After parting ways with Elias, Victor proceeded directly to the registration area. The room, located at the end of the underground establishment, was modest in size and divided into three sections.
Each section was separated by glass windows, creating a barrier between the individuals inside and those on the opposite side.
Each window catered to a specific type of participant application. The first window handled registrations for individuals wishing to compete against random opponents.
This was the most common option, allowing participants to join a queue and fight on the same day. It served as a means to test one's strength and earn a modest amount of coins. Without hesitation, Victor joined the line for this window.
The second window facilitated challenges, where an individual could formally challenge another participant by name. This method offered the highest payouts but required the challenger to wait until their opponent accepted.
Participants could issue challenges to up to three individuals simultaneously, increasing the likelihood of an acceptance.
The third window functioned as the cashier, where participants could withdraw their winnings. The payout depended on their performance and their share of the bets placed by the audience and those in the observation room.
When it was Victor's turn, he was handed an application form to complete. The form required him to provide personal details and specify his area of expertise or specialty.
Participants were then categorized accordingly to mitigate the risk of severe incidents, such as fatalities, during the matches.
Victor proceeded to complete the application form on Elias' behalf and submitted it through the designated window.
The attendant at the first window, upon reading the name on the form, handed it to a colleague stationed at the second window, leaving Victor momentarily perplexed.
"Didn't someone request a match with him? Who was it again?" the first attendant inquired, prompting the second to respond, "Let me check."
"Ah, here it is," the second attendant said after a moment of review, passing a different document back to Victor. "It's the son of Baron Marchand. Should you accept the challenge, I will promptly forward your application to the competition handler," he explained.
"Alright," Victor replied. "Let me consult my friend first."
He then made his way back to search for Elias, and the rest, as they say, is history.
***
"Too bad I missed it," Victor remarked, his tone tinged with regret. "Anyway, I have some good news," he added with a hint of excitement.
The two made their way back to the bar area to find a seat. As the din of the crowd filled the air, Victor began explaining what had transpired in his absence.
"So, what do you think?" Victor asked eagerly. "Ready to earn another soli tonight, just like last time?" he added with a cheer, attempting to rouse Elias's enthusiasm.
Elias fixed his gaze on Victor before responding with a smirk, "I'll give them a show they'll remember." With that, he stood and gestured subtly for Victor to lead the way to the registration area.
"Geez," Victor muttered, rolling his eyes. "You're acting strange tonight," he added before standing to follow Elias.
As they walked, Victor offered a reminder. "Just make sure to survive as long as you can and surrender before things go too far—like last time."
Upon arriving at the registration area, Victor handed the documents to the attendant at the second window. In return, he was given a small rectangular metal token with a number engraved upon it.
"Follow the guard," instructed the attendant curtly, motioning toward a nearby figure.
Victor handed the token to Elias before bidding him farewell. "Show them a performance they won't forget," Victor teased with a smirk.
Adjacent to the registration room was a wall with two openings that could loosely be described as doors, leading to the participants' waiting area. The guard stepped through the second opening and proceeded down a long, dimly lit hallway.
Trailing behind him, Elias began to formulate a strategy for his survival. The last time he had participated, things had gone relatively well—if being beaten nearly to death could be called "smooth." Or so he thought.
'That baron's son killed me—or, more accurately, the original owner of this body,' Elias mused grimly. The conclusion seemed unavoidable: his soul must have taken over this body because it had been vacated by its former occupant.
Elias' only plan now was to evade every attack his opponent threw and survive as long as possible—especially if magic wasn't in play.
At the end of the long corridor lay a vast, open waiting area lined with rows of chairs, most of which were unoccupied. Only five people, including Elias, were present, and one of them was the woman he had seen in the arena earlier.
'I wonder how much it costs to personally request a fight, he thought,' his curiosity piqued.
Choosing a chair far from the others, Elias sat in isolation. None of the other participants seemed inclined to strike up a conversation, which left him alone with his thoughts.
The air in the room felt oppressive. 'Or maybe that's just my imagination,' he muttered inwardly.
Each person in the room exuded an intimidating presence—strong and formidable in appearance. The exception was Mathilda, the lone woman among them, though her calm demeanor suggested she wasn't to be underestimated.
After a short while, three names were called, including Elias', signaling that their opponents were ready and awaiting them in their respective arenas.
Before departing, he cast a glance at Mathilda, who was meticulously polishing her gun—a weapon that seemed remarkably unscathed from the battle she had recently endured.
As he observed her more closely, he noticed that her hair bore a faint reddish hue, more akin to maroon—a detail he had missed earlier. Her eyes carried a languid, drowsy expression, as though she was yearning for a moment of rest.
Upon entering the arena, Elias encountered Percival, the individual who had issued the challenge for this fight.
Meanwhile, in the spectator area, Victor was energetically shouting and cheering, urging Elias to give his utmost effort.
"How's your face holding up?" Percival taunted, his tone dripping with mockery.
'That smug demeanor and that sinister smile—it makes me sick,' Elias thought with disdain.
Percival stood as tall as Elias, yet the disparity in their social standing was starkly evident as they faced each other. Percival donned a finely tailored suit designed for young aristocrats, complete with his family name elegantly embroidered on the chest—a clear emblem of his lineage as one of Baron Marchand's offspring.
The arena itself was circular, spanning fifteen meters in diameter, with two other arenas of the same size nearby. The layout resembled a triple Venn diagram where the circles remained distinct, leaving a small vacant space at the center.
Within this central space, a pillar had risen to match the height of the observation room. Atop it stood the master of ceremonies, holding what appeared to be a walkie-talkie.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the MC announced with infectious enthusiasm, "are you ready for tonight's challenge!" His words were met with a thunderous roar of excitement from the crowd, who erupted into cheers and applause.
He proceeded to explain the rules of the arena: "Participants, there is only one rule." Suddenly, the crowd fell silent. "NO KILLING," he declared firmly.
The audience erupted in disappointment, boos echoing throughout the arena. However, he continued, "You are not prohibited from employing any means to fight," reigniting the energy and turning the atmosphere vibrant and lively once more.
In the observation room stood ten chairs arranged as seating for the young aristocrats. Of these, only six were occupied, while three remained empty. The final seat was reserved for Percival.
Each noble was accompanied by a personal bodyguard—not that they needed one, as they were all formidable figures within Lunaris.
A young woman with a yellow ponytail spoke casually, her tone cutting through the room, "Was that the same kid he defeated last time?" Her comment made the other nobles shift uncomfortably in their seats.
The small-statured bodyguard behind her responded flatly, "It is," their face blank and devoid of emotion.
Meanwhile, the Master of Ceremonies announced enthusiastically, "I wish you all good luck!" signaling the start of the fight.
The other two platforms roared to life, heavy and booming sounds reverberating through the arena. Yet the platform where Elias and Percival stood remained eerily quiet.
"I'll give you a head start. Come," Percival taunted, his voice dripping with confidence.
In Elias' mind, he recalled his life back on Earth—no knowledge of martial arts, no training in self-defense. The only thing fueling his resolve was his frustration over his meager income.
Anger bubbled within him, and he saw this fight as an opportunity to vent his fury. Accepting the bastard's challenge would at least earn him a few pence—maybe even a soli at best.
Without hesitation, Elias charged straight at his opponent, resembling a reckless cockroach scurrying forward.
"Oh, goodness," Victor muttered, slapping his face in dismay at the sight.
Meanwhile, Percival smirked, ready to activate his specialty.
As Elias sprinted, he suddenly felt a vibration beneath his feet. Trusting his instincts, he leaped to the right while maintaining his momentum.
Moments later, a branch erupted from the ground exactly where he had been. "Thank goodness I dodged that," Elias thought, glancing back at his former position.
"Yes!" Victor cheered, his disappointment momentarily forgotten.
However, Percival remained unbothered, his confidence unwavering as this move was merely a small part of his plan.
Elias, still running, glanced back at the spot where the branch had emerged, distracted by his close call. Taking advantage of the opening, Percival activated his specialty again.
Elias felt another vibration beneath his feet, but he was too late to react. The platform tile beneath him erupted with force, catapulting him high into the air. The sheer impact caused blood to spill from his mouth as his back slaps the ground.
Sharp fragments of the shattered tile struck him mid-air, but he instinctively shielded his face with his arms, escaping with only bruises on his limbs.
"Is that all he's got? Wasn't he supposed to be a third-grade Terramancer?" the same woman in the observation room remarked, her tone laced with disdain.
"Indeed," her bodyguard responded flatly, maintaining their stoic demeanor.
Meanwhile, on the ground, Elias quickly scrambled to his feet, wasting no time. He darted to the side, appearing to run in a circular pattern.
"That was a mistake on my part," he admitted to himself, determined to stay one step ahead.
Percival, unfazed, repeated his previous attacks, attempting to land another strike. But this time, Elias's erratic movements rendered the attempts futile.
'Come on, you're not planning on just running the whole time, are you?' Victor thought, beginning to feel a pang of worry for Elias.
Sweat dripped down Percival's face as frustration began to creep in. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small flask containing a glowing purple liquid. Without hesitation, he gulped down its contents, temporarily halting his focus on Elias.
Seizing the opportunity, Elias adjusted his path, turning sharply toward Percival, who was still occupied with the flask. As he neared his opponent, Percival lowered the container and spoke with a confident smirk.
"You're good at running," he said, his voice steady and assured. "But you leave me no choice."
Stunned by Percival's sudden movement, Elias took an instinctive step back. Percival, undeterred, bent down and placed both palms flat on the ground.
A few seconds passed before the earth beneath them began to tremble violently—far more intense than the subtle vibrations Elias had felt earlier. A deep sense of danger flooded his senses, urging him to flee.
'It's not even half an hour... what am I going to do?' Elias thought desperately, scanning his surroundings for a way to survive what was about to unfold.
If he surrendered now, he wasn't sure if he'd leave with even a single coin in hand. This match had devolved into nothing more than him running around the platform—a monotonous, entertainment-less display for anyone who had dared to accept a challenge.
No one would want to see that.
'I need to land a punch at least once,' Elias thought, frustration building within him.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled again as a massive lump of branch shot upward. It quickly took form, standing tall and solidifying into the shape of a gigantic hand. The hand belonged to a tree golem, which, with another powerful movement, revealed a second hand, pulling itself out of the earth like a person struggling to escape quicksand.
Elias, not waiting for the tree golem to fully emerge, seized the opportunity as everyone, including Percival, proudly admired the creation.
He swiftly circled around the massive hand, going unnoticed, and then leapt toward Percival, his fist aimed directly at his opponent's face.
The crowd fell silent.
Elias' punch landed squarely on Percival's face, causing his lips to bleed. Despite the hit, Percival merely looked at him and smirked, muttering, "You bastard."
In an instant, a giant hand behind Elias closed around him like a piece of ice cream, halting his movement. The hand was colossal, engulfing his body entirely from head to toe.
Percival wiped the blood from his lips as he approached the immobilized Elias. "Let me tell you something," he said with cold finality, then slapped Elias across the face with each word.
"You. Are. Nothing." With each slap, Elias remained unfazed.
Percival leaned in closer, seemingly about to whisper something into Elias' ear.
"What's he doing?" the woman with the yellow ponytail in the observation room complained. "This is getting boring. Tell him to end the match as soon as possible," she added, clearly growing impatient.
Before the bodyguard behind her left to relay the message, she cheered, "Yes, that's more like it!" her face lighting up with excitement.
The crowd joined in, cheering and shouting in anticipation.
The bodyguard, watching the scene below, couldn't help but curl his lips into a smirk.
Suddenly, Percival was on the ground, kneeling and clutching his right cheek—more likely, his ear, screaming and cursing Elias' name.
As his opponent drew closer, Elias acted without hesitation. He moved his head forward and sank his teeth into Percival's ear, biting down with such force that he tore off a piece of flesh and spat it onto the ground.
"Try me," Elias exclaimed, his face cold and unwavering.