Chapter 228: Untitled
"Winner, Heavy Yan!"
The announcement rang out across the arena.
Boom!!
Dust kicked up from where the loser had been thrown to the ground, rolling and then going still.
The crowd's roar rose up immediately after, shaking the stands.
The battle was quick and brutal. Heavy Yan had completely dominated it from beginning to end.
It wasn't, of course, that his opponent was weak.
Hm.
Rather, he was just too strong.
Heavy Yan stood at the center of the platform, arms loose at his sides, not even breathing hard.
Somewhere behind him, his opponent was still being carried off.
Standing behind a glass wall overlooking the arena, Minister Fin watched the dust settle over the fallen fighter.
"From the Star Weaver stage to the Sanctified stage, there is only a change in energy output, general strength, technique, and skill," he said. "However, when one reaches the stage of Sanctified, there is a fundamental change."
Next to him, the Marquis John said nothing.
He simply nodded, his eyes still fixed on the stage below, watching as the medics moved in to drag the loser off the platform.
At the Sanctified stage, one started creating the seed for their wonderland.
It required the absolute mastery of all skills accumulated so far, then the formation of an ethereal glow in the stomach.
Because of the nature of this level, Sanctified Weavers had the ability to combine core skills to form something completely different.
From where Enzo and the others stood, every word carried clearly.
"Heheh, we just now entered the Sanctified stage. Are we cooked?" Zeke mocked himself, looking to the other three companions.
Enzo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes on the screen.
He smiled.
'Cooked?'
Hardly.
Zeke just shrugged, grinning like he already knew the answer.
Naturally, they were newly ascended.
But that did not mean these guys could compare to them.
After all, they had just concluded a divine grade voyage.
The skills they had received were, to say the least?
Spectacular.
He could feel it even now. The difference.
Soon enough, they'd all get to test it for themselves.
Raven didn't even bother responding to Zeke's joke, her eyes already on the door leading outside.
"Leon is going first," she muttered, looking to her side where the young man with blonde hair stood.
He was currently wearing, like all of them, a Freedom Party issued combat suit.
Due to their close cooperation, the Lokian faction had formed a pseudo alliance with the Freedom Party, allowing both to participate in the matches.
Leon rolled his shoulders once, then let out a breath.
He glanced back at the others, gave a small grin, and turned toward the door.
Step.
Step.
Step.
His boots echoed against the floor as he walked toward it.
—click
The door slid open.
Beyond it, the noise of the arena spilled in, louder now that nothing stood between him and it.
He stepped through without looking back, heading straight for the outside stage.
As he entered the platform, the light hit him fully, warm against his skin after the dim hallway.
The arena stretched out below, packed from end to end.
Thousands of eyes, and not one of them friendly.
Above, the nobility's murmurs rippled outward, spreading from box to box.
They had noticed their own standing on the stage.
"His father is a count, from the old Lokian faction. They couldn't be absorbed."
Amongst the participants, only the Freedom Party wasn't fully royal.
As such, the rest fully targeted them, trying to cut off every possible recruit the royals could get.
"Unfortunate. The Lokian faction was a serious threat back in the day," the Prince of the Left, Longdan, commented, looking at Leon as he climbed onto the stage.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The boy was a Tyrant.
Just like the rest, he had undergone a voyage just after leaving the planet.
Till now, the royals couldn't figure out what happened on Varo King World to cause such transformations.
Not one of them had an answer.
It bothered them more than they let on.
The mystery only seemed to deepen with each cycle.
They didn't even know which divine had gone there with them.
"Send Heff."
The Prince of the Left looked to his side, to the Prince of the Right.
The other man's eyes didn't move, not even after being called.
A beat passed.
Neither of them looked particularly pleased about it.
Clearly there was a pseudo cooperation between them, at least until they beat the Freedom Party and its allies.
Without hesitation, the Prince of the Right waved his hand.
A young man wearing thick military school attire walked forward, his steps even and unhurried.
He didn't so much as glance at Leon as he passed.
His face was carved from ice, expression unreadable, the kind of calm that came only from absolute confidence.
In Gaia, aside from the countless conflicts amongst royals, there were several formats for talent to be noticed.
Either through merit from various factions, loyalty, movements, and pledges.
But the most prominent were the Academies.
And in all of Gaia, there was no one better than the Royal Ice Academy.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Back in the Dual Moon Institute, the common room had gone quiet, every eye fixed on the screen.
A dozen new intakes crowded around it, craning for a better view.
One of them frowned.
"That's Heff. He's the most senior student in the Royal Ice Academy."
Murmurs spread through the room at the name.
A few of them exchanged glances. Heff's name alone was enough to change the mood in the room.
As youngsters, they all hoped and dreamed to join the Royal Ice Academy.
It was the same for every child on this planet.
Not only did it give one the opportunity to be absorbed by the royals and bestowed a title, but it also created the opportunity to grow in strength and fame.
"That guy is on the institute's side. This is going to be hard to watch."
Another youngster hid his eyes behind his palms, peeking through his fingers anyway.
But in the next second, he was forced to drop it.
—BWAAAAH
An ancient and mythical blowhorn sounded from the screen, and the entire room snapped to attention, sending him straight into a trance state.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,
On the stage.
Leon stood still, a calm expression settling over his face.
The noise of the crowd faded into the background, dulled to almost nothing.
In his left hand, he held tightly onto a treasured echo.
His fingers tightened around it once, then loosened.
It was old, the metal worn smooth with age, but it hadn't lost its shine completely.
He could feel the faint hum of it against his palm.
It was warm. Warmer than it should have been.
He had received this echo on his fourth voyage.
It was something closely tied to not just him.
But his lineage at large.
He looked down at it for a moment.
Just a moment.
There was a weight to it. There always had been.
Hm.
It was called Loki's Flute.