The stoic arena hissed as a colossal, mystical wooden board was fixed on the walls by two academy staff mbers — both bladeborns of respectable physical strength.
The satisfaction of the earlier commotion was slowly overridden by the spectators’ curiosity. They wondered what the board was, or rather, they had an idea, but they wanted to see how it would work.
The competitors in the main stage, too, had their brows rising in interest.
Each of them had been requested to draw a strange, colored shard from a runic container, and while so of the tiny crystals seed to be of the sa hue, their shades differed.
They could only wait for Hostess Nathalie’s further instructions while fiddling with their stones.
Fortunately, the competitors didn’t have to wait long.
"Ladies and gentlen, respected Bladeborns of Valmaris, I’m honored to introduce to you Bright Horizon Artisan Guild’s new craft, specialized for entry-level events, the Clashkeeper Board. If you’re interested in running a mini tournant. This item is available for sale or rent."
Nathalie made sure to keep the advertisent short and direct, so as not to ruin the excitent.
She then smiled brightly and faced the competitors.
"Class representatives, you may now crush the shards."
So they did.
Daru, with a simple pinch, easily shattered the azure crystal in his hands, though the item itself seed to have willingly cooperated.
The air shifted, and eyes sparkled as 256 streams of sharp light rose mystically and swam their way to the wooden board.
They were certain of their places, locking and rging as though homing snakes.
The Clashkeeper trembled. A mont later, nas in runic light wove themselves into existence, pairing with those of similar color.
The tournant bracket snapped into place before the spectators rembered to breathe.
A spectre of a smile tugged at Daru’s lips, his heart inviting the excitent.
His eyes easily traced where his light settled. The others, too, and before long, the Class Representatives acknowledged their first matches.
The expressions of most turned weighty at the sight of the nas of their foes; so smirked, and a number grimaced, cursing inwardly.
A majority of the promising blades knew where they belonged. Others, however, were in bitter denial, frustrated at their rotten luck in the draws.
They could’ve proceeded deeper had they not been matched with the monsters of their batch.
The schedule of the first day was quite tight, and with the earlier drama, it beca even more so.
The four minor stages in the four sides of the main one still made three tournant rounds possible, though, with five battles occurring per batch.
Perhaps if so matches ended early, the rest of the day would be laxer.
Still, the first round had to start soon, and the crowd’s will was in resonance. They wanted the flas. The spice.
The classmates actively preached their representative’s nas, especially those who were evenly matched with their foes.
The outsiders were infected by their enthusiasm.
Of course, those near the classmates of a representative inevitably paid attention to that participant, at least those whose situations weren’t so hopeless.
Elune’s class was quite dejected.
They fancied their fairy competent, but against an A-ranker? Her chances were naturally slim. She had prevailed against such a foe once, though. They could only hope she could replicate the miracle in the Myriad Sword Realm.
Otherwise, the remainder of the competition would be relatively boring for them.
Class 70, anwhile, had mixed reactions.
The goon squad, Bao, and Dylan, wished for nothing more than their representative’s humiliation, while the rest were disappointed but curious.
Only a handful genuinely hoped that Daru could at least make it to the second round.
He was an absolute monster in Neo-Earth — a generational genius in swordsmanship, but his competence in the Myriad Sword Realm was questionable.
In fact, this was the first ti they saw Omaru again since the nostalgic first day.
Class 70 knew very little of their representative’s prowess, and the color of his trial na was equally as unpromising.
Still, despite the chaotic mix, there was a resonating feeling deep within their hearts: curiosity.
They had seen what Daru Finnley could do. The question was, could Omaru keep up?
They would find out soon.
The academy staff led the competitors to their stage-side seats, Daru included. Hostess Nathalie also assud her spot behind a wooden desk.
In just a minute, the stages were bare, ready to bear witness to flaming hot battles between determined youngsters.
The crowd waited in anticipation.
Soon, the first batch of matches was called, all between B-rankers — the perfect appetizer.
Eight cursed their luck as they ascended the minor stages, while two were over the moon, heading over to the more spacious and visible main stage.
The seats shook as a wave of fairly loud cheers erupted, bringing more flavor to the matches.
Satisfied smiles and wide grins tugged on the lips of the outsiders, celebrating money well spent as chants were made countdowns.
Anything goes in a duel between bladeborns. No other rule exists except for sending one’s foe to the arena respawn point beneath each stage or out of the stage.
A few monts later, when the high-rankers stood face to face, referees settled into their positions, appearing like ghosts that materialized out of thin air.
They had little things to do, though. Aside from declaring the winner, they were only responsible for starting the match.
The referees jerked their hands skyward — almost simultaneously — after confirming that the representatives of the matches they were watching over were ready.
"Begin!" they declared.
The young Bladeborns exploded into action. So lunged; others turned into blurs, while a few effectively stepped back to absorb the aggression.
Their Soulbound swords clanged, singing a trio with the audience’s chaotic cheers and Hostess Nathalie’s hyping poetry.
Aside from Daru, the lowest-ranking participants — the cannon fodder of the prestigious competition — were respected B-rankers.
It was impossible for the matches to not burn Crownspire arena in the flas of sheer excitent.
After all, all matches were between high rankers.
With every mont, the situation changed, and soon, caught pulling out a desperate health potion through immaculate timing...a head rolled.
The students of Class 92 roared their throats out as they witnessed their representative cutting the head off of Class 87’s representative, scoring a glorious victory for their class in the main stage.
Dark Verdict had just secured his future with that triumph.
Soon, the battles in the minor stages concluded, too, the spectators in certain areas of the crowd going crazy while the others clapped and nodded in satisfaction.
These...were the finest of Noravia’s Southern Bladeborn Academy.
The winners descended the stage, while the losers cursed back to their seats, disappointed at themselves, so feeling humiliated.
Nathalie was reluctant to let the atmosphere slip.
So, she masterfully decided to take it up another notch, calling on four more matches between B-rankers and assigning them to the minor stages before the thundering crowd eased.
Then, the mont they did, the gorgeous hostess’ voice echoed throughout the Crownspire Arena, dumbfounding the spectators for a mont before making them go even more wild, as though thralls to her frenzying symphony.
"Class 70, Omaru, Class 189, Wind Warden, please proceed to the main stage."
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