Chapter 42 – The Grand Arena Awakens.


    The sky above the capital of Saita, Rona, stretched in a vast expanse of pale blue. Despite the crisp December air carrying a faint chill, the sun shone brightly, casting a gentle warmth that did not burn. Wisps of white clouds drifted lazily across the sky, painting slow-moving shadows over the towering structures of the kingdom.


    But the serenity shattered in an instant.


    A wave of cheers erupted, breaking the tranquil sky as thousands of voices roared in excitement. The festival had begun.


    The grand arena stood as a marvel of architecture—an enormous circular colosseum of gray stone and reinforced wood, its craftsmanship surpassing even the legendary Colosseum of ancient times. The stone carried a timeless, unyielding presence, while the wooden beams—hardened by Menma particles—held a resilience nearly equal to rock itself. Every arch and pillar spoke of history, strength, and a past lined with both glory and blood.


    The seats, towering in steep rows, were packed with spectators from every corner of the kingdom. Merchants, nobles, commoners, and travelers alike had gathered in Rona, drawn by the promise of the second Talent Festival. Those who had missed the first festival had deeply regretted it, and as soon as word spread about its return, they flooded the capital in numbers so overwhelming that tickets nearly sold out. Even now, hundreds more hurried towards the colosseum, desperate to claim a seat before the grand event commenced.


    The air was thick with a medley of scents—freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and sweetened fruit wafted from food stalls positioned just outside the arena. The chatter of the crowd blended with the rhythmic stomp of feet on stone, as vendors navigated between excited groups, selling snacks and souvenirs.


    Surrounding the colosseum was a breathtaking natural border—massive trees with thick canopies towered around the structure, their leaves rustling softly as the breeze carried the refreshing scent of wood and earth. The arena itself was nestled within Rona''s forested park, an environment rich in Menma particles, infusing the air with an almost electric vibrancy.


    Beyond its use for the festival, this arena held many purposes. It had witnessed countless duels, seen knights battle for honor, served as a stage for promotion trials, and, in darker times, acted as the site for public punishments—harsh but effective, these spectacles played a key role in maintaining Saita''s ironclad security. This was the dual nature of the colosseum: a place of both celebration and judgment.


    The ground of the arena was a marvel in itself, composed of polished gray stone that shifted in color under different lights. In the golden glow of the sun, the surface reflected a muted yellow hue. Under the silver touch of the moon, it gleamed with a spectral sheen, almost ethereal in its beauty.


    Meanwhile, outside the colosseum, the roads leading toward it buzzed with movement. Streams of people approached on foot, their voices merging into a constant hum of anticipation. Others arrived in wooden carriages pulled by sturdy horses, the wheels crunching against the dirt paths that wove through the sprawling forests.


    A long queue stretched outside the ticket booth, constantly shifting as people entered and exited with hurried steps.


    "Two tickets—one for me and one for my son, please," said a man, leaning slightly toward the small window of the booth.


    The ticket vendor, an elderly man with a neatly trimmed gray beard, nodded and slid the tickets across the counter. "That''ll be thirty Diamo." His voice was steady, accustomed to the relentless crowd.


    Diamo, the standard currency of Saita, was widely accepted across the kingdom and its neighboring villages. However, beyond Saita''s borders, its value was nonexistent. In other lands, only copper, silver, and gold coins held universal worth, serving as the primary trade currency in the greater unknown world.


    Just beyond the ticket booths, dozens of merchants had set up makeshift stalls, capitalizing on the festival''s popularity. Their voices rang out as they advertised an array of goods—jewelry, charms, and, most notably, themed apparel marking the event.


    "Kits of popcorn and two apple juices, please!" A young boy eagerly handed over his coins at one of the wooden stalls.


    The vendor, a broad-shouldered man with rolled-up sleeves, grinned as he passed the food over. "Here you go! Just twenty Diamo."


    Among the most popular items for sale were the event shirts—each color-coded to represent the different academy divisions.


    A white shirt for Knights.


    A green shirt for Adventurers.


    A yellow shirt for the Exploration Corps.


    On the back of each shirt, elegant lettering displayed the division''s name, accompanied by a distinct emblem representing its spirit. These same shirts would be worn by every participating student during the festival, replacing their usual academy uniforms for the day.


    But within the heart of the arena, beneath the grandstands where the crowd''s cheers seeped through the stone walls, a particular room held a different kind of tension.


    Inside the knights'' preparation chamber, a group of students sat on sturdy wooden benches, their backs pressed against the cool stone walls. Others stood, arms crossed, gazes fixed on the ceiling or the floor, awaiting the signal that would send them into the grand stage above.


    All were dressed in black trousers and crisp white shirts, the word "Knights" emblazoned across their backs in elegant script. A silver sword motif sliced through the lettering, symbolizing their division''s pride.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The distant roar of the audience was impossible to ignore. It filtered through the walls, a steady reminder that soon, they would step into the colosseum, their every move observed by thousands.


    The weight of anticipation filled the air, thick and unspoken. The tension was almost suffocating, wrapping itself around the room like an invisible force. Though the students of the Knight Division remained seated or standing in silence, their emotions told a different story.


    Breaking the stillness, a soft yet composed voice spoke.


    "The girls'' shirts seem looser than the boys''. Whose idea was this?"


    Mizayani, the girl with soft pink hair tied back by a red headband, leaned slightly forward. Her calm blue eyes studied the fabric as she tugged at the hem of her white shirt, waiting for a response.


    A moment of quiet passed.


    Then, a voice just as steady answered.


    "It was the headmaster''s decision. Unlike other men, he has a refined sense of elegance. It''s rare to find someone like him."


    The speaker was Fayrouz. Long black hair cascaded down her back, fading into streaks of blue at the tips. Her sapphire eyes remained serene, her pale fingers absently rolling a small silver ring between them.


    No one replied after that. Perhaps it was because her answer was logical, leaving no room for argument. Or perhaps… there was another reason.


    And if there was, it was undoubtedly the tension in the air.


    Unlike the Adventurer and Exploration Corps classes, the Knight Division had no illusions about their standing. They knew they were weaker. And strangely enough, that doubt only grew stronger the moment they heard the deafening cheers from the crowd above.


    Some students—like Mizuhara, the brown-haired girl who could vanish into thin air, and Hikari, the dark-gray-haired boy capable of exhaling thick smoke—began wishing they had declined participation.


    The class was divided into three types.


    First, those who had been shaken by the sound of the audience, their nerves twisting into unease.


    Second, those whose excitement only intensified because of it. Among them were the two brothers—Shinsu, the older, bulkier one, and Yuta, the younger, shorter one—both nearly bald, their grins wide with anticipation.


    And finally, those who remained composed, unaffected. Fayrouz, absentmindedly toying with her blue-silver ring. Kazuki, half-asleep with his head resting against the table, his tousled gray hair blending light and dark strands. Fulan, his dark eyes unreadable as he let out a quiet yawn. And Mizayani, brushing a hand through her soft pink locks, ensuring her appearance was flawless before the event began.


    Then, a voice cut through the stillness—filled with irritation and arrogance.


    "Ugh. This is so boring. Am I supposed to sit here forever?"


    Asahi Lioren, the white-haired, silver-eyed boy, stood from his seat, his steps echoing as he strode toward the door. Without hesitation, he swung it open—only to halt abruptly.


    Standing just outside was their instructor, Makoto.


    The moment Asahi saw the gray-haired man, dressed in his usual refined suit, his sharp green eyes locking onto him, he paused.


    The rest of the students turned their attention toward the doorway as well.


    Makoto''s presence meant only one thing—the event was about to begin.


    "The knights must be the most disciplined participants in this festival," Makoto said evenly. "Asahi, you especially. Don''t do anything reckless today."


    A confident smirk tugged at Asahi''s lips. His voice, brimming with arrogance, responded almost immediately.


    "Sensei, you do realize that you''re not our teacher today, right? This isn''t the academy. Spare me the boring knightly lectures." He turned slightly, casting a glance back at his classmates. "Today is a celebration. And I plan to enjoy it by crushing those arrogant bastards from the other divisions."


    The meaning behind his words was clear—he was referring to the Adventurers and the Exploration Corps.


    His silver eyes gleamed as he continued, addressing his fellow knights.


    "Don''t you all agree? Those fools are so full of themselves, they didn''t even bother showing up. Sixty percent of the Adventurers refused to participate. Forty percent of the Exploration Corps turned it down as well. But us? We came here in full numbers. Do you get it? They''re basically saying that fighting us isn''t worth their time."


    His smirk deepened as he clenched his fist, raising it confidently.


    "I''m going to shatter that arrogance with my own hands. I''ll win this ridiculous festival!"


    His words struck deep into those who had been feeling uneasy.


    And before the silence could settle, Mizayani seized the moment.


    A bright smile lit up her face as she clenched her own fist.


    "That''s the spirit, you idiot, Asahi!"


    His silver eyes flicked toward her, narrowing. "Who are you calling an idiot, princess?"


    She ignored him, her expression turning toward the rest of the class as she declared,


    "Our goal should be simple—crush the other divisions! If we do that, we might actually make Makoto-sensei take back what he said about us being the weakest class in the academy!"


    A beat of silence followed.


    But this time, it was not the silence of anxiety.


    It was the silence of quiet determination.


    Then—


    A loud explosion rang through the air.


    Vibrant orbs of Menma light burst across the sky in dazzling colors, marking the official start of the Talent Festival. Their glow reflected off the arena''s stone walls, illuminating the sea of spectators.


    And then, a powerful voice—booming and electrifying—shook the colosseum itself.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for keeping you waiting! Now, let me hear you! Are you ready?!"


    "YEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"


    The response was deafening.


    The crowd''s roar surged into the sky, so powerful that the birds nesting in the trees around the arena took flight in panic.


    Even deep within the city, amidst the classic stone streets and towering buildings, people stopped in their tracks. Heads tilted upward, smiles forming on their lips as they whispered to one another.


    "It looks like the festival has begun."


    Back inside the preparation room, Makoto''s cool green eyes surveyed his students. Then, with a slow turn, he said,


    "Well then… I just hope you don''t feel powerless after the first round. Let''s go."


    The knights began moving forward, their steps steady, the light from the hallway casting elongated shadows behind them.


    Fulan remained still for a moment, watching them.


    His black, unruly hair fell over his dark eyes as he observed the scene before him—the students marching toward the entrance, the glow of the open doorway waiting beyond.


    His gaze lingered on them for a brief moment before he finally stepped forward, thoughts stirring in his mind.


    I never expected an event like this to exist in Saita…


    Winning this festival could give me an incredible amount of credibility.


    I might even get the chance to meet the king before graduation.


    And even if that doesn''t happen, at the very least—


    I''ll make a name for myself. One that reaches the royal palace itself.


    A faint smirk crossed his lips.


    I''ll do it. I''ll become an assassin for them.


    With that final thought, Fulan took a firm step forward, following the rest of the knights into the light.


    -----


    Here we go...


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