions, their surfaces glowing faintly as they broadcast enlarged images across the city. Every district, every street, every corner capable of receiving the signal would witness what unfolded within.
There would be no privacy here.
No hidden victories.
No unseen failures.
Everything would be observed.
Everything would be rembered.
Inside, the arena revealed its full scale.
The battlefield itself was a vast circle of reinforced white stone, its surface etched with faint patterns that hinted at the layered defensive arrays beneath. Surrounding it, tier upon tier of seating climbed upward, forming a structure capable of holding tens of thousands without strain.
Private balconies lined the upper levels, their designs reflecting the wealth and influence of those who occupied them. Foreign dignitaries, noble houses, and influential factions each held their own space, their presence marked not just by position, but by the subtle displays of power that accompanied them.
High above it all, a transparent barrier shimred faintly, its existence barely noticeable until one focused on it directly. It was strong enough to contain catastrophic force.
Which ant such force was expected.
Valen rolled his shoulders as he took in the scene, his grin returning with renewed intensity.
"I want to break sothing," he said.
"Preferably opponents," Rowan replied imdiately.
Valen considered that.
"No promises," he said.
The announcent began soon after.
The voice that filled the arena was amplified through layered arrays, carrying effortlessly across every seat, every balcony, every corner of the massive structure.
"Welco," it declared, "to the National Championship!"
The response was imdiate.
Overwhelming.
A wave of sound that shook the very air.
One by one, the teams were introduced.
Each entry carried its own style, its own identity, its own carefully constructed image.
The Northern Glacier Institute drew attention with a massive ice bear whose sheer size and presence commanded respect. The Southern Fla Hall presented twin fire serpents that moved in perfect synchronization, their flas intertwining in controlled displays of power. The Imperial Military Academy marched with brutal efficiency, their discipline evident in every step.
The Oceanic Federation’s representatives brought elegance, their tide spirits moving like living water, while the Desert Kingdom’s poison summoner entered under a silence that was not admiration, but caution.
Each introduction added another layer to the growing tension.
Then the tone shifted.
The announcer paused.
The anticipation built.
And the gates opened once more.
Lion Solvaris entered beneath a display crafted for maximum impact.
Golden banners descended.
Trumpets blazed.
Controlled bursts of colored fla marked his path.
His armor glead, his posture flawless, his expression perfectly balanced between confidence and approachability.
At his side walked the Golden War Lion, its presence as commanding as its master’s, its every step asured and deliberate.
The crowd erupted.
Because spectacle worked.
And Lion understood that better than anyone.
Aether watched from the side, his expression unchanged.
"He rehearsed that," he said quietly.
Liora, standing beside him, replied just as softly.
"Several tis."
Valen nearly choked trying to suppress his laughter.
Then ca their turn.
The announcent carried a different weight this ti.
"Presenting the Eastern Academy Champions—led by the road-tested champion, Aether!"
The gates opened.
And they walked.
No spectacle.
No dramatic display.
Just three figures moving forward with quiet certainty.
Aether at the center.
Valen at his right.
Liora at his left.
Three distinct presences.
Three different forms of strength.
And sohow—
That simplicity struck harder than anything that had co before.
The reaction began as whispers.
Then grew.
Then surged into sothing far louder.
Nas were called.
Chants ford.
The projection crystals shifted, capturing their images and casting them across the arena and beyond.
Valen played to it, his grin widening as he flexed deliberately.
Liora remained composed, her expression unreadable.
Aether looked mildly inconvenienced.
The audience loved it.
Across the field, other teams watched more carefully now.
Assessnt replaced curiosity.
Recognition replaced dismissal.
On the royal balcony, Lion’s smile did not falter.
But his grip on the railing tightened.
Just slightly.
The bracket announcent followed.
Nas filled the structure.
Matches ford.
Paths toward victory—or elimination—beca visible.
When their pairing appeared—
Aether’s team versus Blackstone Combat Institute—
the reaction was imdiate.
Rowan crossed his arms.
"Good," he said.
Valen cracked his knuckles slowly.
"I hope they break loudly," he added.
Liora glanced at the na, then at Rowan.
"Do we know them?" she asked.
"Direct fighters," Rowan replied. "Aggressive. Durable."
Aether looked at the bracket once more.
"Then they lose directly," he said.
The ceremony ended in thunder.
Teams dispersed.
Crowds surged.
The city roared louder than before.
And as Aether walked toward the fighters’ corridor, the path ahead narrowing into shadowed stone, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Try not to be eliminated early."
He didn’t turn.
"Try not to be boring," he replied.
Valen’s laughter echoed through the tunnel.
Tomorrow—
The real battles would begin.
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