So were curious, others eager, and a few seed skeptical.
"Isn’t that the Duke’s talentless son?" One voice whispered from the crowd, the words cutting through the murmur like a dagger.
Gon’s pulse faltered for just a fraction of a second, but he quickly masked the brief mont of discomfort, his expression unchanged.
It wasn’t the first ti he had heard that kind of remark, but it still stung every ti.
"Yes, I wonder why he’s going to the front," another voice chid in, more curious than mocking.
The question hung in the air, light but pointed.
Gon could hear the doubt beneath the words, a subtle skepticism that echoed through the crowd.
I heard he’s no longer talentless!" a third voice added.
The murmur of skepticism in the crowd began to blend with a new, tentative interest.
The conversation around him shifted gears, and he could almost feel the eyes of the crowd turning, not in the sa dismissive way they had before, but with a new layer of intrigue.
"You an he finally found sothing?" another voice questioned, its disbelief palpable.
"You heard ," ca the third voice again, sharper now. "I said he’s not talentless anymore. He’s been using mana. People have seen it."
A chuckle followed. "Well, that would be sothing, wouldn’t it? The Duke’s son, finally showing so promise. Who knew?"
Yes," a fourth voice chid in, a bit more enthusiastic than the others. "I heard he discovered mana a few days ago. That’s what I’ve been told."
And he’s fighting now? Isn’t that too soon for a new mage?" one of the voices muttered, disbelief tinging their words.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.
It wasn’t common for a mage—especially a newly awakened one—to step into a battle so quickly.
Most would spend months, even years, honing their control and building their mana reserves before attempting anything like this. It was too risky, reckless even.
But here Gon was, walking toward the ring as though he were simply stepping into a training ground.
Gon shook his head, clearing their conversation from his thoughts as he stepped forward.
The echoes of the crowd faded into the background, his focus narrowing on the ring ahead.
His boots tapped lightly against the stone ground, each step carrying a weight he hadn’t quite anticipated.
The murmurs of disbelief, the weight of all those eyes on him, felt distant now—nothing mattered except the tournant .
He then stepped forward into the ring, the stone floor beneath his feet cool against his boots.
As he stepped into the ring, he could hear the crowd hush, an almost tangible shift in the atmosphere.
The murmurs faded, replaced by an expectant silence.
Every eye in the courtyard, from the high balconies to the packed rows of spectators, was now locked onto him.
The air felt thick with anticipation, and for a mont, it was as if the world had narrowed down to just him and the space inside the ring.
He didn’t let himself think about it, however.
Instead, Gon forced his focus outward, quickly scanning the other mages who had gathered around him.
He had been so absorbed in the mont before stepping into the ring that he hadn’t fully noticed the other contestants.
Now that he had a chance to observe, he took in their postures, their expressions, and their subtle shifts in stance.
So more mages stood out to him as his eyes road the ring.
Near the far corner, a hulking figure lood—a man whose sheer size nearly dwarfed everyone else around him.
His broad shoulders seed almost too wide for his robes, which bulged at the seams as though they were struggling to contain the power beneath them.
In his hands, he gripped a massive spear that was as long and imposing as he was, the tal glinting ominously in the sunlight.
The shaft was thick, forged from so dark, polished wood that looked capable of withstanding the strongest blows.
The spearhead itself was razor-sharp, with runes etched along its length that pulsed faintly with a strange energy.
The mage’s face was mostly hidden beneath a heavy hood, but Gon could see the faint glint of a scarred chin and a hardened jawline beneath it.
His arms were thick and corded with muscle, veins snaking across his forearms as though they were coiled springs, ready to release their imnse strength at a mont’s notice.
He had a thick bushy mustache that covered over half his face, making him look like a giant walrus.
The moustache twitched with every breath he took, as though it had a life of its own.
It seed to move with a strange, almost animated quality, rising and falling like it was part of the man’s body language.
Yikes! Gon thought, a sense of unease creeping up his spine. This was another mage he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight
Then there was a very short man, who was slightly shorter than Gon, but he exuded an energy that made him seem much larger than his size.
His lemon-colored Mohawk stood out like a beacon, bright and daring, almost as if it were a symbol of his boldness.
The contrast between his wild, vibrant hair and the sleek, deadly beauty of the sword he gripped made him look like a walking paradox — chaotic, yet controlled.
The sword he held glead in the sunlight, its blade so sharp it seed to hum with power.
It was beautifully crafted, a work of art in its own right.
The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, the guard shaped like a pair of wings that almost seed to flutter with the slightest movent.
Despite the deadly aura that the sword exuded, the short man had an easy, friendly smile plastered across his face, one that seed to brighten the whole area around him.
It was a disarming expression, the kind that made it hard to take him seriously at first glance.
His eyes glead with a mischievous sparkle, a playful energy radiating from him that felt almost infectious.
When his gaze t Gon’s, the man winked. It was a quick motion, like a spark of light that flickered and disappeared, but it sent a shiver down Gon’s spine.
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