Chapter 283: The Gate Rises

Man, this place is loud.

That was my first thought the moment I entered the arena. The arena was, as I mentioned before, mostly the same as before… except for the wall on the back side.

But that aside, there was something else that was different than the last time I sat in the arena, mainly the crowd.

The last time I sat in these stands, the spectators were almost exclusively students coming to watch a rare duel between mages. Today? The bulk of the crowd squeezing into the benches were people from outside the school. You had families on weekend outings, groups of friends placing personal bets, couples on dates, et cetera.

And considering you needed a ticket to even set foot in the arena, the academy must have been making an absolute bank off this event alone.

Also, fun fact: students were also required to pay for a seat. Sure, it was at a discounted rate, but the board was clearly milking this for every copper it was worth.

Though I had a feeling it was more so a filter, since the fee was negligible for someone like me, with pocket change enough to buy a carriage and then some, but a luxury for those without generational wealth.

When I was leaving the dorms as Feyt earlier, a few of my Class A classmates who were enjoying the food stalls ran into me and mentioned they were just going to cheer from outside the gates because they couldn't justify the ticket cost.

I ended up buying tickets for them on the spot. And though I could probably afford most of my classmates a seat and room for a plus one, I wasn't about to start buying seats for just anyone.

I didn't want people viewing me as a walking bank account or expecting me to fund every outing, but for the ones I got along pretty well with in class? Why not. Some of the commoner contestants were going to need a vocal crowd in their corner, and I couldn't think of a better way to put a fraction of that lavish allowance Mother and Father gave me to use.

"Look at how many people there are..." Lionne muttered beside me, holding in her hand a juicy, drool-inducing meat kebab as she stared into the crowds around us. "I knew the academy opened ticket sales to everyone, but I didn't expect this many spectators. I feel like we might get overcrowded the moment the finals start…."

“Well, the crowd certainly beats the preliminary rounds,” I replied as Carine. “Though there's still plenty of space left for now. Besides, I'm pretty sure half the people outside are just here for the festival food stalls, not the actual fights.”

It was a good thing we managed to get front row seats, though. Hooray for Lionne and her mysterious connections.

I could see the arena quite clearly from up close, even though it wouldn’t be much different had I sat at the furthest seat possible, to be honest. But a front row seat is a front row seat. As long as no dust got into my eye, there was nothing to complain about.

Looking around the rest of the front-row spectators, though, I noticed a significant portion of the spectators weren't just everyday commoners on a weekend outing. Dotted among the stands were representatives from various noble houses, dressed in finely tailored suits and elaborate dresses, some even holding brass spectacles or spyglasses to get a clearer view of the ring.

On the surface, the academy would probably frame this event as student growth, but in reality, it had a few more purposes than that.

First, the profit from ticket and vendor sales. That one was one of the most obvious ones.

Then there was the practical combat experience for the participants.

And finally, and perhaps the most important of all, an open market for scouting future knights. These aristocrats weren't just here for entertainment; they were hunting for promising squires to eventually hire as retainers, guards, or future knights for their estates, perhaps by way of sponsoring them.

On the lower quarters of the arena, though, the vibes were totally different. Inside a cool, dark room, lit only by a faint luminite lantern hanging above in the center of the cobblestone room, sat my other self, Feyt.

The first match of the day, by some miracle, belonged to me, and so, I was already in the prep room before the opening statements.

I was sitting on one of the many benches, fitting the light greaves and making sure they were snug but not too tight, as the crowd outside continued to do what crowds do, being noisy.

Beside me stood a first-year aristocratic student wearing his white uniform and a volunteer armband, holding the rest of my light gear with a faint smile on his face.

“Sir Feyt, it isn’t too tight, is it?” he said smoothly. “If it is, I can find you some that are a bit looser.”

I shook my head as I tightened the straps one last time. “No need, this one fits fine!”

I stood up from the bench and faced him with a smile as he handed me the next gear to put on.

On the outside, he looked pretty confident and calm, like everything was under control. But even without straining my ears, I could hear his heart beating like a turbo engine. He was really nervous for some reason, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine what about.

Was this his first time working as a volunteer? Or was it something about me?

"So," I began, taking the shoulder guard from him, "why are you so nervous? Is working as a volunteer that nerve-wracking?"

He stared at me, stunned for a solid moment, his composure cracking just enough to reveal the wide-eyed panic underneath. It took him a second to swallow, clear his throat, and gather himself back together.

"Ah..." He let out a quiet, sheepish breath, dropping his shoulders slightly. "I apologize, Sir Feyt. It's just... I know that you are quite close with Lady Carine. My family holds a modest Barony, so..." He gave a slightly awkward, forced laugh. "I wasn't entirely sure how I was supposed to address someone such as you. That is all, haha."

I blinked, then let out a genuine chuckle as I realized.

Right, even as a commoner, I stood in a rather weird spot in terms of high-society rules. I even said it myself that offending Feyt was the same as offending Carine during that panty incident.

“No need to worry about formalities,” I said, fitting in my shoulder guard. “I’m just a student here like the rest of you. Just treat me like a friend, or at least an acquaintance.”

He blinked for a few moments before giving a nod, “U-Understood, Sir Feyt.”

Just as I was about to ask him to drop the “Sir” stuff, a loud ringing echoed into my ears from the arena upper quarters.

I turned my attention to the source as Carine, the grand balcony at the center back of the arena. Clara stepped into the sunlight, wearing her pristine uniform and a straight posture. In her hand, she held a sleek crystal, as she placed it carefully on a stand that seemed to be made specifically for it.

"Students of the Royal Academy, honored guests, and esteemed spectators!" Clara's voice boomed out, crystal clear and bouncing off every stone wall in the complex.

Sound amplifying, huh? Neat artifact.

"We thank you all for gathering here today to witness the opening of our annual new generation tournament," Clara continued, her smooth tone echoing throughout the crowds. "This tournament exists for a singular purpose: to showcase the sheer talent of our brightest new generation, and to offer a glimpse at those who will soon stand as the future knights and defenders of Setus!"

Down in the dark prep room, I finished checking Feyt's bindings, listening to her speech echoing through the gates.

"Matches will run continuously throughout the day as we go through the first rounds of our various contestants," Clara added, her tone shifting to a lighter, more welcoming cadence for the visitors. "You are welcome to enter and leave as you please, so long as you keep your ticket with you. Please, feel free to enjoy the festivities and markets set up outside the arena grounds."

She paused, letting the cheerful murmurs of the crowd swell before her voice cut through once more.

"And to all our contestants," Clara declared, her voice rising with a hint of both warmth and confidence. "I hope you all will give it your best! Let the First Year Annual Royal Academy Tournament... begin!"

The crowd went wild, the roars of people almost shaking the arena. Down below, I finished gearing up, gave my wooden blade one more weight test, and headed for the gate.

I paused by the gate and looked back over my shoulder to the volunteer student. “Wish me luck, okay?”

He stuttered, caught off guard for a second before bowing politely. “O-Of course! Good luck, Sir Feyt!”

I turned back to the dark tunnel ahead. With the heavy clank of iron gears, the gate slowly rose; the sound of heavy chains dragging against one another echoed as harsh light seeped in.

I squinted Feyt’s eyes as I stepped out onto the packed sand of the arena floor. Up in the stands, I adjusted Carine’s posture, leaning forward with a hand under my chin to watch my own grand entrance from the front row.

Across the ring, the opposite gate was also grinding upwards, revealing my opponent.

She had short, jet-black hair with long bangs hanging down the side of her face, almost completely hiding her left eye. She wore a simple white shirt under a light armor set like mine, but the real showstopper was the slab of wood resting in her hands.

It was a massive, two-handed broadsword that was carved so dense and heavy it looked like it could cut through the log it was made from. Yet her grip on it was firm and steady, her posture shifted between relaxed and lethal as she closed the distance.

Clara really isn’t wrong. She looks like the real deal.

An actual combatant ready for a fight.

I could barely suppress my excitement for the match as I stopped quite a distance away from her.

A deep, booming voice echoed from the same balcony Clara was moments ago. A well-built faculty member cleared his throat in front of the sound-amplifying artifact.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to the opening match of the First Annual Royal Academy Tournament!"

A brief wave of eager cheers rippled through the stands as he gestured down toward the eastern side of the ring with a wide, heavy sweep of his arm.

"Entering from the eastern gate, sponsored by the House of Sareid, is Feyt of Class A!"

The crowd let out a modest cheer and applause, but a certain section of the crowd, mainly the commoner section, which included the guys whose tickets I’d bought, immediately erupted into a loud chorus of shouting and whistling.

“You can do it!”

“Crush her!!! Show ‘em what you can do!”

I gave my silent thanks along with a nod to them. Knowing someone was cheering for me personally—either it was because I was a fellow commoner or because I literally paid for their tickets—that didn’t matter. All I needed to know was that there was someone on my side.

The announcer gestured toward the opposite gate, projecting his voice once more. "And entering from the western gate will be his opponent... Marina Kareid, of Class Raven!"

The applause swelled even louder as Marina became the center of attention. But she didn't acknowledge the crowd, the announcer, or even her classmates who were specifically cheering out her name. Instead, her eyes remained focused on me.

I shifted my attention back to her and offered a friendly smile. "Let’s give it our best," I said as Feyt.

Marina didn’t say a word. She simply slid into her low stance, leveling her massive wooden broadsword straight at me, her eye dead-set on her target.

Hm. Not much of a talkative type, huh?

I chuckled, dropping into my own stance and raising my blade to meet hers.

Fine by me.

Let’s see what you’ve got, Miss Marina.