CHAPTER 125

  THE BATTLE ROYALE

  The Colosseum swallowed them whole the moment they stepped through its gates. Hans blinked against the shadowed vastness—a cathedral built to dwarf kingdoms, to cage clashes.

  “A city could fit inside this,” Hans muttered, his voice low enough not to disturb the thick hum of anticipation.

  Aadya’s eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. “Space-magic stones,” she said. “Not just a city. A world folded into one. Lakes, valleys, even mountains. You can’t see them. Not from here.” She gestured upward, toward the tiered stands where thousands murmured in expectation.

  Hans scanned the sea of faces and banners, the layered architecture folding back into itself. “How do they manage the viewing?”

  Aadya smiled, sharp as a blade. “You buy what you want to see. The magnifying lenses linked to your seat pull the duelling grounds into focus—one duel at a time. Multiple fights run simultaneously down below, but your gaze only follows your coin.”

  He let that settle, the mercenary’s practicality grappling with the magic’s reach. “That’s a lot of money generating—”

  “Exactly. You pay for the illusion of choice.”

  They found their seats amid the murmuring crowd, a dizzying expanse of woven banners. The air thrummed with expectation. The highest seats belonged to the rulers—private chambers carved into the Colosseum’s crown. Hans caught the glint of golden crests and silk robes, distant and aloof.

  “See, your mother is up there?” Aadya nodded toward the private boxes.

  “Do you have to say that—I’m still processing.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass.” She shrugged her shoulders. “They’ve come for spectacle and politics alike. Deals made in silence while blades clashes below.”

  Hans’s gaze drifted to the raised platform where the Knight Association chairman waited—a man known simply as Kansas, a fifth-rank knight with a reputation carved from iron and cold resolve. Beside him stood the high priests of Indu, austere in their ceremonial robes, their faces unreadable masks.

  Aadya’s voice dropped. “The chairman opens the ceremony, but these priests govern Indu with more power than any sword. Their blessing seals the battles that follow.”

  The colosseum darkened as Kansas stepped forward, his voice cutting through the stillness, cold and sharp.

  “Knights of all nations, today you fight not just for glory, but for survival. For rank. For a chance to rise.”

  Hans felt those words settle into the stones beneath his feet.

  Aadya leaned close. “The top thousand unranked knights—qualified from every corner. This battle Royale is the first step. The real test.”

  A roar rose from the crowd as the gates below yawned open. Shadows moved—figures sharp and eager, ready to carve their names into legend or be swallowed by dust.

  Hans looked for familiar faces, there it was Chris, and several others from Concordia. “That bastard came too—Zephyr. He is on escorting duty.” His eyes searched for Delimira with LumenGaze searching in the audience on Concordia’s designated area.

  “You are looking for another girl when I am seated right beside you. Are you out of your mind?” A whisper came from the god, almost sending shivers down his spine.

  “Who is searching for who? I was just looking for Dijkstra—”

  “You should’ve asked.” The goddess pointed. “There—where did he go, I swear he was just there.”

  “Well, let him be.” Hans said, “Let’s just look at this all for one battle— do you know how it works?”

  “Hmm. If rules aren’t changed, it should be the same as when your father participated in.”

  Hans was always excited when someone mentioned Samson but not so much now. He had a lot of things in mind about him. Just how far he had gone to set the stones in his way. And how much was forced according to his wishes.

  But Aadya wanted to tell, so there was no other way for him but to hear. “When Bernard had fought Rudolf and taken his sixteenth rank. Your father had just won, scored some random rank in battle Royale. At that time, Bernard had issued an open challenge to Samson just like Dijkstra did to you.”

  She paused, reminiscing as if she had witnessed it herself.

  “Then, begin the climb of the strongest knight— from sixteen to one, Samson defeated one by one and claimed the title of knight king.”

  “Well, that’s so much like him—but I’m not him—”

  “Yes, you are not. You have your own battles and dreams.” She said. “But no matter how much you deny it— you are his blood, and he had done everything to make sure everyone he left remained happy. Even if it demanded his life, so don’t give me that you don’t want to hear about him.”

  Hans contemplated. “You seem oddly in favour of— my father?”

  “As I’ve said, you have your own battles and dreams. I’ve them too.” She pointed. “It’s starting now.”

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  “You still didn’t tell how this battle Royale works?”

  “Didn’t I?” She imitated a thinking gesture and then said, “Listen close. You know the knight association had 1,000 ranked knights position, right?”

  Hans nodded.

  “Then, in the next generation, a thousand unranked are chosen— there must be preliminaries in Clandor—oh yes, you ran away from there so you won’t know—”

  “Yes, yes, stop rubbing in salt and move on, dear goddess.” Hans motioned with his hand.

  “So these, a thousand young chicks, transported in random area and fight till half are eliminated— I mean, die or withdraw. Then the half will be given a temporary rank after 500, according to their performance monitored by the Colosseum itself.”

  “Hmm…” Hans nodded, adding. “The new temporaries fight the real one for their ranks, right?”

  “Yes.” She gestured, patting his head, “ for example temporary 768 fights the original 768.”

  Quickly, Hans removed her hand, “I think, after they get the original rank. These upstarts will begin the climb—”

  “Yes, whoever wins, the original or temporary, they can begin the climb. But lowest were given chance first then in decreasing rank orders fights begins” Aadya affirmed. Pointing the battle Royale had already begun.

  The Colosseum didn't cheer for men.

  It cheered for blood.

  Hans leaned forward in his stone seat, elbows on knees, fists clenched. The air was dry and humming with energy, the kind that lived just beneath the skin before a bloodshed broke. He squinted through the rising dust, eyes searching.

  There. A flicker of lightning. A silhouette. Too fast to be sure.

  “Is that—?” he began.

  “That’s him,” Aadya said without looking. Her voice akin to someone who’d seen too many people burn brightly before they were buried.

  A moment later, thunder cracked—sharp, close—and the body of a knight flew across the sand like a broken puppet.

  Hans swallowed. “He’s not holding back.”

  Aadya smirked. “Well, he is built for not holding back.”

  Chris moved proving her words right. Not anger, not fear—just precision. Calculated efficiency, sheathed in lightning. His blade moved low, dragging sparks, then high, cleaving air. A second knight fell. The first was still twitching.

  Three came at him next—organised, older, the kind of bastards who’d killed their way out of border wars and liked it.

  Chris didn’t pause.

  The lightning surged inside him like a second heart.

  Hans’s jaw tightened. He’d seen that look before—in practice fields, late nights, a few months ago. But this wasn’t practice. And Chris wasn’t holding back the thing inside him anymore.

  The air around him snapped—Surge— Aadya’s eyes flicked toward the boy below. “Well. There it is.”

  Chris blurred. One of the knights screamed—blade gone from his hand before he realised it. The second knight turned to block a strike that hadn’t come. It came a heartbeat later—from behind.

  “Reflexes like that...” Hans muttered.

  “Rudolf taught him well, more like himself,” Aadya said flatly. “For a few seconds. Then the price comes due.”

  Chris didn’t slow. He didn’t speak. A dozen more fell around him, some stunned, some dead, some simply broken in spirit.

  He was bleeding now—left shoulder. Deep. But he didn’t even glance at it.

  Then came the trial knights. Not real men, but aura-forged constructs, built by the Colosseum’s will to test the ones who climbed too fast.

  Hans cursed under his breath. “They sent the guardians this early?”

  “He’s baiting the rankings,” Aadya said. “And they’re responding.”

  The first construct charged. Chris let it come.—Crescent Moon Strike—A wave of lightning arced outward—beautiful, controlled, devastating. It cut through the knight’s chest, then curved back with surgical grace and buried itself into the creature’s spine. It didn’t scream—it simply ceased.

  The second construct swung low, broad-axe made of pure arcane metal. Chris ducked. The flail formed in his hand like a weapon drawn from a god’s nightmare—Maelstrom—It struck once.

  That was enough.

  Dust exploded. The flail shattered the construct’s weapon and its arm in the same swing.

  The third guardian—taller than the others, with plated shoulders and a two-handed cleaver—descended on him with monstrous weight.

  Chris didn’t flinch.

  His blade lifted , listening stretching it in a gigantic form—Mountain Slash— A wave of force and lightning ripped through the battlefield. The earth cracked. The cleaver shattered. The guardians fell in two clean halves.

  Hans could barely breathe. “That’s not a skill. That’s a Gramps going haywire.”

  “Mm,” Aadya murmured. “And yet... elegant.”

  More knights came after him and more fell. Grade 70s, some. A Grade 75 tried a wide-range area suppression. Chris leapt through it, just like Rudolf, he was dominating the area like a one-man army his master was.

  “Gramps must be holding his smug face somewhere,” Hans commented, looking at Chris with LumenGaze active.

  Then he flew.—Divine Punishment—Hans flinched as the friend he called his first knight became a falling meteor. When he hit, the crater bloomed. Two more combatants were caught in the blast.

  Silence settled for a moment. Even the crowd forgot to cheer.

  And in the stillness, the sky answered—Storm’s Eye—Chris’s aura went wild—lightning bursting from him at random intervals. One stray bolt caught a runner in the back, another struck a shield and fried the man behind it. No pattern. No mercy.

  Just the storm.

  Finally, a voice from nowhere, yet everywhere, filled the Colosseum.

  “Temporary Rank: 668 — Christopher Hodges.”

  There was no reaction from Chris. No raised fists. No nod to the stands.

  Just a slow exhale. Shoulders falling. Lightning fading.

  Hans stood, finally. But not in happiness. “Which bastard got the five hundred— and 668 are they all blind?”

  “You only saw him, not everyone,” Aadya pointed. “There are several of Dominion knights in five hundred and six hundred. Your friend did well considering he only used grade 66.” She sounded... reasonable.

  Hans stared down at the friend he barely recognised. “He used to hate that bloodline power which was his but not really is.”

  Back in the arena, Chris lowered his blade.

  The sand beneath him was scorched. The air smelled of iron, ozone, and burnt pride.

  He looked up once—toward the stands. Toward no one in particular.

  Just high enough for Hans to think, for a second, that maybe he’d been looking for him.

  But then Chris turned and walked toward the far gate. Quietly. Alone.

  The rank was his now. And now, it was his time to unleash his Imperial bloodline, claiming high ranks.