Bones understood that now that their business had concluded, Gauss had work to return to. He gave a curt nod and followed him out of the office, down the hall, and toward the staircase leading to the ground floor.

  As the two descended, Bones hesitated before speaking, his voice low, almost reluctant. He brought up the matter of Valencia once more. Now that they had a clearer picture of the situation there, what would be done against the Vampire Lord? What actions, if any, would Wolford take? He had already heard Lew’s response, but he sought confirmation from Gauss himself.

  Gauss’ gaze darkened. His answer was the same: Wolford couldn’t afford to march all the way to Valencia, and the only ascendant capable of challenging Alucard — the current mayor — couldn’t abandon his post, not with the looming threat festering in the Dark Forest. Bones exhaled slowly and shook his head, resigned. Then, after a beat, he asked after Frank and Jeanie, the two companions eager to return to Wolford.

  A faint chuckle escaped Gauss. Frank had decided to retire from the hall, choosing instead to open a smithy and return to his roots as a blacksmith. Jeanie, however, had taken Mathias’ death hard. She only knew one way of drowning her grief: work. She had already applied for the next mission.

  By the time he finished, they had reached the exit of the hall. Weary, Gauss gave Bones a firm shake of the hand before bidding him farewell and heading back toward his office. Bones lingered for a moment, watching him disappear down the corridor, before turning and making his own way out.

  Half an hour later, after winding through Wolford’s bustling streets and toward its western edge, Harmony rejoined him.

  Bones leaned against the trunk of a tree, his posture casual but his surroundings anything but. The grass around him had lost its lush color, tips fading into brittle yellow. The bark behind him had darkened, its leaves shriveled and falling in dull flurries, as though life itself was recoiling from his presence.

  “Welcome back.” Bones tilted his head toward Harmony and murmured, “I had a feeling — now that my golem mastery is close to advancing — that I’d be able to speak through my golems. I’m glad it worked.”

  He exhaled deeply and let his body grow still, gaze fixed ahead while his focus turned inward, to the chaos mana raging within him. There was little else he could do but wait.

  By morning, everything within two meters of him had withered into a husk. Still, the turbulence in his body remained. The mana within him was erratic, corrupted, slipping between his control and threatening to shatter it altogether.

  “The fight with the templars was brief,” he muttered to himself, “but I hadn’t thought their attacks would cling to me this much. I even kept my distance…” His voice trailed into silence.

  “This will take time.” His expression hardened. He could feel it — his mana pool was no longer whole. Barely thirty percent remained, if it could even be called a mana pool anymore. If he was forced into battle now… Bones dismissed the thought with a shake of his head and strained to his feet.

  He skirted the town walls for nearly twenty minutes before slipping into a hollow at the base of a tree, wedging his skeletal frame into the narrow crevice until he was hidden. There, he returned to stillness, focusing again on the chaos writhing inside him.

  But then a thought struck him. His gaze snapped toward his golems, standing idle outside the tree. Keeping them here was pointless. Wolford still held much unexplored, and his golems could do what he couldn’t — move freely. They could shop, train, even test themselves. A spark of excitement jolted through him.

  “What a brilliant idea!” he exclaimed suddenly, startling a hidden flock of birds into a flurry of wings that scattered into the sky.

  “Yes… yes, that will work,” he murmured, already forming the commands.

  “Skully, change into new armor and, together with Harmony, return to town. Head to the Colosseum and apply for the arena. I want to see how you fare against Wolford’s fighters.”

  The Colosseum had caught Bones’ attention the first time he set foot in Wolford. Though he regretted not being able to participate himself, it was the perfect proving ground — a place where his creations could face real, battle-hardened opponents.

  Skully coiled his tail neatly around his waist as he donned his armor, while Harmony adjusted her gear, still in relatively good condition. Bones beckoned her closer and, without hesitation, absorbed the Manifest Bound Weapon skill core, then passed the newly learned ability on to her. Once prepared, the two set off toward the town’s gates, their first destination being the blacksmith — the same one Bones had visited before.

  When the golems approached, the blacksmith narrowed his eyes. The pair stood silent in front of the shop, their stillness bordering on unsettling, until Harmony spoke with Bones’ hollow voice. The man’s brow arched, but he had seen stranger things. Slipping into his professional demeanor, he launched into a run-down of his wares.

  His finest spears, however, were only silver. Bones considered alternatives, but decided against wasting time elsewhere. In the end, he purchased a silver spear for Skully and a silver greatsword for Murdok.

  Armed and prepared, the two golems marched toward the Colosseum. As they drew closer, the sounds grew louder: roaring cheers, harsh cries, the clang of weapons meeting in a violent contest. The very air vibrated with energy, carrying the raw thrill of combat through the streets. Even Bones, listening through his connection, felt his spirit stir at the raucous atmosphere — though his golems remained impassive, unshaken.

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  At the entrance, great arches loomed overhead, flanked by smaller gates. To the left, a line of hopefuls queued for their chance at glory. Warriors of all kinds, rough and dangerous, clustered together — at least two dozen of them, each radiating the kind of presence born from real battles.

  Skully and Harmony took their place in line, silent as statues. Their stillness and inhuman bearing drew wary glances, but soon the surrounding fighters looked away, feigning disinterest. Bones, hidden within Harmony, turned his attention elsewhere — to the guards stationed along the walls, each exuding the faint pressure of a second-tier. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, catching his ear. Many here were first-timers like him, nervous and eager, whispering their expectations of the arena. From those hushed exchanges, Bones pieced together the workings of the Colosseum.

  Matches were arranged in brackets according to both level and ranking. Debuting fighters faced other debuting fighters, ensuring a relatively even start. The first bracket ran from level fifty to fifty-nine, the second sixty to sixty-nine, the third seventy to seventy-four, and the final bracket — reserved for third-tiers — spanned levels seventy-five to eighty. The limit existed for good reason; the protective formations woven into the arena couldn’t withstand the devastation of combatants beyond that threshold.

  The figure overseeing all battles — referee, judge, and enforcer — was a man named Tiberius. At level ninety, his presence made Bones falter for a heartbeat. A being of that strength to preside over the matches? Wolford took its arena seriously.

  Still, not just anyone could enter. Bones quickly learned the minimum requirement was second-tier. His hopes for Skully dipped, but he stayed in line regardless. When their turn came, Harmony stepped forward. Her hollow voice cut through the air.

  “I’d like to register my two minions for the arena matches.”

  Without pause, Bones continued through her, giving their names and levels. He prayed the clerk would overlook Skully’s shortcoming, if only because they were “just” minions.

  The clerk, seated behind a high desk, raised a brow. The sight of Harmony and Skully made him pause, but his tone remained clipped and formal.

  “The minimum requirement is second tier,” he said plainly. Then, after a lingering glance at Skully: “Unless you have an explicit permit from the town hall.”

  Bones felt the bind closing around him. Harmony met the level requirement, but Skully would be barred. A shame — Bones had been eager to see the two of them fight side by side in the arena.

  While Bones weighed his options, Harmony stood silently before the clerk, the pause stretching into awkwardness. Just as the man opened his mouth to dismiss them, an arena staffer appeared at his side and whispered. The clerk tilted his head, listening, then gave a small nod.

  “I’ve received word from Administrator Gauss. Your… minions are to be permitted entry.” The clerk’s eyes flicked once more toward Skully, but his professionalism returned swiftly. “The annual registration fee is one hundred mana stones per participant. Payable now.”

  After taking down their names and levels, he handed Harmony two slips — entry passes glowing faintly with enchantment.

  “Debut matches begin this afternoon. Proceed down the tunnel behind me to the waiting halls. There will be staff there to answer any further questions.”

  Harmony glanced toward the dim tunnel, then back to the clerk. Bones, through her, gave a polite nod and guided his golems onward.

  The tunnel stretched nearly fifty meters before breaking into a stairwell that descended into a cavernous chamber. Bones had expected little more than benches and bare stone, but the sight stole his words for a moment.

  The underground hall sprawled beneath the Colosseum stands like a city unto itself, alive with noise and movement. Hundreds of fighters milled about, preparing for the battles ahead. The space was divided into four districts: shops, restaurants, a waiting area, and — dominating the chamber — a vast training ground where combatants tested themselves before the real fights.

  Bones let his golems wander at a steady pace, taking it all in. The restaurants buzzed with chatter, veterans sharing strategies while others sat alone in grim silence. The shops brimmed with gear and supplies — the gleam of weapons in the armory, the pungent scent of herbs drifting from the alchemy stalls. The training field thundered with energy, its vibrations prickling against Harmony’s frame, forcing Bones to keep his distance.

  Eventually, he halted before one of the many arena staff members posted throughout the hall.

  “First time in the arena?” the man asked with a knowing smile.

  “Is it that obvious?” Bones replied, amused. His hollow voice through Harmony made the staffer blink, but he recovered quickly.

  “How may I help you?”

  “A rundown of the basics would be useful,” Bones admitted. He knew enough to grasp the structure, but there were gaps he needed filled.

  “Of course. Entry pass, please.”

  Harmony handed over the slips. The man’s eyes widened as he read the names.

  “Incredible,” he murmured. Fighters sometimes brought minions, yes — but minions fighting alone, without their summoner? That was a rarity certain to draw attention.

  He summarized the essentials: match schedules, rest rotations, rules of conduct. Bones thanked him, then guided his golems toward a restaurant. They found a free table, sitting apart from the din. Hidden outside town in his hollow refuge, Bones quietly processed everything.

  “The rewards seem… extravagant,” he muttered.

  And they were. Backed directly by the town hall and overseen by Tiberius himself — Gauss’s senior — the arena offered prizes most adventurers could only dream of. Weapons, armor, alchemical concoctions capable of sharpening bodies and even raising stats permanently, and artifacts reserved solely for third-tiers. Compared to that, the entry fee was almost laughably cheap.

  It struck him then: his registration with the town hall had been a prerequisite, a necessary step before applying to the Colosseum. That explained how Gauss had known the moment he arrived at the clerk’s desk — and why his intervention came in seconds. The means of communication, however, remained beyond Bones’ understanding.

  As for his golems, they would start in the debuting bracket. Three matches against others of similar standing awaited them before facing seasoned rankers. Win-loss ratios dictated advancement, and while the system kept things fairer for new blood, Bones knew the real test would come against those hardened by the arena’s grind.

  Two hours passed in tense waiting until, at last, the slip in Harmony’s hand glowed softly. She had been summoned to the waiting area.