Reese’s carriage moved slowly through the bustling streets, and soon a massive spiral structure came into view, its towering presence dominating the city center.

The combat arena.

Zi-Cheng looked out of the window, the tower looming like a lone giant, its sheer presence dominating the skyline. Ever since learning about the city’s darker side, he had instinctively avoided this place, taking the longer route whenever it came into view. But now, for the first time, he was seeing it up close, and the feeling it exuded was nothing like the ethereal clam of the Sanctuary.

The structure carried an oppressive aura, one that screamed power and strength. It felt as though the tower itself looked down on the people below, a symbol demanding worship from the masses as they gazed toward its apex.

Zi-Cheng frowned. This place wasn’t for him. He could feel it in his bones. Yet, a faint tingling at the back of his neck left him uneasy.

As the carriage came to a stop, Reese and Elena hopped off with a spring in their step, Victor gesturing for him to follow.

(Fine, whatever….)

He trailed behind the three reluctantly, watching as they crossed the pristine White Bridge that stretched toward the arena’s grand entrance.

The midday sun hung high in the sky, its harsh rays glaring off the bright white stone, making the bridge almost blinding to look at. Zi-Cheng shielded his eyes against the glare, his discomfort mounting. But watching Reese and Elena walk ahead, chatting excitedly, he knew there was no turning back now.

Elena had once described the arena as a sacred place where people proved their worth to the heavens. And this bridge, the White Bridge, was the dividing line between the mundane and the divine—a path that every fighter had to cross to reach the arena.

This spot was where warriors and spectators converged, their emotions running high in anticipation of what awaited them. The air buzzed with energy, the kind that seeped into everyone who stepped foot on the bridge.

Zi-Cheng’s gaze swept over the crowd, the excitement and fervor palpable in every face around him. While he didn’t share their enthusiasm, he couldn’t deny the arena’s importance. For the people of Hazelton, and perhaps even the entire kingdom of Izanich, this place wasn’t just a venue. It was a cultural cornerstone, a stage for dreams, pride, and power.

Crossing the White Bridge, the group arrived at a massive plaza.

At the center stood a colossal fountain, adorned with statues of warriors clad in ornate battle robes, their imposing figures frozen mid-action as if welcoming challengers from across the realm. At the far end of the plaza loomed their destination: the arena’s grand entrance, known as the Gate of Glory.

“Still going on about ‘glory,’ huh…” Zi-Cheng muttered with a bitter smile.

Truthfully, the so-called "glory" meant little to him, but the architecture of the arena itself was a completely different story.

As the heart of the human kingdom, Hazelton’s Combat Arena was undeniably grand. Yet, from the moment he stepped into the plaza, Zi-Cheng couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the massive spiral structure was... off. Its sleek, modern design seemed to defy the technological limits of this world, standing out like a misplaced artifact.

“Wait a second,” Zi-Cheng said, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the arena’s details. “Do you guys know who built this place?”

“Who else but the Hero?” Reese replied casually, her tone light and matter-of-fact.

Zi-Cheng froze. Reese’s offhanded remark struck him, igniting the tingling at the back of his neck into a sharp, searing pain. His knees buckled as the headache surged, the world spinning violently around him.

He had spent days piecing together fragments from the mysterious phone call, vaguely remembering something about the Hero. But it wasn’t until this moment, standing before the combat arena, that the connection became undeniable—and something long buried surfaced from the depths of his mind.

“Summon...the Hero….”

The words emerged unbidden, slipping from his lips like an irresistible whisper.

According to Elena, the Hero had vanished 150 years ago, meaning this arena must be at least that old. Yet, as Zi-Cheng stared at its pristine outer walls, there wasn’t a single mark of age or wear. It was as though the structure had been built yesterday.

This wasn’t craftsmanship of this world.

(Could the Hero have been a World Drifter like me?)

The thought struck him like lightning. His pulse quickened, his mind spiraling as questions piled on top of one another.

(If they wanted to summon the Hero, couldn’t they just find someone from this world? Why go through all the trouble to drag me here and make me do it? None of this makes any sense!)

A sharp pain pulsed through his temple, like a taut string being yanked to its limit. His thoughts tangled into an unbearable knot. Zi-Cheng pressed a hand to his forehead, his fingertips feeling the frantic rhythm of his veins. Cold sweat slid down his palm as his body trembled. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand, but no matter how hard he tried, the rest of the memory remained out of reach.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Ven, are you okay? We’re here to watch the match, not examine the walls.”

“Yeah, hurry up, or we’ll miss it!”

Reese and Elena’s cheerful voices jolted him back to reality, completely unaware of the pain he just gone through. While the whirlwind of possibilities still churned in Zi-Cheng’s mind, it was clear his companions had no intention of giving him the time to sort through them.

“Victor….”

Zi-Cheng barely opened his mouth to protest when Victor clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Trust me,” Victor said with a grin. “Times like this, even a priest can’t save you. Best to just smile, nod, and go with the flow.”

And so, Zi-Cheng sighed, dragging his feet as he crossed the Gate of Glory.

(What is this place?!)

What greeted him behind the gates wasn’t extravagant, but it was undeniably refined. Unlike the unpretentious but solemn halls of the Sanctuary, the white walls here were adorned with intricate crests while the floor’s azure hue resembled a tranquil lake. Overhead, vine-like pathways linked the various levels, with what looked like magical platforms that served as elevators, adding a modern touch to the structure.

Every detail in here screamed precision, the masterful craftsmanship was impossible to miss.

As the four strolled through the spacious lobby, sunlight poured in through the towering archways, filling the arena with a natural glow. Zi-Cheng tilted his head back, his eyes following the inside of a spiraling structure all the way to its peak. The entire space felt cohesive, like it had been designed as one flawless piece. Even by modern standards, this place could hold its own against the best architectural marvels of his old world.

(Just who in the world was the Hero? How did he pull this off?)

Even if the Hero possessed unparalleled talent, constructing a place like this in a world so lacking in technology wasn’t just improbable, it was absurd. Who in the right mind would pour so much resource in a backwater town at the kingdom’s southern border?

“Guys, don’t you think there’s something… off about this place?”

“Of course it does! This is the holy arena, it’s supposed to be different!”

Elena’s straightforward answer hit like a splash of cold water, leaving Zi-Cheng completely at a loss for words. For the first time, he truly understood the power of deeply ingrained beliefs.

(This place feels like it came straight out of a sci-fi movie, yet everyone here treats like it’s perfectly normal!)

Just as the thought lingered in Zi-Cheng’s mind, a fireball exploded inside a massive stone brazier at the central courtyard, with surrounding warriors collectively circled around and tossed bloodstained cards into the flames.

“What are they….”

Before Zi-Cheng could finish his question, the burning cards dissolved into tiny red sparks, each dancing through the air like fireflies, eventually landing on a large notice board behind the brazier.

"Alright, you lot! Matchups for the bronze-tier fights on the third floor are set! Fighters, haul yourselves to the prep area now!”

The booming announcement came from a muscular man dressed in black, his face obscured by a white mask. With a grand gesture, he set off a deafening roar from the crowd gathered around the brazier—fighters and spectators alike cheering in wild anticipation of the upcoming matches.

Zi-Cheng stood frozen, his face etched with disbelief. This wasn’t the oppressive, miserable scene he’d imagined. Instead, the crowd seemed alive with excitement, as if they genuinely reveled in the blood sport.

Before he could process this unsettling realization, Victor grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along.

“Not quite what you expected?”

“No, not at all.”

Zi-Cheng admitted, his gaze lingering on the cheering crowd. It was a far cry from the oppression he had assumed.

“Flawed as it is, this system was the only thing people could rely on for the past hundred and fifty years.”

“A price that came with the protection of the city walls,” Zi-Cheng muttered.

Victor gave a subtle nod but remained silent, instead gesturing toward the arena itself. “Nothing is ever as it seems. Just like the arena has seven floors above ground and two more below. With dining halls, medical facilities, security, and administration offices that kept the whole place running.”

(How many people actually work here?)

“As for what you just saw, that was the Brazier of Nomez. Fighters press their blood onto their cards and burn them in the brazier. The arena system then matches them with opponents randomly, and the masked staff handle the arrangements.”

Clearly, the efficiency of the system was undeniable, but there was something disturbingly cold about it.

Victor continued, pointing toward the upper floors. “Each floor has multiple arenas. Matches for silver-tier and below are held on the second through fourth floors. These arenas are square, ten meters in diameter, and raised a meter off the ground. They can accommodate a few hundred to five hundred spectators. The fifth and sixth floors host gold-tier matches and above. Same layout, but more spacious, spanning twelve meters across, with seating for up to three thousand people.”

“What about the top floor?” Zi-Cheng tilted his head, glancing upward at the highest point of the towering apex. “Didn’t you say this place has seven floors?”

“The top floor is an open arena. Octagonal platform, twenty meters across, raised a meter and a half above ground. The place can hold up to five thousand spectators, but it’s rarely used for actual matches. These days, it’s more often used for concerts and large-scale events.”

“Wait, you serious? You guys have concerts, like, here?”

Zi-Cheng couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.