Charles dashed through the clan’s hallways at full speed, weaving past the few servants in his way.
The rain pounded like a relentless drum on the rooftops, and gusts of wind howled through the cracks in the windows.
Every step pushed him forward with growing urgency, as if his whole body had only one goal—to arrive in ti, to not fail.
’Co on, co on, he can’t be that far ahead,’ Charles thought as he turned a corner.
BAM!
His shoulder slamd straight into a stone column. The impact sent him staggering backward, nearly throwing him off balance.
"Shit!" Charles hissed, gritting his teeth.
He leaned against the wall for a second, shaking his arm in pain.
"Didn’t see that coming," he muttered, still panting.
But there was no ti to waste. Charles straightened up quickly and kept running.
The pain faded faster than usual—unnaturally fast—but he didn’t dwell on it.
He pressed on, turning through halls, climbing stairs, checking vaguely familiar corridors.
Sweat mixed with the rain that had soaked him earlier, and his breathing grew heavier.
Finally, Charles reached a wide corridor.
His boots thudded hard against the stone steps as he climbed toward the temple’s main arena—the sa place where, weeks ago, he had lived one of his most humiliating monts.
The day a servant had scolded him for not knowing how to clean.
But when he reached the top, he froze.
The arena was empty.
The spectator seats—usually buzzing with voices, cheers, and inquisitive stares—were completely deserted.
Not a soul in sight.
No guards, no trainees, no audience.
Only the torches burning around the periter.
"What...?" Charles muttered, stepping forward.
The arena itself was just as empty. No signs of battle. No hint of recent activity. As if no one had ever co.
’No way. No, no, no. There’s no way it’s already over. How long was I asleep?’
A tight, suffocating sensation gripped Charles’s chest.
’Did she really drug so I wouldn’t get here? Why would she do that?’
The sound of his labored breathing mixed with the rain now dripping through cracks in the ceiling.
Without thinking, he spun on his heels and bolted out. He rushed down the steps, slipping a bit on the wet stone.
Turning a corner, he nearly crashed into soone.
’No!’
Charles stopped just in ti, instinctively stepping back and hiding behind a column.
Kain.
The man walked down the corridor with steady strides, his face stern and visibly annoyed.
Charles held his breath. His body reacted on its own, pressing against the wall and making no sound.
’Why did I hide?’
It made no sense. He could confront him. Say sothing. But his body wouldn’t budge.
Kain passed by without noticing a thing. His figure disappeared at the far end of the hall.
Charles let out a slow breath.
"What the hell was that...?" he murmured, looking at his hands. They were trembling—just slightly.
At that mont, a system window appeared.
[Automated response: Survival reflex activated.]
Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Reflex of what?"
[A hostile encounter with high aggression probability was avoided. The system acted to protect you.]
Charles chuckled dryly.
"So I’m so screwed now that you have to handle that for ?"
[Victory probability against Kain: 28.6%]
Now that the system update allowed it to calculate his chances against others, seeing that feature in action was...
"Less than thirty percent? Is the gap really that big?" Charles exclaid, stunned. He couldn’t believe the level difference between them.
[Estimated hostility: High. Opponent’s aura detected as aggressive. Probability of imdiate violence in an encounter: 62.7%]
’Aura? What, is this guy walking around like a living storm or sothing?’
As more data flashed across the screen, blurry mories crossed Charles’s mind.
They weren’t exactly his, but he could feel the emotions behind them.
Fear.
Helplessness.
Blows. Shouts. Training. Kain, with a cold stare, throwing Rian to the ground again and again. No rcy. No breaks.
Charles clenched his fist.
"What a ss... Did he really treat Rian like that...?"
He gritted his teeth, eyes locked on the empty hallway.
"System, I need to get to the arena. Can you help with that?"
[Locating destination...]
[Route found. Activating navigation arrow.]
A floating blue arrow appeared before him, pointing toward a stairwell on the left.
Charles looked up and frowned.
"Why the hell didn’t you do this earlier?"
[I did not receive that command.]
With no good coback, Charles sighed and started walking.
As he moved, he noticed people watching him.
Other fighters, apprentices, and a few servants. So nodded. Others avoided him. But...
Soon, the sound of the rain grew louder.
The path led him to a side exit. The tal door opened directly to the outdoors, where the storm raged.
The arrow pointed straight ahead.
There it was: a massive building lit from within, echoing with voices, muffled laughter, and shouting.
It looked like a football stadium—though obviously that kind of sport wasn’t exactly part of the culture here.
Charles approached at a brisk pace, getting soaked with every step.
In front of the main entrance stood several n in white robes, chatting among themselves.
As he got closer, one of them turned toward him.
"Who are you? This entrance is for ticket holders only."
Charles stopped.
"My na is Rian. I have a scheduled match here tonight."
For a mont, the group exchanged glances and smirks.
One of them spoke.
"Fighters don’t co in through here. This is for the audience."
Charles scratched his neck, drenched.
"It’s my first ti here. Can you tell where I’m supposed to go?"
They muttered among themselves.
Finally, one—youngest of the group—stepped forward.
"Fine. I’ll guide you."
"Thanks," said Charles with a nod.
"Pleasure to et you. I’m Zako," the boy replied. "You’re a warrior, right?"
Charles nodded.
"Yes."
Zako seed a bit surprised, then gave him a respectful nod.
"Then I’ll treat you with the proper formality, sir warrior."
They walked alongside the stadium, unprotected from the rain.
Charles noted how Zako didn’t seem to care about getting wet.
"Why are you so late?" the servant asked curiously.
Charles hesitated.
"I had... complications."
Zako didn’t push. They continued walking through the rain, circling part of the stadium, until they reached another entrance.
There, several n in black robes stood guard.
Their gazes fixed on Zako imdiately.
But when they saw Charles behind him, wearing his black robe with red stripes, they lowered their eyes.
One of the guards stepped forward.
"Identification."
"I’m Rian," said Charles. "I’m scheduled to fight tonight."
The guard nodded. Another one, sitting nearby, jumped up and ran off to fetch a list.
His footsteps echoed on the wet ground.
Seconds later, he returned with a folder and quickly flipped through the pages.
"Found him," he said, holding up the sheet. "He’s registered."
The first guard nodded and stepped aside.
"Go ahead."
Charles glanced at Zako.
"Thanks for guiding ."
"It was an honor, sir warrior."
Zako turned to leave, but hadn’t gone far before the others surrounded him.
"Hey, you. Get sothing to eat from the kitchen. Now."
"And I want a coffee. Hot. You hear ?"
Zako lowered his head, muttering a "yes, sir," and walked off.
Charles clenched his teeth as he watched the scene.
He wanted to do sothing... but rembering that this was likely Zako’s actual job, he sighed. And he didn’t have ti to interfere.
As Charles stepped further into the stadium, the roar of the crowd rose to greet him.
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