** Two days later
The sun was already high, pouring its heat over the wide avenues of Chaos. The decorated facades glead as if competing with the clear sky, and every corner was filled with vendors shouting last-minute offers to tourists and excited citizens. The sll of roasted at mingled with the sweet scent of caralized fruit, while children ran between adults’ legs, colorful ribbons tied to their wrists.
The overall buzz seed even louder because of the festival. Ahead stood the coliseum — a colossal structure of brown stone, polished and fitted together as if carved straight from the mountains of demon territory. Its massive columns held up crimson banners that rippled in the hot wind.
Glenn and Elian walked side by side, the master of magic radiating presence. His dark skin glistened under the sun, his straight black hair slicked back to perfection, and his thick beard looked so immaculate that a single stray hair might have been executed for treason. His body was worthy of a war statue — yet he was dressed casually, as if not even trying to impress.
"Kid, you’ve been gone these past days, so you have no idea of the stir going on here in the capital," Elian said, his deep voice carrying an almost amused tone. "Because of the Blacksmith’s Festival, a bunch of people who couldn’t pay their own shadow took the chance to challenge guarantors to forging duels."
Glenn raised an eyebrow. "That sounds... extrely chaotic. And kind of stupid."
"Stupid doesn’t even cover it." Elian let out a short laugh. "Drakk had to sweat to keep things neutral. The guy focused only on the quality of the forges and held himself back from getting caught up in all the drama. I almost went there just to see his face."
"You talk like you actually know this Drakk," Glenn countered, dodging a child running past with a skewer of at in hand. "And on top of that, I’m heading to this Tournant of Protection precisely because of him."
Elian burst out laughing so loud a few passersby turned to look. "Know him? Kid, I know him, and I can tell you this: you’re screwed."
"And why exactly am I screwed?" Glenn muttered.
"Because if you want to impress that guy, I’m sure this whole Tournant of Protection is going to be a royal pain." The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was fighting not to laugh again.
The path opened directly toward the coliseum’s main gate, and the atmosphere seed to thrum. The queen’s recent decree to settle debts had raised the people’s esteem for her even higher. Trade was booming: rchants rubbed their hands with easy profit, craftsn displayed gleaming pieces, and even the alleys held more laughter than shadows. On top of that, heirs and heiresses of lesser but still influential families paraded through the streets toward the arena — so eager to prove their worth in the tournant, others bored, forced to attend after losing their duels to Glenn during the Crown Challenge.
Glenn and Elian continued calmly down the wide avenue leading to the coliseum. To their left and right, the city bustled with a constant flow of rchants, street perforrs, and onlookers. The sll of spicy herbs mixed with the scent of iron and oil from the forges. Demon guards, imposing in red and gray armor, stood every fifty ters, unmoving as statues — though their eyes made clear that nothing escaped their notice.
As Glenn watched the commotion absentmindedly, a high-pitched voice cut through the noise:
"Glenn! Glenn!"
He stopped, frowning, and turned his head like a curious crow, trying to find the source. Then he saw him: a chubby demon, just over a ter and sixty-five, his round belly bouncing with every step. His golden chestnut curls shone under the sun, his yellow eyes glimred with mischief, and his clothes... well, his clothes scread "look at ," with flashy fabrics, sparkling jewels, and a golden scepter swinging lazily in his right hand.
Glenn’s frown deepened.
"You’re fatter, Alden... and rosier than the last ti."
The plump young man broke into a smile so warm it nearly made passersby stop and stare, then stepped in for a suffocating hug. Elian raised an eyebrow, puzzled, and before he could ask anything, Alden bent into an exaggerated bow, so deep his clothes creaked like ropes about to snap.
"Alden, it’s been a long ti," Glenn said, trying not to laugh. "I didn’t think I’d see you here."
"And you think I’d miss the chance to humiliate the queen’s pawn again?" Alden replied, adjusting the scepter as if it were a sword.
No one passing by would have guessed that this spoiled, overdressed, rosy-cheeked noble was actually a formidable mage — and one of the few who had defeated Glenn in the Crown Championship. Not just defeated... humiliated.
The sound of voices, hawkers, and laughter echoed all around, mingling with the clink of armor and the steady rhythm of guards’ boots against the dark pavent. The air carried a thick blend of spicy herbs and forge smoke, almost suffocating. Alden, as if immune to the heavy atmosphere, kept smiling brightly and gesturing with his chubby hands as he spoke, his bracelets and rings jingling with every movent. Glenn watched him with a mix of amusent and caution, rembering perfectly the day the little mage had turned his match upside down with one simple — but humiliating — trick.
Elian, on the other hand, seed fascinated and faintly amused. The elf kept his upright posture, but his eyes ran over Alden from head to toe, as if he still couldn’t quite reconcile that chubby, smiling figure with the title of prodigy mage.
"So... this is the famous Alden, the one who beat you?" he remarked in a neutral tone, though a glint of provocation flashed in his eyes.
Alden burst into loud laughter, so infectious that a few people nearby turned their heads to see who it was.
"Hehehe, that’s right, dear elf... I’m his recurring nightmare," he replied, casting Glenn a look full of mock innocence.
Glenn sighed and, with a half-smile, crossed his arms.
"And still the sa sharp tongue," he said, glancing toward the crowd as if to hide any hint of annoyance.
Catching the cue, Alden stepped closer and spoke in a lower, almost conspiratorial voice.
"This ti, I didn’t co to humiliate you... at least, not outside the arena."
The line was followed by a playful wink before he spun his golden scepter with theatrical flair. The tension of competition that had lingered in the air was suddenly softened by a breeze carrying the ashes of a nearby forge, and in the ebb and flow of the crowd, their strange friendship—or rivalry—seed to flare alive again, ready to write new Chapters.
The childlike gleam in Alden’s golden eyes contrasted sharply with the unsettling stillness that always seed to ripple out whenever soone passed too close to him. The air grew denser, sounds muffled for a heartbeat, only to return the mont they moved away. Glenn, however, did not ignore these little anomalies; he had felt this sa pressure once before—just monts before Alden had shattered his strongest defense during the championship.
That chubby boy was no ordinary mage. On top of that, he wielded affinities that were direct counters to his own: water and earth. Glenn rembered well how his strategies had been dissected under the keen mind of the spoiled prodigy. Beneath that innocent façade lurked a savage mage with a mind honed for battle.
The coliseum towered before them like a fortress of stone and glory, its stands reaching as if to embrace the sky. Flags fluttered in the wind, emblazoned with the crests of countless factions, while a roar of expectation vibrated in the air. The streets around it were overflowing with people—rchants hawking lucky charms, bards singing the deeds of past champions, and curious onlookers vying for a glimpse of the competitors’ entrance.
Glenn, despite his efforts to remain discreet, could not avoid recognition, especially walking alongside Elian, who was anything but discreet. Cheers, applause, even a few requests to touch his hand as if he were so living talisman. Slowly, the energy of the crowd clung to him—a mixture of respect, curiosity, and that peculiar devotion born when a legend begins to take shape.
The competitors’ entrance was guarded by soldiers in gleaming armor, who greeted each one by na. Glenn and Alden, already well known, received their badges with respectful smiles and quick instructions. One of the guards, a thick-bearded man with a voice like thunder, pointed toward a wide corridor of carved stone.
"Proceed to the competitors’ hall. The call for the arena will be made once everyone is in place."
The echo of boots against the polished floor followed them down the corridor, where torches of blue fla lit the way, bathing the air in an almost ceremonial glow.
The hall was a vast vaulted chamber, crowded with warriors, mages, and figures who radiated power. Glenn imdiately recognized several of them—forr adversaries defeated in the tournant, faces marked with a mix of wounded pride and renewed determination. Others were drawn there by fa, by the promise of glory, their eyes burning with ambition.
And then there were those who ca drawn by the exaggerated stories about Glenn, tales increasingly distorted with every retelling. So watched him with admiration, others with the sharp gaze of a hunter studying his prey.
Amidst the crowd, one pair in particular stood out: Waan and Weel Indium, twins with impeccable posture and silky white hair that defied even a single strand out of place. Upon spotting Glenn, they smiled slyly, a spark of provocation dancing in their eyes. Waan raised a brow, while Weel offered an overly elegant bow, as if greeting an old friend—or an enemy he longed to duel.
Sharp eyes lingered everywhere. Old rivals filled the chamber, and the air thickened with rivalry, heating with every breath on the eve of the Tournant of Protection.
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